Jing Xuan played games for a while, then turned his head—someone had already fallen asleep.
Where her face pressed against the pillow, a bit of fair cheek was squeezed out. Long, curled lashes shaded her eyelids, and her delicate, straight nose exhaled long, gentle breaths.
As if by instinct, he reached out a finger, hovering it before her nose, letting the warm airflow brush across his fingertip.
After a moment, he carefully tucked the strands of hair that had slipped down her cheek back behind her ear.
Her ear was revealed. He stared at the peach-shaped earring, reached his fingertip over, and lightly touched it.
His movement froze.
Her breathing rhythm hadn’t changed, and he made no further move. He withdrew his hand, stared at her for a long while, then turned back around.
If he’d turned the phone volume up just one notch, it probably wouldn’t have woken her, but he kept it on silent—because with just a little attention, he could hear her breathing from behind him.
With one extra person in the house, the atmosphere of the entire space became utterly different.
Like a lonely planet in the vast cosmos discovering another—gravity causing them to capture each other, helplessly drawing closer, orbiting one another, dancing among the stardust.
The moment Mu Ning opened her eyes, she thought she hadn’t woken up at all, because the daylight was no different from when she’d fallen asleep, and Jing Xuan was still sitting in the same spot.
If not for the tablet propped up in front of Jing Xuan, and the walnut wood glow-tube clock on the coffee table showing it was already four in the afternoon, she wouldn’t have known she’d slept so long.
Without making a sound, she quietly watched Jing Xuan’s back—watched him occasionally lift his glass for a sip of cola, and tilt his head left and right as if stretching his neck.
It reminded her of otome games, where the male lead would play random default idle animations when you hadn’t interacted with him for a long time.
If she poked him right now, which persona’s dialogue would he trigger?—
“Welcome back, Countess.”
“I’ve been waiting for you… big sister.”
“Leaving someone alone for this long is very rude, little nightingale.”
“I’ve already patrolled the border. All is normal. I’m still awaiting your next order, Lord.”
“Assassination attempt number 784 failed. Your skills are lacking, my nemesis.”
Mu Ning couldn’t help but reach out.
Just as her index finger was about to poke Jing Xuan’s shoulder, he suddenly turned sideways, looking back at her.
Mu Ning’s heart jolted with fright.
“Awake?” Jing Xuan paused, noticed her hand, and asked again, “What’s wrong? Do you need something?”
Mu Ning hurriedly withdrew her hand.
Too late.
Her index finger was caught and held—a brief pause, then her entire hand.
It wasn’t the “high-sounding” game of comparing palm sizes; he had wrapped his hand entirely around hers, with unmistakable intent, no room for escape.
Her breath stopped. The warmth of Jing Xuan’s palm seemed to extend from her fingertips all the way to her heart, bringing an unprecedented thrill.
On a cloudy afternoon with no wind or rain, Jing Xuan gazed at her with such seriousness and focus that she inexplicably couldn’t look away, only able to meet his eyes.
Her hair gathered over her burning ears, and the heat began to invade her cheeks and neck.
She dared not breathe, and even forgot to blink.
“Mu Ning…”
“…Hm?”
“I…”
Mu Ning saw him make an obvious swallowing motion, as if what he wanted to say was extremely difficult to voice. Then his gaze suddenly darted away, his expression briefly stiffened, his Adam’s apple rolled slightly, and the next moment he looked away with a hint of fluster.
As if realizing he was still holding her hand, he immediately let go, pushed himself up from the sofa, and said in a slightly hoarse voice: “…I’ll get you a bottle of water.”
Mu Ning recalled where his gaze had last landed, and looked down.
The neckline of her dress had shifted askew from sleeping, revealing a finger’s width of the top edge of her bra.
Mu Ning’s face flushed crimson as she yanked the blanket up to cover her entire head.
…She was someone who could write three thousand words of pure smut fanfiction about her family fortune without batting an eye or changing expression.
After a long while, Mu Ning straightened her clothes under the cover of the blanket and sat up from the sofa.
Jing Xuan stayed in the kitchen and hadn’t come over—probably to give her enough time to get past the awkwardness.
But Mu Ning couldn’t care less about awkwardness now. She spoke toward Jing Xuan’s back: “…I’ll borrow your bathroom.”
