At the end of September, after nearly two months of judging, the results of the Newcomer Award were finally announced.

Shi Yin had simply submitted her manuscript to Gu Congli and then happily gone off to rest. She hadn’t paid attention to anything else since, so when she received the sample issue of the magazine and saw the title Hong Ming Long Que (Red Cry Dragon Sparrow ), she was momentarily stunned.

She had submitted it under the title Hong Ming , and even reluctantly asked Gu Congli if it could be changed to Hong Ming Long Que . The man had coldly refused.

Yet, here it was—changed.

He must have thought the name sounded cooler. Otherwise, with his stubborn personality, why would he have altered it?

Feeling triumphant, Shi Yin shifted her gaze and scanned the rankings.

Second place.

After countless sleepless nights, after losing who knows how much water from stress, after being meticulously scrutinized page by page by someone as meticulous as Gu Congli, her work still hadn’t secured first place.

The piece above hers was titled Peach War .

Shi Yin: “….”

What was the name of that new work the domineering school idol, Xiao Tian Tian, mentioned during their blind date a few months ago?

All expression drained from Shi Yin’s face as she blanked out for several seconds.

This Lin Youhe—just because he found it interesting, took a short course, and transitioned from drawing shoujo manga to creating this shonen piece that crushed her beneath it, leaving her struggling helplessly without any chance of escape.

And what the hell kind of title is Peach War ?

Shi Yin had never seen a shonen manga with such a ridiculous name.

In disbelief, she quickly flipped to his work, ready to study this genius creation, when her phone buzzed with incoming messages.

Coincidentally, it was him—the Sweet Apple Candy-sensei.

Shi Yin wasn’t in the mood to talk to him at all. Fuming with frustration, she decided to check out what made him so special and naturally ignored his messages.

When she didn’t reply, his messages kept piling up relentlessly.

Unable to endure it any longer, Shi Yin grabbed her phone, unlocked it, and opened the chat.

[School Idol Xiao Tian Tian]: It seems the Newcomer Award results are out. Did the editorial department send you a sample issue?

[School Idol Xiao Tian Tian]: You participated too, right? How did it go?

[School Idol Xiao Tian Tian]: This year’s batch isn’t great. Not a single one stands out.

[School Idol Xiao Tian Tian]: But have you seen Shi Yi’s work? The one in second place.

[School Idol Xiao Tian Tian]: I need to apologize to her. She’s the only one besides me worth reading this year. This piece is much better than her last one.

Shi Yin: “….”

Expressionless, she exited WeChat, opened Weibo, scrolled to the bottom of his profile, took a screenshot, reopened WeChat, and sent it to him.

Lin Youhe had been waiting for her reply for a while, assuming she hadn’t placed and was feeling down, unwilling to talk to him.

He actually liked the matchmaker’s suggestion of this blind date candidate—her interests aligned with his, and they got along well. Even as friends, it was nice. As a mangaka, he lived a rather solitary life, rarely finding people in real life to discuss these topics with. Meeting someone like Shi Yin, a fellow enthusiast, made him happy.

However, he had little experience dealing with women and didn’t know how to comfort someone who hadn’t won. After some thought, he slowly typed: [There’s always next year. With effort, you’ll make it. Look at Shi Yi—her previous work was a mess, but this Hong Ming Long Que is pretty good—]

Before he finished, Shi Yin sent over a picture.

Lin Youhe paused and opened it.

It was a screenshot of a Weibo post. On the personal profile, there was a big pie-faced cat as the avatar, with the nickname 【Shi Yi】 beside it.

He glanced at it briefly without realizing its significance, his attention quickly drawn to something below.

Lin Youhe noticed that among the “recently visited profiles” section of the screenshot, his own profile picture appeared.

So she often checked his Weibo?

But why?

Concrete-minded Lin Youhe pondered for thirty seconds, and a clear answer gradually formed in his mind.

On the day of their blind date, she had acted strangely—nervous, anxious, and somewhat distracted.

It reminded him of the heroines in his shoujo manga on their first meeting with someone they liked—nervously avoiding eye contact, wanting to run away yet also wanting to get closer.

Lin Youhe was shocked.

He felt he had uncovered a shocking secret.

Though he was fairly handsome, for some reason, no girl had ever pursued him over the years.

Lin Youhe’s emotions became complicated—a subtle mix of “I thought we were friends, but you’re trying to seduce me” feelings, like a red flag rising slowly.

The once-dominant school idol now felt troubled, melancholic, and wistful.

But since he had a good impression of Shi Yin, perhaps slowly getting to know her wouldn’t be unpleasant.

After some deliberation, he gently asked: [Do you often check my Weibo?]

Shi Yin replied instantly: [Yeah, I’ve been following the serialized webtoon on your Weibo.]

Lin Youhe thought, of course.

Just as he was about to say something, another message came through.

[To see what kind of webtoon the guy who trashed my work draws.]

Lin Youhe was confused.

Then a third message followed: [You’ve been curious about my pen name, haven’t you? Let me formally introduce myself—I’m the Shi Yi whose colors aren’t good, whose storyboarding lacks impact, whose fight scenes look like a game of house. It’s unbelievable that anyone can debut as a mangaka these days.]

Lin Youhe: “….”

