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Psst! We're moving!
On this day in May, Shi Yin received countless phone calls.
The first was from Lin Youhe, the former school bully. His deep voice still carried that familiar impatience. After two minutes of silence, just as Shi Yin was wondering if he had called to borrow money, she finally heard him coldly utter two words: “Congratulations.”
Shi Yin let out a surprised “Ah?” before Apple Candy Teacher hung up on her.
She stared at the phone, dumbfounded, when it rang again.
This time, it was an unfamiliar number. Shi Yin answered politely with a greeting.
“Teacher Shi Yi, congratulations,” a woman’s voice said softly, pleasant and familiar, though Shi Yin couldn’t immediately place it.
The woman chuckled and introduced herself: “I’m Lin Yu Jing. We met once at the annual company gathering.”
Shi Yin remembered—the girl in the red dress.
Later, she asked Gu Congli and learned that this person was indeed the boss of Yaoguang Studio.
However, this boss was more of a hands-off figurehead, hiring a team of talented professionals to manage the company while barely involving himself. He only appeared during annual events, gatherings, or team-building activities—more of a hobbyist than a leader.
Shi Yin let out another drawn-out “Ah—” and sat cross-legged on the couch. “Thank you,” she said hesitantly. “But… what exactly am I being congratulated for?”
Lin Yu Jing fell silent for a moment before laughing lightly. “I think it’s best if you ask Gu Congli about that.”
Shi Yin: “...”
After exchanging a few more words, the call ended. Shi Yin saved Lin Yu Jing’s number in her contacts, glanced at the time, and was about to call Gu Congli when her phone rang again.
Liang Qiushi sounded utterly ecstatic, shouting the moment she picked up: “Teacher! Teacher! Congratulations!!”
“...”
Shi Yin leaned back into the couch, unable to hold back any longer: “What exactly are all of you congratulating me for?!”
Liang Qiushi was usually a reserved young man, with a touch of youthful pride and a penchant for appearing deep. But now, his excitement was unmistakable: “The anime! Teacher, will you be involved in the production? What about the voice actors?”
Shi Yin froze, her third “Ah?” of the day.
Liang Qiushi was already pairing up potential production teams, rattling off names so quickly that Shi Yin’s head spun. She hurriedly interrupted: “Wait, what do you mean by ‘anime’? Me?”
“Hong Ming Long Que ! Isn’t it being adapted into an anime? But teacher, even though you’ve been working on this series for a year, there’s still not much content. It might take a while before the project starts, or maybe they’ll add some original subplots?”
Shi Yin understood now: Hong Ming Long Que was being adapted into an anime.
But she herself had no idea about it.
If it had just been Liang Qiushi or Lin Youhe, she might have thought it was a prank. But even Lin Yu Jing had called—this “prank” felt far too real.
Shi Yin was skeptical: “How do you know about this?”
“You recommended me to Brother He as an assistant, remember? I just heard it from him.”
Shi Yin recalled that Liang Qiushi used to be her sole assistant but had free time occasionally. She had sent him to work with Lin Youhe, thinking he could learn different things from other manga artists.
“So how did he find out?”
“It seems Teacher Xiyeno told him. I overheard them talking earlier.”
“…And how did Teacher Xiyeno know?”
“Isn’t Teacher Xiyeno’s studio currently negotiating a collaboration with Yaoguang Studio? I think someone from their management mentioned it.”
Shi Yin: “...”
So, her own work—she was truly the last to know?
After hanging up, Shi Yin was still in a daze. Her heart pounded faster and faster, her fingertips went cold, and her hands trembled. She quickly dialed Gu Congli.
As soon as he picked up, she shouted: “Gu Congli!”
“...”
On the other end, Gu Congli glanced at the time—it was probably not long after she had woken up. “What is it?”
“What’s this about Hong Ming Long Que being adapted into an anime? I didn’t know anything! Everyone’s calling me, but I’m completely clueless!”
“Mm, I was planning to tell you tonight and ask for your opinion.”
“No need to ask.” Shi Yin cut him off decisively.
Gu Congli: “Hmm?”
Shi Yin spoke firmly: “Just go ahead with it. Hurry up! If there’s any issue with funding, I’ll cover it myself.”
Gu Congli: “...”
Throughout the afternoon, Shi Yin received numerous calls, messages on WeChat, Weibo, and various social media platforms.
After hours of repetitive conversations, she had calmed down from her initial excitement. When the phone rang again, she answered emotionlessly, mechanically saying: “Thank you, thank you.”
