It was already mid-October, yet Xie Yingnian never imagined that Yanjing would be hit by a sudden storm of fierce winds and torrential rain.
Outside the glass windows, dark clouds roiled across the sky, the daylight dimmed to a gloomy haze as rain poured down in sheets. Lightning occasionally tore through the air above the high-rises.
Rumble—another deafening thunderclap echoed, and the hallway lights flickered.
The girl ahead of her, who seemed to be an intern fresh out of college, was still struggling to break in her high heels. Her heels were patched with Band-Aids, and the thunder made her stumble, twisting her ankle. Xie Yingnian, passing by at just the right moment, reached out to steady her.
“Thanks…” The intern wore a pair of black round-framed glasses. When she looked up and recognized the woman, she faltered on the “Xie” of her name, blushing furiously after a long pause before stammering, “Teacher Xie.”
Having the surname Xie certainly had its perks. Xie Yingnian glanced at the girl’s name badge but didn’t correct her—boss would have been more accurate than teacher. She just curved her lips into a smile. “Be careful.”
With that, she hurried toward the elevator. The metal doors slid open and shut, the display arrow pointing downward as it carried away her tall, slender figure.
Working in the entertainment industry, the intern was naturally up to speed on the latest buzz. Seeing her boss rushing off like this, it took her only a moment to figure it out.
“Oh, Zhong Jia’s fan meet-and-greet is today, right?” the intern muttered to herself, juggling a stack of files under her arm. “So she’s heading off to pick up her girlfriend.”
She wedged the files awkwardly under her armpit and fired off a WeChat message to her bestie, spilling the internship tea: Xie Yingnian is seriously down-to-earth, super approachable, and that mature older-woman vibe is off the charts. No wonder die-hard straight girl Qiao Yingqiu got turned by someone younger taking care of her—and looking that gorgeous. Who wouldn’t fall?
Xie Yingnian, stepping into the underground garage, had no idea her flawless facade had fooled yet another greenhorn fresh on the job. Or rather, she was confident she never let her guard slip around others.
Truth be told, anyone who scratched beneath this polished, easygoing exterior would see she had nothing to do with words like “approachable.”
Only she herself knew how exhausting it was to keep up the act day in, day out.
She’d once thought she’d grown used to it—play the part for a day, a week, a month, a lifetime. But then, right at the tail end of her twenties, she’d met someone who let her drop the mask without a second thought.
Xie Yingnian mulled this over as she turned the wheel, guiding her SUV out of the garage and merging onto the main road. She fired off a message to Zhong Jia: Meeting’s wrapping up. Be there soon.
Rain hammered the car roof in a relentless patter. Streetlights hadn’t come on yet, leaving the city shrouded in mist. But the woman in the driver’s seat gazed ahead with soft, steadfast eyes, her heart anchored to something worth every effort.
Her girlfriend hadn’t replied. Xie Yingnian checked the time—the fan meet was about to start, so Zhong Jia was probably swamped.
While waiting at a red light, she scrolled up in their chat. Zhong Jia had sent a link to a cake shop, saying she wanted this and that—bluntly tasking her skilled chef girlfriend to expand from Chinese cuisine to Western desserts. The teary-eyed pillow-hug emoji she shared online? Total persona breaker.
But that’s Zhong Jia in private: soft and adorable, that side reserved solely for Xie Yingnian.
-Make you steamed buns.
-!!! No wayyy… I want cake, the super creamy kind [pitiful]
-Uh-huh, I know you love cream.
-Twist my words however you want lol, fine, I’ll own it—regular milk’s fine, but yours tastes way better.
Xie Yingnian sent back a smiley. Maybe the screen dulled her senses, because Zhong Jia detected no red flags and even dared poke at a minefield she’d always been curious about: Cough cough, just a reminder—you did promise to let me eat you up once, right?
The light turned green. Xie Yingnian floored the accelerator, keeping pace with the car ahead.
