About ten minutes later, Shi Yin opened her eyes.

Though the days were still long, autumn had arrived, and the sky darkened quickly as night began to fall.

She rubbed her eyes, blinked awake, and looked at him groggily. Her voice was hoarse. “How long did I sleep?”

Gu Congli turned his head. “Not long.”

Shi Yin straightened up, unbuckled her seatbelt, and looked outside. “It’s already dark.”

“Mm, it was almost dark when we left too.”

She made a soft “Oh” sound and leaned back into the seat, unmoving, letting herself adjust.

After waking up, Shi Yin always entered a brief state of confusion. Her mind felt hazy, and it took her a few moments to fully regain clarity.

Gu Congli wasn’t in a rush. For a while, neither of them spoke. After two or three minutes, Shi Yin yawned, rubbed her face, and turned toward him. “Editor-in-Chief, thank you for today.”

He gave a faint “Mm” in response.

Shi Yin lowered her head. “Then… I’ll go up now?” She thought for a moment and added, “Let me treat you to dinner some other time.”

He tilted his head slightly and suddenly smiled, unlocking the car door with a soft click . “Go ahead.”

Shi Yin opened the door, got out, fished her keys from her bag, unlocked the building’s security door, and disappeared inside with a small dash.

Gu Congli waited downstairs for a while, but no light appeared in her apartment window.

He got out of the car, stood by the door, pulled out his phone, and called her.

She picked up on the other end.

Gu Congli tilted his head upward. “Are you home?”

On her end, there was silence. It seemed she hadn’t expected him to call, and her response was slightly delayed. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m here.”

“You didn’t turn on the lights.”

There was a faint rustling sound, followed by the living room light turning on. A few seconds later, the girl appeared at the living room window, leaning against the glass and looking down. “I hadn’t turned them on yet.”

“Mm, then I’ll be going.”

“Mm…” Her voice was soft, almost delicate.

Gu Congli ended the call, got back into the car, closed the door, and drove off, disappearing from view.

Shi Yin clutched her phone, spun around quickly, and leaned against the glass window, staring blankly at the empty living room. Her heartbeat thudded loudly—thump, thump, thump —so fast it felt like it might leap out of her chest.

She hadn’t slept soundly in the car.

It was that half-asleep, half-awake state where she felt like she was sleeping, yet somewhere deep inside, she still seemed to be thinking.

Until something lightly brushed against the corner of her lips.

The touch was cool and dry, so fleeting it was like the brush of a dragonfly’s wing—a mere instant of contact. It even made Shi Yin wonder if it had been part of her dream.

But this dream felt so real.

So vivid that she could almost feel his gaze and the warmth of his breath.

Shi Yin didn’t have much time to dwell on whether that touch had been a chaste spring dream or reality. After the awards ceremony, the looming deadline was approaching once again.

Happy times were always fleeting, and what followed was an endless, torturous stretch of work.

Shi Yin had revised the storyboard for the second chapter multiple times, creating several versions before Gu Congli finally approved it.

She had to admit, ever since switching to him, even Liang Qiushi commented that her rough drafts had improved compared to before.

It wasn’t that Zhao Editor lacked competence—it was just that this man’s meticulousness and perfectionism had reached another level. Even so, his evaluation of Shi Yin’s storyboards was still “barely passing.”

Two days later, Shi Yin received a call from the editor-in-chief of Julu Publishing.

Julu had always been one of Yaoguang Publishing’s competitors and one of the co-hosts of the summer newcomer awards. Though their shoujo manga section was more prominent—with many renowned shoujo mangakas under their banner—they recently launched a new magazine and began focusing on cultivating shonen manga talent. They signed several authors, and their collected volumes had dominated the rankings for weeks, gaining significant momentum.

At the awards ceremony, while Shi Yin was waiting for Gu Congli, the editor-in-chief of Julu had asked for her contact information.

That business card had remained tucked away in her handbag, untouched. If not for this call, Shi Yin would have almost forgotten about him entirely.

She didn’t remember much about him, only that he was surnamed Yang, had a handsome and pleasant face, and exuded warmth during conversations without making her uncomfortable.

In short, he was a charming and emotionally intelligent man.

Yang was straightforward and direct, cutting right to the chase. He expressed Julu’s interest in serializing Dragon Sparrow , promising a substantial print run for the collected volume.

It was undeniably tempting.

As a professional mangaka who relied on this work to make a living, the generous offer nearly shook her fragile loyalty to Yaoguang Publishing.

But on one side was a four-year-long collaboration with a trusted partner, and on the other was a new opportunity. Moreover, her current editor was Gu Congli, whose abilities were unquestionable.

Besides, she hated switching editors. Every time meant starting over with adjustments, which was too troublesome.

So after considering for three seconds, Shi Yin politely declined him.

Yang didn’t seem discouraged at all. His voice remained cheerful, unchanged, and he even invited her to dinner sometime when she was free.

Look at how gentle other publishers’ editors could be!

Shi Yin guessed that if Gu Congli had been rejected like this, icy frost would have already crept through the phone line.

She thought the matter was settled.

But to her surprise, this Yang Editor really followed up with an invitation to dinner.

________________________________________

Gu Congli arrived in Yangcheng just before 8 AM.

The drive from S City took about two hours. On weekends, morning traffic was lighter than on weekdays, and it only took ten minutes after exiting the highway to reach the suburban villa area.

At the last row of villas, Gu Congli parked near one specific house and stepped out.

