The October weather was cool, and it was already three o’clock in the afternoon.

Gu Congli led Shi Yin out of the billiard club. The two stood at the entrance, where Gu Congli took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. He glanced up slightly, spun the lighter in his hand once, didn’t light it, and looked at her questioningly.

Shi Yin blinked: “You light it.”

Gu Congli lowered his eyes, brought the lighter to his lips, and struck the flint with a soft click.

Shi Yin had rarely seen Gu Congli smoke, let alone face-to-face like this—it was the first time.

This man exuded an aura of extreme self-discipline, almost like he had an obsessive aversion to anything unclean.

Things like tobacco and alcohol seemed far removed from him—he appeared to be someone who would detest such things.

But that wasn’t the case. He smoked, drank, indulged in pleasures, yet never became addicted. He always remained moderate, never losing himself in excess.

The closer she got to him, the more unfathomable he seemed. The more she learned about him, the more she realized how different he was from what she had imagined.

Occasionally, people entering the club would glance over at this strange, silent couple, who appeared as if they were in the middle of an argument.

The woman leaned against the marble wall, her hands tucked into her thin trench coat. The man stood slightly ahead of her, angled so the smoke wouldn’t drift toward her.

Halfway through the cigarette, he extinguished it and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

Shi Yin watched as he walked away, then returned.

Silently, he lowered his head and gazed at her before suddenly saying: “Let’s get married.”

“…”

Shi Yin looked up at him, her expression blank: “Huh?”

“Let’s get married,” Gu Congli calmly repeated.

Shi Yin nearly choked on her own saliva.

Startled, she unconsciously took a step back. The cold marble wall behind her left no room to retreat further. She pressed against it, staring at him in shock: “E-Editor-in-Chief? Please calm down.”

Gu Congli lowered his gaze, completely composed: “I am calm.”

Shi Yin swallowed hard, slowly recovering from her shock. After pondering for a moment, she struggled to speak: “Editor-in-Chief, I know today is your birthday, and you’re turning thirty—”

“Twenty-nine, Western age,” Gu Congli interrupted, emphasizing.

Shi Yin nodded: “Alright, twenty-nine. I know you’ll officially be twenty-nine after today, and your family might be starting to worry about these things, but…” She reminded him, “We’re not even in a romantic relationship.”

Gu Congli remained calm and easygoing: “Then let’s date.”

Shi Yin’s expression grew complex.

He looked down at her, his light brown pupils dark and unreadable.

His gaze, expressions, and emotions had always been a mystery to her. She could never tell what he was thinking.

He spoke about marriage so casually, as if it were something trivial, easily said and just as easily retracted—like it didn’t matter at all, something he could joke about.

Thinking back, it seemed he truly didn’t care about much of anything.

Six years ago, amidst the waves of speculation and malicious attacks directed at him, he had remained completely unfazed.

Shi Yin averted her gaze, lowering her eyes and softly said: “Editor-in-Chief, honestly, every time I see you, I’m reminded of the past. I’m scared—I’ve always been a bit unsure how to face you.”

Gu Congli’s gaze froze.

She hesitated, then continued: “I was afraid when we first met. I thought you must blame me, that you probably didn’t want to see me either. And I didn’t want to see you. Every time I interacted with you, I had to pretend everything was fine, control my emotions, maintain an appropriate distance without seeming too distant. Each encounter felt like going into battle—it was exhausting.”

“I feel so much pressure. I can’t just act like nothing ever happened. Maybe you think what happened back then was a small matter, not a big deal, and that I’m making a fuss over nothing. But for me, it was a real blow. I’ve never experienced anything like that in my life—it had a huge impact on me.”

She was telling the truth. Every time she saw Gu Congli, the memory of her past humiliation replayed vividly in her mind. She was scared, sometimes wondering if he regretted leaving because things hadn’t gone well for him afterward.

No one spoke.

Even the air seemed frozen, as if someone had pressed pause. Shi Yin didn’t dare look up to meet Gu Congli’s expression.

She exhaled deeply, steadied herself, and concluded: “So—”

“So,” Gu Congli said indifferently, “I’m giving you a chance to atone. Are you not going to seize it?”

Shi Yin raised her head in astonishment.