Jing Xuan walked out of the kitchen holding a bottle of water and pointed to a certain door.
Mu Ning said “thanks” and quickly got up to head over.
The bathroom, with its wet-dry separation, continued the minimalist showroom style. Aside from an electric toothbrush, toothpaste, and a black facial cleanser on the counter, there was nothing else.
The sink was scrubbed spotless, and the mirror cabinet’s surface had no dried water splatters.
A pair of black slippers sat by the glass sliding door of the shower, and a gray bath towel hung neatly on the towel rack.
Mu Ning looked into the shower niche—his bath products were the ACCA KAPPA White Moss series.
Mu Ning didn’t linger long. While washing her hands, she checked her makeup—no smudging, but her lipstick had faded a bit. She hadn’t brought her bag in, so she let it go.
When she walked out of the restroom, Jing Xuan had already returned to his seat.
Mu Ning sat back down beside him as if nothing had happened, picked up the controller, and woke the PS5 from standby.
Jing Xuan had already unscrewed the cap of the purified water bottle and handed it to her.
As she drank, she heard Jing Xuan ask, “What do you want for dinner?”
“Are we eating out?”
“Either is fine.”
“…How about ordering takeout?”
Jing Xuan chuckled. “Looks like Teacher Mu is just as much of a homebody as I am.”
“People in our line of work tend to be, right?”
“Our lead artist goes hiking every weekend.”
Mu Ning gave an impressed thumbs-up.
Jing Xuan opened the food delivery app and handed his phone to Mu Ning. “See what you’d like to eat?”
“I have trouble choosing… Just order the same thing you had last meal.”
Jing Xuan nodded and said, “I had pasta last time. Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
Mu Ning played the game for a while but hit a puzzle level that was a bit tricky, and she got stuck. Feeling restless and losing patience, she glanced at Jing Xuan’s locked tablet and asked, “What movie were you watching earlier?”
“A TV series. Severance.”
“I’ve seen that one. The first season was stunning, but the second season got a bit…”
“The premise and art direction are very distinctive.”
Mu Ning nodded. “Quick-fire question: what’s your life movie?”
“It’s an animated film. Does that count?”
“What a coincidence. Mine is too.”
“Then I’ll count to three, and we’ll say them together?” Seeing Mu Ning nod, Jing Xuan counted down, “One, two, three…”
“WALL·E.”
“Spirited Away.”
Mu Ning laughed. “I thought I’d hear some obscure, niche masterpiece.”
“Actually, I think achieving excellence at a mainstream level is incredibly hard. It means it’s not enough to just cater to popular taste—you also need personal expression that goes beyond it.” Jing Xuan said seriously, “My goal is to make a game that’s both mainstream and excellent within my lifetime.”
“If anyone else said that, I’d think ‘anyone can dream big.’ But coming from you, I’m sure you’ll make it happen.”
“Then I’ll take your word for it.” Jing Xuan touched the tip of his nose and smiled. “I’ve seen WALL·E too. I really liked it.”
“I watched it in middle school, and I rewatch it every year since.”
“Have you rewatched it this year?” Jing Xuan looked at her.
“Not yet…”
“Then why not make today the day?”
Mu Ning’s heart skipped a couple of beats. She said calmly, “…Sure.”
But unfortunately, after finishing the takeout, just as Mu Ning was about to rewatch her life movie with Jing Xuan—”making today the day”—she was pinged by Sister Gua in the work group chat and had to go back immediately to fix something.
“If it’s not urgent, you could use my computer here…” Jing Xuan offered.
“I need the certificate. My laptop has it configured; other computers might not work.”
Jing Xuan didn’t press further. He stood up and said, “Then let’s go. I’ll walk you back.”
“No need, it’s so close…”
“Does Xiao Wa not need his medicine anymore?” Jing Xuan looked down at her.
She simply couldn’t refuse that gaze. “…He still needs one last dose.”
The sky hadn’t fully darkened yet—a beautiful indigo expanse that made people instinctively pull out their phones to take photos. That was the advantage of a coastal city: the air was clean enough that the night sky looked especially clear.
They hailed a cab, and in no time, they arrived.
Jing Xuan gave Xiao Wa his medicine, sat on the floor of her room, and scratched the cat’s chin for a while. Casually, he asked, “When does your birthday version go live?”
