The warmth in his arms vanished in an instant. Jiang Wen furrowed his brow, a hint of displeasure flickering at the corners of his eyes, and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I think you’re absolutely right. I’m only in my twenties—I’m still young—and I really should go out into the world and find a career that suits me,” Lin Sangyu said with great conviction.
“Do you want to leave me?” Realizing his words were a bit off, Jiang Wenzhe immediately added, “So what are your plans now?”
Just thinking about what she was about to say made Lin Sangyu’s face flush. She pursed her lips and said somewhat shyly, “Jiang Wenzhe, do you think I’m pretty?”
Jiang Wenzhe didn’t say she wasn’t pretty, nor did he say she was—he simply replied, “What does your answer have to do with my question?”
Lin Sangyu gave Jiang Wenzhe a wink. “I want to get into the online world and become an influencer. Do you think I’d be a good fit?”
Jiang Wenzhe took a deep breath, and his speech unconsciously quickened. “Where did you hear all this? Did he ask you to join his company as an influencer? This industry is full of hidden dangers—a lot of it is a scam. Don’t believe it.”
Lin Sangyu slung her arm around Jiang Wenzhe’s, leaning her weight against him, and looked at him expectantly: “No, no—no one asked me to do it. I just genuinely want to get into this line of work, and I want to go solo—not sign with an agency. What do you think?”
Jiang Wenzhe clenched his teeth and said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Born into a traditional elite family, Jiang Wenzhe had been raised and molded from a young age according to the rules expected of an heir to a wealthy family. His very being was steeped in the conservatism and pride passed down through generations, and his mindset was deeply rooted in tradition. In his view, the term “influencer” carried an inherently frivolous stigma, a departure from tradition—and the very sound of it made him feel averse.
Although there is equality in the workplace, Jiang Wenzhe subconsciously didn’t want Lin Sangyu to take on a job that required her to be in the public eye.
Being in the spotlight means sharing one’s privacy with strangers one has never met and relinquishing some control over one’s personal privacy. The price for this is that, compared to ordinary people, influencers and celebrities must live their daily lives under much greater pressure. They must constantly be mindful of every word and action—which could be infinitely magnified or misinterpreted—and the slightest lapse in caution can leave them completely torn apart by the internet’s vitriol.
Lin Sangyu waved his arms again: “But you can make a lot of money in this line of work.”
Jiang Wenze wasn’t falling for the act: “Come work as my assistant—you name your price.”
Lin Sangyu had learned her lesson and now put Jiang Wenzhe on the moral high ground: “Are you trying to stop me from doing the job I love?”
“Not at all,” Jiang Wenzhe took a small step back. “So what path do you want to pursue?”
“Food streaming,” Lin Sangyu laid all her cards on the table. “I want to live-stream eating fried bugs. What do you think?”
“In human form?”
“I’m not sure about that yet.”
Jiang Wenzhe laid it out plainly: “The most I can accept is if you do it in the form of a sugar glider.”
If she were in the form of a sugar glider, then if she were unfortunately subjected to online harassment in the future—or if Lin Sangyu hit a wall halfway through—she could pull out in time, and he could still be there to back her up.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Lin Sangyu agreed as soon as she heard this: “That works too. It’s a deal.”
“……”
Jiang Wenzhe suddenly felt as though he’d been forced to take a test of his own limits.
“Let’s get one thing straight first: three ground rules,” Jiang Wenzhe said, furrowing his brow slightly as his icy demeanor returned, his tone stern.
Lin Sangyu immediately sat up straight, folding her hands on her knees, looking every bit the model student ready to listen attentively.
“First, no matter when, as long as you’re appearing in public or in the media, you must do so in the form of a sugar glider. Can you manage that?”
Lin Sangyu replied without hesitation: “I can do that.”
“Second, you can only livestream from home. Can you do that?”
—She must not stray beyond his control.
Lin Sangyu asked, “Home? Where exactly can I livestream from? In your bedroom?”
“I’ll clear out a room for you; you don’t need to worry about that. “I’ll also help you purchase all the necessary equipment. As for the team, it’ll just be the two of us—I don’t want anyone else involved,” Jiang Wenzhe said in a tone that brooked no argument.
If the team were to expand, the secret of Lin Sangyu’s animal transformation would constantly be in grave danger, hanging like a ticking time bomb in some unknown corner.
The slightest lapse in attention, and the bomb would explode, leaving Lin Sangyu shattered to pieces.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Lin Sangyu hurriedly agreed, the type who plays it cool after getting a free ride.
Jiang Wenze ignored her fawning expression: “I’ll send you to school. Do you want to go?”
“School? To learn what?” Lin Sangyu asked in confusion.
“Becoming an internet celebrity takes learning, too. Do you think it’s that easy?” Jiang Wenzhe said. “I’ll hire a tutor to teach you the basics quickly—things like how to control the flow of a live stream or edit videos afterward. Plus, you’ll learn some real knowledge to fix that brain of yours, which lacks both common sense and cultural literacy.”
“Great! I’ve never really gone to school before, so will I have a lot of classmates then?”
Jiang Wenzhe replied coldly, “Private lessons. You’ll be the teacher’s only student.”
Was he going to push Lin Sangyu out into the world so she could meet lots of peers who were just as young and energetic as she was?
Don’t even think about it.
