Shi Yin was silent for a moment: “Editor-in-Chief, are you scolding me?”

Gu Congli smiled faintly: “How could I? I sincerely wish you a happy holiday.”

When she hadn’t fully woken up in the morning, her temper would be especially bold due to grogginess.

For instance, her actions often outpaced her thoughts, and her mouth moved faster than her brain. Regardless of who stood before her—even if it were several Gu Conglis—she was utterly brave and fearless.

So, she nodded without a word and proceeded to close the door.

Gu Congli didn’t stop her. He listened as she slammed the door shut with a bang.

In his mind, he silently counted—this was the third time.

The third time she had shut him out.

Calmly, Gu Congli took out the spare key to her apartment that he had retrieved from her doormat last time, unlocked the door, and entered.

Shi Yin was on her way to the bedroom when she heard the sound and stopped in her tracks. She stood at the doorway, looking at him with a complicated expression.

Gu Congli asked, “Are you really moving?”

Shi Yin rubbed her hair: “No, I was just joking.”

He nodded, not saying anything further, and carried the cake box inside. He placed the box on the coffee table and then went to the kitchen to fetch plates and cutlery, moving with practiced ease.

Once he brought them back, he opened the cake box. It was a large Black Forest cake adorned with bright red cherries on top.

Gu Congli began slicing the cake.

Throughout this process, no one spoke. Shi Yin leaned against the bedroom doorway, watching him with an expression tinged with melancholy.

He worked slowly but steadily, cutting two pieces of cake and placing them neatly onto plates. The slices were perfectly proportioned, and the cream and chocolate on top were barely disturbed.

After finishing, he went back to the kitchen to find a saucepan and warmed up a cup of milk for her.

The man seemed quite busy, not even sparing her a glance. Feeling uninterested, Shi Yin pouted, turned around, and went into the bedroom to freshen up.

By the time she came out after washing her face, brushing her teeth, and changing clothes, the small cakes and milk were already set up on the coffee table. Gu Congli sat on the sofa, laptop resting on his lap, already engrossed in work.

Shi Yin walked over, sat cross-legged on the carpet, and grabbed a plate of cake. Without hesitation, she stabbed a piece with her fork and started playing with her phone while eating.

Gu Congli reached out and pushed the glass of warm milk toward her.

Shi Yin continued, taking occasional sips while scrolling through her phone.

The hot milk had cooled slightly by now, forming a thin layer of cream on top. A white mark clung to the corner of her lips. As her eyes remained glued to the phone screen, she naturally extended her tongue and lightly licked it off.

Gu Congli abruptly closed his laptop with a sharp snap.

The sudden movement finally caught Shi Yin’s attention. She looked up, puzzled, and stared at him.

Gu Congli’s expression was cold: “Don’t use your phone while eating.”

“But aren’t you also working on your computer?”

“I’ve already had breakfast, and I’m working.”

“I’m working too,” Shi Yin raised her phone to show him. It appeared to be a private message interface on Weibo. “Someone messaged me about a collaboration.”

She wasn’t lying; someone had indeed contacted her for a project.

And this person was somewhat well-known.

Though from the author community, their pen name was quirky and cute: Trembling Raccoon.

An author of mystery novels with hundreds of thousands of followers on Weibo, they had already established their own studio and gained a god-like status in the industry.

Shi Yin didn’t read much fiction, so she wasn’t particularly interested in the field. However, because this author had been writing for many years, she had become obsessed with mysteries during her freshman year of college. Every month, she bought a mystery magazine, and this author happened to write short mystery stories for that magazine at the time. Their writing style was grand and meticulous, which left Shi Yin with a favorable impression.

Moreover, this person was a literary giant, while Shi Yin herself wasn’t particularly famous. She only had one full-length work under her belt, and after four years, her fanbase had just reached ten thousand.

The reason they approached her was simple. They had read her ECHO and the first chapter of Hongming Longque , and they loved her art style. They wanted to collaborate.

They would write the script, and she would handle the illustrations.

All of Shi Yin’s contracts with Chiyue were tied to specific works. She had given the serialization rights of Hongming Longque to them, but if she had the energy, she could take on other projects.

However, Shi Yin usually didn’t accept additional work.

If she had savings, she absolutely wouldn’t exert herself any more than necessary—a lazy disposition devoid of ambition.

But because she liked this author, she still inquired about the details and added him as a WeChat contact.

And so, the two of them sat at opposite ends of the coffee table—one with a phone, the other with a laptop—each engrossed in their tasks. For a while, the room was quiet.

Around noon, Gu Congli glanced up, checked the time, and closed his laptop: “What do you want to eat?”

Shi Yin stared at him in astonishment: “I feel like we just finished eating.”

Gu Congli glanced at the half-eaten cake: “That doesn’t count as a meal.”

Shi Yin tossed her phone aside and slumped backward: “I can’t eat anymore.”

“Eat a little. What do you have at home?” Gu Congli said as he stood up, rolled up his sleeves, and headed toward the kitchen.

Shi Yin supported herself on the carpet, leaning back and tilting her head to look at him. Suddenly, she spoke: “Editor-in-Chief.”

“Hmm?”

“What exactly are you here for?” Shi Yin added, “Don’t tell me you’re here to celebrate my holiday—I’m not blind.”

Gu Congli paused, lowered his gaze, and thought carefully: “A date?”

“…”

You call this a date?

All remaining traces of emotion drained from Shi Yin’s face.

She stared at him blankly: “Editor-in-Chief, why did your ex-girlfriend break up with you?”

Gu Congli calmly replied: “Because I was fickle.”

Shi Yin: “….”

During his time abroad, in order to explain those bizarre dreams and convince himself that he needed a romantic partner, he had tried dating women of a similar age.

Unfortunately, he had never succeeded.

