Chapter 2 — The Worst First Impression

The next morning, Guo Zihan arrived at Yunhe Design Group twelve minutes early.

He considered this a personal achievement.

Yesterday, Shen Yichen had somehow managed to make him feel late even when he technically wasn't.

Today, Zihan was determined not to give him the satisfaction.

He stepped out of the elevator with a cup of coffee in one hand and his sketchbook tucked beneath his arm.

“Good morning.”

A few employees greeted him.

Zihan smiled.

“Morning.”

He had almost reached his desk when someone spoke behind him.

“You're early.”

Zihan stopped.

He didn't need to turn around.

He already knew the voice.

He turned slowly.

Shen Yichen stood several steps away, dressed in another perfectly tailored black suit.

Zihan looked at the clock.

“Seven forty-eight.”

Yichen glanced at his watch.

“Seven forty-nine.”

“Still early.”

“Yes.”

Zihan took a sip of coffee.

“Did you come here just to check my arrival time?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Yichen walked past him.

Then stopped.

“Your coffee.”

Zihan looked down.

“What about it?”

“Too much sugar.”

Zihan stared at him.

“How do you know?”

“I watched you put four packets in it.”

“You were watching me?”

Yichen's expression remained completely calm.

“You were standing directly in front of the coffee machine.”

“Oh.”

Zihan suddenly felt stupid.

Yichen continued walking.

After two steps, he added,

“Four packets is excessive.”

Zihan called after him.

“It's called having a personality!”

Yichen didn't turn around.

But Zihan could have sworn he saw his shoulders move slightly.

Was he laughing?

---

At nine, the project meeting began.

The company had been hired to design a luxury hotel overlooking the Huangpu River.

The project was enormous.

And according to the presentation Yichen gave, completely unforgiving.

“We have six months,” Yichen said.

Someone at the table raised a hand.

“Six months? That's extremely tight.”

“I know.”

“Then why did the company accept the deadline?”

“Because we can complete it.”

The answer was simple.

Certain.

Zihan looked at him.

There was something fascinating about Yichen when he worked.

He wasn't merely confident.

He was precise.

Every sentence had a purpose.

Every decision had a reason.

And whenever someone challenged him, he never raised his voice.

He simply explained why they were wrong.

It should have been irritating.

Instead, Zihan found himself watching.

Again.

He quickly looked down.

Stop staring at your boss.

A presentation slide appeared on the screen.

Zihan's illustrations were displayed beside the architectural concepts.

Yichen glanced toward him.

“Guo Zihan.”

“Yes?”

“Explain the emotional concept.”

Zihan stood.

He walked toward the screen.

The illustration showed a person standing alone beneath a huge moon reflected in the river.

“The hotel is supposed to feel luxurious,” he began, “but I don't want it to feel cold.”

He clicked to the next image.

“People don't remember buildings because of their walls. They remember how they felt inside them.”

The room became quiet.

Zihan continued.

“The moon represents distance. Everyone can see it, but nobody can touch it. The reflection is different. It's something you can almost reach.”

Yichen watched him carefully.

“And what does the person represent?”

Zihan hesitated.

“Someone waiting.”

“For what?”

“Someone.”

A strange silence followed.

Yichen looked at the image.

Then at Zihan.

“Good.”

Just one word.

But Zihan smiled.

“Thank you.”

The meeting continued.

When it finally ended, everyone left except Zihan and Yichen.

Zihan gathered his papers.

“You liked the concept.”

Yichen didn't look up from his laptop.

“Yes.”

“That's the second compliment you've given me.”

“I didn't count.”

“I did.”

Yichen finally looked at him.

“Do you keep track of everything I say?”

Zihan's mouth opened.

Then closed.

“That sounded different in my head.”

For the first time, Yichen actually smiled.

It was small.

Barely there.

But real.

Zihan forgot what he was going to say.

Yichen noticed.

His smile disappeared.

“Something wrong?”

“No.”

“Then why are you staring?”

“I'm not.”

“You are.”

Zihan grabbed his papers.

“I have work.”

He walked away quickly.

