For the entire following week, Shi Yin was painfully reflecting on why she harbored improper thoughts about Gu Congli.

While rushing to finish her manuscript, she reflected, staying up night after night with red-rimmed eyes, her heart weeping blood.

“ECHO” was Shi Yin’s debut work, her first serialization. She had drawn it consistently, rain or shine, for four years. To be fair, deadline delays aside, her work attitude and the quality of her work were indeed impeccable.

Moreover, this was the final chapter, the decisive battle, the epilogue. Many characters appeared, and the pacing needed appropriate adjustments. Shi Yin wanted to give it the best possible ending, striving for perfection in every single line and facial expression, which was extremely draining to draw.

The storyboard drafts for “Hong Ming” finally received the editor’s approval. With August fast approaching and not a single page of the final manuscript started, Shi Yin truly had no time to offer any advice for Lin Youhe’s new serialization.

She roughly explained the situation to Lin Youhe. Being in the same profession, he understood the magnitude of her workload and was very reasonable and empathetic, expressing his understanding and suggesting they talk later when she had time.

Shi Yin felt that compared to Gu Congli, Lin Youhe was simply like an angel.

Just as she was feeling emotional, the angel spoke again: [Wait, if you’re aiming for early August, are you also planning to participate in the Newcomer Award?]

The Newcomer Grand Award wasn’t necessarily limited to undebuted newcomers. This competition, jointly organized by several relatively prestigious publishing houses in the industry, was held annually and enjoyed high exposure and popularity.

Furthermore, works winning the top three places were almost guaranteed a serialization opportunity.

Many manga artists who had been drawing in obscurity for years would also take this chance, submitting meticulously prepared works, praying they could clinch a top-three spot and serialization, gain recognition, become famous overnight, make a name for themselves, and join the ranks of renowned manga artists.

Someone like Shi Yin, with only one serialized work, was considered a semi-newcomer in the industry. And being called a genius manga artist was only because her first work had secured a serialization spot; her actual popularity and buzz were still far from sufficient.

Simply put, her “ECHO” wasn’t popular enough.

It hadn’t caused much of a stir during its serialization, and its popularity ranking based on reader feedback had consistently hovered around the upper-middle range. It only recently achieved its best rank, fifth place, because it was nearing its conclusion.

To use Editor Zhao’s words from before, her art style was too subdued, not intense enough for a shonen manga.

So, it wasn’t entirely unreasonable that a true genius shojo romance manga artist like Teacher Sweet Apple Candy, who consistently ranked in the top three in popularity polls, looked down on her.

She really wasn’t good enough.

This was the second time in Shi Yin’s life she truly understood the meaning of “not good enough.” The first time was back in high school when she decided to take the art school entrance exam.

She used to think that art exams were for students who had limited prospects in cultural subjects but still wanted to get into good schools.

It wasn’t until she truly entered that world that she understood Gu Congli’s phrase, “Art is not an escape, it’s a choice.”

No one who came out of the art studio was mediocre.

They weren’t settling for second best; rather, they had made choices for their future earlier, choices born purely out of love and dedication to their dreams.

As for those who came to learn painting simply to escape cultural subjects, even upon entering this new world, they would continue to muddle along just as before; their lives wouldn’t change because of it.

For a whole week, Shi Yin didn’t see Gu Congli again.

Editor-in-Chief Gu seemed to have evaporated from the face of the earth – no WeChat messages, no phone calls, no appearances. However, since the storyboard draft for the first chapter of the new serialization was fine, and Shi Yin couldn’t hand in the color spread and manuscript pages yet anyway, the two really had nothing they needed to communicate about.

About ten pages of the “ECHO” manuscript remained. The new assistant Liang Qiushi had helped find arrived the next day. Shi Yin pulled three or four consecutive all-nighters and completed the entire manuscript.

She spent the remaining two days entirely focused on drawing the color spread.

Her coloring skills were average to begin with, so a centerpiece like a color spread couldn’t be treated carelessly at all.

