“…It’s fine,” Qi Song said, lowering his gaze. His lashes were long, and there was a trace of fatigue in his eyes. “You are?”
Chi Zhan’s attention was entirely captured by the beauty mark at the corner of Qi Song’s eye.
A tear mole. God help me.
The internet did not lie.
Even though he’d already seen the video online, the impact of seeing that face in real life hit far harder than expected. And yet, he was wearing a loose white sweater—clearly loungewear. The whole person looked soft and cozy, like a cat curled up in the sun.
Chi Zhan could hardly tear his eyes away.
Seven… in at-home mode? Who’s ever seen that before?
“I’m from Zhou Rui Group…” Chi Zhan snapped out of his starstruck daze and introduced himself, finally getting to the point. “About tonight’s livestream—”
But halfway through, he started to feel a bit awkward.
Qi Song was clearly in rest mode, and here he was trying to drag the man into a work gig. It felt wrong. A little immoral, even. That thought made him backpedal.
“I didn’t realize you were already off-duty. I’m really sorry—if you’d rather not do it, that’s totally fine. We can reschedule.”
Qi Song considered for a moment.
“Come in first.”
With that, he turned and headed back inside.
Chi Zhan hesitated, then followed.
The room was filled with all kinds of animal toys: cat trees, teaser wands, scratching posts—all neatly arranged. Despite the abundance of pet gear, the place was spotless and carried a faint, clean scent of air freshener. But then Chi Zhan noticed… a dog bone?
Did Seven open a pet shop in here?!
He suddenly remembered Seven mentioning he kept a “two-digit” number of pets.
He really meant it. But… where were they all?
Chi Zhan glanced around, puzzled. Qi Song seemed to pick up on it and said, “There’s a tournament coming up in a few days, so I sent them all to a friend’s pet shop. Right now, it’s just Milk at home.”
“Milk… that’s a great name. Suits the cat perfectly.”
“If you don’t want to praise it, don’t force yourself.”
“……”
He saw right through me.
“You can call me Seven or Qi Song. You were the one I’d been coordinating with, right?”
Qi Song finally picked up his phone and started scrolling through it. His expression was still lazy, his voice low and a little husky—undeniably magnetic. Ridiculously easy on the ears.
“Yes,” Chi Zhan said, doing his best not to stare directly at Seven’s face.
“Sorry. I don’t really check my phone much these days,” Qi Song’s long fingers swiping across the screen. “The livestream starts in two hours?”
“Yes. It should run about two hours total. There’ll be a short interview section during the stream.”
“Okay. That’s fine.”
“If it’s not—wait, really? It is?”
Chi Zhan was genuinely surprised. He hadn’t even started pitching, and Seven was already agreeing?
“Maybe because…” Qi Song said absentmindedly, “we have a good vibe.”
Chi Zhan assumed it was just small talk.
Still, it all felt too surreal. He actually said yes!
Qi Song’s gaze fell on Chi Zhan’s WeChat contact card.
Zhou Rui Group – Secretary Chi.
—Chi.
What were the odds?
Milk, high off catnip, finally came down from the high and wobbled over, clearly wanting more of Chi Zhan’s attention. But Qi Song scooped her up with one smooth motion.
Ice-cold personality or not, his movements were incredibly gentle.
Chi Zhan watched, entranced, as Qi Song stroked the cat’s back. He hesitated—should he tell him that he was the one who’d played with him in-game? That he was a fan? But saying that might come off as trying to get close on purpose.
Seven clearly had boundaries. He probably wouldn’t like it.
Chi Zhan struggled internally, then ultimately chose to stay silent.
Qi Song went to change, and when he returned, he was bundled up in a black trench coat, high-neck sweater, and a long scarf.
He looked like he was preparing for a blizzard.
It made sense—Qi Song’s body temperature did seem lower than most. When he’d held the cat earlier, his fingers had briefly brushed Chi Zhan’s neck—they were cold. By comparison, Chi Zhan was woefully underdressed.
White dress shirt, thin black blazer, slim-fit trousers without lining—his outfit screamed fashion over function. He’d packed light for the trip, and his formalwear was folded neatly, ready to be dry-cleaned and returned.
Qi Song looked at him with mild puzzlement.
“You’re wearing that? Isn’t it cold?”
Chi Zhan shook his head.
“It’s sunny outside. Still warm.”
“The sun hasn’t set yet. You’ll see tonight.”
“…?”
By the time they reached the base, night had fallen. The moment he stepped out of the car, Chi Zhan sneezed.
The night breeze cut straight through his clothes. His outfit offered zero protection against the cold, and he started shivering.
Meanwhile, Qi Song looked completely unbothered. After getting out of the car, he glanced over at Chi Zhan.
The car could only go as far as the front gate. From there, they had to walk a full kilometer. And wouldn’t you know it—this stretch was especially windy, with no buildings nearby to break the gusts. After just a few steps, Chi Zhan felt like he might get blown away.
Still, he had to maintain his dignity as a secretary. Pretend like he wasn’t freezing. Even though his face had already gone numb.
Then, a quiet sigh drifted from beside him.
Chi Zhan turned his head just in time to feel something warm and soft settle around his neck—a black-and-white plaid scarf.
He stared at Qi Song, startled and grateful.
“Staring at me won’t get you my coat.”
“……”
That’s not what I meant!
The scarf was cashmere—thick, wind-resistant, large enough to cover half his face. In an instant, warmth surged through him. It was incredibly soft and comfortable.
Just like always, the scarf carried that clean, subtly cool scent that lingered on Qi Song. Whatever fragrance it was, it smelled really, really good.