After she finished speaking, there was a long silence on the other end.
The silence felt strange.
Shi Yin pulled the phone away, glanced at the caller ID—an unfamiliar number.
She brought it back to her ear just in time to hear the man’s voice: “Hello, this is Gu Lin.”
Shi Yin’s hand trembled, and the phone nearly slipped from her grasp.
Her eyes widened as she confirmed she hadn’t misheard. Stammering, she replied: “Y-You... hello...”
She hadn’t even considered how Gu Lin had obtained her number. Gu Congli was already omniscient and omnipotent—how could his father be any less capable?
The man seemed to sense her nervousness and spoke calmly: “Does Miss Shi Yin have time today? I’d like to invite you to dinner.”
Nothing seemed out of place.
Yet, Shi Yin inexplicably felt immense pressure—as if she couldn’t possibly refuse whatever he proposed.
She knew Gu Congli disliked this. He clearly didn’t want her to interact with his father, to have any connection whatsoever.
But if she wanted their relationship to last, avoidance wasn’t the solution.
Someday, these matters would need to be faced.
Gu Lin had booked a private restaurant. When Shi Yin arrived, he was already seated in a quiet, secluded corner, his back to the entrance. As always, he wore a perfectly tailored black suit, his hair immaculate even from behind.
Shi Yin approached and nodded slightly: “Hello.”
Gu Lin looked up. Their brief encounter last time had left an impression, but seeing him now, Shi Yin couldn’t help but marvel again at how young he appeared.
She guessed he was older than her father, yet her father already had wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, especially noticeable when he smiled—a kind and gentle demeanor.
Though he rarely smiled.
On the way here, she had been nervous, unsure why Gu Lin had invited her alone. But now that she was here, she felt strangely calm.
Whatever he wanted to say, it didn’t matter—Gu Congli didn’t listen to him anyway.
What if he followed the cliché romance novel trope and offered her a check for ten million to leave his son?
Then she’d make Gu Congli put her name on the deed to his luxurious downtown penthouse.
After all, she was about to give up a ten-million-yuan check for him.
Shi Yin braced herself, fully prepared to resist temptation and defend her love wholeheartedly. Gu Lin chuckled softly: “No need to be nervous. Today, I simply wish to chat with you—as Congli’s father.”
Here we go.
Shi Yin steeled herself.
“When did you and Congli meet?”
That was a good question.
If she really thought about it, it was around seven or eight years ago.
“Last spring,” Shi Yin answered conservatively.
Last spring, when he came as the editor-in-chief, they reunited. There was nothing wrong with that.
Gu Lin’s expression remained unchanged as he elegantly sliced his steak, then abruptly changed the subject: “Congli has always been different from other children. He matured early and was remarkably composed even as a child.”
Shi Yin didn’t know where he was going with this and remained silent, listening.
Gu Lin continued: “He’s like me—his personality is very similar to mine. I’m actually pleased. He has the potential to excel beyond many others, even surpassing me. I trained him personally and placed great hopes on him, yet he despises me. I don’t understand why.”
He genuinely seemed perplexed, raising his head and tilting it as he looked at Shi Yin: “Am I not doing everything for his benefit? I can help him rise above others, become even better. He’s so much like me, yet he’s always preferred his mother.”
“Uncle Gu, Gu Congli isn’t like you,” Shi Yin said earnestly. “He understands what love is.”
Gu Lin’s gaze was calm: “He’s my son. Of course I love him.”
Shi Yin lowered her eyes: “You only love yourself.”
Gu Lin fell silent. After a long pause, he suddenly spoke: “Without you, Congli would have succeeded. He would have been like me, instead of being so easily satisfied now. You’ve ruined him.”
At his words, Shi Yin suddenly recalled the Gu Congli she had met many years ago.
Had his eyes been like this back then—cold and almost devoid of emotion, with no visible fluctuations in his feelings, indifferent to everything?
If she hadn’t mustered the courage to approach him back then, would he have ended up like Gu Lin—living a life devoid of desire and love?
“Did Aunt Bai Lu fail to destroy you?” Shi Yin asked softly.
Gu Lin was startled: “What?”
The girl looked at him, her almond-shaped eyes dark yet clear, gentle and quiet: “You don’t love Aunt Bai Lu, so why did you marry her?”
Gu Lin’s brow furrowed slightly, as if he couldn’t comprehend her question: “We were well-matched. She was an excellent marriage candidate.” He paused, his expression indifferent. “If she hadn’t kept causing unnecessary trouble, our marriage could have been very successful. I treated her well.”
