Chapter 16: The Face-to-Face Confrontation
Sunday, 11:40 p.m.
Shen Miaomiao stood before her full-length mirror, having rumpled her outfit past counting with all the adjusting.
In the past two hours her room had looked like the aftermath of a category-12 typhoon. Her bed, her chair, even the floor were strewn with everything she'd dug out—a sweet floral sundress, a sharp office blazer, a slightly more mature tweed jacket.
"No, no! The floral dress looks too dressed-up—it makes me look desperate! Like I've got an agenda!" Miaomiao waved at her reflection, fumbling the dress's zipper back down.
"Then the blazer? No! Way too serious! I'm going to confront him face-to-face, not deliver a quarterly report!"
Miaomiao clawed her hair into a bird's nest in frustration. In the end, exhausted and nearly out of time, she changed back into what she knew best—an oversized T-shirt and jeans washed to a faded pale.
"Perfect! This is called casual! This is called unbothered! This is called 'this old lady just happened to drop by to hear your explanation!'" She pumped her fist at her reflection, trying to brainwash herself with sheer volume.
But the moment she actually stood outside Apartment 1602 on the sixteenth floor of the luxury building, every scrap of that freshly built courage evaporated on the spot.
The motion-sensor light in the corridor had clicked off—no sound to keep it on—and the silence was so total she could hear only the faint hum of the central AC unit.
Both hands clamped around her bag strap, Miaomiao stared at the heavy security door before her. Its little black peephole was like a cold, unblinking eye, quietly watching her.
Shen Miaomiao, you coward... knock! Extend your claws and KNOCK! she roared at herself internally.
Her hand rose and hung in midair, centimeters from the door. But the moment she thought about what waited on the other side—the "Devil Lu" who was merciless in the office, red pen poised over her drafts, who was also [L], the man who'd spent half a month in a fake online relationship with her and whom she'd called her soulmate...
The tidal wave of embarrassment and nerves drowned her on the spot!
Hand up. Down. Down, then up again.
After five full minutes of this, her legs finally gave out and she surrendered completely. Like a stray with nowhere to go, she slid down the door and plopped onto the floor outside 1602, pulling out her phone to scroll WeChat and distract herself.
[Anonymous User 9527]: "I'm here... but I don't dare knock... (crying-on-the-floor GIF)"
She stared at the screen, still clinging to one last hope: what if he doesn't see it? What if he's asleep? Then she could march home with her head held high and a spotless conscience!
The next second, an instantaneous reply popped up—
[L]: "I know. I've been watching you squat out there through the peephole for five minutes."
Thud!
The phone tumbled from her hand onto the carpet. Her face went up in flames on the spot—full, instant social death!
He'd been watching through the peephole?! Watching her raise and lower her hand like an idiot? Watching her legs give out and squat down at his door?!
Just as she scrambled for her phone, ready to bolt from the scene of her social death, the heavy security door gave a crisp click—the lock turning—and swung slowly inward.
Warm golden light spilled through the gap and swept the darkness out of the corridor.
Lu Chen stood in the doorway.
Tonight's Lu Chen upended every preconception she had of him. No razor-sharp suit like the office, no hair gelled into place. Just a soft, easy set of loungewear, a few loose strands falling naturally over his brow—the editor-in-chief's edge and chill gone, replaced by something unplaceable: homey, gentle.
One hand braced on the doorframe, he looked down at Miaomiao, still curled on the floor, his eyes behind the glasses brimming with teasing and doting all at once.
He spoke, his voice low and magnetic:
"Done staring? Done squatting? Then come in."
Miaomiao tilted her small face up, mouth opening and closing—staring, actually staring, at this casual, gentle version of Lu Chen.
"Oh... oh..." She stood in a daze—her legs, numb from squatting, buckled and pitched her forward.
Lu Chen was faster—his long arm shot out and steadied her by the arm. A faint, crisp woody scent, still warm from the shower, washed over her. The moment she had her footing, Miaomiao snatched her hand back and shuffled inside, meek as anything.
He took the bag she was clutching to her chest, set it on the entryway cabinet, then drew a brand-new pair of cream-white plush slippers from the shoe cabinet and set them neatly at her feet.
When she slipped them on, they fit her size exactly—and even the dopey little cat embroidered on the toe looked strikingly like the pair she used at home. The host, quite clearly, had prepared them for her in advance.
Inside, Miaomiao sat on pins and needles, for all the world like a first-grader summoned to the principal's office.
His apartment was enormous—the living room spacious and bright, decorated in a minimalist cool palette, immaculate as a luxury show home. Miaomiao sat on the very edge of the sofa, knees together, hands folded obediently in her lap, not daring to let her eyes wander anywhere.
Lu Chen brought a few bottles from the mini-fridge, set them on the coffee table, and stood over her:
"Something to drink? Coffee, tea, or plain water?"
Too nervous to think, her mouth outran her brain: "Whatever!"
Lu Chen raised an eyebrow, picked up a cup of warm water, and set it before her, deadpan: "Plain water, then. Best match for your current IQ."
She nearly sprayed the mouthful straight out, coughing until tears came.
One bout of that familiar sharp tongue, and the strings that had been wound to snapping miraculously loosened. She took the tissue he offered, wiped her mouth, shot him a glare—and the spark of being teased flared up inside her, nerves completely forgotten.
Lu Chen settled into the armchair across from her, long fingers laced elegantly in his lap, gold-rimmed glasses behind which his eyes were calm and deep as he regarded her:
"All right, Ms. Shen Miaomiao. Ask whatever you like. Today I'll hold nothing back and answer honestly."
Miaomiao looked at him across the table, drew a deep breath, gripped her mug hard, and asked the question that had circled her mind a thousand times:
"When... when exactly did you figure out I was 9527?"