Behind him, Yichen watched him leave.

And this time, there was unmistakably amusement in his eyes.

---

That afternoon, Zihan was assigned to work directly with Yichen.

He regretted every decision that had brought him to Shanghai.

The office was quiet.

Yichen sat across from him, reviewing architectural drawings while Zihan worked on digital illustrations.

For nearly an hour, they barely spoke.

Then Zihan broke the silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you become an architect?”

Yichen's pen stopped.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because you're good at it.”

“That isn't an answer.”

Zihan shrugged.

“Maybe I'm curious.”

Yichen looked toward the window.

The city stretched beyond the glass.

“I liked drawing when I was young.”

Zihan blinked.

“You?”

“Yes.”

“You draw?”

“Used to.”

“What happened?”

Yichen was silent for a moment.

“My father thought it was useless.”

Zihan's expression changed.

“And you listened?”

“I was sixteen.”

The answer was quiet.

Zihan didn't push further.

Instead, he smiled.

“You should draw again.”

Yichen looked at him.

“Why?”

“Because sometimes the things people tell us to give up are the things we actually love.”

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Yichen's gaze lingered on him.

“You talk too much.”

Zihan laughed.

“And you don't talk enough.”

“Perhaps that's why we're compatible.”

The words came out casually.

But the moment they did, Yichen seemed to realize what he'd said.

So did Zihan.

The air changed.

Zihan lowered his eyes to his tablet.

“Compatible?”

Yichen cleared his throat.

“For work.”

“Right.”

“For work.”

Neither of them looked at the other.

---

That evening, they were still working when the lights suddenly flickered.

Zihan looked up.

“Please don't tell me the electricity is going out.”

The lights went off.

He sighed.

“Of course.”

Emergency lights came on.

Yichen stood.

“Stay here.”

“Why?”

“I'll check.”

Zihan followed him anyway.

“I'm not five.”

“I didn't say you were.”

“You were thinking it.”

Yichen glanced back.

“You're very confident about what I think.”

“Someone has to be.”

They reached the corridor.

The building's maintenance team was already checking the electrical system.

“Should be back in a few minutes,” someone said.

Zihan sighed.

He leaned against the wall.

Yichen stood beside him.

In the dim emergency lighting, his face looked softer.

Less distant.

Zihan glanced at him.

Yichen was already looking at him.

Their eyes met.

Neither moved.

The hallway suddenly felt much narrower.

“You have something on your face,” Yichen said.

Zihan touched his cheek.

“What?”

“Here.”

Yichen stepped closer.

He lifted his hand.

His thumb gently brushed a small streak of graphite from Zihan's cheek.

Zihan went completely still.

Yichen's hand remained there for half a second too long.

Then he pulled away.

“Graphite.”

“Oh.”

Zihan's voice came out quieter than intended.

Yichen looked at him.

“You're blushing.”

“I'm not.”

“You are.”

“It's hot.”

“The air conditioning is on.”

Zihan stared at him.

“You're really annoying.”

“I've been told.”

The lights suddenly came back on.

Both stepped away at the same time.

Neither mentioned what had just happened.

---

Later that night, Zihan left the building alone.

He walked toward the subway station, hands buried in his coat pockets.

His mind kept returning to one stupid moment.

Yichen's hand on his face.

It had lasted barely a second.

So why couldn't he stop thinking about it?

His phone vibrated.

A message.

Shen Yichen: You left your sketchbook.

Zihan stopped walking.

He looked down.

His sketchbook was indeed missing.

Another message appeared.

Shen Yichen: I'll bring it tomorrow.

Zihan typed:

You could leave it at reception.

He deleted it.

Typed again:

Thanks.

Deleted that too.

Finally:

Okay. Don't lose it.

Three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Appeared again.

Shen Yichen: I won't.

Zihan stared at the screen.

A ridiculous smile appeared on his face.

He immediately put the phone away.

“No.”

He shook his head.

“Absolutely not.”

But somewhere across the city, Shen Yichen was looking at the same conversation.

And for reasons he didn't understand, he was smiling too.

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