The center console lit up—a call from the delivery service. She answered via voice command, and a courier’s voice came through: “Hello, you have a package…”
After hanging up, Xie Yingnian stared out the windshield, pondering. She hadn’t ordered anything lately.
The freak downpour had gridlocked the roads, the crawl giving her just enough time to mull over this mystery package.
Not hers, then it had to be Zhong Jia’s.
As for why it was addressed to her… Zhong Jia had handed over full financial control without complaint. She had no issue keeping her money manager in the loop on every expense—and she knew the drill all too well, thanks to Xie Yingnian playing “parent” during her high school days.
Ni Qian hadn’t approved. That time in the therapy room, she’d said, “All suppression and no release isn’t healthy. I’ve always suggested you try venting in less destructive ways, but outlets are hard to come by.”
“You’ve put yourself in her shoes and acted on it—I’m impressed. But I hope you’ll consider your own situation too.” Ni Qian didn’t mince words with Xie Yingnian, flashing a smile at the fair-skinned girl. “Being the zookeeper is dangerous work.”
Zhong Jia: “I’ve thought it through.”
She took Xie Yingnian’s slightly cool hand in hers, squeezing tight, then said, “She can have the bank card. I don’t have as much money as her anyway—no loss on my end.”
“Thinking it over, I really love being cared for like this. On the surface, she’s the one holding on, but really, I don’t want to let go.”
Xie Yingnian cleared her throat, her thumb brushing Zhong Jia’s palm as she told the giggling Ni Qian, covering her mouth, “No need to put that in the session notes.”
The woman in the white coat nodded with a grin. “Got it—for your ears only.”
She mimed zipping her lips, jotted down the session summary, then added, “I’m happy for both of you. Ms. Xie, you can try halving the dosage of your meds.”
Xie Yingnian craved airtight security, and Zhong Jia gave it without reservation. In return, she was trying to change—easing from total control to gradual trust.
So lately, she’d just picked up and delivered Zhong Jia’s packages without peeking inside.
Racking her brain, she recalled Zhong Jia had bought a bunch of stuff recently. What, exactly?
A flicker of curiosity stirred, unbidden, along with a hunch deep down.
The rain kept disrupting her focus, so Xie Yingnian tabled the delivery detour for now and concentrated on driving.
After navigating the worst snarl, her phone pinged on its mount—a text. She glanced over, steering one-handed while tapping the screen to add a new event a few days out: Pastry class.
The fan meet venue was spacious but packed. Zhong Jia had curated the setlist herself: covers from the music variety show, old band tracks, new singles.
The interactive games were sparse. To kick things off, she’d sung a slow ballad, seated with her guitar, plucking strings to sound-check. Before the melody swelled, she flashed a smile. “I’m not great at chit-chat, so I’ll sing more. Hope it feels worth the ticket—see you next time.”
Her head was bowed, a few playful braids dangling on the left, no studs in her ears—just a blue diamond stud that lent her features a cool edge.
A female voice bellowed from the crowd, diaphragmatic and bold: “Your face alone is worth it—!”
Cheers and whoops erupted in agreement. Even with one ear deafened, Zhong Jia heard it crystal clear. She trembled holding back laughter, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as her in-ear monitor slipped from her ear.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Guess I’ll tell my agent to jack up prices next time…”
Zhong Jia quipped while readjusting her monitor. She was a tad better at handling teasing now, but her porcelain skin still betrayed her—cheeks flushing pink even on the screens.
Fans adored that onstage-offstage contrast, sweet and cool vibes blending seamlessly.
Halfway through, during fan interactions, Zhong Jia outed herself as a gaming disaster—nine losses out of ten. When she finally snagged a win, she bounced like a kid, ecstatic.
One fan wore a No-Face mask, stood about five-nine, draped in a gray-and-white plaid trench coat with straight shoulders and a killer figure. Silent from start to finish, she let out a soft chuckle at Zhong Jia’s joy.