Unaware that Lin Youhe’s brain was now filled with sugar, teenage heartthrobs, and rapidly drafting a 30-page storyboard for a romantic shoujo manga, Shi Yin had dropped a bombshell and left him in an awkward, prolonged silence.

Shi Yin kindly gave him time to process, heading to the fridge to grab some snacks. Returning to the couch with an armful of goodies, she settled in cross-legged, ready to start reading Lin Youhe’s Peach War .

Because the title sounded so sweet, she kept misreading it as Peach Love .

Just as she was about to open her yogurt with a bag of chips, the doorbell rang.

Shi Yin felt like she was busy today.

She tossed the manga aside, holding an unopened yogurt, and peered through the peephole.

Glancing at the time, she noted it was 11:30 AM.

At least he hadn’t come early to disturb her sleep.

Shi Yin thought this was a significant improvement, almost worthy of tears of gratitude.

She opened the door, and Gu Congli walked in, closing the door behind him.

Shi Yin stepped back, watching him change shoes: “Good afternoon, Chief Editor.”

As she spoke, she wondered if she still owed him something.

Thinking hard, she couldn’t recall anything. She’d already finished the storyboard for Chapter Two, and it wasn’t time to submit the full manuscript. There shouldn’t be any outstanding debt.

She had no idea why the Chief Editor had shown up.

Unable to figure it out, she assumed there must be a reason and concluded she might have forgotten something. Tentatively, she asked: “Are you working overtime again today?”

“No,” Gu Congli replied casually, walking into the room and glancing at the pile of snacks on her coffee table: “Is this what you’re having for lunch?”

Shi Yin had spent the morning lounging in bed and hadn’t decided on lunch yet, so she’d just grabbed some snacks. Holding the yogurt, she frowned slightly and hummed: “I don’t know what to eat.”

Gu Congli lowered his eyes to the yogurt in her hand, raising an eyebrow slightly: “What did you have for breakfast?”

Shi Yin scratched her nose, averting her gaze like a caught child, not answering. She fiddled with the yogurt, the plastic seal crinkling softly.

Gu Congli understood.

Reaching out, he snatched the yogurt from her hand and tossed it onto the nearby sofa: “Don’t drink this on an empty stomach.”

Shi Yin stood there, her hands empty. Startled, she looked up as Gu Congli headed toward the kitchen.

As he walked, he rolled up his sleeves, layer by layer, revealing his forearms.

He looked slim, his hands angular, yet not frail. His exposed forearms had smooth, defined muscles.

Entering the kitchen, he opened the fridge, his light brown eyes scanning its contents.

Shi Yin trailed behind like a shadow, leaning against the kitchen doorway, awkwardly asking: “Uh, Chief Editor, are you looking for something to eat?”

“Mhm.”

“Well… do you want chips? I don’t really have proper food…” Shi Yin struggled to say.

“…”

Gu Congli glanced at her, confirming that her fridge held nothing but snacks before closing the door: “Let’s order takeout.”

Shi Yin let out a sigh of relief. Suddenly, she realized that as a supposedly sophisticated independent young woman, her home lacked ingredients—only stocked with snacks, beer, and cola—and she relied entirely on takeout. It seemed a bit… unrefined.

She felt the need to defend herself.

“Because Qiuqiu hasn’t been around lately, there’s no food at home. Normally, he buys a lot!” She added considerately, “Qiuqiu’s the assistant you met last time.”

So you see, it’s not that I’m living unrefined—it’s just that my assistant isn’t here.

After explaining, she waited for a response—but none came.

Only then did Shi Yin realize that at some point, the air in the room had become eerily silent and icy cold.

Gu Congli turned around silently, standing by the fridge, his gaze dark and piercing as he stared at her.

His eyes felt like icy needles pinning her in place, as if trying to pierce through her.

Despite it being late September, S City still felt like midsummer—hot and humid. Yet Shi Yin felt a chill run down her neck, an inexplicable urge to flee.

There was a sense that if she didn’t run now, she’d never escape.

She raised her hand, touching her cool neck, carefully changing the subject: “Um, Chief Editor, what would you like to eat?”

He didn’t speak.

Shi Yin felt a surge of frustration. What was wrong with this enigmatic man now?

Was he angry because she didn’t have food at home?

That reason was utterly baffling.

So why had he come to her house? Just to eat?

She suddenly felt irritated.

It had always been like this, from the past until now. She was like a headless fly, while he was unpredictable and difficult to read. Their interactions were based entirely on guesswork.

She no longer harbored any other desires toward him. She just wanted to work honestly and maintain their professional relationship.

Shi Yin didn’t know what was wrong or where things had gone awry. No matter the time or their relationship, she was always the passive one.

No matter what she did, it was never right.

Shi Yin’s shoulders slowly slumped, her gaze lowering as her voice fell quietly in the silent house: “Chief Editor, if there’s anything you’re dissatisfied with, please tell me. We’re now partners in work, right? If you keep everything bottled up, it’ll eventually affect our efficiency… I also want to—”

She didn’t finish. Gu Congli suddenly interrupted: “Must it only be a work relationship?”

Shi Yin looked up, bewildered: “Huh?”

He calmly gazed at her, his brown eyes heavy with an emotion that clung viscously. His words came slowly, his voice eerily soft: “Can’t it be something else?”