Shi Yin was speechless.
When he spoke about marriage, it was as though he were discussing a business transaction.
This man’s eyes held no warmth.
She understood now—he wouldn’t be swayed by anything. Every action he took was purposeful, without hesitation or consideration for anyone else.
In short, this marriage was a union of two mismatched individuals, where wrong met wrong, resulting only in tragedy.
Bai Lu had wanted pure, flawless love, while Gu Lin could give her everything except that.
A woman like Bai Lu, upon realizing the other person didn’t love her, couldn’t possibly maintain the façade of a happy marriage, no matter how perfect the other party appeared on the surface.
Thus came the arguments, the irrational tantrums, the hysterical outbursts—all culminating in their current state. All of this stemmed from her desire for just a little more care, a little more love from him.
But he couldn’t give it.
Shi Yin didn’t know whether Gu Lin was truly the guilty party in this tragedy.
On one hand, he wasn’t exactly at fault—it was simply his nature.
And yet, Shi Yin felt pity for Gu Lin.
Throughout his entire life, he had never been “destroyed” by anyone, never met someone who could make him willingly stop and stay.
________________________________________
Gu Congli was highly efficient. The animation adaptation of Hong Ming Long Que was quickly confirmed. The official announcement was made by Chi Yue , and Shi Yin reposted it.
Many people in the industry reposted their congratulations, and Shi Yin unexpectedly received a message from Han Dan.
Han Dan had been embroiled in a legal battle with Trembling Cat over domestic violence and intellectual property rights—a case that had dragged on for nearly a year before finally making some progress recently.
From her words, it was clear that Han Dan was in much better spirits now, even lively. The two chatted for a while and agreed to collaborate once Han Dan’s issues were resolved—Han Dan would write the script, and Shi Yin would handle the illustrations.
Her talent in writing and reasoning was truly a gift from above.
The announcement of the anime adaptation also boosted the sales of the manga serialization and its collected volumes. A month later, 10,000 additional copies of Hong Ming Long Que were printed, along with 1,000 signed editions.
Shi Yin’s Echo had never been reprinted. It had only been on the market for a few months, but she was ecstatic, rolling around on the bed with Gu Congli in her arms: “Ah! I’m being reprinted! Am I amazing or what?!”
His pajamas were all rumpled from her pulling, but he remained calm, nonchalantly replying: “Amazing.”
No words were needed—his composure was like a bucket of cold water dousing Shi Yin’s excitement.
But now, not even several buckets could extinguish her joy. She hugged him, smiling brightly: “Teacher Qi’an can reprint hundreds of millions of copies whenever he wants. You wouldn’t understand the happiness of us small-time creators with just 10,000 copies.”
Gu Congli lowered his gaze: “Are you trying to kill me with praise now?”
Shi Yin cupped his face, rubbing her nose against his: “Not at all. This is my admiration for Teacher Qi’an.”
Gu Congli pursed his lips and suddenly said: “Shi Yin, read fewer of those comics.”
Shi Yin tilted her head: “Are you referring to those comics, or the ones you drew?”
Gu Congli gave a faint “Mm.”
The name “Qi’an” represented his darker side—the unknown parts of him that he expressed through his pen under that pseudonym.
These things, he hoped, she would avoid as much as possible.
But Shi Yin still smiled brightly: “Teacher Qi’an, do you ever look at the things you’ve drawn after finishing them?”
Her hair brushed against his neck, tickling him slightly. Gu Congli swallowed, lifting his hand to tuck her long hair behind her ear: “No.”
She suddenly sat up, cross-legged on the bed, hands braced against the mattress as she looked at him: “When I first saw Qi’an’s Sleeping Day , I thought the author’s work was terrifying.”
Gu Congli’s eyes darkened slightly: “So don’t read it.”
“Later, when I grew up and reread it, I suddenly realized it was a healing story. I thought it was good. Good people aren’t blindly kind, and bad people aren’t all dark.”
Those who walk against the light cast shadows over their path, and vice versa.
Even in filthy, muddy swamps, pristine flowers can bloom. People are the same.
No matter how sinful a person may be, somewhere deep within their soul, there remains a place lush with life, teeming with vitality, like tender sprouts struggling desperately to break through the soil.
Shi Yin blinked and continued: “At that moment, I thought the person who could create such a story must have a very gentle heart.”
________________________________________
The previous signed edition of Hong Ming Long Que had been sent to Shi Yin by the printing factory, where she signed directly on the pages before sending them back for binding. This time, however, the 1,000 signed copies were already bound into books, and Shi Yin went to the printing factory herself to sign them.
