Shen Qinghan ran his tongue lightly over his teeth and smiled.
He saw it and still messaged to ask me.
Shen Qinghan: Heh, guess.
Si Yiheng’s gaze turned cold; he felt something was off with Shen Qinghan today.
Before long, another message popped up.
Shen Qinghan: If I knew, why would I be asking you? Haven’t you even bothered to find out where Shuyu lives?
Shen Qinghan: You’re being awfully careless for someone who calls her your girlfriend.
Si Yiheng: I respect her. If she wants me to know her address, she’ll tell me herself.
Shen Qinghan smiled—a smile tinged with disdain. Si Yiheng put on such a noble, upright front, but deep down his possessiveness was stronger than anyone’s.
When Si Yiheng was six years old, his father’s illegitimate son had touched his model ship. Without even sparing the boy a glance normally, Si Yiheng had broken the child’s hand right then and there.
Nothing belonging to Si Yiheng was ever allowed to be touched or claimed by anyone else.
Right now, Si Yiheng hadn’t truly fallen for Shuyu yet, so he could afford to act so unbothered.
But once he fell for her—if she ever left him for another man—Si Yiheng would tear the world apart just to find her. And he would make sure whoever took her away would regret it.
Shen Qinghan: Well, you’re always so polite and respectful of others.
Si Yiheng: Cut the sarcasm.
As if casually bringing it up, Shen Qinghan asked again, “So things between you and Shuyu are going well, then?”
Si Yiheng: They’re fine.
They got along well enough. Talking to Shuyu always felt easy and interesting.
Shen Qinghan: You’re such a busy man—surely you don’t make time to chat with her every single day?
Si Yiheng: I do.
He sent her money transfers every day, and that always gave them a chance to exchange a few words.
Seeing this reply only soured Shen Qinghan’s mood further. He calls himself a workaholic—always in the lab, in class, or running the family business. Clearly he’s not busy enough if he still has time to talk to Shuyu every day.
That little temptress has even made Shuyu feel like she’s not good enough for him.
Shuyu had no idea that in Shen Qinghan’s mind, Si Yiheng had already been labeled a seductive schemer.
Right now, she was working on a new piece to post on her social feed—another striking figure study, this time censored for public sharing.
The illustration showed a man pinned back against a sofa, his lean, defined waist and toned lines visible as he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
As soon as the post went up, her follower count jumped again.
Even Tiedan, her digital companion, was reacting enthusiastically: “If only I could write stories, we’d have enough content to keep everyone satisfied every single day.”
Shuyu didn’t even look up as she drafted sketches for her commission queue. “No can do.”
“AI-generated writing gets accounts banned.”
Tiedan: …
Tiedan: “I’m not AI—I’m something far more advanced and capable. AI is child’s play compared to me.”
Tiedan: “Besides, not every place in this world bans AI usage.”
Shuyu blinked. In her original world, AI wasn’t exactly outlawed, but it was mostly limited to dangerous or repetitive manual labor. Creative and literary work was left entirely to human hands.
This world, it seemed, was in the middle of a struggle—where corporations were trying to replace human artists and writers with artificial intelligence.
Tiedan: “Even so, plenty of people still refuse to accept work made by AI.”
Shuyu: “Got it.”
She lowered her head again to continue refining her linework, when her phone buzzed.
Shen Qinghan: Don’t forget class tomorrow.
Shen Qinghan: It’s with Professor “Tyrant”—miss one session and your entire attendance grade is gone.
Shuyu: …
Her face fell. Of course. Nothing stays good forever. Just when I’m feeling happy, fate always has to throw a curveball.
She slumped onto her desk, forcing herself not to smile. If I look too pleased, Heaven might think I’m being defiant and send more trouble my way.
She suspected that in her old life, living alone and contentedly, she’d been too happy. That was probably why fate had plucked her out and dropped her into this world—forced to navigate the role of someone everyone dismissed as a gold digger.
Little Fish Swimming: Got it, thanks for reminding me.
Shen Qinghan: No problem. I’ll walk with you to campus tomorrow.
Little Fish Swimming: No need, I can go on my own.
Shen Qinghan: Suit yourself.
Since she had class early the next day, Shuyu headed to bed early, hoping to get a full night’s rest. But as soon as she lay down, thoughts of the class kept her mind spinning. Anxiety took over, and she tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep.
After rolling around for what felt like ages, she sat up and opened her chat window with Si Yiheng.
Little Fish Swimming: [Cat peeking out meme]
Little Fish Swimming: Are you still awake?
Si Yiheng had just finished going through documents at the office. He’d already gotten into bed, turned off the overhead lights, and switched on his bedside lamp, planning to read a book—when he saw her message.
ATM: I’m up.
Little Fish Swimming: Do you ever have trouble sleeping?
ATM: No.
Reading his reply, Shuyu flopped back onto the mattress, arms and legs spread wide. Her dark hair spilled over the edge of the bed, making her look slender and delicate—like a beautiful jade figurine, graceful no matter how she positioned herself.
She let out a long breath. People like him are just different. Nothing ever seems to worry them, and they never lose sleep over trivial things.
Little Fish Swimming: Wow, you’re amazing.
ATM: Can’t sleep?
Little Fish Swimming: [Cat sighing deeply meme]
ATM: Answer my call.
Shuyu hesitated. She almost regretted messaging him. But since she’d reached out first, it would be rude to ignore him when he called.
She picked up. “Hi… brother,” she whispered softly.
Si Yiheng: “Mm.”
“Find a comfortable position and close your eyes,” he instructed gently.
She shifted, curling herself deeper under the covers. “Okay.”
He could hear the faint rustling of sheets from her end. “Good,” he murmured.
Then, in a deep, steady voice like polished jade, he began reading aloud from a technical research paper.
Shuyu: …
She couldn’t help but burst into quiet laughter.
A soft chuckle came from the other end—light and warm, like wind brushing against her ear, sending a gentle tingle through her chest.
Curious, she asked, “Is this how you put yourself to sleep too?”
Si Yiheng: “It works. When I think about experiments still in progress and work left undone, I feel exhausted and drift off easily.”
It was the first time Shuyu had heard him sound so ordinary, so human. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like some untouchable perfect figure—just someone like her, with his own ways of coping.
His voice continued to hum through the room, calm and steady. Shuyu didn’t remember exactly when she finally drifted off.
As her breathing grew slow and even, Si Yiheng listened quietly. For some reason, he didn’t end the call.
The next morning, Shuyu woke up to Tiedan’s loud, insistent reminder—far more effective than any alarm clock. Her brain jolted awake instantly.
She wrapped the blanket around herself, her messy dark hair sticking up in soft tufts, looking like a fluffy puppy just roused from sleep. Her first words were a dramatic groan: “Why do we have to exist? Why does the world have classes that start at the crack of dawn? It’s torture! I want to hide forever.”
Tiedan: “Hurry and wash up—you’re going to be late, sweetie!”
Her meltdown cut off instantly. She bolted to the bathroom, completely unaware that Si Yiheng had only ended the call after hearing her first sounds of waking.
No sooner had she stepped out of her apartment complex than it began to pour.
Summer storms always came fast and fierce, catching everyone off guard. Raindrops hammered against the pavement, bursting into tiny splashes that merged into a sheet of white mist rising from the ground.
Shuyu had no umbrella, and there wasn’t one in her apartment either.
Just as she braced herself to dash through the rain, a shadow fell over her head. An umbrella was held out above her, shielding her from the downpour.