Countless times later, Shi Yin would reflect on how miraculous it was that she hadn’t died in her apartment that day. At the very least, given the situation, she had half-expected to lose a leg or something.

Though she’d graduated from university only a year ago and hadn’t dated anyone, Shi Yin had experienced the fluttering heartbeats of her teenage years. Even if she hadn’t “eaten pork,” she’d at least “seen pigs run.” If this kind of classic shojo manga or romance novel trope had been delivered by someone else, she might have indulged in some fanciful thoughts.

But this was Gu Congli.

So, not even a single fanciful thought crossed her mind.

Her brain froze for several seconds. For some inexplicable reason, the first thing that came to mind was her bold declaration in the taxi months ago: If I can finish thirty pages of manuscript, I’ll call you “Dad” three times.

Her actions outpaced her thoughts, and Shi Yin blurted out: “Father-daughter relationship?”

By the time she realized what she’d said, it was too late.

Gu Congli fell silent.

Shi Yin shrank back slightly, forcing out an awkward laugh: “I’m just joking.”

“…”

“Chief Editor, you’re still young.”

“…”

Shi Yin babbled incoherently: “You’ll have a daughter someday. Don’t rush, don’t rush.”

“…”

Gu Congli stared at her, his expression unreadable, but the icy, sinister aura from earlier dissipated.

The more Shi Yin spoke, the more wrong it felt. She rubbed her temples, her face crumpling with frustration, and decided to shut up: “Maybe I should just stop talking.”

To her surprise, Gu Congli suddenly smiled.

This smile was different from his previous overly radiant, strange grins. Seeing her utterly dejected expression, he lightly flicked his tongue over his lips, curving them into a faint smile. He walked over, raised his hand, and gently patted her head. His voice was soft: “Mhm, no rush. You’ll have one.”

Shi Yin’s heartbeat skipped two beats.

By the time Gu Congli left, Shi Yin still hadn’t figured out why he had come today.

He had ordered takeout from a famous tea restaurant—three pieces of crystal shrimp dumplings for over sixty yuan.

Shi Yin was so stunned by his casual head pat that it took her a while to recover. By the time she realized she was eating shrimp dumplings that cost twenty yuan each, she developed a renewed understanding of her editor-in-chief’s salary.

Now that she thought about it, the KFC burgers they’d eaten before must have been beneath him. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to eat them.

Seeing off one Gu Congli was more exhausting than drawing several days’ worth of full-page color spreads.

The Chief Editor had mysteriously dropped by, treated her to lunch, stayed for a bit, and then left.

Shi Yin couldn’t guess what he wanted, and she was too lazy to try. Since she didn’t know, she decided not to think about it at all. After all, she wasn’t behind on deadlines or in debt. Whatever mood Gu Congli was in, it wasn’t her fault.

Calculating when he might next appear—probably around the time she submitted the full manuscript for Chapter Two—Shi Yin relaxed.

She happily read through all the Newcomer Award entries for the year and had to admit that Lin Youhe truly deserved the first-place win.

His art style and technical skill weren’t the best, and his lines were sometimes messy and rough. However, every panel carried a thunderous force, brimming with raw vitality. It was hard to believe this was his first time drawing shonen manga.

Perhaps this intensity had something to do with his equally thunderous physique.

Shi Yin’s thoughts wandered chaotically.

After finishing one book, her inner shonen spirit ignited, and she grew restless. Returning to her study, she redrew two pages of the previously completed manuscript. When she looked up again, it was past midnight.

She finished the remaining parts and finally put down her pen at 2 AM to grab something to eat, shower, and go to bed.

During non-deadline periods, she never set an alarm and slept until she naturally woke up—a daily routine.

But the next morning, the doorbell rang persistently.

It rang once, paused, then rang again.

“…”

Shi Yin was losing her patience.

Struggling out of bed, she dragged herself out of her bedroom, walked to the door, opened it without looking, and shoved the spare key from the shoe cabinet into the man standing outside’s hand. Then, with a loud bang, she slammed the door shut.

Shi Yin collapsed limply against the wall and glanced at the clock.

Sure enough, it was 9:30 AM.

This man was timing his visits with a stopwatch.

Turning her head toward the closed door, Shi Yin half-hoped Gu Congli would storm off angrily like during their first meeting after she’d slammed the door in his face.

But no.

A few seconds later, the sound of a key inserting into the lock echoed, followed by a faint metallic click. The door opened.

Gu Congli calmly entered, closed the door behind him, placed the key back on the shoe cabinet, and changed his shoes.

Shi Yin: “….”

He raised his eyes, meeting the gaze of the girl standing beside him. Her bloodshot eyes glared at him with a mournful look, as if she were an aggrieved ghost unable to rest.

“Morning,” Gu Congli said calmly.

Shi Yin was defeated.

She didn’t want to stand for another minute. Sliding down the wall, she sat cross-legged on the floor, leaned her head against the wall, and gazed up at him with half-closed eyes: “I went to bed at 2 AM.”

Gu Congli held a bag in his hand as he entered: “Then you’ve already slept for seven hours.”

Shi Yin rubbed her dry eyes: “Seven hours? That’s enough to kill someone.”

“That’s the normal amount of sleep for adults.”

“I can’t do it. I need at least ten hours.”

Gu Congli paused, placing the bag on the small bar counter. He looked down at her: “Shi Yin.”