Because of the poster incident last time, she was already familiar with the factory manager. Gu Congli hadn’t accompanied her today. The freshly printed books were neatly stacked on the table—a total of 1,000 copies to sign.
Since they had been printed a couple of days earlier, they weren’t stored inside the main facility but in a separate small warehouse on the western side of the printing plant’s courtyard. A staff member led her there, and Shi Yin found herself alone inside, staring at the massive pile of books on the table, feeling utterly overwhelmed.
One thousand copies—how long would it take to sign them all?
Thankfully, her pen name was relatively easy to write. She thought about Qi’an’s pen name, which was much more complicated, and imagined how painful it must be to sign that repeatedly.
But then again, someone of Qi’an’s caliber probably only signs 100 copies.
And then there’s Sweet Apple Candy.
Five characters.
Shi Yin instantly felt better, picking up her pen and twirling it between her fingers as she started scrolling through Weibo.
Procrastination manifested in every aspect of life.
After scrolling through Weibo for an hour, she glanced at the clock—it was almost 2 PM. Finally, Shi Yin put down her phone, opened the music player app, plugged in her earphones, and began signing.
She pulled over a book, signed it, and placed it neatly to one side.
Mechanically repeating this motion for who knows how long, the edge of Shi Yin’s pinky finger became red and raw from the friction of the paper. The U-shaped warehouse was filled to the brim with books and papers stacked against the walls, leaving only a large table in the center where she sat.
Boredom, loneliness, and desolation enveloped her.
She began to regret not bringing Gu Congli along to keep her company and talk to her.
Hunched over the table, Shi Yin scribbled away with her pen when she suddenly smelled something like popcorn.
At first, she thought it was her imagination, perhaps the smell of ink from the printing factory. But as the scent grew stronger, it wasn’t popcorn—it was the smell of burning paper.
Her expression shifted, and she raised her head, sniffing the air. Smoke was drifting over from the far end of the warehouse, carrying a choking odor.
Shi Yin yanked off her earphones and ran toward the source.
A stack of paper in the corner had caught fire, hidden in a recessed area where Shi Yin, sitting in the middle, couldn’t see it. If she hadn’t smelled the smoke, she wouldn’t have noticed until the flames reached her.
Without hesitation, she shouted for help while rushing toward the door, which was unfortunately on the other side. As she approached, a towering stack of paper blocking the doorway caught fire and collapsed, trembling as it fell.
Shi Yin screamed and quickly dodged backward.
Thick black smoke billowed, and flames licked the papers, shooting high into the air. The deep red door was obscured behind the inferno.
Surrounded by flammable materials, the fire spread rapidly. Within minutes, the temperature rose, drying out her eyes and scorching her cheeks, as if her clothes might catch fire at any moment.
As the flames spread domino-like across the stacks of paper lining the walls, Shi Yin closed her mouth, holding her breath as much as possible, and ran toward the window at the far end of the warehouse. She pushed it open forcefully.
The window was barred with iron railings, but fresh air rushed in, and the smoke poured out. In that fleeting moment, she saw a shadow flash past.
Shi Yin didn’t dwell on it, turning around to scan the area quickly. She ran to the wall, opened the fire extinguisher box, grabbed the extinguisher, pulled the safety pin, and aimed it at the fiercest part of the fire near the doorway, spraying wildly.
The fire spread too fast; the small extinguisher barely made a dent.
The noise outside grew louder, and someone shouted her name. Shi Yin dropped the extinguisher, covered her mouth tightly, and crouched on the ground, responding faintly. By now, flames had consumed most of the room, licking at the piles of signed books on her desk, igniting them instantly.
Thick smoke invaded her mouth and nose, and the heat scorched her body as if her clothes might ignite. Shi Yin coughed violently, then heard a loud “bang”—someone had kicked open the warehouse door.
Crouching on the ground, Shi Yin raised her eyes, seeing him rush through the flames toward her, enveloped in a flurry of white—dry chemical extinguishing agent.
Shi Yin couldn’t help herself and burst out laughing.
Gu Congli scooped her up and rushed out of the door. Outside, employees were already wielding fire extinguishers, and the fire department arrived quickly. She nestled in his arms, giggling uncontrollably.
He lowered his head, lips pressed tightly together, his voice strained: “Are you burned anywhere?”
Shi Yin shook her head and continued to laugh: “No.”
Gu Congli fell silent.
