Yudu was not the capital of the country, yet its beauty rivaled any capital's.
The sky was a pure azure, and beneath the shell of a modern metropolis, its local charm still lingered.
Sprinkler trucks rolled along the streets, spraying glittering droplets that hung in the air before sinking into flowerbeds. By the tranquil riverside of Qianshui Bay, tourists leaned over the bridges, gazing at the long, clear man-made river while enjoying the breeze on their cheeks.
Above them, the sun strolled lazily across the sky.
After finishing a plate of apples, Mo Xunhan led Qin Xiao and Ji Yu into the recording studio—to show her investor the footage, and to let Ji Yu dub the female lead.
Meanwhile, the Mo family villa lay quiet.
Inside, Mo Yachen tore another canvas from the easel, its surface covered in oil paint. He tossed it to the floor.
All around him lay discarded sheets. To him, anything that failed to meet his standard was not even a draft—merely wastepaper.
At some point, a voice floated into the room. Soft, yet powerful.
His inspiration drained, Yachen set down his brush and followed the sound.
It drifted down the hall, wrapping around his ears. Soon, he found himself at the half-open recording studio door. He leaned against the frame, peering inside.
The room was bright. Curtains and windows wide open, the breeze swirled in, brushing against skin like invisible ripples. Sunlight flooded the marble floor until it gleamed like polished jade.
"No matter if no one notices you. No matter if others outshine you. You must learn to be still! Only by calming yourself can you do what you truly want—don't let anxiety, doubt, or inferiority destroy what little passion you have left!"
The words caught in the girl's throat, trembling with emotion.
Yachen stared—at Ji Yu, standing there with one hand brushing her cheek.
It was the first time she'd worn a short skirt.
The sunlight fell upon her bare legs, casting them in a glow so radiant it seemed almost sacred.
The girl turned suddenly, perhaps to gauge the directors' reactions. But instead, her eyes immediately caught his—watching from the door. Her sapphire eyes lit up, and her face bloomed into a smile.
That smile… even if he stripped away the word "boyfriend," Yachen had to admit—it was beautiful. Unlike Xunhan's carefree grin, Ji Yu's smile carried something else: mystery, and a quiet sense of safety.
"Yachen, finished your painting already?"
A gust of wind swept in, stirring her skirt, carrying her scent toward the doorway.
"If you're tired… come listen to my voice for a while."
Without a second thought, Yachen stepped inside.
Her smile deepened—one of relief, the smile of someone finishing a task, free at last to breathe.
In the silent villa, only a bare easel remained in the living room, bathed in sunset gold. Its owner now sat nearby, holding a cup of warm milk, ready to hand it to the girl who had spent the day pouring her soul into lines.
And the girl—standing at the microphone, headphones on, eyes fixed on the sinking sun—her face had shed its usual cheer.
What replaced it was something colder. A stillness bordering on indifference.
She read the lines flawlessly, but her mind was already elsewhere. Already thinking.
That night, the stars spilled across the sky like every night before.
Qianshui Bay lay hushed, serene as ever.
On the grass, Mo Yachen slumped, exhausted from carrying three ladies' handbags. Yet even so, he still held his sketchbook, pencil moving restlessly across its pages.
Truthfully, it was not his weariness that should worry the girls—but his past.
Hadn't their New Year's "date" been a bizarre ghost house and an art film strung with cryptic montages?
And now—why did the lines she was dubbing echo those montages so closely? The same words, the same themes, even the same roles of "little sister" and "older girl"?
"Ji Yu-meimei, thank you for your hard work today," Xunhan broke the silence, slipping an arm through hers. "Dubbing so many episodes in one go… you really are amazing. A true broadcasting student."
Her words scattered Ji Yu's unease. Qin Xiao joined them, and the three girls sat together on the wooden swing. Ji Yu, flustered in her short skirt, pressed one hand firmly over her lap, face aflame.
Qin Xiao, watching her friend's shy discomfort, chuckled:
"Little Ji Yu, don't be so self-conscious. The more you blush, the more attention you draw, you know?"
From the grass, Yachen heard her teasing. He lifted his head briefly, taking in Ji Yu's red cheeks, her hair falling against her heated skin. After a moment, he smiled faintly and captured the image with a few quick strokes.
"But didn't I put you in safety shorts?"
Ji Yu said nothing, just let a strand of hair slide down her cheek, cool against her burning skin. Qin Xiao, sensing her embarrassment, let the matter drop and moved behind her to push the swing gently.
The soft cries of a shy girl, the laughter of two older ones, and the steady scratch of a pencil across paper filled the night air. The wind carried it all away, leaving peace in its wake.
Yachen drew, smiling quietly.
His pencil moved faster whenever the two girls teased Ji Yu again.
The sketchbook pages turned—
One.
Two.
Three…
And just like that, time slipped forward.
By the third morning—
A pale mist shrouded Yuyang University.
Before the sunlight had even pierced the veil, countless students had already gathered, ready.
And so, as though inevitable, a girl who had spent the night dozing in the student council office slowly opened her eyes.
Ji Yu sat up from the couch, hair a mess, clothes wrinkled. For a moment she simply stared into space. Then, with sluggish steps, she fixed herself in the mirror, wandered to the window, and pulled it open.
The damp morning air swept in, chilling her awake.
For a while she gazed into the fog, searching for shapes she couldn't pierce. At last, she sat down at Yachen's desk, staring at the dizzying mountain of documents.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Yachen:
"First day of Recruitment Fair—good luck, sweetheart! ❤️❤️❤️"
She glanced from the message to the mist outside. Her lips pressed together.
Without replying, she buried herself in the proposals.
The clock ticked.
Minute by minute, light pierced the fog.
Though much of the campus remained in haze, a few beams of dawn still broke through—fresh, unyielding.
And then—
At the very top of her chat list, from the contact she hadn't heard from in a month—
A new message.
From Tang Li.