Gu Congli couldn’t bring himself to be passionate toward others.

It was as though he lacked that ability entirely. Almost no one had ever made him feel that way.

He wanted to treat his mother well, but he didn’t know how. His notions of what was good for her and the decisions he made seemingly only worsened her situation.

Gu Congli lacked confidence. He had grown up beside Gu Lin, witnessing selfishness and indifference, calculation and manipulation—but no one had ever taught him how to care for others.

He wanted to treat Shi Yin well.

But he was afraid. Afraid that every attempt to reach out to her would only push her further away. Afraid that he would hurt her with the wrong approach or inadvertently drive her farther from him.

Shi Yin stared at him, dumbfounded: “Did you cheat?”

Gu Congli shook his head: “No.”

Shi Yin felt there was something off about the way this man’s mind worked.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she tilted her head back and explained reasonably: “Editor-in-Chief, let’s talk honestly. After you coincidentally became my editor, haven’t there been plenty of unpleasant things between us?”

Gu Congli remained silent.

“You’ve been very cold and heartless toward me.”

Gu Congli furrowed his brow slightly, as if disagreeing.

“You’ve frequently assigned me impossible deadlines, put me in difficult situations, embarrassed me, made snide remarks, and knocked on my doorbell early in the morning, robbing me of sleep.”

“…”

Shi Yin summarized, feeling a twinge of委屈 as she spoke: “You’ve never treated me well.”

Gu Congli was at a loss for words.

Pouting, she continued: “And yet, you say you’re pursuing me, but I don’t see it at all—”

You like me.

Shi Yin couldn’t finish her sentence.

Gu Congli quietly looked down at her and asked: “What don’t you see?”

Shi Yin tilted her head up, opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Suddenly, he stepped forward, stood in front of her, lifted her head gently with one hand, bent down slightly, and kissed her forehead.

Shi Yin’s breath hitched.

It was a light, fleeting touch. By the time she realized what he had done, he had already slightly raised his head, gazing down at her from above: “Can you see it now?”

Shi Yin confirmed it. This time, she was certain she wasn’t dreaming.

Gu Congli’s fingers were still entwined in her hair, cool fingertips brushing through her strands. He curled his fingers slightly, gently massaging before straightening up: “I won’t disturb your sleep anymore, won’t make snide remarks, and won’t pressure you to draw.” His brown eyes were clear and soft, his voice low and gentle. “Don’t run. I’ll treat you well.”

Trembling Raccoon’s script was titled The Ebbing Tide . As usual, it was his forte—mystery suspense with a touch of horror.

His skillful use of hidden clues and foreshadowing was impressive. After reading the first two chapters he provided, Shi Yin felt as though she had rediscovered her passion for mysteries from her freshman year. Her eagerness to know what happened next gnawed at her, leaving her restless.

Shi Yin was curious why this work hadn’t been signed for publication as a physical novel and was instead being directly adapted into a comic script. The other party didn’t give a direct answer but simply said he wanted to create a manga.

Hongming Longque was serialized monthly, and thanks to Gu Congli’s constant urging, her storyboard drafts had progressed far ahead of schedule. Shi Yin’s storyboard completion rate was always high, and with two assistants, she had plenty of free time each month after finishing the original artwork. However, taking on another project would leave her with no rest.

Fortunately, Trembling Raccoon mentioned that The Ebbing Tide was a short series. Even if she got busy, it would only be for a few months.

And Shi Yin genuinely loved the script.

After considering it for two days, she agreed. The other party was delighted, quickly finalized the collaboration agreement, and Trembling Raccoon’s studio posted a tweet.

Trembling Raccoon hadn’t released any new works in nearly a year—not even short stories. Occasionally, he posted about family life on Weibo. Married for four years, he owned a cat and a dog, and the comments beneath his posts were filled with praise for his wife’s beauty and fans clamoring for new books.

Thus, when the studio announced a new work and a manga collaboration, the response from readers was overwhelming. Everyone speculated which mangaka or artist he was collaborating with.

Shi Yin happily retweeted the post with a playful comment. The top comment read: [AAAAHHH!!! My favorite author and my favorite mangaka are collaborating!! This is the highlight of my life! Two laid-back geniuses meeting!!]

Unable to hold back her laughter, she found the reader’s excitement adorable. Eagerly, she contacted Trembling Raccoon, asking him to send the rest of the script.

But he only sent three more chapters, withholding the rest. He told her to start drawing while he would gradually provide the subsequent parts.

Shi Yin was baffled.

She had never encountered such an arrangement before.

Stunned for a few seconds, she typed an explanation: [No, Teacher Raccoon, I can’t possibly draw this way. There are many hidden clues and foreshadowing elements later on that I need to understand beforehand. That way, I can plan accordingly and avoid inconsistencies or logical flaws.]

Trembling Raccoon’s reply was equally bewildering: [There won’t be any logical inconsistencies. I want it done this way. Just start drawing.]

“…”

Shi Yin truly trembled.

She struggled to explain: [Teacher, you might not be familiar with comics. They differ greatly from novels, especially in mystery suspense. If I only see half the script and don’t know the ending or the foreshadowing, it will be hard to convey certain elements effectively. The final result will suffer.]

Trembling Raccoon: [No problem. Draw it this way. I want the readers—and the artist—to also be unaware of what happens next.]

Shi Yin: “….”

This approach would yield zero effect.

Shi Yin desperately wanted to say that she couldn’t possibly draw this way.

While she was contemplating how to politely express this, Trembling Raccoon added: [The Weibo announcement is complete. Since everything is settled, Teacher Shi Yi, looking forward to a pleasant collaboration :D]

“…”

Shi Yin had a bad feeling about this. She suddenly felt that this bizarre arrangement of providing the script piecemeal was only the beginning.