Shi Yin looked up at him.
The man seemed to suddenly lose all his strength, his body collapsing—but his arms remained firmly locked around her, holding her tightly against him.
Shi Yin reached up and gently poked at the taut corner of his lips, softly saying: “I’m fine. Luckily, you came so quickly. By the way, how did you get here so fast?”
“I thought you might get bored, so I came over.”
The firefighters arrived promptly. A young man in an orange uniform spotted them and whistled loudly: “Hey, bro, if there’s trouble, take her to the hospital. If not, go home and cuddle!”
Shi Yin blushed, kicking her legs slightly as she whispered: “You can put me down first—I’m really okay.”
Gu Congli didn’t say a word. Silently, he set her down.
As soon as her feet touched the ground, she steadied herself. Suddenly, he raised his arm and pulled her into his embrace once again.
His grip was so tight that it hurt, as if he wanted to embed her into his chest. His head hung low, his hot breath brushing against her neck.
Shi Yin reached up and wrapped her arms around his waist.
Gu Congli suddenly spoke: “Shi Yin,” his voice hoarse with a barely noticeable tremor, “from now on, when I’m not around, you’re not allowed to go anywhere.”
Despite Shi Yin repeatedly insisting she was fine, Gu Congli still insisted on taking her to the hospital for a thorough check-up. Only after confirming she was completely unharmed did he finally bring her back home.
The printing factory manager had accompanied them to the hospital to apologize, and later called again. In recent years, fires had become common in packaging factories and print shops. The entire facility was equipped with fire suppression systems—except for that old warehouse.
That area was shaded, with little sunlight, making natural fires unlikely unless something unexpected happened. Hence, they had only placed a single fire extinguisher inside.
No one expected a fire to break out—or even how it started.
As Shi Yin listened, she suddenly recalled the fleeting figure she’d glimpsed when she opened the window earlier.
“Check the surveillance footage,” Gu Congli suddenly said.
She turned her head to look at him.
Gu Congli held the phone in his hand, his voice low and soft: “Blind spots? Then pull every bit of surveillance footage from every corner of the factory during that time period.”
His expression was emotionless, his lips downturned, his light brown eyes icy cold—not the usual detached calmness but layered with shadows, making him look like a wraith freshly crawled out of the underworld.
Shi Yin quietly raised her hand and gently tugged at his fingertips.
She had just finished bathing and eaten something, now leaning comfortably on the bed. Gu Congli glanced sideways, ended the call, and leaned down to kiss her forehead tenderly: “Want to rest for a bit?”
Shi Yin shook her head, then thought about it and nodded, lying down.
Gu Congli pulled the blanket higher over her and patted her gently through the covers, as if soothing a child: “Sleep. I’ll stay with you.”
________________________________________
It wasn’t until three days later that Shi Yin heard news of Li Nian again.
After being publicly shamed by several illustrators who worked together to expose her misconduct, Li Nian had lain low for a while, staying out of the public eye. But when she reappeared, it was because she had been arrested for arson.
Shi Yin had known all along that Gu Congli wouldn’t let this matter slide. Even if he had to dig up the earth itself, he would uncover the cause—or rather, the person responsible.
Li Nian’s life had been miserable during this time. She faced online harassment, spent most of the money she earned in the past year on compensation, and was completely abandoned by Yang Culture, which no longer responded to her calls. With her face exposed, she even feared stepping outside.
And yet, at this very moment, Hong Ming Long Que was moving forward with its anime adaptation.
She had lost everything, while Shi Yin had gained everything. Why should all the good fortune fall to her? Why should her luck be so extraordinary?
How could the world be so unfair? How could things be so unjust?
The malicious thought arose in an instant.
No matter how much regret followed, it was too late.
In the height of summer, the air was humid and stifling, the wind stagnant, as if the atmosphere had solidified.
The Hong Ming Long Que anime project was officially confirmed, with production set to begin early next year. Outside the Yaoguang Studio building, men and women stood chatting under the scorching sun.
A passing girl curiously asked someone nearby: “Excuse me, what’s going on inside? Is there some kind of event?”
As soon as she asked, she regretted looking up.
Oh my goodness, this person looked terrifying.
He appeared to be nearly six and a half feet tall, frowning, exuding impatience, his dark eyes glaring at her: “It’s Shi Yi’s book signing.”
The girl didn’t dare ask further, quickly retreating two steps, her pale face apologizing profusely.
She assumed Shi Yi must be some kind of writer, curiosity piqued, and dragged her companion inside.
