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At 7 a.m., Shi Min parked her car at Chang’an Road Square, changed into running shoes, and slipped into a bright white tracksuit. Pulling her baseball cap low over her eyes, she began her morning jog along the street.
She dialed her assistant’s number to check her schedule for the day. After reporting back, the assistant asked in surprise, “Sis, are you already awake?”
“Mhm.”
The assistant panicked. If Shi Min was coming to the office this early, she’d have to arrive even earlier—but she was still squeezing onto the subway right now.
The assistant timidly asked, “…Sis, why so diligent today?”
Shi Min glanced up at the nearby No. 89 Chang’an Road and smiled, “Morning run.”
The assistant cautiously probed about her location: “Oh? At your doorstep?”
“Mhm.” Shi Min hummed affirmatively, “Chang’an Road.”
After spending the previous night directing her team to locate and return the bike, the assistant immediately connected the dots upon hearing “Chang’an Road” again. She nearly twisted her ankle in shock amidst the crowded subway car.
After a long pause, she tentatively asked, “Sis… did someone ask you out?”
“Morning runs are good for health.” Shi Min replied, “I’ll head to the office later; arrange the meeting agenda.”
No. 89 Chang’an Road was tucked away in an alley called “Bottle Alley.”
No. 89 Chang’an Road—Zhengzhi Art Studio.
Shi Min tilted her cap brim upward and confirmed it once more. Yes, Zhengzhi Art Studio.
The storefront wasn’t small. Its deliberately weathered blue-green wooden doorframe featured two glass-paneled doors. A wooden sign hanging from the wave-shaped handle on the inside of the glass read “Open.” However, the small floral-patterned curtains inside hadn’t been drawn yet, suggesting the owner hadn’t woken up.
Next to the “Open” sign hung a handwritten note.
Shi Min walked closer and bent down.
Friendly Reminder: Adult art studio. No underage students accepted.
The handwriting was beautiful—sharp-edged, upright, and full of character. It could be said that the writing reflected the person.
Shi Min chuckled, “What an odd friendly reminder.”
Doesn’t like kids?
Overall, this was a literary and fresh little art studio.
But the name… Shi Min double-checked, wondering for a moment if she had forgotten how to read Chinese characters. But no, the retro-fresh little studio bore a cute and clear-cut sign above the door, unmistakably reading “Zhengzhi Art Studio.”
Shi Min shook her head slightly, a helpless smile tugging at her lips.
There were fewer than ten shops scattered throughout the alley, all spaced far apart, quiet and secluded.
The bike she had retrieved last night sat parked outside the door, locked to the crooked locust tree with a battered, paint-chipped red lock.
This was the first time Shi Min got a full look at the bicycle.
A vintage 28-inch bike, newly fitted with a handmade wooden basket at the front. The basket was delicate and quaint, standing in stark contrast to the worn-out frame—it seemed to belong to another world entirely.
Shi Min stood there for a moment, lightly snapping her fingers, then jogged back the way she came.
Add a touch of romance.
At 8 a.m., inside Zhengzhi Art Studio, the old-fashioned copper alarm clock on the easel rack sprang up, ringing loudly enough to wake the dead.
Luo Mingjing emerged like Sadako from the Ring, his untrimmed hair covering his face as he shuffled out in slippers to silence the alarm.
Time to open the shop.
Luo Mingjing lazily changed clothes, brushed his teeth, tidied the studio, and pulled back the curtains.
Pushing the door open, he admired the returned bike. Just like every other morning, it quietly leaned against the locust tree under the soft morning light.
Luo Mingjing froze. His handcrafted little basket now held two pots of small blue flowers. In an instant, even the old 28-inch bike looked lively and adorable.
Luo Mingjing’s languid gaze softened.
He pushed the door open and walked over. Attached to the blue flower bunch was a business card—simple, without gold foil or embellishments, just clean and straightforward:
Chief Executive Officer of Dongshi Technology Co., Ltd., Shi Min.
Luo Mingjing picked up the card and carried the two pots of flowers indoors, smiling, “I have to admit… this CEO knows how to make people feel comfortable.”
Not only did she send someone to deliver the flowers, but she also made it feel like a thoughtful gesture.
