The comments on the post came flooding in.
“Wow! Senior Yan Yu! So pretty!” (Classmate A from the same department)
“Your skin looks amazing! Spill your secrets!” (Classmate B, not very close)
“Do you have the link for that nightgown? It looks so comfy!” (Girl from the next class, C)
“Senior, remember to rest and drink plenty of water~” (Volunteer Association member)
“So cute…” (Ruo Xiaozhen liked it, plus a “hug” emoji)
“Sister, go to bed early. Don’t catch a cold. I’ll bring you moisturizer tomorrow.” (Bai Yan’er, practically replied instantly)
Yan Yu scanned these comments, some sincere, some perfunctory.
Her gaze lingered for half a second on Bai Yan’er’s warm-profile-picture, then she turned off her phone screen.
She leaned back against the headboard and closed her eyes.
The night outside the window was thick as ink.
Step one was taken.
She just wondered whether that “aloof female lead” and her “white moonlight” had seen it yet.
And if they had, what would they think?
…
Su Qinghan sank into the spacious Italian leather sofa in her living room, her posture casually lazy.
She had just finished an online meeting and was now focusing on her fingernails, contemplating whether to give herself a new manicure to match the Chanel-style jacket she’d bought today.
Unlike many girls who favored soft pink or bright colors, she had chosen two deep blue nail polishes with similar tones—one nearly ink-black, the other with a subtle shimmer.
She preferred sharp tailoring and clean lines in her wardrobe, leaning toward an androgynous style, but that didn’t stop her from occasionally enjoying the pleasure of dressing up.
Her well-maintained fingers were long, the knuckles defined, and she was now carefully applying the final coat.
Only one floor lamp was on in the living room, casting a warm yellow glow that enveloped her, projecting a quiet shadow onto the dark leather sofa.
The air carried the faintly sweet yet slightly pungent scent of nail polish.
After finishing the last finger, she put down the small brush and picked up the miniature LED nail curing lamp beside her, ready to insert her hand to cure the polish.
With her other hand, she habitually swiped open her phone screen resting on her thigh and clicked into her friend circle.
Post after post refreshed.
She scrolled through them expressionlessly.
Then, her finger stopped.
In the center of the screen was the photo Yan Yu had just posted.
Su Qinghan froze slightly, her first instinct to look away—for this former lover she had already “cleaned up,” she believed she shouldn’t waste any more attention.
But her gaze seemed stuck, as if held by some invisible force.
In the photo, Yan Yu wasn’t looking at the camera.
She was slightly turned, her eyes cast down, her long lashes casting a small shadow beneath them.
Her skin was pale and cool, but under the warm yellow light, it exuded a warmth and delicacy like polished jade.
A few strands of slightly damp long hair clung to her fair neck and slender collarbone.
The loose neckline of her nightgown teased with concealment and exposure, outlining her thin shoulders and neckline.
The entire photo had no deliberate posing, no contrived expression—yet it carried a… fragile beauty.
She seemed… different.
That thought silently crossed Su Qinghan’s mind.
Different?
Looking more carefully, the features were still the same features, but put together, there was something indescribably changed.
Her eyebrows and eyes seemed more refined, her silhouette clearer—especially those eyes, which even without looking directly at the camera, seemed to hold a cold, deep pool.
She suddenly remembered the last formal meeting in the coffee shop.
Yan Yu had looked at her with those same eyes, filled with shattered tears and desperate pleading, asking if she could not leave.
At the time, she only felt annoyance, felt it was dragging on, felt that the girl’s crying face was ugly and pitiful, her only thought to get rid of her as soon as possible.
But now…
Through the cold phone screen, looking at this face that was so quiet it bordered on distant, Su Qinghan’s heartbeat unexpectedly skipped a beat for no reason.
Then, a faint, unfamiliar flutter quietly spread from deep in her chest.
Had she… always been this beautiful?
Su Qinghan frowned slightly, trying to retrieve fragments of Yan Yu’s appearance from her memory.
From what she remembered, Yan Yu was delicate, even attracting her attention because of a certain resemblance to Jiang Muyun.
But that was all.
She had never thought that one day, looking at Yan Yu, she would actually feel… a flutter in her heart.
This realization felt absurd even to herself.
She pressed her lips together, her fingers unconsciously stroking the smooth edge of her phone.
“Qinghan, what are you doing?”
Jiang Muyun’s warm, smiling voice came from nearby, breaking the silence of the living room.
She was wearing a floral-print apron, busy at the open kitchen island, and the oven let out a soft ding, the air beginning to fill with the sweet scent of butter.
“I baked some egg tarts, just out of the oven. Do you want to try some?”
The two were close, often seen together, appearing to outsiders as a couple.
But in reality, Su Qinghan could feel that Jiang Muyun didn’t seem eager to define their relationship as “dating.”
She always maintained a perfect balance of closeness and distance—sometimes dependent, sometimes independent—as if playing an unspoken push-and-pull game.
“…Mm, coming.”
Su Qinghan responded, her voice betraying no emotion.
She lowered her eyes, looking at her freshly painted deep blue nails, then withdrew her hand, but her gaze fell back on her phone screen.
Yan Yu’s quiet face still remained there.
Su Qinghan’s finger hovered over the screen for a few seconds.
Then, she tapped the photo and selected “Save to album.”
Next, she entered her album, found the newly saved photo, long-pressed, selected “Encrypt,” and set a password.
After doing all this, she locked her phone and casually placed it on the armrest of the sofa.
As if that small, secret action had never happened.
Su Qinghan stood up, adjusted the cuffs of her silk blouse, her face resuming its usual cool composure, and walked toward the kitchen island, where the tempting aroma was wafting.
“Smells good.”
She walked up to Jiang Muyun and praised flatly.
“Of course—I followed the recipe to the letter.” Jiang Muyun smiled, placing a golden, glossy egg tart onto an exquisite bone china plate, handing it to her with expectant eyes. “Try it!”
Su Qinghan took the plate, scooped a piece with a small silver spoon, and put it into her mouth.
The sweetness of the egg custard and the crispiness of the butter melted on her tongue.
“Very good.”
She commented, but her gaze unconsciously drifted again to the phone lying quietly on the living room sofa.
That unfamiliar flutter in her heart, just suppressed by the sweetness of the egg tart, seemed to stir again.
Yan Yu…
She silently chewed on that name.
It really seemed… different from before.