Even after so many years, Zhou Yabin still often acted spoiled with Cen Bowen.
Like now, saying the noodles were too hot and asking him to blow on them for her. Cen Bowen obliged, cooling them gently.
Cen Yingshuang pretended to shiver again, but in truth, she knew she’d always lived surrounded by love.
Not wanting to disturb their world, she quickly finished her noodles and went upstairs.
She brushed her teeth again, didn’t go to bed, but sat at her desk to open packages.
These were supplies she’d ordered from Taobao before coming home, for making phone cases, wind chimes, and pendants.
She took all the shells from her suitcase and laid them out on the table—various shapes and colors, very pretty. For more variety, she’d bought paint to decorate them.
Following online tutorials, she spent three hours making four phone cases, a wind chime, and two small pendants.
She set aside the phone cases for her parents.
Holding the other two phone cases and pendants, she admired them for a while before going to sleep, satisfied.
She slept until she woke up naturally.
Her parents had already gone to work. After a late breakfast, she had no work scheduled for the next few days, but still dressed up and headed to the agency.
At LeYu Film & TV Building, before she even went in, she ran into a newly signed actress named Wu Xi. Wu Xi, older than her, greeted her enthusiastically and called her “senior,” which embarrassed Cen Yingshuang. She told Wu Xi to just use her name.
Wu Xi shyly asked if they could add each other on WeChat, and Cen Yingshuang immediately pulled out her phone.
Wu Xi was cute and talkative, but soon her agent hurried her away, and only then did Cen Yingshuang enter the building.
Inside, she saw various show posters and artist photos hanging on the wall.
Her own photo was first.
She skipped past her own and stopped at a photo two places down, staring at it, smiling unconsciously.
But people kept walking by, so she couldn’t stay long.
She went up to the second floor. There was a meeting in the conference room—Zhou Yabin was inside.
She went to an empty lounge and sent a message to her fourth pinned chat.
About half an hour later, the lounge door opened quietly.
She looked up but saw no one. Just as she was puzzled, a playful figure jumped out from behind the door, calling out “Hey!” mischievously.
The person’s shoulders shook, and he turned with a dramatic gesture, clutching his chest.
“If you give me a heart attack, you’re responsible.”
Cen Yingshuang lifted her chin.
“Fine, I’ll take responsibility!”
“Come sit here.” He pointed to the sofa.
“What for?”
Cen Yingshuang asked, but obediently went over and sat down.
He was tall and thin, crouching in front of her, slowly rolling up her pant leg.
“Is your leg better?”
Cen Yingshuang suddenly remembered telling him about falling while picking up shells by the sea.
She hadn’t expected him to remember after so long.
The face she’d just been staring at in the artist photos was now right in front of her.
His name was Jiang Suian.
He was her senior, three years older, debuted earlier, and only last year broke out as a second male lead in a xianxia drama, rising to second-tier status and becoming one of the company’s top young stars.
Cen Yingshuang didn’t know if it was her acting skills or years of practiced pretense, but no one could tell that she and Jiang Suian were actually much closer than just colleagues.
This closeness, she realized, had slowly grown into something that couldn’t be made public.
It had become a relationship where they met in secret, even though there was no real need to.
She realized she felt differently about him because even casual physical contact made her heart race and cheeks flush.
Like now, as his fingers brushed over a faint, healed scar on her knee.
It tickled like a feather, the sensation traveling from her knee to her face, visibly turning it red.
He took out a small tube of ointment, squeezed some onto her scar.
“Such pretty legs shouldn’t have scars.”
“Does having a scar make them less pretty?”
Cen Yingshuang retorted.
“Still pretty.”
Jiang Suian suddenly looked up, meeting her eyes sincerely.
“You’re always pretty, no matter what.”
Growing up, Cen Yingshuang had heard endless compliments—so many she was immune.
But now, such an ordinary sentence left her flustered, her face even redder.
She looked down, swallowing, not knowing how to respond.
He finished applying the ointment, put the tube in her small bag.
“Three times a day, remember to use it.”
He paused, maybe worried.
“Actually, I’ll remind you.”
After knowing him for so long, she knew he was always caring. The brokenness he showed in his roles wasn’t just acting—he seemed born sensitive and cautious.
His features were delicate, tall and thin, but with a small frame, like a frail, melancholic scholar that made people want to protect him.
She remembered the first time they talked—it was she who initiated it.
Cen Yingshuang nodded obediently.
She then asked tentatively, “Your birthday’s the day after tomorrow. How are you going to spend it?”
“At work,” Jiang Suian said, rolling down her pant leg and grabbing a tissue to wipe his hands.
“I’m flying to Hainan tomorrow for a reality show—three days of filming.”
At that, Cen Yingshuang’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.
“Oh, okay.”
Mentioning Hainan, she remembered the shell crafts she’d made.
She took out a phone case and pendant, handing them to Jiang Suian.
“I was going to give these to you on your birthday, but I’ll give them to you now.”
“You made these yourself? They’re amazing!”
Jiang Suian was delighted, gripping them tightly.
“Thank you, I’ll use them well.”
Cen Yingshuang nodded again.
She was always high-energy, but when she was down, it was obvious. Of course, he noticed her disappointment.
“When I’m done, I’ll celebrate with you, okay?”
He paused, then added, “Isn’t your birthday at the end of the month? Why don’t we celebrate together then?”
That would be her eighteenth birthday—her coming of age.
That meant a lot.
Just thinking about it made Cen Yingshuang’s heart race, her gloom vanishing instantly.
She looked up, smiling again, her eyes sparkling.
“Okay!”
Jiang Suian smiled too, reaching out to pat her head, but just then there was a noise outside.
