IJLHTW - 5

Médecins Sans Frontières—Doctors Without Borders—is the world’s most renowned and largest non-profit organization.

Huo Ci stared at the photo of Yi Zecheng. His hair was shorter than it was now, his skin tanned, and those deep-set eyes weren’t as calm and emotionless as they were today—they burned with intensity.

There was a café on the first floor. When she saw the documents in Yue Su’s hands, she invited her to sit down. Huo Ci had searched online for information about Yi Zecheng before but found very little.

She was surprised when she saw the name of the university he graduated from on the file. “He did his undergraduate studies at B University?”

“Yup, he’s your alumnus,” Yue Su said with a smile. Huo Ci was a hotshot photographer, and her academic background had once stirred up quite a buzz.

To promote her, Bai Yu had put in a lot of effort. Audiences loved personas like rich, pretty elites or top students. Huo Ci hated involving her family, so Bai Yu never dared touch that nerve. Still, he skillfully crafted her image as a cold and aloof goddess. Later, it was leaked that she graduated from B University, and the combination of academic excellence and beauty made her reputation soar.

A beautiful photographer who graduated from B University—it was something her fans were proud to boast about.

But popularity always comes with backlash. Soon, people came out claiming she had only graduated from a third-tier college affiliated with B University and that she was a fraud using B University’s name.

This sort of thing had happened to other celebrities, so it became a huge deal on Weibo. “Huo Ci’s education background” topped the trending chart for a whole day. Her fans quickly came to her defense and even found her graduation photo. Later, someone even located her name among B University’s list of notable alumni.

That incident solidified her status as an academic achiever. After the heated discussions, her fame only grew. Her flawless looks and credentials even overshadowed her actual photography skills. Her popularity was soon comparable to that of mainstream actresses.

It turned out he was six years older than her. So, when she entered the medical school at B University, he had already moved on to Oxford University.

“After graduating from Oxford, he worked at a hospital in Hong Kong for two years and then joined Médecins Sans Frontières. He participated in four missions, going to some of the most dangerous places on earth—Afghanistan, Liberia, Yemen, and South Sudan.”

“He performed 300 surgeries in thirteen months—practically the physical limit for a surgeon,” Yue Su said with admiration. She had tried many times to interview Yi Zecheng and had memorized his résumé by heart.

But since his return to China, she had never gotten the chance. All her attempts to contact his assistant had ended in flat-out rejections.

“He’s a surgeon?” Huo Ci asked, still staring at the photo.

“Yes. He was known as one of the best. People often say Doctors Without Borders members are idealists in the real world, but I think they’re real warriors. Giving up a comfortable life to go into war zones, helping people who are clinging to life—” Yue Su’s eyes lit up as she spoke.

Journalists always had a particular fascination with stories of suffering. So when she learned that the new CEO of Mingsheng Pharma was the famous DK.Yi, she’d been eager to land an interview.

She looked at Huo Ci enviously. “When did you switch careers to become a reporter? I’ve been trying to get an interview for half a year, and he’s refused every time. Who would've thought you'd get to him first.”

Huo Ci looked up, understanding the implication behind her words. She shook her head slightly. “I didn’t interview him. It’s for a different job.”

Hearing this, Yue Su was relieved and joked, “Is it an ad shoot? Mingsheng Pharma spends big on advertising, and I heard they’re targeting younger markets now. No wonder they’d hire you.”

Huo Ci didn’t actually know what Yi Zecheng wanted her to do, but her instincts told her it wasn’t for some ad campaign.

If it were, it wouldn’t involve so much secrecy.

After saying goodbye to Yue Su, Huo Ci realized she was already five minutes late. When she took the elevator up to the 21st floor, Yang Ming was waiting at the door. Seeing her, he visibly relaxed.

His eyes couldn’t help but sweep over her outfit.

She was wearing a long black smoking coat, a simple white blouse with the top two buttons undone, black high-waisted shorts, and black pointed stiletto heels.

Huo Ci was tall with great proportions. With the high-waisted shorts and Jimmy Choo stilettos, her look was visually explosive—completely captivating.

Yang Ming glanced down briefly—Miss Huo’s profile clearly said her height was 1.72 meters. Did she lie?

“Miss Huo, this way please,” Yang Ming said, leading her toward Yi Zecheng’s office.

“Is that President Yi’s girlfriend? Her figure is insane, those legs are at least two meters long!”

“No idea, but she looks familiar. I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere.”

“Game over for me. I don’t stand a chance. A goddess with legs like that? I lose.”

The two front desk admins whispered after they left.

Yang Ming knocked on the door, and half a minute later, a cool voice from inside said, “Come in.” He pushed open the heavy brown door. “President Yi, Miss Huo is here.”

