Introduction

Shen Yichen — 26

A successful young architect from a wealthy Shanghai family. Quiet, controlled, perfectionist, and difficult to approach. He appears emotionally cold but becomes intensely protective once he loves someone.

Guo Zihan— 24

A talented illustrator who has just moved to Shanghai. Outgoing, stubborn, witty, and independent. He dislikes arrogant people—and

unfortunately, Shen Yichen is exactly the kind of person who gets under his skin.

...Chapter 1 — The Man in the Rain...

Shanghai had never looked beautiful to Guo Zihan when it rained.

Not on the first night.

The city was supposed to be dazzling—towering buildings covered in neon advertisements, endless streams of headlights, cafés glowing behind enormous glass windows. Zihan had seen photographs of Shanghai before moving here, and every picture had looked almost unreal.

Tonight, however, the rain turned everything into a blur.

He stood beneath the narrow roof of a convenience store, clutching his suitcase handle with one hand and his phone with the other.

His phone showed 7% battery.

His taxi application showed:

Driver arriving in 3 minutes.

Zihan stared at the screen.

“Three minutes,” he muttered. “You've been saying that for twenty minutes.”

A cold drop of rain landed on the back of his neck.

He shivered.

Tomorrow was his first day at his new company. He had spent the entire afternoon unpacking, getting lost twice, and arguing with the landlord about a broken water heater.

And now his phone was dying.

Perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

He sighed and stepped farther beneath the roof.

That was when a black sedan stopped directly in front of him.

The passenger window lowered.

A man sat inside.

“Guo Zihan?”

Zihan blinked.

“Yes?”

The man's gaze moved briefly to his suitcase.

“You're blocking the entrance.”

Zihan looked behind him.

There was, indeed, a small entrance to an underground parking area.

He immediately moved his suitcase aside.

“Sorry.”

The window began closing.

Then Zihan noticed something.

“Wait.”

The window stopped.

“You're not my taxi, are you?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

The window closed completely.

Zihan stared at the car.

“What an incredibly friendly person.”

The sedan pulled away.

Zihan watched it disappear into the rain.

“Rich people,” he muttered.

Ten minutes later, his taxi finally arrived.

---

The next morning, Zihan discovered that the mysterious man from the night before was not merely some rude stranger.

He was Shen Yichen.

His new boss.

Or, more accurately, the youngest partner at Yunhe Design Group, one of Shanghai's most prestigious architecture and interior-design firms.

Zihan discovered this approximately thirty seconds after walking into the conference room.

He froze.

Shen Yichen sat at the end of the table.

Black suit.

White shirt.

Silver watch.

Perfectly neat dark hair.

He looked nothing like the man who had sat in the black sedan the previous night.

Except for the eyes.

Those eyes were unmistakable.

Calm.

Sharp.

Almost irritatingly beautiful.

Yichen looked up.

Their eyes met.

For one second, neither moved.

Then Yichen said,

“You're late.”

Zihan looked at the clock.

8:59.

The meeting started at nine.

“It's 8:59.”

“Then you're one minute early.”

Zihan stared at him.

A woman sitting beside Yichen quickly covered her smile with a folder.

Zihan pulled out a chair.

“Good morning to you too.”

Yichen said nothing.

The meeting began.

Zihan tried to concentrate.

He really did.

But every few minutes, he found himself glancing toward the end of the table.

Shen Yichen was younger than he had expected.

Twenty-six, according to the introduction email.

Too young to have such an intimidating reputation.

Too young to look so composed.

And, unfortunately, far too attractive.

Zihan immediately looked back at his notebook.

Absolutely not.

He had moved to Shanghai for his career.

Not for some ridiculously handsome man with an expensive watch.

Especially not a man who apparently believed that smiling was a waste of energy.

Two hours later, the meeting finally ended.

Everyone began gathering their papers.

Zihan closed his laptop.

“Mr. Guo.”

He looked up.

Yichen was standing beside the table.

“Yes?”

“The illustrations you submitted.”

“What about them?”

“They're good.”

Zihan blinked.

That was the first compliment he'd received since arriving.

“Thank you.”

“But the third concept doesn't work.”

His smile disappeared.

“Why?”

“The emotional center is wrong.”

