Who would have thought that tomorrow’s meeting would fall through? Zhu Jingru had messed up again, and a real cold hit him hard.
As the saying goes, you reap what you sow. Climbing a mountain at midnight to stargaze, fishing in the morning while dressed lightly to show off, and the trouble caused by taking off his clothes—every single thing was his own doing.
He woke up around noon, shielding his reddened eyes with the back of his hand. He wasn’t thinking about curing his illness, only about one thing.
Getting Bai Qinglin’s private contact information made this sickness worthwhile.
His damp hair stuck uncomfortably to his skin. Zhu Jingru dragged himself up to shower and wash his hair, dizzy as the world spun around him, yet he didn’t forget to style his hair to look good.
After freshening up, he wrapped himself in a blanket, a thermometer in his mouth. Once he took his temperature, he snapped a photo and sent it to Bai Qinglin. The angle of the photo was carefully chosen, subtly revealing only his chin, lips, and neck, with his head tilted slightly to show his reddened Adam’s apple.
Zhu Jingru ignored the 99+ unread WeChat messages, prioritizing Bai Qinglin’s chat, which he’d nicknamed “Big Ice Cube.”
As expected, the chat interface showed no sign of “typing.” Zhu Jingru took his medicine and flopped onto his pillow, completely unhurried. He even had the leisure to post on Moments: “Fished myself into a cold. Next time, I’ll fish again.”
The post included a photo he’d taken that morning of the lake, showing two fishing rods. Within moments, five or six comments popped up.
Yuan Ye: “You sure you didn’t dive into the river to catch fish?”
Zhu Yini: “Didn’t expect you to still be alive, lol.”
Dong Yu: “Who’d you go with, Tang Chen?”
Tang Chen: “Don’t get it twisted, he wasn’t fishing—he was peacocking. Spring’s coming.”
…
Zhu Jingru returned to his chat with Bai Qinglin. For someone slow to warm up, he couldn’t come on too strong, especially since the person he had his eye on might not have warmed up at all.
Zhu Jingru wasn’t short on time or patience, but while he wasn’t in a rush, Tong Yin was. She was all over the place with worry.
“Brother Jingru, it’s been three days, and you haven’t been at the window seat. Everyone’s not used to it. Oh, and the boss thought you’d show up—he even heated the milk.”
Zhu Jingru closed his eyes, burying his face in the pillow. The milk, like the water handed to him that day, sent a flutter through his heart. Cold on the outside, warm on the inside.
Big Ice Cube wasn’t just thoughtful—he knew how to care for people.
At the coffee shop during the midday lull, Bai Qinglin and Tong Yin were on duty. Huang Chen came bounding in to deliver lunch.
The previous night’s lighting had been too harsh, and aside from Zhu Jingru, Bai Qinglin hadn’t clearly seen anyone else, so he didn’t remember Huang Chen. After a polite response, he took off his apron and washed his hands, scrubbing several times before recalling his phone had vibrated.
The young couple was eating lunch at a table inside, lost in their own world.
Bai Qinglin, with frameless glasses perched on his nose, cast a shadow from the lenses, making his sharp features appear even more reserved and refined. He sat at the window seat Zhu Jingru used to occupy—the spot with the best light and view.
Before Zhu Jingru became a regular, this had been Bai Qinglin’s spot for reading during downtime.
His slender, defined fingers flipped open a heavy book, only to close it again. Bai Qinglin glanced out the window. The sunlight wasn’t great. He picked up the lighter on the table, clicking it lightly, his knee bent, his posture more relaxed than usual.
Messages came through on his phone, but Bai Qinglin ignored them.
“Tomorrow noon, Huang Chen and I are treating everyone to a private dining experience. There’s a special hotpot dish too. Come along, boss,” Tong Yin said, approaching him after finishing her meal.
Bai Qinglin was about to decline when Tong Yin cut in firmly. “Huang Chen’s boss will be there too.”
“Hm?”
Tong Yin clarified, “His boss is Mr. Zhu.”
Bai Qinglin didn’t see how this concerned him and still wanted to refuse, but Tong Yin, quick as a flash, grabbed Huang Chen and left. “It’s settled then. See you, boss!”
Bai Qinglin watched their retreating figures for a moment before meticulously cleaning the table, the veins on his arm bulging as he worked. Once done, he opened his phone. His rarely used WeChat had only five contacts.
He meant to swipe away the message notifications, but lingered too long and accidentally opened Zhu Jingru’s message.
The photo enlarged—lips, moist and red, biting a thermometer; a slightly tilted head, still sweating; a neck glowing with a faint sheen. The most fragile, sensitive parts of a mammal were fully in view.
Bai Qinglin stared silently for a few seconds, then removed his glasses, his chest rising and falling slightly.
He wanted another cigarette. It was probably just the nicotine craving.