By Saturday, Shi Yin had been operating on only three or four hours of sleep per day for a week straight.

So when the doorbell rang at 9:30 that morning, she was so annoyed she felt like hitting someone.

The doorbell continued its rhythm, ringing every thirty seconds, unhurried, neither rushed nor slow, as if it would keep ringing persistently, endlessly, if the person inside didn’t open the door.

Shi Yin vaguely recognized the rhythm, but she was severely sleep-deprived, her mind filled with fog and overflowing anger, with no thought of restraint.

She didn’t even ask who it was, just slammed down the security door’s inner latch.

Gu Congli stood at the door, his long fingers still hovering over the doorbell button.

Shi Yin leaned against the doorframe, head tilted, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, looking at him through sleepy, dazed eyes, too lazy to even call out his name.

Gu Congli glanced at his watch; it was indeed 9:30.

He entered, closing the door behind him: “You open the door for just anyone?”

“Who else would ring the doorbell like that?” Shi Yin’s tone was heavy with hostility, mixed with a stuffy nasal sound.

Gu Congli lowered his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the dark shadows under her eyes and the faint bloodshot redness in the whites. His expression turned icy: “You pulled an all-nighter yesterday?”

Shi Yin was too sleepy to keep her eyes open, suppressing her anger and patiently replying: “I’ve pulled five consecutive all-nighters.”

He paused, slowly narrowing his eyes, his voice dropping very low, carrying an eerie softness: “Five days?”

“The manuscript and the color spread, delivered to you before Saturday – didn’t you say that?” Shi Yin, filled with intense morning grumpiness, her head still dizzy and incredibly annoyed, sounded absolutely furious.

Gu Congli suddenly fell silent.

Shi Yin waited a moment, heard nothing, and cracked open her tightly shut eyes a sliver.

The man looked down at her, eyelashes lowered, casting shadows, his light brown eyes appearing dark and deep, his expression unreadable.

As her eyes flicked up, his gaze shifted away. He pulled a pair of slippers from the shoe rack, entered the room with practiced ease, and placed his laptop bag on the coffee table. “Go sleep. I won’t disturb you.”

Shi Yin had no energy left to argue or talk further. She almost stumbled into the bedroom with her eyes closed, pulling the door shut behind her.

She slept straight through until six in the evening.

The bedroom was steeped in a thick, soft drowsiness. The dim room was utterly silent. For a fleeting moment, Shi Yin felt dazed, as if she had been completely abandoned by the world.

She blinked. Her stomach grumbled loudly, and the feeling of hunger dispelled that strange illusion. She sat up, staring blankly for five minutes. Once she felt more grounded, she slowly crawled out of bed, grabbed the empty cup from the bedside table, and went out to the kitchen to get some water.

The living room was also dim, the sky outside half-dark, casting the entire house in a low-saturation grayish-purple hue. Only on the coffee table was a rectangular patch of light.

Like a laptop screen.

And from behind that screen, a head slowly emerged.

Hearing the sound, the head turned. His facial features were indistinct in the dim light; only the contours of his eyes and brows and the sharp line of his jaw were visible.

A voice like thin ice broke the silence: “Slept enough?”

Shi Yin, holding the empty cup, stared blankly at him, startled into taking a step back.

She had completely forgotten there was another person in the house.

Shi Yin had no memory of opening the door for him that morning; she had been completely dazed at the time, even thinking she might have been dreaming.

She opened her mouth, tilted her head slightly: “Editor-in-Chief Gu?”

Gu Congli made an “Mm” sound in response.

Shi Yin finally understood the situation. She pattered over to the entrance, placed the water cup on the small bar counter, and went to turn on the living room light. “Why didn’t you turn on the light?”

“I didn’t expect you to sleep until dark.”

Click, the light switched on. Both of them, having been immersed in dim light for a long time, squinted simultaneously.