The man behind the desk didn’t look up—still writing something on the documents before him. Huo Ci took a few steps forward into the spacious office. It was semi-circular, with the outer wall made entirely of glass. The view was excellent, overlooking the most vibrant part of the city.

The weather was good today—blue skies, white clouds, and golden sunlight.

Yi Zecheng signed his name, closed the folder, and slowly looked up.

The first thing that caught his eye was a pair of dazzling, pale, long legs.

The dark carpet of the office made those legs stand out even more—slender and elegant. His gaze only paused there for a second before rising to meet hers, his expression calm: “You’re ten minutes late.”

Huo Ci replied sincerely, “Sorry. It’s my first time here and I couldn’t find a parking spot.”

A smooth lie, effortlessly told.

But Yi Zecheng didn’t pursue it. He gestured for her to sit. His office was mainly in black and white—very much like the décor of Huo Ci’s own home. She sat down on the long white couch, while he took the single-seater beside her, crossing his legs slightly, leaning forward: “Miss Huo, would you like something to drink?”

“Coffee. No sugar,” she said.

Neither spoke again. Assistant Yang, as he left, thoughtfully closed the door behind him.

Previously, none of the photographers had come in person. They either couriered the photos within the city or had assistants deliver them. Some even emailed them directly.

Only Miss Huo had come in person.

And her intentions couldn’t be more obvious.

Yi Zecheng looked down at the photo on his computer. The dusky background, dotted with warm yellow lights in the distance, felt like beacons lighting the way home. The sky was dim, but those gentle glows gave a comforting warmth.

On that war-torn land, surely in the hearts of the displaced people, there was a similar light—yearning to guide them home.

But more often than not, they died in refugee camps, never making it home.

The scene was bleak, yet she didn’t use black-and-white shots. Instead, the photo conveyed a profound warmth. Unlike previous photographers who maximized the display of suffering, she emphasized hope.

Yi Zecheng looked up again and carefully studied the woman sitting beside him.

Huo Ci’s fame wasn’t just due to her talent—her beauty played a part too. Although the fashion world was full of beautiful people, those who reached this level were rare. She had a flawless oval face, arched brows, cool eyes, and an air of aloofness that made her even more alluring. She had an otherworldly coldness—so beautiful yet so untouchable—it made people want to break through her walls.

But forget her heart—no one had even gotten close to her.

He had already heard plenty about her through Yang Ming’s briefing. She was an extremely commercialized photographer. After her initial award, she hadn’t submitted anything for competition since. But that hadn’t hurt her commercial value—in just the past year, she had shot 90 magazine covers, including all five major women’s magazines, effortlessly securing the prime September and October issues.

Still, he hadn’t expected someone so commercial to deliver such a surprising piece of work.

“Miss Huo, the reason I invited you in is because we have a project that involves shooting a promotional film in Africa. If you’re willing to take the job, we’ll need a one-month commitment.”

Huo Ci was stunned. After speaking to Yue Su downstairs, she had suspected something—but not this.

Africa? Even the Middle East would be preferable...

And a whole month? She remembered the jam-packed schedule Xiao Bai had laid out for her. Forget a month—she probably couldn’t even spare a week.

But she didn’t panic. Now that Yi Zecheng had chosen her, she held the upper hand. The balance had tipped in her favor.

She smiled and called his name, “Yi Zecheng.”

Unlike him, she didn’t bother with formalities. She didn’t call him Mr. Yi, just his full name.

When she said his name, it slipped off her tongue with a teasing allure.

“How do you write your name?”

Yi Zecheng frowned at her, the corner of his mouth curving in mockery. But Huo Ci met his gaze steadily. “I can’t go to Africa with a man whose name I don’t even know how to write, can I?”

Her voice was soft, almost like a drifting mist.

Yi Zecheng stood up. Today, as always, he wore a sharply tailored suit. He walked over to his desk and picked up a black business card from the cardholder. With his other hand, he casually undid the button of his jacket, resting his palm lightly on his waist.

Huo Ci watched his every move from the couch.

He walked over and handed her the card. Just as she had imagined, it was custom-made yet minimalist—carrying an air of unintentional arrogance. His name, “Yi Zecheng,” was handwritten in calligraphy, strong and restrained.

“Gentleman like water, adaptable and at ease—at peace wherever he may be.” Huo Ci read the quote on the card softly.

Yi Zecheng actually raised an eyebrow, a trace of surprise flashing across his face—as if to say, You know this?

There were actually two more lines, which Huo Ci didn’t read aloud:

Choose one person to grow old with; choose one city to spend your life in.

Whoever named him must’ve been a romantic at heart.

Seeing the flicker of emotion on his face, Huo Ci smiled.

Looks like that quote she googled before coming upstairs really did the trick.