Lu Jiaheng and Gu Congli were polar opposites, with no similarities whatsoever. Their friendship was purely coincidental. Lu Jiaheng would pursue any girl he liked, creating opportunities if none existed.

Gu Congli, on the other hand, resembled an emotionally detached Buddha, as if he had already renounced worldly desires, untouched by mortal concerns.

At least, that’s what Lu Jiaheng had always thought.

Until a few months ago.

Gu Congli’s advertising studio was called Yue Ma . He wasn’t exactly the boss—most of the work was handed over to his classmates. After staying for less than two years, this “Buddha” went abroad for further studies.

In April this year, the Buddha returned, and Lu Jiaheng, along with his wife, threw him a welcome-back banquet.

Lu Jiaheng’s gatherings were always lively, attended by both men and women. The private room was filled with booming music and laughter. Gu Congli sat in the corner of the sofa, slightly tilting his head. His entire figure was shrouded in dim shadows, except for the cigarette between his fingers, its ember glowing faintly.

Midway through the party, someone suddenly called out: “Teacher Gu?”

The voice was surprised yet delighted, almost drowned out by the background music but still clearly audible.

Gu Congli froze, a nerve seemingly triggered, tensing up momentarily.

He lifted his head, cigarette still in his mouth, squinting.

The woman before him was heavily made-up with red lips, her appearance strikingly beautiful.

Unfamiliar.

The tension slowly eased, accompanied by an indescribable emotion.

He didn’t speak.

The woman pursed her lips, nervous yet excited: “You might not remember me. I went to Experimental High School One. I’ve seen you around school. My name is Qin Yan.”

Gu Congli nodded faintly and shifted his gaze away.

But the woman showed no intention of leaving. She sat down next to him: “I never expected to meet you again. You were a legend back then,” she laughed, half-jokingly, “a heartbreaker.”

Gu Congli lowered his head slightly, letting the hand holding the cigarette droop. He exhaled a puff of smoke.

She spoke; he didn’t respond. Qin Yan felt a bit awkward.

But she wasn’t willing to leave just yet. Encountering him after so many years, Qin Yan believed it was fate.

They made a perfect pair—he handsome, she beautiful. Moreover, she was stunning and already a celebrity. Even if Gu Congli had a girlfriend, it didn’t matter. Qin Yan believed that no matter who the woman was, she could compete.

After sitting silently beside him for a while, just as Qin Yan thought Gu Congli wouldn’t say anything more, he suddenly spoke: “What grade were you in back then?”

Qin Yan felt a bit smug. Even Gu Congli, it seemed, couldn’t resist such flattery.

“Second year.”

He flicked the ash off his cigarette nonchalantly: “Honors class?”

Qin Yan paused, somewhat stunned.

The Gu Congli she remembered carried a cold yet gentle demeanor. But the man before her now reclined lazily on the sofa, his long eyes slightly lowered. There was something cold and unrestrained about him as he smoked, as if he had transformed into someone else entirely.

Having spent years in the entertainment industry, Qin Yan had seen plenty of handsome men. Yet now, she felt her cheeks flush.

“No, I was in Class One,” she said quickly. His expression remained indifferent, unreadable, but she sensed that if this ended here, there would be no continuation between them.

Qin Yan hesitated briefly and hastily added, “But I was right next to the honors class. I knew a lot of people from there. For example, Gou Jingwen, their class representative—I ran into him recently. He asked me if I wanted to join their upcoming class reunion.”

Her intuition was sharp. Upon hearing this, the man indeed paused, extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray. He said calmly, “Reuniting with old classmates is nice.”

Qin Yan’s smile blossomed like a flower. Never had she appreciated the short, nerdy neighbor from the honors class as much as she did now. She successfully exchanged phone numbers with Gu Congli.

Lu Jiaheng naturally noticed all this. He had assumed that the Buddha would prefer a nun or fairy-like woman, not this type.

After Qin Yan left, he curiously leaned over and lazily asked, “Interested in a female celebrity?”

Gu Congli completely ignored him.

Prince Lu thought he had guessed correctly. Feeling responsible, he decided to find a woman to “tame” Gu Congli, especially since his own beloved happened to adore cold, distant men like Gu Congli.

Lu Jiaheng meticulously planned everything, acting like an overly concerned father. He thoroughly researched Qin Yan’s recent schedule of movie appearances, interviews, variety shows, and other engagements, ready to make his move. He called Gu Congli.

Gu Congli’s tone was icy: “What?”

Prince Lu replied leisurely: “Immortal Gu, want a gift? Take it or leave it.”

Gu Congli: “No thanks, I’m busy.”

Their call lasted less than thirty seconds before it ended.

Lu Jiaheng: “….”

Lu Jiaheng felt utterly baffled by the situation.

That night, he vented to his wife, lamenting how he had gone out of his way for this ungrateful man, only to have the phone hung up on him—a frustrating outcome.

Prince Lu rarely endured such grievances. In his life, only his wife had ever cut him off mid-call—but that was different; it was sweet.

