After receiving a comforting hug and kiss, Shi Yin’s heart fluttered for a while before finally settling down. She decided to bring over her digital drawing tablet and notebook, sitting next to Gu Congli as she worked on the finalized storyboard drafts based on his earlier revisions.

Having previously been occupied with Ebb Tide and their trip out of town, the deadline for Hong Ming Long Que was fast approaching. Shi Yin had only completed the inked portions of the main characters, leaving tasks like storyboarding backgrounds, secondary character designs, and screen tone applications to her assistants.

By the time Gu Congli finished revising the rough drafts, Shi Yin was already deeply engrossed in her work. She sat cross-legged on the coffee table, diligently sketching away.

Gu Congli rested his cheek against his hand, quietly observing her for a moment.

Once Shi Yin finished outlining the main characters, she looked up and noticed his gaze.

Blinking innocently, she reached out to grab the revised drafts from him. “Are these done? Let me take a look…”

But just as she pulled the draft toward herself, Gu Congli suddenly straightened up. Reaching out, he tugged her back into his arms, lowering his head—only to be pushed away by Shi Yin pressing her forehead against his.

His bangs were tousled by her grip, exposing his forehead. He lowered his eyes, expressionless.

Shi Yin pursed her lips, still wary. “No biting,” she added, somewhat plaintively. “You bit me so hard last time it hurt for days. It’s still not healed.”

As if to emphasize her point, she stuck out her tongue, showing him the tip, which was slightly red.

Gu Congli’s brown eyes darkened. Grabbing her wrist, he gently pulled her hand away and leaned down to capture her lips again.

This time, the sensation was vivid and unmistakable—soft, warm, and intimate. Shi Yin stiffened, her scalp tingling with nervousness, too tense to move even an inch.

It was as though he had tasted something delicious; saliva pooled in his mouth, too late to swallow before he bit down again.

Pain shot through her, and Shi Yin recoiled, pushing him away. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, panting heavily as she glared at him indignantly.

He chuckled softly, licking the corner of his lips.

Rolling her eyes, Shi Yin turned away, refusing to acknowledge him. Once she regained her composure, she tilted her head, looking at him curiously. “It’s kind of amazing.”

Gu Congli lowered his gaze, his large hand cradling the nape of her neck. His fingertips slowly rubbed against the delicate skin there. “What’s amazing?”

“Well…” Shi Yin spoke earnestly. “It’s just surprising that you’d do things like this. I used to think you didn’t even poop. The mere thought of you doing something so mundane felt like such a letdown—it almost made me stop liking you.”

Gu Congli narrowed his eyes, his fingers tightening slightly around her slender neck. Leaning in, he pressed his forehead against hers, his voice cold yet soft. “Then who would you like?”

Feeling the pressure on her neck, she shrank back slightly, clinging to him and rubbing her nose affectionately against his. “I was obviously joking! Don’t scare me like that—are you trying to strangle me?”

Gu Congli loosened his grip slightly. “Depends on whether you behave.”

“…” Shi Yin was genuinely alarmed. “Would you really strangle me?”

Gu Congli smiled faintly. “No.”

How could he ever bring himself to harm her?

Every touch was careful, as though she were something precious to be treasured and safeguarded. He wanted to shield her from disturbances, protect her from harm—and selfishly, ensure no one else discovered her light.

Regarding Qian An’s Below Zero anniversary event, Gu Congli had agreed to help. It was primarily a fan-oriented gathering, with some fans invited to attend, so bringing someone along wouldn’t be an issue.

On Monday, when Liang Qiushi came over, Shi Yin casually mentioned the event. His eyes immediately lit up.

“Only true greats get their works celebrated like this. When will I ever have my own Nth anniversary debut celebration?” Shi Yin glanced away from the line art on her computer screen. “Wait… are you also a fan of his?”

“Is there anyone in the manga industry who doesn’t admire him?”

Shi Yin thought for a moment. “Well, I remember someone once criticized his style, saying it was too eerie and depicted certain themes too cruelly or realistically, making it unsuitable for younger audiences… or something like that. I don’t remember the exact details.”

Liang Qiushi continued sketching backgrounds with practiced ease. “But aren’t Qian An’s protagonists fundamentally ‘good’ at their core? They just express themselves in extreme ways, which can make them seem closer to ‘evil’ without actually being sociopathic.”

“You’re such a loyal fan of Qian An.”

“Isn’t Teacher Shi Yi also following him?”

“I’m just following him because I find his work interesting. That’s totally different from being an actual fan like you guys,” Shi Yin said matter-of-factly. “Besides, I don’t think I’ll ever like him. Remember how my Weibo used to get flooded with haters accusing me of jumping on trends or trying to be mysterious? They even said I wanted to be the next Qian An just because I didn’t post photos, attend signings, or show up at events. And they called me out for ‘copying Qian An.’ Do you know how much that pissed me off? Why is it okay for your idol to be mysterious but not for me?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically as if to punctuate her rant: “This grudge is irreconcilable, I’m telling you. No forgiveness.”

Liang Qiushi: “...”

What did any of this have to do with Qian An? The real issue was her trolls.