Staying right by his side was the safest option.
“…Fine,” Lin Sangyu said grudgingly.
Jiang Wenzhe ignored Lin Sangyu’s slight disappointment and continued, “Third, you must contact me immediately if anything happens. You are not allowed to hide anything from me. Do you understand?”
“What if I don’t do a good job, or if I do something really stupid—will you scold me?”
“No.” Jiang Wenzhe replied categorically.
Lin Sangyu persisted: “I don’t believe you. You have to swear.”
“Fine, I swear,” Jiang Wenzhe said, pressing three fingers together in a swearing gesture. “I swear I won’t yell at you over work-related matters from now on.”
Lin Sangyu’s eyes curved into crescent moons: “I understand.”
“Good to know,” Jiang Wenze suddenly leaned in, his head almost touching Lin Sangyu’s. He said with a hint of menace, “If you break this promise, you’ll never be able to eat bugs for the rest of your life.”
It was a completely non-threatening remark, yet it struck right at Lin Sangyu’s weak spot.
Hearing this, she jerked upward in a reflexive reaction.
“Thud—”
With a muffled groan, their foreheads suddenly collided.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch! Jiang Wenzhe, your forehead is so hard.” Lin Sangyu winced in pain, immediately hunching over as she rubbed her head and complained.
Jiang Wenzhe replied matter-of-factly, “I should be the one saying that. You didn’t watch where you were going and crashed into my head, yet you’re the one making false accusations.”
A breeze blew in from the end of the street, causing the leaves to rustle and the branches to tremble.
After two seconds of silence, Jiang Wenzhe, as if possessed, reached out his hand. His thumb massaged Lin Sangyu’s forehead in circular motions, while his other four fingers rested lightly on the top of her head. He deliberately softened his voice and said, “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
The slightly rough pads of his fingers felt distinctly present on her forehead, and the ache gradually subsided. Lin Sangyu lifted her head and stared at Jiang Wenzhe unblinkingly with those clear, pure eyes, as if she were transfixed.
Inside the dimly lit car, light and shadow were frozen outside, but within those eyes, it was as if a Milky Way were dancing—or like a mountain stream flowing through the valleys—crystal-clear to the point of being almost eerie.
After meeting her gaze for a moment, Jiang Wenzhe was the first to look away, his tone devoid of emotion: “What’s wrong?”
“Jiang Wenzhe, you’re so kind.”
Although he was pressing against her forehead, at that moment, Lin Sangyu felt as though Jiang Wenzhe were massaging her heart—a sensation that sent tingling, tingling waves through her.
“Thump, thump—”
Her overwrought heartbeat blended with the tremors in the air.
Jiang Wenze kindly reminded him, “You’ve already said that many times.”
“It’s just that you’re so kind—I’ll never get tired of saying it. I was the one who bumped into you, yet you still rubbed my forehead.”
“Because you’re clumsy.”
Having massaged it long enough, Jiang Wenze withdrew his hand, yet the sensation of his fingertips remained etched into his nerves.
Just as he stood there dazed, a crisp, sweet voice suddenly pierced the air in the cramped backseat of the sedan.
“Baby.”
Jiang Wenze lifted his eyelids to look at the owner of that voice.
Then, completely out of the blue, a hand—moving so fast it left a blur—flashed past his eyes. Immediately afterward, he felt a small, round, flat granule, resembling a piece of candy, suddenly appear between his lips and tongue.
He curled the tip of his tongue to swallow it before asking, “What is that?”
It didn’t really taste like candy, though.
The girl eagerly pressed, “Digestive tablets. Do you like them, baby?”
“They don’t taste good. Why are you calling me ‘baby’?”
Jiang Wenzhe’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly; from Lin Sangyu’s perspective, it looked like a range of rolling mountains.
And she was a little bird that depended on the mountains to survive, so Lin Sangyu said, “Because you’re my darling.”
Realizing what she’d just heard, Jiang Wenzhe suddenly smiled—though only half a smile; the other half was stifled in his throat, producing a sensual breathy sound.
Lin Sangyu, meanwhile, rested her hands in front of her, leaning in to watch him with a faint, gentle smile.
After the smile faded, Jiang Wenzhe resumed his serious demeanor, speaking as if an elder were advising a younger person: “I’m eight years older than you—I’m thirty-two. It’s not appropriate for you to call me that.”
Lin Sangyu’s little mind was racing at that moment: “Then call me ‘baby.’”
“That’s not quite appropriate either. Between a man and a woman, usually only lovers call each other that—and we’re not lovers yet.”
Realizing his choice of words was inappropriate, Jiang Wenzhe’s breathing became completely erratic in an instant.
He should have said: “We’re not a couple.”
But before he could correct himself, Lin Sangyu beat him to it: “Do you have a girlfriend, Jiang Wenzhe?”
“No.”
“Have you ever had a girlfriend?”
“No.” The answer remained the same.
Lin Sangyu’s shoulders slumped slightly, as if she’d let out a sigh of relief.
“All right then. Since you don’t call anyone ‘baby,’ I won’t push it.”
Jiang Wenzhe turned his head to one side. After a long moment, he mechanically turned it back. His voice was hoarse, as if he were struggling to hold something back, and he said:
“Baby.”[1]hehehehe jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_3193622_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_3193622_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });
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