Comments on the social media post came flooding in.
“Wow! Senior Yan Yu! So pretty!” (Classmate A, same department)
“Your skin looks amazing! Share your skincare secrets!” (Classmate B, not too familiar)
“Can I get the link for that sleepwear? Looks so comfy!” (Female Student C, next class)
“Senior, make sure to rest and drink plenty of water~” (Volunteer Association member)
“So cute…” (Ruo Xiaozhen left a like, plus a “hug” emoji)
“Sister, go to bed early and don’t catch a cold. I’ll bring you moisturizer tomorrow.” (Bai Yan’er, replied almost instantly)
Yan Yu scanned the comments—some sincere, some perfunctory. Her gaze lingered for half a second on Bai Yan’er’s warm profile picture before she turned off her phone screen.
She leaned back against the headboard and closed her eyes.
The night outside the window was thick as ink.
The first step had been taken.
She just wondered if that “cold-hearted female lead” and her “white moonlight” had seen it.
And if they had, what would they think?
…
Su Qinghan sank into the spacious Italian leather sofa in her living room, her posture casually languid.
She had just finished an online meeting and was now focusing on her fingertips, considering whether to give herself a new manicure to match the Xiangfeng jacket she’d bought today.
Unlike many women who favored pinks or bright colors, she had chosen two similar shades of deep blue nail polish—one nearly ink-black, the other with a faint shimmer.
She preferred tailored, clean-lined clothing with an androgynous edge, but that didn’t stop her from enjoying the occasional indulgence in self-grooming.
Her well-maintained fingers were long and slender, with distinct knuckles, and she was currently carefully applying the last coat of polish.
Only a single reading lamp was lit in the living room, its warm yellow glow enveloping her, casting quiet shadows across the dark leather sofa.
The air carried the faintly sweet and slightly sharp scent of nail polish.
After finishing the last finger, she set down the small brush and picked up the nearby LED nail lamp, preparing to cure the polish.
Her other hand habitually swiped open her phone screen and entered her social feed.
Posts scrolled by one by one.
She browsed with a blank expression.
Then, her fingers stopped.
In the center of the screen was the photo Yan Yu had just posted.
Su Qinghan was briefly stunned. Her first instinct was to look away—she considered this “handled” ex-girlfriend unworthy of any further attention.
But her gaze seemed caught by something invisible.
In the photo, Yan Yu wasn’t looking at the camera.
She had her face slightly turned, eyes lowered, her long lashes casting a small shadow beneath them.
Her skin was pale, but under the warm light, it took on a jade-like, warm, and delicate luster.
A few strands of slightly damp long hair clung to her fair neck and delicate collarbones. The loose neckline of her sleepwear hinted at more than it concealed, outlining her slender shoulders and neckline.
The entire photo lacked deliberate posing or contrived expressions. Instead, it carried a… fragile beauty.
She seemed… different.
The thought crossed Su Qinghan’s mind silently.
Different?
Looking more closely, her features seemed the same, yet their combination felt indescribably changed.
Her brows and eyes appeared more refined, her contours sharper. Especially her eyes—even without meeting them directly, they seemed to hold a cold, deep pool.
She suddenly recalled their last official meeting at the coffee shop. Yan Yu had looked at her with those same eyes, filled with shattered tears and desperate pleas, asking if she could stay.
At the time, she had only felt annoyance, a dragging sense of trouble. The girl’s crying had seemed ugly and pathetic, and she’d only wanted to break free as quickly as possible.
But now…
Through the cold phone screen, looking at this quiet, almost distant face, Su Qinghan’s heartbeat inexplicably skipped a beat.
Then, a faint, unfamiliar flutter spread quietly from the depths of her chest.
Had she always been this beautiful?
Su Qinghan frowned slightly, trying to retrieve fragments of Yan Yu’s appearance from memory.
She remembered Yan Yu being delicate, even catching her eye because of a slight resemblance to Jiang Muyun.
But that was all.
She had never thought that one day, looking at Yan Yu, she would feel… her heart race.
The realization felt absurd even to herself.
She pressed her lips together, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing against the smooth edge of the phone.
“Qinghan, what are you doing?”
Jiang Muyun’s gentle, smiling voice broke the living room’s silence.
She was tying an apron printed with small floral patterns, busy at the open kitchen island. The oven let out a soft “ding,” and the sweet aroma of butter began to fill the air.
“I baked some egg tarts. They’re fresh out of the oven. Do you want to try some?”
Although the two were close, often seen together, and seemed like a couple to outsiders, Su Qinghan could sense that Jiang Muyun didn’t seem eager to define their relationship as “dating.”
She always maintained a perfect balance of closeness and distance, sometimes dependent, sometimes independent, as if playing a silent push-pull game.
“…Yeah, I’ll be right there.”
Su Qinghan replied, her voice betraying no emotion.
She lowered her eyes, looking at her freshly painted dark blue nails. She withdrew her hand, but her gaze returned to her phone screen.
Yan Yu’s quiet face was still there.
Su Qinghan’s fingertip hovered over the screen for a few seconds.
Then, she tapped on the photo and selected “Save to Album.”
After that, she entered the album, found the newly saved photo, long-pressed it, and chose “Encrypt,” setting a password.
Only then did she lock her phone screen and set it down on the sofa armrest.
As if that small, secretive act had never happened.
Su Qinghan stood up, adjusted the cuffs of her silk shirt, her face regaining its usual calm composure. She walked toward the kitchen island, where the tempting aroma drifted.
“Smells good.”
She praised Jiang Muyun with a flat tone.
“Of course, I followed the recipe strictly.” Jiang Muyun smiled and placed a golden, glossy egg tart on a delicate bone china plate, handing it to her with hopeful eyes. “Try it!”
Su Qinghan took the plate, scooped up a piece with a small silver spoon, and brought it to her mouth. The sweetness of the egg and milk and the flaky butter crust melted on her tongue.
“It’s delicious.”
She commented, but her gaze unconsciously drifted back to the phone lying quietly on the living room sofa.
Deep in her heart, that unfamiliar flutter, just subdued by the egg tart’s sweetness, seemed to stir again.
Yan Yu…
She silently mouthed the name.
It seemed she really was… different from before.
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