Gu Ze Yan walked down Haiyun Road with a book under his arm and a peculiar knot in his chest.
He had seen it.
That man at the counter, leaning closer, trying to make her laugh. And she—Lin Qing Yun—had laughed. Bright, warm, easy.
Exactly the same way she laughed at him.
Ze Yan frowned, running a hand through his neatly cut hair. What's wrong with me? I don't care when women smile. I've been smiled at enough for three lifetimes. But hers—why does it feel like it should be mine?
He stopped by a streetlamp, staring at the reflection of neon rippling across a puddle. The thought twisted again. Maybe in her eyes, I'm not special. Maybe that smile isn't mine. Maybe it belongs to everyone.
The idea felt… weird. Heavy. And he hated it.
The next morning, the office tower gleamed like polished steel against the hazy sun. Inside, however, the CEO of the building was slouched in his leather chair, tapping a pen against the same unopened book from last night.
"Boss?"
Chen Rui poked his head in, balancing a laptop and a cup of coffee. "Should I call the paramedics? You look like a man who just discovered his favorite restaurant serves everyone the same 'special dish' to anyone with a wallet."
Ze Yan lifted his eyes lazily. "That's a very specific metaphor."
Chen Rui stepped in, setting the coffee down with exaggerated reverence. "I'm an observant man. Yesterday you walked out of here like you were in a shampoo commercial. Today you look like someone stole your Wi-Fi."
Ze Yan tossed the pen onto the desk, lips curling faintly. "Nonsense. Obviously, I'm the chef's special. No one else gets the same seasoning."
"Mmhm." Chen Rui nodded gravely, clicking his laptop open. "So you admit there is a chef involved. And a menu. And competition."
Ze Yan shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
Chen Rui raised his hands in surrender. "I'm just saying, Boss. You're jealous."
"I'm not jealous," Ze Yan said quickly. Then paused. "…I'm statistically curious."
"Statistically curious," Chen Rui repeated, deadpan. "Yes, because nothing screams science like pouting over a bookstore girl recommending novels to someone else."
"I wasn't pouting."
"You are literally pouting right now."
Ze Yan straightened instantly, smoothing his expression into cool elegance. He leaned back, folding his arms. "This face has never pouted in its life."
Chen Rui sighed dramatically. "If only we had a camera."
The day dragged on. Investors came, meetings blurred together, numbers danced across screens. Normally, Ze Yan thrived in this rhythm—confident, persuasive, always two steps ahead.
But today, his mind kept circling back to the bookstore.
The way her hair slipped loose when she leaned forward. The way her laughter spilled so easily. And most of all—the sharp realization that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't the only one who received that brightness.
It gnawed at him. Not like doubt, but like curiosity he couldn't ignore.
By the time the sun dipped low, painting the city in shades of gold, he was leaning against his office window, book unopened in hand.
Chen Rui peeked in again. "Boss, you're staring at a hardcover like it personally offended you."
Ze Yan smirked faintly. "It might have."
"Want me to sue the publisher?"
"Tempting."
Chen Rui eyed him, then grinned. "So, when are you going back?"
Ze Yan glanced over. "…Back where?"
"The bookstore," Chen Rui said smoothly. "Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit your face."
Ze Yan chuckled, shaking his head. "You think you know me too well."
"I do." Chen Rui's grin widened. "And I predict that in about two hours, our noble CEO will find a reason to 'browse literature' again."
"Wrong," Ze Yan said, slipping the book into his briefcase. His tone was calm, steady, certain. "…One hour."
As the elevator doors slid shut, Ze Yan caught his reflection in the mirrored walls. Tall, sharp-featured, hair immaculate, smile resting easily on his lips—the man everyone else saw.
But beneath that smooth exterior, his chest beat with something restless, almost boyish.
Jealousy. Curiosity. And something he hadn't felt in years: the ridiculous desire to be someone's exception.
He thought of her words from the bus: "Sunny's easier."
He thought of her laughter with that man.
Fine. Tonight, he would find out. He would make her laugh. Not the way she laughed with everyone else—brilliant, kind, effortless. But a laugh just for him.
And if he couldn't… he didn't even want to finish the thought.
The elevator dinged. He stepped out with long strides, determination steady in his chest.
"Sunny..," he murmured under his breath, lips curving into a small, confident smile, "let's see if you can keep treating me like everyone else."