Chu Zhi, however, remained calm and shared some information: “They’ve been asking him to return to Yue Ma too. He initially agreed, but then suddenly changed his mind and went to work as the editor-in-chief of a manga magazine.”

Lu Jiaheng thought he’d misheard: “Doing what?”

“A manga magazine editor-in-chief. It’s called Crimson Moon , I think,” Chu Zhi said slowly, finding it rather intriguing. “So Master Gu likes manga?”

Lu Jiaheng didn’t believe for a second that Gu Congli had suddenly developed a passion for comics.

This man always acted with clear purpose. If he had already decided to return to Yue Ma, then this sudden change of heart must also have a reason—it was unlikely that he had suddenly fallen in love with the publishing industry.

With minimal effort, Lu Jiaheng learned about Shi Yin.

The fact that Gu Congli had actively requested another editor’s author was unusual. Either he had lost his mind, or there was something special about this author.

Sure enough, she turned out to be a graduate of First High School, coincidentally during the time Teacher Gu had been teaching there. Moreover, the celebrity they had previously “chatted happily” with and exchanged numbers with was her classmate.

Lu Jiaheng thought Gu Congli’s actions were glaringly obvious. It was practically a declaration to the world: See this author I took over? I’m making my move.

Anyone who missed that was blind.

Prince Lu was a straightforward person, not one for beating around the bush. On one occasion, he casually asked, “Do you like her?”

Gu Congli remained silent for a long time, ultimately saying nothing.

Lu Jiaheng interpreted his silence as confirmation.

In truth, Gu Congli simply didn’t know.

When he left six years ago, Gu Congli merely found her troublesome.

Perhaps it was genetic—he was naturally cold-hearted. Back then, agreeing to teach cram-school students at First High was partly to distance himself from Gu Lin.

Besides, the job was easy: teach a class, and the rest of the time was free. No hassle.

Gu Congli hadn’t anticipated meeting someone so troublesome.

She was unbearably annoying.

Always bouncing around, chattering endlessly. Even when ignored, she kept talking, like a chirping sparrow. A harsh word could make her cry secretly.

Nothing like a typical girl. She didn’t even know her own menstrual cycle, drinking ice-cold cola and sitting on chilly staircases waiting for him for hours.

Pei Shi once remarked, “You’re quite kind to her. Even Teacher Gu has moments of softness.”

Gu Congli denied it.

He had no heart—how could he be soft?

It was just that when a girl looked at him with reddened eyes, he inexplicably felt a strange, irritating emotion.

Gu Congli was actually very lazy and disliked trouble. So when he realized Shi Yin would bring complications, he decisively left.

He went home, argued with Gu Lin, visited his mother, and got dragged into opening a studio by a college friend.

His life returned to normal. The trouble disappeared. He worked until dawn every day, sleeping only four or five hours before continuing.

Gu Congli thought this was fine.

Until one day, he returned to the art studio.

Without realizing it, his steps halted. He stood at the reception desk, requesting the attendance records of students during his absence. Sitting on the nearby sofa, he began flipping through them page by page.

From the first book to the last, from the current day back to six months prior, he finally reached the final page. Looking at the unfamiliar names, he suddenly felt a sense of confusion.

He didn’t know what he was searching for.

Something felt off.

A year later, on the day of the college entrance exam results, Gu Congli returned to First High.

He went to the rooftop of the Arts Building.

The rooftop was covered with lush green grass, surrounded by several rows of benches. Although the school prohibited access, students still sneaked up there.

For instance, over a year ago, a group of bold students had stayed up late at night, telling ghost stories there.

Even now, it was the same group. As soon as he reached the stairwell door, he saw the space had already been occupied.

The evening glow was gentle, and night was approaching. Eighteen-year-old boys and girls sat in a circle on the grass, with several cans of beer nearby, most of them empty.

The girl looked familiar. Her jet-black hair was tied into a ponytail, slightly messy, with a few strands hanging loose.

As if sensing something, she suddenly glanced in his direction.

Their eyes met, and Gu Congli didn’t move.

Shi Yin tilted her head, quiet for a few seconds, then abruptly stood up and walked toward him.

Behind her, a group of drunken teenagers celebrated, oblivious to her movements.

She held a can of beer, her slender, pale index finger lightly touching her soft, rosy lips. She hushed softly, leaning close to whisper, “Don’t speak… If you talk, I’ll wake up…”

Her body was warm and slightly intoxicated, pressing against him before he could react. She moved her finger from her lips, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him into the shadowed area opposite the stairwell entrance.

The summer night breeze was gentle, carrying a faint fragrance. She swayed unsteadily before him, looking up with flushed cheeks, holding her beer high. Her voice was soft and slurred: “Farewell to my past and former self.”

That night, Gu Congli had a dream.

In the dream, it was deep night, on the rooftop of a building. A group of teenagers caught sneaking out hurriedly ran away with lanterns in hand.

Then, under the bright moonlight, someone suddenly stopped and turned around. Their sparkling black eyes gazed at him from afar, blinking softly.