Cen Yingshuang heard Zhou Yabin’s voice—probably the meeting was over.
She didn’t dare stay, afraid someone would come in.
She felt like a high schooler in puppy love, scared of being found out—even though she’d graduated, and even though they weren’t actually dating.
She opened the door and stepped out, spotting Zhou Yabin.
“Mom,” she called sweetly.
“Hey, what brings my good girl here? You finally have a holiday and you’re not resting at home.”
Zhou Yabin, who’d been serious with staff, instantly softened, her face full of maternal warmth.
“I came to see you. I missed you,” Cen Yingshuang said, looping her arm through Zhou Yabin’s.
“You little clingy thing.”
“I learned it from you.”
Zhou Yabin smiled, pinching her nose.
Cen Yingshuang leaned her head on Zhou Yabin’s shoulder, sneaking a look at Jiang Suian as he came out of the lounge. She mouthed two words to him—Bye bye~
“OK, bye.”
He Yuzhou stayed in the United States for ten days.
He was so busy he barely knew day from night. Now, having just left the conference room, he ended a call and returned to his office.
As soon as he entered, he saw a man standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, wearing a khaki parka and sky-blue jeans, long hair half-tied at the back.
It was his cousin, Chen Yanli.
“Wah, Master Chen, so free today?” He Yuzhou raised an eyebrow, his lazy tone teasing.
Chen Yanli was seven years older, a renowned oil painter in Italy. His paintings fetched up to three hundred million Hong Kong Dollars at auction.
“Went to San Francisco for an exhibition. Thought I’d drop by.”
Chen Yanli briefly looked away from the window, glancing at He Yuzhou and speaking in Mandarin.
At home, they always spoke Mandarin, since both their parents were from Beicheng.
He Yuzhou shrugged off his suit jacket as he walked, tossing it onto the sofa.
His office was larger than some luxury apartments, with a lounge, gym, even a big bar and a whole wall of liquor.
Every time Chen Yanli visited, he was reminded of He Jingsheng—He Yuzhou’s father and his own uncle by adoption.
Because He Yuzhou’s office was nearly identical to He Jingsheng’s, except for a few more artistic touches—like Yancai Paintings he’d done himself.
Before being adopted by Chen Yanli’s grandfather Ye Yaokun, He Jingsheng had been an underground fighter, so both his home and office always had a boxing ring in the gym area.
As a kid, Chen Yanli admired He Jingsheng. He and He Yuzhou both learned boxing from him, but no matter how many years head start he had, he could never beat He Yuzhou.
He Yuzhou resembled He Jingsheng—not just in looks or ability, but also in his decisive, ambitious personality.
But compared to He Jingsheng, He Yuzhou was more easygoing and carefree.
He Yuzhou went straight to the bar, picking out a bottle from the liquor cabinet. Without turning, he chuckled, “One of us is east, the other west, and you call that ‘just passing by’?”
“What are you talking about?”
Chen Yanli retorted, deadpan.
“No matter where, I have to see you.”
“What can I say?”
He Yuzhou shrugged.
“You’re welcome anywhere.”
He brought over a bottle and two glasses, handing one to Chen Yanli.
“Drinking at noon? Is liquor your lunch?”
Chen Yanli joked, but still took the glass.
“After intense brainwork, sometimes you need alcohol to keep the momentum going.”
He Yuzhou downed his drink in one go.
Otherwise, how could he keep working nonstop?
Chen Yanli nodded in approval.
“Philosopher.”
He Yuzhou smirked, playing along.
“Flattered.”
Then he noticed Chen Yanli, even while talking, was still staring out the window, intently watching something.
“What are you looking at so seriously?”
He Yuzhou followed his gaze.
The moment he focused, his pupils shrank and his gaze froze.
His office building was just behind Times Square, on a high floor, directly facing the largest 3D billboard in Times Square.
And on that billboard was a perfume ad.
A woman in a white backless slip dress danced in the deep blue sea, her waist slender as a willow, her curves graceful.
The white silk dress floated weightlessly, her black hair thick as seaweed, swimming beneath a shaft of holy light, as graceful as a startled swan.
Sexy and elegant, alluring but not vulgar, beautiful but not tacky.
Then, Chen Yanli said, “You’ve seen her.”
He Yuzhou’s response was half a beat slow. His gaze deepened as he glanced at Chen Yanli, “Hmm?”
Chen Yanli continued, “In my painting.”
He Yuzhou looked back at the billboard.
The 3D effect made it seem as if the woman was right in front of him.
For a moment, He Yuzhou was dazed.
That dream flashed back in an instant.
The only difference was, the blurry face in his dream was now vivid and clear before his eyes.
And along with it came all the sensations he’d felt upon waking from that dream.
The alcohol burned through his nerves, flooding his brain with dopamine.
He was indeed excited—so excited it was hard to control, heat surging and pooling somewhere deep inside.
He unconsciously tightened his grip on the glass.
He wanted to tell Chen Yanli.
He had indeed seen her.
At the beach, in the sea.
He’d seen her several times but never thought much of it, even almost forgetting.
But this was the first time he couldn’t help but ask about her: “What’s her name?”
“Cen Yingshuang,” Chen Yanli answered clearly.
He Yuzhou said nothing, but silently repeated her name in his heart.
He poured more dark liquor into his glass and downed it again.
The alcohol burned hotter.
At that moment, a flash of inspiration hit—what Chen Yanli had said about seeing her in his painting.
He remembered.
He Yuzhou frowned slightly, staring at the screen, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his eyes deep, as if both troubled and excited—unreadable.
After a moment, he finally spoke.
“Oh, your Muse.”
Muse.
If Chen Yanli knew that just seeing his own sacred, pure Muse made He Yuzhou hard, what would he think?