This wasn’t the first time Wen Xin had stared directly into Shi Qianyu’s eyes. Back on that wild, indulgent night, she had already gazed at them countless times—not just looked, but kissed them too. After all, those eyes were simply too beautiful.
Shi Qianyu’s eyes were strikingly bright, the outer corners slightly upturned. Her pupils gleamed like amber, her lashes long and thick. When she looked up, they curled just a touch; when she looked down, they cast a small shadow across her cheeks. Even when she simply stared at you in silence, doing nothing else, she seemed profoundly affectionate.
Wen Xin was utterly captivated. Buoyed by the alcohol, she had kissed those eyes again and again. As if sensing her fascination, Shi Qianyu had stared right back at her, her gaze melting with unspoken tenderness, her words a string of sweet, seductive traps.
That night, she had only ever called her “Sister”—over and over. The name Wen Xin had mentioned earlier seemed completely forgotten; she never uttered it once.
But now, looking at her like this, Wen Xin realized she hadn’t forgotten at all. If anything, she had turned it into a deliberate tease, a playful taunt.
How embarrassing. So humiliating.
Wen Xin instinctively lowered her head. The scene before her felt so jarringly out of place. Everything from that night had seemed like a dream, so she had naturally assumed Shi Qianyu belonged there too—trapped in that dream. She never imagined the woman would reappear in her life like this, transformed into her new boss, no less.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Noticing her silence, Shi Qianyu spoke again, her voice soft and leisurely, laced with amusement. She sounded far more at ease than Wen Xin. “So, how exactly should I address you?”
She knew perfectly well, yet she insisted on hearing it from Wen Xin’s own lips.
“Wen Xin,” she replied, taking a deep breath. She couldn’t stay silent forever. “You can just call me Wen Xin…”
Considering their respective positions, she had even added a polite “you” to show respect.
But Shi Qianyu seemed oblivious to her embarrassment—or perhaps willfully so—and pierced right through it with blunt honesty. “So, you deliberately tricked me that night, then.”
Wen Xin’s face flushed crimson at once. It was awkward enough that her new boss was her one-night stand. Even more mortifying was the fact that the woman was now questioning her about it.
“I didn’t…” She started to explain, but before she could find the right words, the woman before her suddenly stood and approached, step by deliberate step.
Perhaps it was the alcohol’s influence, but that night Wen Xin had overlooked many details—like Shi Qianyu’s height. Only now did she realize how much taller Shi Qianyu was. Talking while seated had been tense enough; standing face-to-face felt outright oppressive.
Wen Xin flinched and instinctively stepped back, but after only half a step, Shi Qianyu caught the hem of her clothes. Lifting her eyes, she found Shi Qianyu smiling sweetly—just like that night, when their breaths had mingled so intimately. But her words sent a chill down Wen Xin’s spine: “And the next morning, you didn’t say a word. You just left me behind and ran off, leaving me heartbroken when I woke up.”
“Didn’t I say I’d take responsibility for you?” Her tone was coquettish, soft and gentle as ever, but the hand gripping Wen Xin’s hem tightened. “Sister, have you abandoned me?”
“Sister”—that word detonated like nothing else before it.
Wen Xin looked up at her, utterly at a loss for words. Her mind echoed with a single desperate plea: Save me, save me.
~~~
A knock at the door finally shattered the excruciating silence in the office.
Shi Qianyu released her hold and called out, “Come in,” instantly reverting to her composed self. Wen Xin glanced at her, not daring to linger a moment longer. Her mouth moved faster than her brain as she mumbled, “You must be busy. I’ll get back to work,” before fleeing the scene.
Shi Qianyu watched her retreating back but said nothing more, her smile fading.
“Here are a few documents that need your signature.” The assistant entered with a stack of folders, oblivious to what had just transpired. “I’ve also organized the materials you asked me to print earlier. You can review them together.”
“Mm.” Shi Qianyu returned to her desk, picking up her usual fountain pen. The pen was old—both in age and brand. It had been expensive back in its day but was now obsolete, available only in a few secondhand markets and obscure online shops.
Yet Shi Qianyu still used it, handling it with great care. Aside from a few replacements of the nib, all the other parts remained original.
“Get me a few more bottles of ink,” she said casually while signing, without further explanation. “The same brand as before.”
The assistant nodded, long accustomed to the request. If she were newer on the job, she might have hesitantly asked, “Would you like me to get you a new pen as well?”
But now, she knew better than to pry. She simply said, “Of course.”
Back at her workstation, Wen Xin took several deep breaths in a row.
The night before starting, she had done plenty of preparation—including some mental fortification. She wasn’t naturally outgoing and couldn’t handle situations with the smooth ease of others. Major changes in life or work always left her anxious and on edge.
Wen Xin vaguely remembered being even more withdrawn as a child. Back then, before her parents’ tragic accident, their jobs had forced frequent moves—and with them, a string of new schools. Thrust into unfamiliar classmates and environments, little Wen Xin, already shy, struggled to make friends. She had few to begin with, and now even fewer.
She went to school and back alone, fetched water and ate meals by herself. She adapted to the solitude but never grew to like it. As an adult, Wen Xin learned to wear a mask: reining in her introversion, pretending to be normal, venturing small talk, learning others’ interests.
