After confirming their pure, platonic-turned-romantic relationship, Gu Congli and Shi Yin established a set of rules—thousands of them.

First, they agreed to keep their relationship a secret from friends who knew her during high school.

He understood her concerns and didn’t press the matter further, knowing she still harbored lingering unease about it.

Second, they would temporarily refrain from going public at work, especially in front of mutual acquaintances.

Even though there had never been any real teacher-student dynamic between them, he was now her editor-in-chief—the very person responsible for overseeing her work.

Dating one’s editor felt like an unconventional office romance. Shi Yin struggled with the idea, finding it difficult to adjust no matter how much she thought about it.

She began explaining her reasoning, counting off on her fingers: “Look, you’re my editor right now, and I’m not exactly popular yet. If rumors start spreading about us having… improper relations, my haters will immediately assume I’m only after the resources you can give me as an editor. They’ll say I haven’t worked hard at all and that everything I’ve achieved has come through backdoor connections.”

By this point, the two were already on their way back home. Lin Nian had treated them to lunch, during which Qin Jiang called her, asking when she’d be returning and why she hadn’t come home the previous night, let alone why her phone had been turned off.

Lin Nian responded with a cold laugh, setting down her chopsticks and standing up confidently. Ten minutes later, she returned looking refreshed and rejuvenated.

Out of consideration for Gu Congli’s presence, Shi Yin refrained from prying further. After dropping Lin Nian off at her place, they headed back to S City. The two-hour drive gave Shi Yin ample time to ponder over their “treaty.”

Once she finished reading aloud each item on her self-proclaimed “very equal” list from her phone’s memo app, Gu Congli offered no comment. He simply said calmly, “The clause about holding hands within a month is unnecessary—we’ve already kissed.”

Shi Yin blushed furiously. “That’s different! It’s not the same thing! Holding hands is… soul-to-soul communication!”

Gu Congli glanced at her. With one hand still on the steering wheel, his other hand suddenly reached over, snatching her phone away and placing it on her lap. Before she could react, he grabbed her hand and gently squeezed it.

“Do you see my soul?” he asked nonchalantly.

Shi Yin: “….”

She yanked her hand back abruptly, scooting closer to the car door. Leaning against it, she turned sideways, holding her phone up like a shield while muttering under her breath, “Fine, we’ll remove it. Fine, whatever.”

Gu Congli smirked and locked her side of the car door.

Less than two days had passed since their trip to Yangcheng, but Shi Yin felt as though an eternity had gone by.

Upon returning home, she dove straight into repaying her monthly debt by finishing Ebb Tide within a week.

Though the story wasn’t particularly long, she had started it and believed that regardless of what happened along the way, she owed it to her readers—who patiently awaited and loved the series—to bring it to a proper conclusion.

From beginning to end, she avoided mentioning the scandal that had rocked the internet just days prior. Han Dan’s Weibo continued updating, sharing recent developments and evidence related to the impending lawsuit.

However, the next day, Shi Yin stumbled upon a comment accusing her of riding the wave of popularity surrounding the controversy.

Shi Yin laughed bitterly.

This reply had garnered numerous layers of responses, most of which were insults directed at her. The top-rated response read: [@Shi Yi jumping on the bandwagon? I don’t see it. Some people are just really bad at disguising their opportunism.]

Shi Yin silently applauded in her heart.

As she examined the commenter’s avatar, it seemed vaguely familiar. Upon checking their Weibo ID—

[@SweetAppleCandy]

Oh.

Oh.

Shi Yin clicked into his profile. She had always secretly stalked him while quietly following the webcomic he serialized on Weibo, but she had never actually followed him herself.

She hit the follow button and was surprised to discover they were now mutually following each other.

Turns out, he had already been following her.

After some thought, Shi Yin took a screenshot, opened WeChat, and sent it to him along with an emoji: [Thanks, Teacher Apple Candy.]

After a pause, she added: [You didn’t have to do it personally, though...]

A few minutes later, Lin Youhe replied: [Huh? No worries. I’m used to calling out trolls. They know I have a short temper.]

Shi Yin: “….”

Just how carefree does one have to be to become a mangaka?!

At a loss for words, Shi Yin couldn’t help but think, This former school tyrant truly lives up to his reputation. His profession doesn’t seem to affect his domineering aura in the slightest.

When she remained silent, Lin Youhe continued: [I checked your follows list. Looks like you’re following Qian An.]

Qian An, a renowned mangaka known for works such as Scarlet Tassel and Sleeping Days , crafted intricate, eerie art styles juxtaposed with grand, sweeping narratives. His single-volume sales surpassed ten million copies, and he once simultaneously serialized two comics, both ranking first and second in popularity charts—an unprecedented feat.

His latest serialization, Below Zero , topped weekly popularity rankings for 17 consecutive weeks.

The current shonen manga market was dominated by orthodox, hot-blooded series. Non-mainstream genres struggled to survive, with exceptions being rare. One notable example was Death Note by Japanese creators Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata—a non-orthodox dark fantasy that captivated global audiences.

Qian An’s work similarly followed this darker, unorthodox path. In China’s vastly different comic landscape compared to Japan’s, gaining acceptance for such alternative content was incredibly challenging. Yet, Qian An’s creations sparked a new wave of avant-garde enthusiasm.

Though he mysteriously vanished without warning more than half a year ago, his fanbase continued growing steadily.

