Ever since that trench-coat silhouette outside the restaurant — so achingly like him — Shen Miaomiao had been jumpy as a cat.
The way she looked at Lu Chen had changed. Before: the editor from hell. Now: a potential Devoted Fan L, examined through a magnifying glass.
Tuesday afternoon, clutching the detailed drafts of Volume Two's next two chapters, she knocked on the editor-in-chief's door.
“Come in.”
Lu Chen sat behind the broad desk, leafing through a financial report. Today he wore a crisp navy shirt, cuffs rolled back, forearms showing clean lines.
“Editor-in-chief Lu, these are the two new chapters for Volume Two — about how the leads' mindsets shift after that rainy night...” As she spoke, she reached for her phone to pull up the supplementary outline she'd backed up in WeChat's File Transfer.
But the moment she tapped the screen, it flashed violently twice — then died with a click. Black.
“No no no — you cannot be serious?!” Shen Miaomiao froze, hammering the power button, but the phone sat there like a dead stone. “Oh my god... it crashed!”
Near tears, she looked up at Lu Chen. “Editor-in-chief Lu... my phone's dead. The supplementary outline and the detailed character sheets are all in my WeChat File Transfer...”
Lu Chen looked up, took in the despair written across her face, and a trace of resignation crossed his eyes. He gestured at the spare laptop in the corner of his desk, voice flat:
“Log into WeChat Web on this and print the file out.”
“Thank you, Editor-in-chief Lu! You're a lifesaver!”
She pulled up a chair, opened a browser, and keyed in the WeChat Web address from memory. With the phone dead, she logged in via SMS verification code.
What Shen Miaomiao entirely failed to remember: when WeChat Web loads for the first time, network lag makes it auto-sync and display the most recent message from your most recent conversation!
The instant the verification cleared and the page loaded, her eyes went wide as saucers.
There, at the very top of WeChat Web's sidebar, sat a chat head that was black with a single white letter — L!
And because the web version rendered text so large, beneath the chat head, in perfect clarity, sat L's last message from the night before —
'The flirty details tonight were excellent, 9527.'
“Nononono—!!” Her heart nearly leapt straight out of her throat!
Her mind went white!
If Lu Chen saw that chat — instant social death. Death on the spot! This was no longer about a failed genre pivot; this was about whether she walked out of this building alive!
“Is the file up yet?”
A low, cool voice sounded directly above her head! Lu Chen was walking toward the laptop, step by step!
Less than two meters away!
“Wait! Editor-in-chief Lu, don't look!” Scared out of her wits, she flung herself at the screen like a startled stray cat, hands windmilling to block it!
The movement was so violent that her palm slapped down hard on the keyboard, the cursor skidding wildly across the screen — one twitch away from opening L's chat!
“Don't. Move.”
At the very last moment.
A faint, familiar chill of woody cologne closed around her. Lu Chen bent down, his chest nearly touching her back, and his long, clean fingers reached past her shoulder to press the keyboard shortcut with effortless precision — Alt + Tab!
Whoosh! WeChat Web shrank away into the taskbar!
Shen Miaomiao sat frozen, breathing forgotten.
Lu Chen looked down at her from above, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him.
“Ms. Shen. You were flailing so hard just now you nearly broke my keyboard. Is there something in that chat window the editor-in-chief isn't allowed to see?”
“N-no! Absolutely nothing!” Her voice shook, her eyes darting everywhere; she forced a laugh. “It's — it's all gossip about my diet failures with my best friend! Way too embarrassing for the editor-in-chief's eyes!”
Lu Chen didn't press. He straightened up with easy grace and picked up the freshly printed pages. “I happened to receive the file in my email, actually. The outline is good. Off you go — and keep your sweaty palms off my keyboard.”
“Yes! Thank you, Editor-in-chief Lu! Goodbye, Editor-in-chief Lu!”
Shen Miaomiao bolted, sprinting out of the office at a hundred-meter-dash pace — thoughtfully pulling the door shut behind her, tight as a drum.
Inside the office, Lu Chen watched her flee and finally let the low laugh out. He sank into his chair, picked up his phone, and looked at the stream of gibberish “9527” had just sent over WeChat, shaking his head, still smiling.
Clever little thing. Quick reflexes, at least.
Time flew. Saturday afternoon arrived.
Moxiang Literature was hosting its grand annual reader meet-and-greet and signing event in the ballroom of a luxury hotel downtown.
As this year's flagship genre-transition author, “Miaobi Shenghua” (Shen Miaomiao) sat at the signing table with freshly curled hair and flawless makeup.
Lu Chen, as the platform's editor-in-chief and highest-ranking official representative, sat front and center in the first row of the VIP seats in a sharply tailored black suit.
Hundreds of enthusiastic readers packed the venue; camera flashes popped, banners hung high.
During the Q&A, the host strolled center stage with a microphone and turned to Shen Miaomiao with a smile:
“Ms. Miaomiao, we all know you built your name in historical and BL fiction. But your new book, Never Dated, Now Writing Romance, has taken readers by storm! Everyone says the romance is written with unbelievable realism and delicacy!”
The host twinkled, then lobbed out the question every reader had been waiting for:
“What everyone is dying to know — that male lead in your book. Cold-tongued and stern on the surface, scheming-soft underneath, secretly delivering hot lattes and sweet soup to the heroine — this 'Mr. Lu'... does he have a prototype in real life?!”
“Waaaah!” The audience erupted in screams and cheers!
“There's a prototype, isn't there?!” “Author, have you secretly been dating someone?!” “This was definitely written from real feeling!”
Onstage, Shen Miaomiao watched the feverish crowd, palms sweating with guilt.
Her eyes flicked, entirely on instinct, to the front row of the VIP seats.
Lu Chen sat with one leg crossed, chin propped on one hand, watching her with an expression that was equal parts amusement and total attention — waiting for her answer too, it seemed.
She looked at that face, and her brain briefly short-circuited. The words nearly burst out:
“The prototype is our editor-in-chief, Lu—”
Halfway through, with the last syllable on her tongue, a violent shiver ran through her. Pure survival instinct slammed the brakes, and she swallowed the final syllable whole!
“—Lu... uh, lot by lot! A composite assembled from all the domineering-CEO material I've gathered in the workplace!” She laughed drily and course-corrected at full volume. “Yes! A composite prototype! The best of everyone!”
The audience let out a round of good-natured laughter and disappointed wails. “Boo — and here we hoped for real sweet romance!” “The author dodges like a pro!”
The host laughed the topic away.
Only Shen Miaomiao on stage knew how unreadable Lu Chen's gaze had been in that instant.
Down in the front row, Lu Chen watched the girl thumping her chest in relief over her near-slip. A composite prototype?
Shen Miaomiao, you little ostrich. Let's see how long you can keep your head in that sand.