By 8:30 a.m., Luo Mingjing had dragged a recliner from the inner room to the entrance of the studio, closed the glass door, and settled in to read while drifting off to sleep.
As a freelancer, he was most energetic at night and took naps in the mornings.
Every day at 8 a.m., he opened the shop, then dozed on the recliner by the door until noon. After waking up, he cooked lunch, ate, and either streamed live paintings or sold clothes in the afternoon.
That was essentially his routine. As for the art studio, it rarely saw customers.
At 9 a.m., after finishing breakfast, Shi Min pushed the door open again. Luo Mingjing was already fast asleep.
Shi Min paused thoughtfully for three seconds and decided not to disturb him.
The studio wasn’t large, but its walls and floors were covered with paintings.
Though not particularly knowledgeable about art, Shi Min meticulously examined the works. Unexpectedly, she found them imbued with a sense of integrity and charm.
“No wonder it’s called Zhengzhi Art Studio.”
They conveyed a sense of seriousness—not in the meticulousness of the brushwork, but rather… as though the artist was earnestly savoring life and dreaming deeply.
How strange such a perception was.
Her gaze landed on a framed small painting on the floor. It depicted the locust tree outside the studio, the bike, the shop door with its floral curtains drawn, and a black-and-white cat basking lazily in the sunlight.
The painting was titled Zhengzhi Art Studio and priced at 28 yuan.
Interesting—and incredibly cheap.
Luo Mingjing remained asleep, his lanky frame pressing the recliner almost parallel to the ground. His long legs stretched out casually, a book resting on his chest. His face tilted to one side, sunlight tracing his lashes. His jet-black hair spilled onto the floor, curling in several places.
It was like a painting.
The wooden floor inside the studio had faded slightly where the sun often shone, appearing brighter and more vibrant. He slept in this beam of sunlight, bathed in warmth.
A ladybug crawled along the floor seam. Shi Min gently redirected its path, steering it clear of his hair.
“He’s still not waking up.”
Even whispering complaints softly by his ear, neither this lazy little shop nor its owner showed any signs of stirring.
Too peaceful.
It was the polar opposite of her life at the company.
Out of the corner of her eye, Shi Min noticed the blue flowers on the windowsill. Smiling faintly, she walked over and saw her business card lying face-up beside the pot. Her lips twitched slightly as she flipped the card over.
Good morning. The flowers are for you.
It was the message she had written on the back of the card. Clearly, the shop owner hadn’t seen it yet.
When Luo Mingjing woke up again, it was already 10:30 a.m.
He put away the recliner, watered the flowers, and started cooking. Suddenly, it dawned on him—the business card he had placed on the windowsill, the one belonging to the president of Dongshi Technology, was gone.
Luo Mingjing searched the studio with a kitchen knife in hand but couldn’t find it. After a pause, he muttered, “Let it be…”
That was just his personality—he didn’t dwell on things. When the time came, he would naturally find it.
During lunch, Luo Mingjing belatedly sent Shi Min a text expressing his thanks: Thank you for thinking of me.
As for why she sent flowers, Luo Mingjing pondered for a second but didn’t dare assume too much.
Besides, she had sent potted plants, not bouquets. Next to those two pots of flowers, it practically read “Wishing You Prosperity.” What else could he think?
After reading the thank-you message, Shi Min turned off her phone and asked her assistant, “Let’s play a game. Suppose you wake up in the morning, push open the door, and find a bouquet of flowers outside. What’s your first reaction?”
Fiona, single for 24 years, answered seriously, “My neighbor’s boyfriend sent flowers to another neighbor?”
Shi Min chuckled.
Fiona said, “Sis, your laugh… is very surface-level.”
Forced laughter.
“What if the flowers were meant for you, and the sender left their name? Moreover, you just met this person yesterday. What would you think after receiving the flowers?”
“…Do they like me?!” Fiona giggled, “Hahaha, I must be dreaming. This kind of thing would never happen to me.”
“That’s exactly what’s strange,” Shi Min said. “I sent Luo Mingjing two pots of flowers today, but his response confused me. Has he not received the signal I sent?”
Fiona’s mouth formed an O shape: “You sent flowers? Sis, you…”
“I’m curious.” Shi Min said lightly. “I want to try something.”
After being stunned for a while, Fiona said, “Sis, you truly are… a heroine among women, decisive and efficient.”