“Hmm?” Shi Yin yawned, tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

“Sleeping too much makes you stupid,” he said calmly.

Shi Yin wiped her tears, her voice tinged with a soft nasal tone: “My IQ has already hit its peak. I need to lower it a bit.”

Gu Congli chuckled and headed into the kitchen.

One by one, items were taken out of the bag. Shi Yin had no interest in looking and instead slumped against the wall, sitting on the floor to regain her senses. Just as she was about to drift back into a dream, the faint sizzling sound of cooking meat wafted from the kitchen.

Accompanied by a delicious aroma.

Shi Yin sniffed, reluctantly opening her eyes and turning her head: “Chief Editor?”

No response.

Shi Yin stood up and walked toward the kitchen.

The man stood in the kitchen, two pots in front of him. His angular hands held an egg, which he cracked against the edge of the pan. Lifting it to the skillet, he gave it a gentle shake with one hand.

Another burst of sizzling sounds filled the air.

Shi Yin leaned closer to peek. In the pan, two thin slices of ham were crisped to golden brown at the edges. Beside them, the egg whites of the fried egg had yet to fully solidify, slowly turning opaque, while the bright yellow yolk remained liquid, its edges bubbling softly and lightly pulsing.

Shi Yin swallowed, suddenly feeling hungry.

Her kitchen was small and narrow. Standing behind him, she craned her neck forward, her chin brushing against his shirt sleeve.

Gu Congli reached for a porcelain plate on the nearby rack. With practiced ease, he plated the sunny-side-up egg. As he raised his arm, his elbow brushed against something soft.

He froze mid-motion and turned his head.

The girl was staring intently at the food in the pan, completely oblivious.

Whether six years ago or now, her awareness in this area seemed entirely absent.

But at least six years ago, he was always the first thing she saw.

Now, he had become part of the background. Her attention was entirely elsewhere.

Other people, other things, other matters—blind dates, old classmates, assistants.

Only him. Only him did she no longer see.

An unpleasant emotion began to fester and spread.

Gu Congli excelled at patience and restraint. If he wanted to, he could perfectly control his emotions, presenting others with only the version of himself they wished to see.

But with Shi Yin, it was impossible.

The more they interacted, the worse his self-control became. The closer he got to her, the clearer his true desires became, making it harder to endure.

He didn’t want her to look at anyone else.

She should only look at him.

Living or dead, human or object—nothing should steal the attention that rightfully belonged to him.

Nothing.

Gu Congli lowered his eyes, pressing his lips into a straight line.

He had to endure.

This dark, somewhat sick possessiveness—he dared not let her sense it.

She would run.

Gu Congli had already experienced that hollow confusion once. It was his own doing, and he willingly accepted the punishment.

As long as his little girl didn’t run, he could afford to wait, to take his time.

Breakfast consisted of ham, fried eggs, potato salad, toast, and a glass of milk.

Shi Yin, who rarely ate breakfast since living alone, found herself inexplicably ravenous today. She devoured everything on the plate.

By the time she finished eating and drinking, it was already 10 AM. Satisfied, she cradled her milk glass at the dining table, watching Gu Congli toss together a potato salad while scrolling through his phone.

She had assumed he was the type to follow strict etiquette, like not using his phone during meals. But apparently, he wasn’t.

Shi Yin hadn’t had the chance to understand him before, but over this period, she increasingly realized how different he was from the image in her mind.

Gulping down the last half-glass of milk, Shi Yin noticed Gu Congli putting away his phone and watching her finish.

She set down her glass, and he handed her a napkin.

Shi Yin thanked him, wiping the milk from around her mouth, and sincerely complimented him: “Chief Editor, your cooking is amazing.”

He didn’t respond, standing up to take the plates and cups to the sink.

Shi Yin felt embarrassed. Not only had he bought ingredients and cooked breakfast, but now he was cleaning up as well.

She quickly scurried over: “Let me wash them! Let me!”

Gu Congli glanced at her sideways, didn’t insist, and stepped aside to give her space.

He had brought many items—vegetables, fruits, eggs—all neatly arranged in the fridge. As Shi Yin washed the dishes, she suddenly remembered: “Oh, Chief Editor, what did you come here for today?”

Gu Congli slid the last two cartons of milk into the fridge: “Next Friday is the Newcomer Award ceremony. All authors of the shortlisted works are invited.” He turned around. “However, attendance is voluntary. If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”

Shi Yin understood his implication. He probably assumed she wouldn’t want to appear in public.

Since entering the industry, she had never made a public appearance. When she won her first Newcomer Award, she had classes she couldn’t reschedule, so she didn’t attend. During the annual meetings of Yao Guang Publishing, she was always frantically working on deadlines and never participated. Her Weibo profile had no selfies, and almost all her photos were of food, with very concise captions.

As a result, Teacher Shi Yi’s gender remained ambiguous—some thought she was male, others female.

“I didn’t intentionally hide these things; I just happened to never have the opportunity. Since I have time this time, I’ll go,” she rinsed the cleaned plates and glasses under running water, turned off the tap, and placed them on the drying rack. “For things like this, you could’ve just sent me a WeChat message. You didn’t have to come in person.”

Gu Congli closed the fridge door, turned around, and looked down at her: “That wasn’t the main reason I came today.”

“Oh,” Shi Yin dried her hands, tilting her head back slightly to look at him. “Then what’s the main reason?”

“There is one,” Gu Congli said coolly. “To make you breakfast.”