If Shi Yin considered herself still climbing halfway up the mountain, then Qian An stood undeniably atop Mount Everest—the true genius mangaka.

Sitting cross-legged in her chair, Shi Yin spun around and typed on her phone: [Yeah, he’s my idol.]

[School Tyrant Sweetheart: Oh, next month marks the one-year anniversary of Below Zero . There might be an event. Are you going?]

Pausing briefly, Lin Youhe sent a voice message, lowering his tone conspiratorially: “Rumor has it Qian An might show up… oh.”

“…”

Why did you pause before saying “oh”? It sounds so cute, completely ruining your usual persona.

It reminded her of Gu Congli’s “Wow,” equally out-of-character.

Having grown accustomed to Lin Youhe occasionally breaking character, Shi Yin found his “oh” surprisingly less jarring compared to Gu Congli’s “Wow.”

Remaining composed, she bit her fingertip and typed: [Can anyone just go to these events? Don’t you need an invitation or something? I don’t even know him.]

[School Tyrant Sweetheart: Aren’t you both from the same publishing house?]

Shi Yin froze.

Come to think of it… yes.

Qian An was also part of Yaoguang Publishing, specifically serializing in the weekly magazine Inverse Moon , whereas Shi Yin published in the monthly Crimson Moon . While both fell under Yaoguang, they weren’t in the same editorial department.

And—

Shi Yin sighed. [Yes, we’re from the same publisher, but what does that have to do with me?]

Lin Youhe fell silent for a moment, his tone growing impatient. “So, why don’t you just ask your editor? That’s how you’ll know.”

Shi Yin suddenly understood. “Oh, I get it. I’ll ask my editor. If it’s an event hosted by our publishing house, then I should be able to attend since we’re technically part of the same family. If it were an author from another publisher, that might be more difficult.”

“…”

Shi Yin continued enthusiastically: “Then I can reason with him, appeal to his emotions and logic. Maybe I can even bring someone else along.”

Lin Youhe: “….”

Shi Yin pressed on: “I think bringing a fellow artist shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

“…”

Shi Yin added thoughtfully: “Though I’m not sure if this ‘fellow artist’ has to be from Yaoguang Publishing… What do you think, Teacher Apple Candy?”

Lin Youhe stopped responding.

Shi Yin was thrilled, as though she’d uncovered some delightful secret. She chirped happily: “So you really admire Qian An! I didn’t expect someone as proud as you to have a role model.”

Still, Lin Youhe remained unresponsive.

Shi Yin prodded playfully: “Teacher Apple Candy, are you there? Are you there??”

“Teacher Apple Candy????”

“Teacher?!?!?!”

Dead silence greeted her from the other end.

Though teasing, after knowing each other for half a year, Shi Yin considered Lin Youhe a friend—someone she could count on when needed.

She figured asking this small favor wasn’t out of line.

When Gu Congli came over to review the rough storyboard drafts for the next chapter of Hong Ming Long Que , Shi Yin briefly mentioned the situation to him.

Gu Congli didn’t look up, focusing intently on the work in front of him. He seemed indifferent to the topic. “What anniversary?”

“It’s Qian An’s book, Below Zero . There’s supposed to be an event celebrating its one-year anniversary. Rumor has it Qian An himself might show up for a signing.”

“This scene here needs trimming,” Gu Congli circled a section on the photocopied draft with his red pen, his voice casual. “There is such an event, but Qian An probably won’t attend.”

Shi Yin drew out her response: “Ah…”

Gu Congli paused, finally glancing up at her. “You like him?”

“Not really. A friend of mine is a big fan and wants me to take them along.”

“Then go check it out. The event is being organized by Inverse Moon . I’ll mention it tomorrow.” He lowered his gaze back to the manuscript.

Shi Yin blinked, resting her chin in her hands as she admired the sharp curve of his nose and the long lashes that cast shadows over his cheeks when he looked down. “Wow.”

Gu Congli didn’t glance up. “There’s too much exposition here. It’s unnecessary. Simplify it a bit.”

Shi Yin: “Wow.”

“The pacing in this panel feels off. Slow it down slightly.”

For the third time, Shi Yin echoed: “Wow.”

He finally set his pen down and looked up at her. “Teacher Shi Yi, focus on your work while you’re working.”

Shi Yin pouted.

Sometimes, having a boyfriend felt no different than not having one.

Both of them were incredibly busy, often relying on sporadic WeChat messages to maintain their fragile, sudden romance. Even on weekends when the editorial department had time off, he would mysteriously disappear without a trace.

She had secretly browsed countless WeChat articles about romantic date spots and couple travel destinations—but none of them ever came into use.

Shi Yin sprawled herself across the sofa, muttering softly under her breath: “Pretentious.”

She assumed he hadn’t heard her.

But when she glanced up, she saw that he had already put his pen down.

Quickly scrambling to sit upright, she flashed him an innocent smile and batted her eyelashes.

Gu Congli placed his pen on the table, pushing the manuscript slightly forward. Leaning over, he reached across the coffee table, lifting her and placing her onto his lap, pulling her close.

Before she could react, she curled up obediently against him like a little kitten, tilting her head back instinctively.

Without looking away from the manuscript before him, Gu Congli leaned down slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. His voice was calm, almost absentminded. “Be good. I’ll play with you later.”