“The week after next.”
“That soon?”
“Yeah. So I’ll have to write the story day and night.”
“Alright.” Jing Xuan smiled and looked up at her, sitting at the foot of the bed. “Then once your version is done… can I take you out to dinner?”
Mu Ning extended her pinky.
Jing Xuan hooked his around it and they pinky-swore.
“I need to hear Teacher Jing Xuan say ‘good luck’ to have the motivation to work.”
Jing Xuan curved his lips upward. “Good luck.”
The following two weeks could only be described as chaotic and all-consuming.
Writing storylines, submitting feedback, revising, filling in data tables…
The so-called data tables meant formatting the story text into a massive spreadsheet containing character names, story content, character portraits, Live2D performances (expressions, movements), trigger conditions, and more—so the programmers could read and call the data directly.
It was also the part Mu Ning hated the most.
Finally, the internal build went out for QA testing, giving her a brief breather before the bug reports came in. That was when Mu Ning received news from home: her father had been diagnosed with thyroid cancer and would need surgery next week.
On Thursday, the servers went down for maintenance in the early morning, the version was updated, and player feedback after launch was mostly positive.
Mu Ning had no time to enjoy the success. She took three days of annual leave the following week, flew back to Chucheng on Wednesday, and accompanied her mother to be with her father through his surgery.
Before leaving, she entrusted Xiao Wa to Jing Xuan.
Originally, Mu Ning had only asked Jing Xuan to stop by her place once a day to refill the water, clean the litter box, and play with the cat for ten minutes. Jing Xuan felt the kitten was too pitiful like that and suggested bringing it to his place to board for a few days.
To help Xiao Wa adapt to the new environment, Mu Ning brought it over to Jing Xuan’s place after work on Monday.
She had assumed Xiao Wa would be withdrawn for a while in a new setting, but the very next morning, Jing Xuan sent a video: the cat food was eaten, the litter box was used, and the teaser wand was already being played with.
—What a lucky life. Not only did it move into her man’s luxury apartment before she did, but it was also enjoying his attentive care.
On Wednesday, Mu Ning headed to the high-speed rail station and took the train back to Chu City. The trip took seven hours in total—before the high-speed rail reached Chu City, she’d had to transfer, making the journey even longer.
In the past, seven hours felt impossibly long to kill, but this time, between napping, snacking, and pestering Jing Xuan with messages, the time seemed to fly by.
Mu Ning’s father, Mu Hongguang, and mother, Duan Wenli, as teachers, had one rare virtue: they were emotionally steady. A hospitalization and surgery—in most families, that might cause a bit of a fuss—but the two teachers remained perfectly calm throughout.
By the time Mu Ning rushed to the hospital, the couple was chatting away about final exam scheduling, making her hurried arrival seem like an overreaction.
The surgery the next day went off without a hitch.
Duan Wenli was efficient and decisive, so Mu Ning wasn’t of much practical use—she basically served as a mascot, providing conversation fodder for the other aunts and uncles in the ward: “Where does your daughter work? Is she married? Where did she go to college?”—that sort of thing.
In the evening, Duan Wenli stayed overnight at the hospital and sent Mu Ning home to rest, reminding her not to forget to water her plants.
Mu Ning showered, lay down in the bedroom, and sent Jing Xuan a message.
“morning: I’m home. My dad’s in great shape—the doctor said he can be discharged the day after tomorrow.”
“X: Good. You’ve worked hard too.”
“morning: I’m not tired. I’ve just been eating and lounging in the ward—my dad’s getting annoyed with me.”
“morning: Are you off work?”
“X: Off now. Got out a bit early today.”
“X: Up for a video call? I’ll show you Xiao Wa.”
Mu Ning quickly sat up, smoothed down her messy hair, and glanced down to check that her pajama buttons were all done up.
“morning: Sure. Call me.”
The video request popped up, and Mu Ning answered right away.
On the screen, Jing Xuan was sitting on the rug petting the cat. He must have showered—his black hair was fluffy and full, and he wore a loose gray T-shirt with matching drawstring shorts.
Xiao Wa was lying there, looking less than enthusiastic.
Mu Ning asked, “Is it in a bad mood?”
Jing Xuan looked up, smiled directly into the camera, and said in a low voice, “…Maybe because it misses you a lot.”