It worked reasonably well. She still didn’t have many friends, but she got along decently with colleagues. Wen Xin had assumed she’d adapt to this new company just as smoothly. Instead, on her very first day, Shi Qianyu had stripped away all her pretenses.
The one who had embraced and kissed Shi Qianyu that alcohol-fueled night wasn’t really her. This version—the one blushing furiously, speechless—was the true Wen Xin.
Noticing something off, a nearby colleague leaned over. “Wenwen, what’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine, really.” Wen Xin shook her head quickly. She remembered this colleague: Gao Qiu, warm and helpful. Gao Qiu had organized her things that morning. “I’m good.”
“Oh.” Gao Qiu nodded, not pressing further. “By the way, what did you and Director Shi talk about? You were in there forever.”
“Nothing much—just a greeting and some chit-chat.” Wen Xin lied without hesitation, unable to reveal the truth. “I’m new, so I don’t know much. I asked a few work-related questions.”
“Ah, got it.” The excuse rang true, and Gao Qiu didn’t question it. “No worries. I’ve been here a while. Ask me anything from now on.”
“It’s almost lunch,” she added, glancing at her watch and stretching contentedly. “The two others in our department who I’m close with called in sick today. Lucky you showed up, or I’d be wondering who to eat with. Let’s hit the cafeteria together. Consider it a celebration of your first day—lunch is on me!”
“No, no, that’s okay.” Wen Xin felt bad letting a near-stranger treat her and waved it off. But Gao Qiu was so insistent that she eventually relented. Fine—she’d return the favor another time.
“You’ll love the cafeteria food,” Gao Qiu said as they clocked out at noon and headed over. She raved about her favorite dishes, mid-enthusiasm, when a voice called from behind.
“Wen Xin.” Shi Qianyu had appeared without warning. Unlike when they were alone, there was little amusement in her eyes now. “Stay behind. I need to talk to you privately.”
“Ah.” Gao Qiu sounded disappointed but couldn’t defy Director Shi. She shrugged. “I’ll head to lunch then. Next time, my treat.”
“Sure.” Wen Xin nodded. Truth be told, she would have preferred Gao Qiu to stay, but of course, her colleague couldn’t read her mind. With a quick goodbye to Shi Qianyu, Gao Qiu vanished from sight.
Wen Xin paused for a few seconds before turning back to meet Shi Qianyu’s eyes. “Did you need something?”
“Grab your bag. I’m taking you out for lunch,” Shi Qianyu said, stepping closer. Unlike moments ago, her lips curved into a gentle smile now. “To celebrate your first day. My treat.”
The words echoed Gao Qiu’s almost exactly.
Wen Xin shook her head vigorously, echoing her earlier refusal. “No, really, I couldn’t.”
But as she spoke, she saw the woman before her slowly furrow her brow. “What’s this? You agree to eat with her but not with me? Wen Xin, do you have a problem with me?”
It seemed like another question directed at her, but there was an inexplicable touch of coquetry and intimacy in her tone. Fortunately, the office was empty except for the two of them right now—some people had headed to the cafeteria for lunch, and the rest, according to Gao Qiu, had gone out on field duty early that morning.
Wen Xin finally let out a small sigh of relief, though she still instinctively refused once more. “No, really. Don’t go to any trouble for me.”
Her nervousness had even caused her formal “you” to slip into the casual form.
Shi Qianyu clearly enjoyed watching her reactions and had no intention of letting her off the hook so easily. “Worst case, we can just split the bill. There’s a great Sichuan place right downstairs—you’ll like it, I’m sure. I happen to have their membership card, so we can get a discount.”
“Besides, you have to eat anyway. It’s no fun eating alone—why not join me? What do you say?” Shi Qianyu’s lips curved into a smile as she continued to gaze into Wen Xin’s eyes, mirth dancing in her beautiful pupils.
Caught in that stare, Wen Xin lost her train of thought for a moment. She forgot to question how Shi Qianyu even knew she liked Sichuan food. Instead, she simply stared back, and after a long pause, finally murmured, “All right, then.”
“Let’s go.” Shi Qianyu smiled. As they walked side by side, she pulled out her phone and asked casually, “You don’t have my WeChat yet, do you? What’s your number? I’ll add you, and you can just send me your share later.”
“Okay.” Wen Xin nodded and recited her number. Shi Qianyu tapped a few times on her screen, and a friend request popped up almost immediately.
Wen Xin spotted the note attached to it right away: 【A-Yu】.
She froze. She knew she shouldn’t read too much into it, but those two words were far too loaded. In an instant, they dragged her mind back to that night.
The night when she had clung to Shi Qianyu’s neck, gasping and tear-streaked amid her kisses.
“What’s wrong?” Noticing her sudden rigidity, Shi Qianyu glanced over. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.” Wen Xin shook her head hurriedly, feigning nonchalance. “Nothing at all.”
“Really?” Shi Qianyu clearly wasn’t convinced. She lifted her hand, her soft fingertip tracing a slow, gentle path along Wen Xin’s earlobe. Her voice dropped to a whisper, intimate as a secret shared between lovers.
“If you’re really thinking about nothing, then why have your ears turned red?”