Oddly, amid the din, Zhong Jia caught that faint breathy laugh. She froze with the mic in hand, but before she could react, the fan was descending the stage with the others, her back obscured.
Wait—no, that silhouette felt familiar. Those pants too…
The lights blazed. A wet patch darkened the hem of the fan’s suit trousers, the waterline stark. But it hadn’t been raining when doors opened.
Fans murmured excitedly, some sporting smug auntie grins. Zhong Jia snapped out of it at a shout, realizing she’d trailed the fan to the stage’s edge. She paused, then instinctively hugged her from behind.
Xie Yingnian had no mic clipped to her waistband. Her mask revealed only a pair of long, almond-shaped eyes—deep and serene, now softened. She turned her head, murmuring something only they could hear.
“So you threw the game to make me happy?” Zhong Jia forgot she was still wired.
Her voice boomed out, igniting whoops from the crowd. Even those lost in her songs whipped out phones to record, chanting in unison: “Kiss! Kiss!”
Shi Heng had thought that, now middle-aged, he was long past the point of being swayed by cheesy idol drama tropes. But then his daughter poked at the corner of his mouth. “Dad, that grin of yours looks seriously creepy.”
He was speechless for a long moment. Clearing his throat a few times, he straightened up, wiped the smile from his face, and adopted the stern demeanor of a father. “Your scores on the monthly exam dropped again, didn’t they? Maybe it’s time to sign you up for cram school. Your mom has been nagging me about it nonstop…”
In just a few short sentences, he managed to wilt the nation’s bright young flower into a limp, soggy leaf. Shi Heng felt utterly refreshed as he turned his gaze back to the two women on stage. He couldn’t resist muttering, “Looks just like a wedding scene. If you’re going to do it, at least send me an invitation.”
A Cha nearly jumped out of her skin when a video call request popped up on her phone. She accepted it and immediately hissed Jujiu’s real name through gritted teeth. “Give it a rest! Wasn’t the text live enough for you? Who told you not to come yourself? And you’re reimbursing my data charges!”
“A private schedule like this? No way I could tell Teacher Xie—she’d never allow it.” Jujiu mumbled the words from her couch at home, munching on a handful of chips. “Besides, I’m on my period break. Teacher Xie’s studio is super employee-friendly. Don’t try to fool me—I’ve been there before. Free Wi-Fi and everything.”
The kiss that everyone had been eagerly waiting for never materialized.
Though Xie Yingnian could get creative with a hundred and eighty different ways to play in private—and public settings were occasionally one of them—she always drew a clear line between fun and work. She had her reasons for holding back.
Music had always just been background noise to her before. But since Zhong Jia loved it, Xie Yingnian gave it her full respect. Her own status and position inevitably led outsiders to question or misunderstand Zhong Jia’s talents, which made it all the more important to steer clear of any appearances.
Naturally, she never mentioned the playlist in her car stereo that consisted entirely of Zhong Jia’s songs.
Xie Yingnian still struggled to express her love and affection as directly as most people might. She buried such details deep, and Zhong Jia had only stumbled upon this one by chance—because the playlist was named with six digits: their shared birthdays.
As the final song wrapped up, Zhong Jia took a bow and left the stage, her steps light and bouncy, carrying her away at a brisk pace.
In the dressing room, Xie Yingnian lounged half-seated on the edge of the makeup counter, her head bent as she typed out replies to messages. Footsteps approached, and she glanced up to find the person she’d been waiting for right in front of her.
Zhong Jia spread her arms wide, planting her hands on either side of Xie Yingnian on the counter—like she was trapping her in place, though it was really just an excuse to lean in close.
Laughter sparkled in her eyes as she tilted her head back slightly. The upward angle of her gaze was utterly tempting, practically begging someone to do something about it. With a gentle finger, she tapped her own lips. “Can I kiss you now?”