Upon entering, she immediately saw the beautiful girl sitting at the table.
She wore a simple gray dress, her fair skin and large eyes captivating. She held a pen, head bowed as she wrote something in the book before her. A few strands of hair fell loose, making her look like a perfect photograph.
The girl recognized her instantly—it was her! From the airplane!
Sure enough, a glance to the side revealed a man standing beside her, his demeanor cold and aloof. His light gray shirt seemed to match hers like a couple’s outfit. He gazed down at her writing with tender, lingering affection.
The girl was so excited she slapped her thigh.
The super-sweet couple from first class!!
This was the first time, as a flight attendant, she’d encountered passengers on the ground—and ones who left such a deep impression. Her eyes sparkled as she eagerly bought a book and joined the queue for autographs.
When it was finally her turn, the girl looked at Shi Yin expectantly and couldn’t help asking: “Excuse me, do you remember me?”
Shi Yin looked up carefully, genuinely unable to recall seeing her before.
She felt a bit embarrassed: “Sorry, my memory isn’t great.”
The girl didn’t mind. After receiving her signed book, she happily exclaimed: “You and your husband are so well-matched.”
Shi Yin froze, her face flushing red.
She quickly corrected: “No, this is my boyfriend…”
The girl’s eyes widened, her Northeastern accent slipping out: “What do you mean, not your husband yet?”
The person behind her leaned over: “Holy crap, isn’t this Teacher Shi Yi’s editor?”
“Holy crap, not the editor—her boyfriend.”
“Maybe the editor became her boyfriend.”
“Why can’t it be the boyfriend who became the editor?”
“Holy crap, when did our Goddess Shi Yi start dating?! The rival is right here in front of us, and I’ve been naively thinking their relationship was purely professional between editor and manga artist?!”
Suddenly, Xiyeno Nai, hidden in the crowd, shouted in a high-pitched voice: “I don’t believe it! I refuse to believe it unless they kiss in public!!!”
Several people chimed in, and soon the entire crowd began chanting in unison.
“Kiss in public!!!”
“Kiss!!!”
“In public!!!”
“Hurry up and kiss!!!”
“...”
Shi Yin stared at the chaotic crowd below, utterly bewildered, her face red and unsure of what to do.
Though this wasn’t her first book signing, why did the circumstances always feel different each time?!
Clearing her throat, Shi Yin picked up the microphone: “Hey, everyone, please calm down.”
A female fan cried out loud enough to shake the heavens: “Kiss in public!!!”
Even Shi Yin’s ears turned red. Helplessly, she raised her head to look at Gu Congli.
The man remained completely calm and composed, not even raising an eyelid, still acting as though none of this concerned him.
Shi Yin suddenly felt a surge of frustration.
Every time, he acted like he was completely detached, as if only she felt embarrassed, which made her angry.
Puffing her cheeks, she abruptly dropped her pen, turned around, raised her arm, and grabbed Gu Congli’s tie, pulling him down.
Caught off guard, he bent down, leaned forward, and lowered his head. The next moment, her soft, warm lips pressed against his.
Gu Congli’s eyes widened slightly, but he quickly recovered, bracing himself against the table as she kissed him.
The scene fell silent for three seconds, then erupted into chaos.
Cheers and applause broke out everywhere. Girls screamed, while boys whistled loudly.
The flight attendant was moved to tears, turning around only to bump into a hard chest. Looking up, she saw the intimidating man she’d met at the entrance, now glaring at her with a dark, ferocious expression.
Her tears dried up instantly, and she hiccupped in fear, wiping her eyes nervously: “S-Sorry!”
Lin Youhe furrowed his brow and distanced himself from her in disgust.
Glancing at her tear-streaked face, he reluctantly handed her a tissue.
Outside, the sky was clear and blue, without a trace of impurity. The blazing sun illuminated the large promotional standee outside Yaoguang Studio.
Hong Ming, dressed in blue, and Da Xia Long Que, clad in red, each held a long sword crossed together. The sharp blades gleamed faintly, bearing bold black calligraphy overhead: The Sharp Edge of Chinese Anime.
This was a wonderful era.
We were young, reckless, full of vitality, free to pursue whatever we desired, and ready to pick up dreams left unfulfilled.
We could cry our hearts out or laugh aloud, shedding the timid, shrinking versions of ourselves and leaving behind the dusty, shadowy pasts. We could kiss the ones we loved openly under the sun.
—All the misfortune and suffering I have endured has merely been to accumulate a lifetime of fortune, so that I may meet you.
<The End>
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