Without changing his expression, Liang Qiushi sent her the revised storyboard background he had finished drawing. “Teacher Shi Yi, this has nothing to do with Teacher Qian An.”

“Do you still want to go to the Below Zero anniversary event?” Shi Yin poked at her tablet pen. “What’s going on with the background character on page 9? It’s so sloppy, and the perspective is all wrong.”

Liang Qiushi: “Ah, let me fix that.”

Shi Yin paused, looking up at him. “Qiushi, have you been a bit distracted lately? This kind of mistake has happened several times already.”

“...”

Liang Qiushi turned away, his gaze fixed on Photoshop, offering no response. “Maybe I’m just excited about meeting Teacher Qian An. Sorry, I’ll redraw it right away.”

Shi Yin didn’t say anything. Behind her computer screen, she frowned slightly.

With everything else going on—so many things happening one after another—she hadn’t noticed until now. Come to think of it, Liang Qiushi hadn’t really talked to her in a long, long time.

Their relationship had always been good. They were close in age, compatible in personality, and got along well. In her daily life, where she was essentially helpless (a “second-degree disabled person”), he often brought over snacks or helped clean her apartment.

Compared to her other assistants, Liang Qiushi acted more like her personal assistant, helping with various chores beyond just work-related tasks. Though technically a part-time assistant, Shi Yin paid him significantly more than most full-time assistants.

But recently, aside from work, it felt as though he’d disappeared.

Even during the online scandal surrounding Trembling Cat , which had caused quite a stir, Lin Youhe—the school tyrant with nerves of steel—even reached out to ask about what happened. Yet Liang Qiushi hadn’t said a single word.

Normally, given how well she knew him, he would’ve rushed over immediately to help brainstorm solutions.

Something had changed without her realizing it.

The Below Zero anniversary event was scheduled for early December—the busiest time of the year.

Every December issue of Crimson Moon featured a special edition, summarizing the entire year. It was twice as thick as usual, including columns by manga artists sharing anecdotes or insights into their creative process.

Naturally, the workload doubled too.

The editorial department typically began preparations two to three months in advance. Add to that the annual company-wide meeting at the end of December (handled by HR but requiring coordination with editors-in-chief), and it became clear that this was the busiest month of the year.

Only when Shi Yin finally realized this did she understand she’d chosen the absolute worst month to start a relationship.

For the special edition, serialized chapters needed to combine two episodes into one. Shi Yin once again entered a prolonged period of crunching deadlines. With Liang Qiushi and another assistant named Xiaoyu working together, they barely managed to keep up with the schedule.

Xiaoyu, her second assistant, was an adorable girl who had initially stuck around due to Shi Yin dangling the promise of “a photo of the editor-in-chief.” Months later, despite never actually seeing him, Xiaoyu had grown accustomed to the rhythm and seemed likely to become the second assistant after Liang Qiushi who could tolerate Shi Yin for more than half a year.

Shi Yin felt a sense of déjà vu. It had already been six months since Gu Congli first rang her doorbell.

She vividly remembered the weather that day—how she’d just applied a face mask and still wore a headband, and how cold the chilled sour plum juice in her hand had felt.

On Saturday, the Crimson Moon editorial team worked overtime. On Sunday, Gu Congli came over. As Shi Yin drew, she reminisced with him about their true beginning.

Using the end of her pen, she tapped her chin. “Editor-in-Chief, do you remember the first time you met me?”

Gu Congli flipped through the publication catalog feedback from the editors, not looking up. “I remember.”

At first, he hadn’t thought much of her. She was just one of many kids wandering around late at night. His impression of her stemmed from that fleeting glance before she left.

Later, Gu Congli attributed the vividness of the memory to coincidence—it was probably because the scene aligned perfectly with his aesthetic tastes.

In the dark crowd, she had turned back while holding an antiqued lantern, resembling one of the beautiful spirits participating in Japan’s Hyakki Yagyō from the picture books he read as a child.

Shi Yin created a new layer, sketching out Hong Ming’s eye lines through the rough draft. “You can’t blame me, you know. You scared me half to death suddenly appearing like some magic trick. I didn’t mean to slam the door in your face.”

She paused. “Though, you were pretty petty to just leave and ignore me afterward.”

It was only then that he realized she wasn’t referring to the same “first time” as him.

“It wasn’t because of that,” Gu Congli said.

“Then why?”

Seemingly recalling something unpleasant, Gu Congli’s lips tightened. “You weren’t wearing clothes, standing next to another man, and looking at me like I was an outsider.”

He frowned. “Like I didn’t belong.”

“...”

Could you stop acting so familiar? You were literally an outsider back then, Editor-in-Chief.

However—

“Who said I wasn’t wearing clothes?! I was fully dressed!” Shi Yin stopped drawing and looked up. “How dare you slander me like that?”

“Pajamas.”

“...” Shi Yin’s understanding of this man was shattered yet again. Her face twisted into a mix of horror and speechlessness. “That wasn’t pajamas—it was loungewear! Sometimes I even wear it to the supermarket downstairs. Besides, Brother Zhao has been my editor for almost a year now. We’re familiar. It’s not like there’s anything between us.”

“There is something,” Gu Congli glanced at her, his expression indifferent. “Even years apart wouldn’t change that.”