A glass of milk in one hand, a bottle of beer in the other. His arms cradled a jumble of fruit, chips, and spicy snacks—an overflowing pile. Eyes fixed on the milk that threatened to spill, his elbows flailed, unable to manage both sides at once.
As Lou Ye walked forward, he called out to Sang Wan: “Senior, give me a hand…”
Sang Wan set down the orange cat and took the milk and beer from him.
Before Sang Wan could even ask a question, Lou Ye let go. The heap of snacks tumbled noisily onto the carpet.
“Exhausted!” The young master exhaled, too lazy to pick anything up, and dropped himself into the massage chair.
The chair hummed to life. Behind him, the giant screen lit up.
Sang Wan gathered the fallen snacks onto the table. Just as she straightened, Lou Ye patted the armrest: “Senior, it’s still early—sit for a while.”
The home theater was cloaked in darkness. Only the big screen flickered, bright and dim by turns.
Sit for a while.
Just a little while.
By the time she left, Lou Ye wouldn’t be able to tell she had been crying. And she wouldn’t feel quite so humiliated.
Sang Wan turned and sat down. Her back sank into the sofa, the massage chair whirring to life. It was as if the finest masseur stood behind her, cradling her head and gently working from her neck down to her lower back. On the big screen, a Miyazaki animation played—bright colors, lilting music. In her arms, the orange cat shifted, curling itself into a perfect ball of fur. Like a warm little heater, soft and snug against her chest.
Sang Wan never even realized when she drifted off. Her breathing grew slow and even. Lou Ye glanced back at her weary profile, then reached for a blanket to tuck around her.
Ten minutes passed. Only when her sleep was deep and steady did Lou Ye rise and step outside. He returned carrying a medicine box. Settling cross-legged on the floor, he carefully slipped off her sandals. With a warm towel, he cleaned her feet. Then, with a cotton swab, disinfected the fine cracks in her skin. One by one, he applied ointment. He stood, walked a few steps, then turned back—just in time to see the orange cat roll over beneath the blanket.
Lou Ye lifted the blanket, pinched the scruff of its neck, and carried the cat downstairs.
The night passed without dreams.
Sang Wan had the best sleep she’d had in a long time. The alarm rang—reminding her of today’s interview with Cheng Jingran.
Sang Wan jolted upright. Darkness surrounded her. Only when the massage chair hummed beneath her back did she realize that she was in Lou Ye’s home.
A glance at her phone: seven in the morning. So, she had spent the night here? She hurried downstairs, intent on leaving.
“Morning, Senior!” Lou Ye’s lazy greeting drifted over.
She looked up—he was brewing coffee.
The rich aroma filled the air as he checked his watch. “It’s seven o’clock. You’ve got plenty of time to shower, change, and have breakfast. I can drop you off at the company for your interview—it’s right on my way.” Then, turning to her, his tone softened: “Of course, you can refuse. I’ll respect whatever you decide.”
If she returned to the hotel to wash and change, making the ten o’clock interview would be uncertain. But the thought of borrowing clothes from Jiang Ke’er again made her hesitate. Last time, she could excuse it—caught in the rain, soaked through. This time? How could she explain?
A man and a woman, alone. Borrowing clothes at dawn. What would Jiang Ke’er think?
Sang Wan’s head throbbed as if it were splitting.
Lou Ye tilted his chin slightly. “They’ve already been washed.”
She turned—beside the sofa sat a laundry basket. Inside were the jeans and undershirt she had changed out of after being drenched in the rain that day.
Glancing down at the white shirt she was wearing now, Sang Wan finally breathed easier. She picked up the basket and slipped into the bedroom. When she returned ten minutes later, a faint fragrance lingered in the air.
On one side of the dining table: coffee, eggs, sandwiches. On the other side sat Lou Ye, with a six‑inch cream cake beside his cup. Bite after bite, he ate slowly, savoring each mouthful. Catching her gaze, he explained, “Something sweet makes the mood better. Want a slice?”
Sang Wan shook her head. “Are you in a bad mood?”
Lou Ye said nothing. Last night, his mood had been terrible—especially when he saw the shocking fine cracks on the soles of her feet. It had crushed him. But waking up this morning, realizing she was right there beside him… He felt, inexplicably, one step closer to a dream come true.
The feeling was complicated. Even he couldn’t put it into words. Seeing the cautious look in her eyes, he denied it flatly: “No. I just wanted some cake.”
Sang Wan let out a quiet sigh of relief. She had troubled him so often. Even the orange cat would vanish now and then, making him worry. Putting herself in his place, she thought—she really had burdened him too much.
“Has 2S’s vaccine course been completed?” she asked. Her expression alone revealed her intent to take 2S away.
Lou Ye’s mood soured again. “No. The second shot is in a week, the third in a month. Then it’ll be done.”
Today she was heading to Lou Corporation for the interview. If she passed, she could find a place in the coming days—and finally bring Juju home. If the interview didn’t go well…
Sang Wan dared not promise she would take 2S away soon. She only nodded, her expression even more cautious. “Sorry, I’ve troubled you again.”
The moment the words fell, she could clearly sense Lou Ye’s mood darken further. He rose and went to the bedroom to change.
Sang Wan quickly finished her sandwich and coffee, then deftly cleared the table, rinsed the dishes, and loaded them into the dishwasher.
The Ferrari pulled away from the hillside villa. When they were still some distance from Lou Corporation’s tower, Sang Wan spoke softly from the passenger seat: “Could you stop here? I’ll get out—it’s fine.”
Knowing she wanted to avoid suspicion, Lou Ye said nothing. After the traffic light, he pulled over.
She thanked him, got out, and walked the rest of the way.
Lou Corporation’s headquarters rose in the heart of the imperial capital, a skyscraper gleaming in the morning sun.
At the front desk, she had barely spoken the name of Project Design Director Cheng when the receptionist smiled and handed her a visitor badge. “Sixtieth floor. Someone will meet you there.”
The glass elevator ascended, the bustling city shrinking beneath her feet.
The view was breathtaking.
Ding! The doors slid open. Sang Wan looked up—facing a young woman in a chic Chanel‑style suit.
“Hello, Senior Sang. I’m Cheng Jingran.” Straightforward, she greeted Sang Wan and led her into the conference room.
After a brief exchange about her post‑graduation experience, Cheng Jingran switched on the projector. Several entries from a recent architectural design competition appeared on the big screen.
“Senior Sang, these were shortlisted but didn’t win.”
The designs spread across the screen. Cheng Jingran looked at her. “Imagine it’s before the competition. Suppose you were the designer—what changes would you make? You have thirty minutes to think. See you then.”
“Alright.” Compared to empty theory, Sang Wan preferred this kind of hands‑on challenge. Pen in hand, eyes on the blueprints and technical details, she felt her blood stir.
Cheng Jingran slipped out, heading straight for the top‑floor president’s office.
A knock. Inside, a cold voice: “Come in.”
Cheng Jingran drew a deep breath and pushed the door open.