Pei, the special assistant silently handling documents nearby, adjusted his glasses and asked curiously, “Chairman Shi, repeat that again. Did you send two pots of flowers or two bouquets?”
Shi Min stopped twirling her pen: “I understand.”
Luo Mingjing leisurely finished eating, washed his hair before going live, dried it, and looked up again an hour later.
His shampoo was almost used up.
Luo Mingjing grabbed a pair of scissors from the pencil holder, turned on the live stream, and announced, “Today, I’ll start by live-streaming a haircut. I’m trimming it to shoulder length.”
The chat exploded, bringing out a flood of lurking fans:
“Did you break up??”
“It’s happening! Female manga protagonists always cut their hair when they’re heartbroken! Is Fairy upset?”
“Did you see your bank balance and lose hope?”
“Was it rent day yesterday?”
“Earlier comment: Yesterday, he hitched a ride in a Maserati. Maybe he went bankrupt paying for damages. Sell his hair to cover the costs!”
Luo Mingjing sighed.
He might have a natural disposition for teasing and banter.
Other streamers were showered with gifts—yachts, private jets—from their adoring fans, who feared even the slightest misstep might scare them off.
But his fans… let’s not go there.
Luo Mingjing said, “No breakup, no emotional distress, no bankruptcy. Just cutting my hair.”
Finally, someone guessed correctly: “Is it because your shampoo’s almost gone?”
Luo Mingjing smiled: “Full marks.”
The chat erupted: “Never saw that coming.”
He grabbed the trash can and snipped off half his hair in one go.
The chat exploded again: “I have a feeling his next sentence will be: ‘This is my first time cutting my hair…’”
“What?! Say it, say it! Aren’t you supposed to be talented? How can you not know how to cut hair? You’re no different from the village barber! Useless! Totally useless!”
“2333333, quick, report him for false persona-selling.”
“My boyfriend’s a hairstylist. Let me tell you all definitively: That one snip ruined everything. There’s no saving it.”
“Is your boyfriend named Tony? 2333”
“Crying storm!! Fairy’s hair!!”
“How dare you treat a cross-dressing lord’s hair so carelessly?!”
Luo Mingjing looked up and said, “…Looks like I messed up.”
It was harder than he imagined.
The chat filled with: “Light candles.”
One motherly commenter suggested: “Son, maybe find a professional stylist to fix it…”
Luo Mingjing snipped again: “Tony charges eighty bucks per session. Too expensive.”
The chat went wild again: “Can’t bear to watch anymore, sisters! Let’s crowdfund ten boxes of shampoo for him on Taobao!”
“Student here, contributing a pack of spicy gluten.”
“I’ll donate fifty cents—a huge sum!”
“…Let’s raise money for a haircut…”
“Fairy, buy a train ticket to my neighborhood. The security guard at the gate gives free haircuts.”
“Is your neighborhood Shaolin Temple? Hahahaha!”
“Drop the scissors, repent!”
“Ruined… I see it, the back’s uneven.”
Luo Mingjing gave three final snips, loosely tied his remaining hair into a bun, and began drawing for his fans.
While his fans mourned the loss of his hair, Luo Mingjing continued sketching and remarked, “It’s fine. My looks can carry me through.”
The chat bombarded him: “Shut up, we don’t want to hear it.”
“What, handsome and arrogant now, huh?”
“How can you treat yourself so roughly…”
After finishing work for the night and turning off the stream, he received a private message from a Taobao collaborator: “The manufacturer contacted me. The new sample has been shipped. The gray sweater and emerald green dress combo should arrive tomorrow. Keep an eye out for it.”
“Got it, thanks.”
Things will get better, Luo Mingjing thought.
The next morning, as he pulled back the floral curtains, Luo Mingjing froze.
In the bike basket sat a large bouquet of roses.
Luo Mingjing’s voice trembled: “What… is going on?”
Had he caught the CEO’s attention? Roses?
Roses!
Luo Mingjing pushed open the glass door, and a wind chime jingled.
Looking up, he exclaimed in surprise, “And what’s this?”
A new wind chime now hung outside the glass door. Pushing it open, the crisp, pleasant sound rang out—ding ling ding ling—
A text message arrived.
They’re for you. No need to thank me. —Shi Min
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