He took a step forward, bracing one hand against the marble wall beside her ear, leaning down.

Closing the distance, his voice was low, devoid of emotion, yet inexplicably carried a tender undertone: “Since you’re afraid and feel guilty toward me, shouldn’t you make it up to me now? Isn’t that what you should do?”

The man’s presence was overwhelming, his warm breath brushing against her ear. Shi Yin felt her ears burning, tingling with a faint itch.

She shrank back slightly, pressing her palm against the cold marble wall, averting her gaze: “H-how… how…”

Before she could finish, Gu Congli tilted his head slightly, his cool, soft lips landing on her burning earlobe.

Shi Yin trembled, freezing in place as if electrified, her scalp tingling.

Every word felt like it had rolled across an icy plain before being plunged into boiling oil, piercing through her eardrum and exploding in her mind.

Feeling her stiffness, his lips brushed against her ear, lightly biting as if to soothe her: “Like this…” His voice trailed off softly, lingering with ambiguity. “Make it up to me like this…”

The birthday celebrant disappeared with the girl, leaving behind a group of bored men unable to contain their curiosity. They pounced on each other like hungry wolves, gossiping wildly: “What’s going on? How could he lose control halfway through?”

The man who had whistled earlier leaned against his cue stick, gesturing dramatically: “When that girl leaned over the table just now—damn, how could anyone hold back?”

“Boss Gu has high standards. No wonder he hasn’t shown interest in anyone for three hundred million years—he likes fairies.”

Lu Jiaheng didn’t join their conversation but instead chatted with Chu Zhi on the sofa.

Mid-conversation, he glanced up and noticed bets had already been placed.

They were betting on the nature of Shi Yin and Gu Congli’s relationship.

The whistler, experienced in analysis, sighed: “He didn’t say she was his girlfriend, yet he brought her here. It’s hard to say—maybe the girl hasn’t agreed yet. Look at how precious Boss Gu treats her. When have I ever seen him talk to someone so gently? That gaze—tsk tsk, like a big bad wolf eyeing Little Red Riding Hood.”

Lu Jiaheng approved, enjoying the chaos: “Just a reminder—this girl has been on Gu’s mind since she was seventeen.”

The whistler jumped: “Damn, he’s a beast! I want to ‘admire’ someone too.”

Ten minutes later, Gu Congli returned, completely unaware that he had been labeled a beast and criticized by the group.

Alone, with no one trailing behind.

The whistler let out an “Ah.”

Chu Zhi, leaning against the sofa backrest, sighed disappointedly: “Where’s the little fairy? I liked her—I thought we’d have dinner together tonight.”

“No idea,” Lu Jiaheng teased gleefully, clearly the happiest in the room. “Probably scared off by someone.”

Gu Congli’s lips tightened into a straight line, ignoring him. He walked over, sat on the sofa, lowered his head, and fell into quiet contemplation.

He hadn’t expected that the events from back then had caused her such distress.

To him, it truly wasn’t a big deal. He hadn’t resigned because of the gossip—it was simply because he found it troublesome.

Now, realizing his mistake, he understood that she harbored unresolved guilt. Her deliberate distance from him all this time stemmed from this.

If he continued to be passive, it wouldn’t help. He needed to change his approach.

Shi Yin was genuinely frightened.

This feeling was entirely different from the barely noticeable kiss on her forehead earlier. She distinctly felt his breath against her neck, the wet touch on her earlobe, and the slight sting of her cartilage being gently bitten.

By the time she came to her senses, she was sitting in the backseat of a taxi, tugging at her ear with one hand while messaging Fang Shu on WeChat: [Zhuo Zhuo, Gu Congli just bit my ear.]

[And maybe licked it too.]

[Fang Shu: …]

[Fang Shu: You’re so thirsty you’re having erotic dreams now.]

“…”

Shi Yin sighed, slumping into the backseat.

For a long time, she had avoided talking about what had happened in the past.

If possible, she would have pretended to forget everything and kept running away, avoiding confrontation and embarrassment.

But recently, she couldn’t avoid it anymore. She had no choice but to lay everything out and talk to him.

Shi Yin remembered Gu Congli’s expression during their conversation. Now, she began to believe that perhaps he really did like her.