Zihan frowned.

“It's supposed to represent loneliness.”

“It represents sadness.”

“That's the point.”

“No.”

Yichen leaned slightly toward the table and pointed at the screen.

“Loneliness isn't always sadness. Sometimes it's silence. Sometimes it's wanting someone beside you and refusing to admit it.”

Zihan stared at him.

For the first time, Yichen's expression softened.

Only slightly.

Then it disappeared.

“Redo it.”

Zihan crossed his arms.

“You could have just said that.”

“I did.”

“You gave me a philosophy lecture.”

“It was three sentences.”

“That felt longer.”

Yichen looked at him.

Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth lifted.

It wasn't quite a smile.

But it was close.

Zihan's heart made an inconvenient little jump.

He hated that.

He hated it immediately.

---

That evening, Zihan stayed late.

The office gradually emptied.

One employee after another said goodnight and disappeared into the elevators.

By ten o'clock, only the rain and the hum of the air conditioner remained.

Zihan sat alone beneath the desk lamp, sketching.

He erased a line.

Redrew it.

Erased it again.

His phone buzzed.

Landlord: Water heater repaired tomorrow.

Zihan sighed with relief.

At least one problem was solved.

He leaned back.

His eyes felt heavy.

Then he heard footsteps.

He looked toward the glass doors.

Shen Yichen walked out of his office.

He had removed his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves to his forearms.

Zihan immediately looked back at his drawing.

Don't stare.

He stared anyway.

Yichen stopped beside his desk.

“You're still here.”

“Obviously.”

“You should go home.”

“So should you.”

“I have work.”

“So do I.”

Yichen looked at the clock.

“It's ten thirty.”

“And?”

“You've been working since nine.”

Zihan shrugged.

“I'm new.”

“That doesn't mean you have to prove something.”

Zihan looked up.

There was something different in Yichen's voice.

Not cold.

Not commanding.

Concern.

Small, almost invisible concern.

Zihan's expression softened.

“Are you worried about me?”

Yichen paused.

“No.”

“Liar.”

Yichen looked away.

“Finish tomorrow.”

Then he walked toward the elevator.

Zihan smiled to himself.

“Goodnight, Boss.”

The elevator doors opened.

Yichen stepped inside.

Before they closed, he looked back.

“Goodnight, Zihan.”

It was the first time he'd used his name.

Something about the way he said it made the office suddenly feel much quieter.

---

Outside, the rain had become heavier.

Zihan stood beneath the building's entrance and checked his phone.

No taxis.

He groaned.

“Of course.”

A black umbrella appeared above his head.

Zihan looked up.

Shen Yichen stood beside him.

“You're going to get sick.”

“I'll survive.”

“Probably.”

Zihan laughed.

“Was that concern again?”

“No.”

“Right.”

They walked toward the street together.

For several minutes, neither spoke.

The umbrella was large enough for both of them, but Zihan noticed their shoulders occasionally brushed.

Once.

Twice.

The third time, neither moved away.

Zihan could hear the rain hitting the umbrella.

He could smell something faintly clean from Yichen's shirt—something like cedar and rain.

He looked sideways.

Yichen was watching the road.

His profile was almost painfully handsome beneath the streetlights.

“You know,” Zihan said quietly, “you're not as cold as everyone says.”

Yichen glanced at him.

“You've known me for less than twenty-four hours.”

“And yet I already know you're not as scary as you pretend.”

“I don't pretend.”

Zihan smiled.

“Then maybe you're just bad at smiling.”

For a moment, Yichen said nothing.

Then he looked directly at him.

“Maybe I don't have a reason to.”

Zihan's smile faded.

The words were simple.

But something about them felt strangely lonely.

Before he could answer, a taxi pulled up.

Zihan stepped beneath the light.

He turned back.

“Goodnight, Shen Yichen.”

Yichen nodded.

“Goodnight.”

Zihan opened the taxi door.

Then he hesitated.

“Tomorrow?”

Yichen's eyes met his.

“Tomorrow.”

The taxi drove away.

Yichen remained beneath the umbrella, watching the red taillights disappear into the rain.

And for the first time in a very long while, Shanghai didn't feel quite so lonely.

Neither did he.

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