The air in the suburbs was crisp and fresh. Early autumn brought cooler weather, and Yangcheng was even chillier than S City. He walked to the iron gate, pulled out his keys, and unlocked it.

All the windows of the villa were barred with iron grilles, and the entire house was enveloped in a somber silence. Gu Congli entered through the front door into a spotless foyer.

A woman wearing an apron stood at the dining table, her back to the door, quietly arranging dishes.

She heard him first.

Gu Congli moved quietly, closing the door with barely a sound, but the woman suddenly began screaming.

The piercing, high-pitched cry echoed through the empty house. Gu Congli quickly approached, lowering his gaze. “Mom.”

Her scream abruptly stopped.

The woman sitting at the dining table wore a white dress, her hair elegantly styled in an intricate updo. Her features were delicate, and her light brown eyes shimmered with tears and fear.

She stared at Gu Congli, her terrified gaze slowly filling with tenderness. “Ali.”

Gu Congli said nothing. From Aunt Cao’s hands, he took a spoon and began ladling soup into a transparent plastic bowl.

The woman watched his movements tenderly. “Ali, you’re back. How was your exam today? Was it difficult?”

Gu Congli pushed the bowl toward her. “Mm, not difficult.”

The woman seemed delighted. “Did you get a perfect score?”

“I got first place.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said with a smile, patting his hand. “I was just saying to your father yesterday that Ali is—”

Her words cut off abruptly. Her eyes widened, and her pale hands began trembling uncontrollably.

She started crying.

As she sobbed, she swept everything off the table—plates, bowls, and food crashed onto the carpet. Hot soup splashed onto Gu Congli’s hand.

She screamed, clutching her head and crawling under the table, shaking as she cried, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, my husband…”

Aunt Cao quickly pulled the woman out from under the table. With the help of a caregiver, they half-dragged, half-carried her upstairs.

All the utensils were plastic, so only the food spilled. Gu Congli stood by the table, his back rigid.

He pursed his lips, picked up the scattered bowls and plates, placed them back on the table, and went to the kitchen to wash his hands.

His hand was bright red from the scalding soup. Under the cold water, two small blisters formed, the thin layer of skin swelling with fluid.

Gu Congli searched around but found no sharp objects. He turned off the faucet and left.

Soon, Aunt Cao came downstairs and approached him. “I’ve already called home. I won’t return today; let’s plan for next week.”

Gu Congli lowered his gaze. “It’s fine. I’ll stay here. You can go.”

“You can’t handle it,” Aunt Cao said firmly. “Madam will take a nap soon, and when she wakes up, if she doesn’t see me, you won’t know what to do. Remember what happened last time?” She smiled. “I’ve gotten used to it. I know the tricks. You wouldn’t know what to do.”

He said nothing, his features quiet and strikingly similar to the woman’s when calm.

Aunt Cao sighed and continued. “You’ve seen her condition these past couple of visits. She’s still not as stable as before. That thing I mentioned earlier—you should really consider it. We can’t keep her locked up here forever.”

Gu Congli was silent for a moment, then said indifferently, “She doesn’t want to go back.”

After Aunt Cao had called him previously, he had come to discuss it with her. But she resisted any mention of treatment.

It was almost deliberate.

She allowed her condition to worsen, even exacerbating it intentionally, rejecting treatment and mistreating herself.

It was as if, by doing so, she hoped that someone would suddenly feel pity for her, sympathize with her, and come to see her.

________________________________________

At 5 PM, Gu Congli stepped out of the villa.

The silent, eerie cage opened briefly and then closed again. He leaned against the iron gate, lit a cigarette.

This villa was the last one in the final row of houses. The neighboring villas were empty, and the surroundings were so quiet it felt like being cut off from the world.

He tilted his head up. The evening sky glowed blood-red. Since autumn had begun, the days had grown noticeably shorter.

The silence was broken by a notification on his phone.

Gu Congli bit down on his cigarette, pulled out his phone, and opened WeChat.

There was a red “1.”

It was from the owner of the silly cat avatar. He tapped into the chat. There was one message:

—Editor-in-Chief!!! I’ve finished drawing the second chapter rough draft and sent it to you!!! I’m going to catch up on sleep now!!!!!!

Even in just one line of text, her excitement and joy radiated clearly.

Gu Congli stared at the message for a moment. Something that had been roiling inside him since he entered this city finally settled.

Suddenly, he straightened up, extinguished the cigarette under his foot, and dialed her number as he walked toward the car.

After three rings, she picked up.

As expected, she sounded thrilled, humming a tune as she greeted him. “Good evening, Editor-in-Chief! I just sent you the rough draft. Did you see it? I really revised it so many times—I think I went blind drawing it. I’m going to sleep now to recover my IQ—”

He sat in the driver’s seat, started the car, and interrupted her. “No sleeping.”

Shi Yin paused, suddenly tense. “Is there still something wrong with my drawing?”

“I haven’t looked at it yet.”

She seemed momentarily speechless, then grew slightly flustered. “Then why are you so adamant about not letting me sleep?! Just look at it first. If you find any issues, call me. I’ll only sleep for a little while!”

“No sleeping,” Gu Congli repeated.

She fell silent for a moment, sensing something was off. Carefully, she called out, “Editor-in-Chief?”

“Just hold on a little longer,” he murmured softly. His voice, usually cold and sharp like ice shards, carried a hint of warmth and huskiness. “Wait for me. When I get back, I’ll let you sleep.”

Low and raspy, it sounded almost like coaxing—or perhaps pleading.