Beep.
The air conditioner’s timer had automatically shut off. Gao Sijin was woken by the heat early in the morning. He rubbed his bleary eyes. Today had started just like any other—with an absolutely terrible sleeping posture.
Tsukiyuki Rio clung tightly to Gao Sijin’s body, refusing to let go. It had been like this since three in the morning. Every time Rio fell asleep, she would instinctively gravitate toward Gao Sijin. Her arms, fair and smooth as polished mutton-fat jade, wound around his head. Her delicate, shapely chest buried his face completely, faintly exuding a milky fragrance. Her long, beautiful legs hooked around his waist, impossible to disentangle, as if he were her personal body pillow.
Whether her sleeping posture was truly that bad, or she was deliberately pretending, he had no way of knowing. But the air conditioning had been set very cold then, so Gao Sijin hadn’t minded much. Feeling the warmth of her skin, breathing in her delicate orchid-like scent, his consciousness had gradually slipped into darkness.
“Good morning, Gao-kun.”
Her dark red eyes fluttered open, brimming with tenderness. Her pretty face drew close, seeking something.
Gao Sijin wrapped his arms around her slender, snowy neck and met her halfway, somewhat clumsily. She quietly slipped her tongue in, as if trying to siphon every last trace of warmth from his body. Her bewitching crimson eyes closed, utterly enraptured.
To Gao Sijin, she felt like a black morass, slowly but surely pulling him deeper into its depths. Her willow-leaf eyebrows arched like crescent moons. Even though he knew everything now, he still couldn’t forget that initial heart-pounding feeling.
Even now, after the two of them had already been physically intimate, Gao Sijin still felt his heartbeat quicken. The wickedness concealed beneath the exterior of an innocent angel tormented him, yet he couldn’t resist it. Still, he could never forget his hometown and his family…
Their kiss ended, and the two of them climbed out of bed hand in hand. Their bodies met each other’s gaze. Rio often wore a variety of outfits to show him. As long as Gao Sijin wanted, there was no article of clothing too embarrassing that Tsukiyuki Rio would refuse.
“Today, your second volume is being published.”
Tsukiyuki Rio opened the wardrobe and changed into a maid outfit identical to the heroine’s in his book. Rio cosplaying as his own character couldn’t really be called just similar—it was, quite literally, identical. They both had black hair and crimson eyes. The only difference was the hairstyle. Rio had tied her hair into a waist-length ponytail, making her image completely match Katakura Hayabusa’s previous illustrations of the heroine.
“Rio, are you playing the role of a maid today?”
“Yes, Master. With your second volume releasing today, as your lover, I naturally have to cater to your maid fetish as well.”
As one of Gao Sijin’s most loyal fans, Rio naturally had no trouble portraying his heroine—she even surpassed the original in some ways. After all, Rio’s mansion housed actual, bona fide maids. They had received excellent educations, far removed from the stereotypical maid that catered to otaku tastes as Gao Sijin had imagined.
Stepping out of the room with Tsukiyuki Rio, he found Uzuki and Yu Qingxue already seated on the sofa. Seeing him, they both offered smiles.
In the distance, Morgana, Emilia, and the other maids, dressed in long British-style maid skirts, were methodically preparing breakfast. Yu Qingxue’s apartment was a duplex with well over ten rooms, yet it never felt lonely. The only thing that made Gao Sijin slightly uncomfortable was that he was the sole male in the entire apartment.
“Uzuki, we’ll head to the editorial department soon. You can show Editor Mishima the story you wrote last night,” Gao Sijin said during breakfast, his gaze settling on her. “Speaking of which, just what kind of story did you write last night? Would you mind letting me be your first reader?”
“Of course, Sijin. It’s a little embarrassing, but if you want to read it… I’ll let you see it.” Uzuki’s ears flushed red. She fidgeted a bit shyly, but her eyes were full of anticipation.
That look was easy for Gao Sijin to read. She was clearly confident in her work and hoped to be praised.
Having seen through this, Gao Sijin resolved that no matter how well or poorly written it was, he would spare no words in praising her when he read it later. If there were any issues, he would find a tactful way to point them out later.
Gao Sijin didn’t like crushing a newcomer’s confidence.
It reminded him of times he had occasionally encountered people who, from the vantage point of a veteran author, mercilessly attacked newcomers. Even if a new writer truly had problems, they shouldn’t be pointed out so ruthlessly or derisively. The first step was always the hardest. Newcomers needed encouragement, even if it was forced.
“I’m done eating.”
Gao Sijin set down his chopsticks and followed Uzuki into her room. The pink-themed room was full of girlish charm and rather cute.
“Sijin, I wrote so much last night.”
Dense lines of Japanese met his eyes, making him break out in a cold sweat. If translated into Chinese, Uzuki had written at least twenty thousand words last night. Pulling up a chair, Gao Sijin began to read Uzuki’s story, word by word.
Even if you say you can live on your own, that’s clearly a lie.
The heroine of Uzuki’s story was her former high school class president. The story explored what kind of life she might have had if she hadn’t died at her mother’s hands.
He had originally assumed that Uzuki, having never written before, would commit some rookie mistakes. In truth, her story was like a bright yet lonely watercolor painting. Her past experiences in Hell had shaped the style of her words.
“Someone who truly wants to die wouldn’t press a gun to their temple before pulling the trigger. Doing that risks failure. Someone who truly wants to die puts the gun in their mouth and then pulls the trigger.” As Gao Sijin read the calm, composed words, a ripple of emotion surged through his heart—painful and searing. “Uzuki, this was your own thought once, wasn’t it?”
Uzuki lowered her head.
“I don’t think about those things anymore. It’s not really a good work, is it? Your face looks pale, Sijin. It’s pretty awful, right?”
“No. This is a good work. Tragedy is like the Venus de Milo with her broken arms. The incompleteness itself is a form of beauty.”
In the presence of true genius, one sees one’s own inferiority.
And Uzuki was precisely that: a genius.
Yu Hua grew up guarding a morgue; his prose was cold and keen as a scalpel. Mao Buyi worked as a nurse in a hospital; his lyrics were solitary yet aloof.
Sometimes, artistic depth stems from the cruelty of reality.
The unique experiences Uzuki’s mother had forced upon her gave her writing a style that was tranquil yet sharp, gentle yet restrained.
In the story, the class president’s boyfriend betrays her and goes on to live a happy life. She later meets a second boyfriend and has a child. After enduring failures in both her love life and career, she lives a life of impoverished happiness. She might even be able to write something on the level of Life of Matsuko the Unfortunate.
Beautiful. Calm. Yet capable of stirring the heart into upheaval. That was what a true work ought to be.
Gao Sijin found himself falling in love spiritually. He had fallen for Uzuki’s words. Recalling how Uzuki had once kissed his lips, his heart itched as if clawed by a cat’s paw. He knew it was wrong. But as he stole a glance at Uzuki’s pure and radiant, exquisitely delicate profile, he could not deceive his own heart. He could only bury it deep within…