Gu Congli, who had been facing the computer, adjusted relatively quickly, adapting after only a moment before looking up.

The girl, just woken up, wore a camisole nightdress and stood barefoot on the floor, rubbing her feet together one over the other. Her head was bowed as she rubbed her eyes with one hand, her messy long hair hanging limply, partially obscuring her small, fair face.

After a moment, she adjusted to the light, looked up, then patted her forehead and started walking towards the bedroom. “Wait a bit longer, I’ll wash my face and wake myself up.”

Inside the bedroom, Shi Yin closed the door, stood still for five seconds, blinking her eyes in the darkness.

Gu Congli had stayed in her house until now, just sitting on the sofa outside, working on his laptop.

And she had been sleeping in the bedroom.

This scenario didn’t seem very logical.

Considering his past behavior—turning and leaving immediately after she slammed the door on him following their reunion, holding a grudge seemingly forever over being called an idiot—his current patience didn’t evoke gratitude in Shi Yin, but rather made her feel slightly creeped out.

However, she did feel apologetic, since he had genuinely waited until now.

Shi Yin felt too embarrassed to dawdle and take a bath. She quickly washed her face and brushed her teeth. Just as she was about to go out, she paused, looked down, and noticed her lace-trimmed camisole nightdress, worn without a bra underneath.

She silently retreated to the wardrobe, found underwear, put it on, and changed into a T-shirt and sports shorts.

Seriously, why does an editor like Gu Congli, who appears like a ghost and gives people no time to even change clothes properly, even exist? Who disappears for a whole week then suddenly shows up unannounced at the author’s house early on a Saturday morning? Who does that?

Silently complaining inwardly, Shi Yin opened the bedroom door. Having caught up on sleep, she felt refreshed and cheerful, apart from being hungry.

She skipped into the kitchen, picked up the electric kettle intending to fill it with water to boil, but found it heavy.

She blinked, twisted the lid open—the kettle was full, steam rising, warm to the touch.

Shi Yin craned her neck: “Editor-in-Chief Gu, did you boil water?”

Gu Congli’s gaze remained fixed on the computer screen; he didn’t look up. “I didn’t want to die of thirst.”

Shi Yin filled her cup, gulped down half of it in one go, put the cup down, and walked towards her studio.

Her apartment originally had two bedrooms, both quite large. One had been converted into a combination studio and study, with bookshelves lining three walls from floor to ceiling, comprehensively stocked with everything from classic literature and history from China and abroad to manga from various countries. Shi Yin turned on the lights, switched on her computer, transferred the completed manuscript pages and the color illustration file to Gu Congli, then came back out. She walked over to his side and watched him receive and open the files.

“Editor-in-Chief, your laptop’s battery life is amazing. What model is it?” Shi Yin asked sincerely.

“It’s six o’clock,” Gu Congli answered, avoiding the question. He paused, then asked somewhat inexplicably, “Hungry?”

Shi Yin nodded honestly. “A little.”

She suddenly remembered something else and let out an “Ah.” “Editor-in-Chief, how did you manage lunch?”

“Takeout.”

Shi Yin imagined Gu Congli opening a food delivery app, ordering takeout, retrieving it, and then holding a cheap ten-something yuan lunchbox. The image felt a bit surreal.

He had always maintained a god-like image in her mind, the type who didn’t need to eat, drink, or deal with mundane bodily functions.

Shi Yin felt a tiny pang of disillusionment, then snapped back to reality, still feeling embarrassed. “I made you wait for me for so long. Let me treat you to dinner tonight. Editor-in-Chief, is there anything you’d like to eat?”

Gu Congli lifted his eyelids, glanced at her, and said lightly, “It’s Saturday today. Aren’t you going out?”

Shi Yin was confused, not understanding what he was implying. “Huh? No, I’m not going out.”

“Oh,” he suddenly smiled, pushed the laptop forward slightly, and leaned back into the sofa, his light brown eyes clear and bright. “Then let’s eat at home.”