Nanhai City’s first snow fell all night, blanketing the earth in white. Even the smoke rising from the large chimneys seemed to dissolve into nothingness.
The light seeping through the window illuminated Zhu Jingru’s face, his eyelashes fluttering incessantly, woken abruptly by the glare. He stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, momentarily disoriented.
Until the door suddenly swung open. Tang Chen came to check if Zhu Jingru was still alive, having heard Huang Chen’s exaggerated tale: a grown man chasing pure romance, building a snowman, freezing for hours, all just to wear someone else’s coat. Truly impressive.
Zhu Jingru lay sprawled across the sofa, motionless. Turning his head, he met Tang Chen’s gaze. “Morning.”
“You don’t lock your door when you sleep?” Tang Chen was shocked he could just walk in.
Zhu Jingru nodded. He’d been exhausted from moving last night. Not much luggage, just a few hundred pieces of clothes, pants, and shoes. He’d collapsed and slept, forgetting to lock up.
“…” Tang Chen’s eyes fell on Zhu Jingru’s legs dangling off the sofa’s edge, then at his infuriatingly good-looking face, suddenly realizing something. “You’re freaking naked?!”
“Yeah, so what?” Zhu Jingru sat up slowly.
Tang Chen swallowed a hundred curses, quickly turning away. “Please, put on some clothes.”
The blanket slipped, revealing Zhu Jingru in loose shorts. His arms were long and smoothly defined, a thin red cord tied around his waist, faint marks on his hipbones exuding an indescribable sensuality.
He brushed his teeth and washed his face calmly, emerging only after he looked presentable.
Tang Chen scanned Zhu Jingru’s new place. No need to guess—there was definitely a walk-in closet. The living room was so clean it only held a TV, a coffee table, and a sofa. White curtains covered the floor-to-ceiling windows, letting in good light. Otherwise, it was bare, clearly not meant for a long stay.
“It’s pretty close to our bar.”
“Yeah,” Zhu Jingru said, wearing a brown sweater, the two silver hoops in his earlobes trembling faintly. He checked his phone—no reply, as expected.
Bai Qinglin was too hard to approach. Without seeing him, deeper contact was impossible.
Zhu Jingru stared thoughtfully at the photo of a back on his lock screen, clearly scheming how to make “contact.”
The feeling of hitting a wall was novel to him, and the more setbacks, the braver he became.
Tang Chen asked, “Hey, doesn’t Boss Bai live around here too?”
Zhu Jingru sent a message, then squinted, his grip tightening with a crack of his knuckles. He lifted his head, pushing back his bangs, taking a deep breath with a smile. “What’d you just say?”
“Deaf…” Tang Chen sensed danger. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Zhu Jingru’s face change, but never this fast. Survival instinct kicked in. “I didn’t say anything.”
Zhu Jingru stared at the red exclamation mark on his screen and the undelivered text. He’d gone too far yesterday, resetting progress overnight. Officially blocked.
He mulled it over, oddly thrilled. It was exciting—Bai Qinglin’s temper was unpredictable, not easy to provoke.
But the harder to provoke, the more Zhu Jingru wanted to try.
Morning at the coffee shop was as usual. Bai Qinglin busied himself, his fingertips brushing the cold counter, then grinding coffee and serving customers. His life, like still water, was controlled, orderly, and unruffled.
Zhu Jingru was uncontrollable. Bai Qinglin disliked dealing with such people or being caught in situations he couldn’t manage. Noticing Tong Yin’s gaze, he looked up.
Tong Yin, feeling guilty, hurriedly wiped cups.
Bai Qinglin glanced thoughtfully at the window seat. No one was there today.
The snow drew crowds to the commercial street near Ginkgo Avenue for photos and play, the bustle lasting into the evening.
Stars twinkled overhead. Zhu Jingru, in a knit cap and scarf, sat at the garden entrance, legs propped on a high stool, strumming a wooden guitar, singing his own songs one after another, wherever the mood took him. Forgotten lyrics didn’t stop him; he hummed on, his carefree nonchalance adding to his charm.
Snowflakes settled in the hair along his ear, making him seem to glow. The crowd grew, drawn to this living advertisement.
Tang Chen, sniffling, had to admire Zhu Jingru’s cold resistance. Truly wild, truly dazzling, sitting there smiling, playing cliché guitar tunes, both romantic and grounded, yet singing so well, so uniquely.
He rejected the ordinary, craving the one-of-a-kind.
Tong Yin said Bai Qinglin was a heavy smoker, often passing the street to buy cigarettes, where he’d easily spot this scene.
And he did. Zhu Jingru, thinking of Bai Qinglin blocking him overnight, felt a genuine ease, strumming his guitar. Looking up, he saw a refined-looking man beside Bai Qinglin, offering him a cigarette, the lighter flickering.
Zhu Jingru’s fingers grew cold. He looked away, still smiling calmly, as if not disappointed in the least.
Yue Chuan, new to the area, wanted to hit the bars at night and tagged along with Bai Qinglin to buy cigarettes.
The bar across the street was striking, and Zhu Jingru, singing love songs on his guitar at the entrance, was even more so.
“Did he just smile at me?” Yue Chuan didn’t notice Bai Qinglin had stopped walking, excitement in his voice. “Old Bai, coming here was the right call.”
Yue Chuan hurried into the crowd, heading for Zhu Jingru like the others.
Bai Qinglin stayed put, cigarette in mouth, silent. His gaze was indifferent, as if uninterested. Exhaling smoke, he brushed snow from his dark trench coat and turned to leave.