Otherwise, given his personality, how could he go to such lengths? He shouldn’t even bother looking at her, just like in high school.

On Sunday morning, Shi Yin woke up early. The sky was still dim, not yet seven o’clock.

It had been a long time since she had woken up naturally before nine. Lying in bed for a while, she prepared to go back to sleep but tossed and turned restlessly. Her mind was filled with images of Gu Congli pinning her against the wall, whispering “compensation” near her ear.

The night before, she had even dreamed that Gu Congli was a domineering CEO, pressing her against the wall, smirking devilishly, and saying, “You troublemaker. Compensate me with your body.”

Shi Yin woke up in a cold sweat.

Giving up on sleep, she got up, took a shower, and headed to her study.

She had originally planned to work on The Ebbing Tide over the weekend, but since it was Gu Congli’s birthday, she decided to start early. Fortunately, she was still at the beginning stages and was highly passionate about the project. She revised the storyboard drafts several times before finalizing the current version.

Shi Yin had previously discussed with Trembling Raccoon that the series would temporarily serialize on Weibo instead of submitting it to a publisher.

Trembling Raccoon’s exact words were: [Anyway, this book is a labor of love. I don’t expect any profit—I just want to see this novel turned into a manga. Let’s serialize it on Weibo for now and decide later.]

Shi Yin was deeply moved, feeling even more respect for Trembling Raccoon. Compared to his noble intentions, his decision to withhold the subsequent scripts didn’t seem as offensive anymore.

Of course, she conveniently ignored that phrase—”decide later.”

With that, Shi Yin dove into the project with enthusiasm, quickly starting serialization on Weibo in the form of a webtoon. The response was even better than she had anticipated.

The second chapter received over ten thousand likes and shares.

Trembling Raccoon hadn’t released new works in a long time, and his Weibo account had been quiet for nearly a year. The two chapters of The Ebbing Tide brought him back into the spotlight.

Shi Yin gave him prominent credit, and the comments and shares were divided into two main groups. Initially, most were from Shi Yin’s fans, but gradually, discussions about the script and plot began to emerge.

Later, some comments started to feel odd.

[Ah! It’s Trembling Raccoon! No wonder the foreshadowing and punchlines feel so familiar!]

[I just realized it’s Raccoon-sensei. I’ve read this mangaka’s previous magazine serialization—the plot there was nowhere near as good. Clearly, it’s because she didn’t write it herself.]

[Raccoon-sensei, sob sob sob, will I ever see a new book from you in my lifetime?]

[Am I the only one who thinks this Shi Yi is opportunistic? Using someone else’s ideas and plot to gain popularity?]

[Isn’t this a collaboration? How does Shi Yi become opportunistic? Doesn’t she draw the manga?]

Shi Yin blinked. Even though she tried to remain indifferent, there were still these kinds of comments—suspected trolls?

She returned to the homepage, refreshed, and saw Trembling Raccoon’s latest tweet.

[Trembling Raccoon: Many readers have been asking about the continuation of The Ebbing Tide . Originally, I planned to use it as a manga script, but since everyone likes it so much, I’ve decided to serialize it on XX Chinese Novel Website. Stay tuned!]

Shi Yin: “….”

Shi Yin: ???????

Shi Yin stared at the tweet, marked “just now,” realizing her earlier ominous premonition had come true.

This Trembling Raccoon—when he told her about the collaboration, withheld the subsequent plot, and claimed he wanted to create a manga instead of publishing it as a novel, she had believed him.

Trembling Raccoon had stopped writing for so long that his reader and fanbase had naturally dwindled. Shi Yin was different. She had serialized her manga for four years without ever taking a break, and Hongming Longque was currently gaining momentum, even securing third place in the last serialization rankings.

Even though Trembling Raccoon had a god-like status and several times more fans than Shi Yin, in any circle, new authors and great works emerged constantly, and readers and fans were highly fluid.

At least for now, mangaka Shi Yi had more active fans and higher visibility than author Trembling Raccoon.

If Trembling Raccoon had directly announced a new book, it might have drawn some loyal fans’ anticipation and support, but the attention would pale compared to what it was now.

He didn’t genuinely want to create a manga—he was just waiting for her to help generate hype.

At this moment, Shi Yin confirmed that she was an idiot.