The next morning was chaos.
Liu Xin woke up to the smell of pork buns, the sound of her mother humming a Teresa Teng song, and the sight of her father wearing her "I Pause My Drama for No One" hoodie like he was born in it.
"This is my life now," she muttered to her reflection as she brushed her teeth. "I live in a sitcom."
Downstairs, her mother had already laid out breakfast like a ceremonial feast—tea eggs, scallion pancakes, soy milk, and of course, enough pork buns to feed a moderately sized army.
"You didn't have to do all this!" Liu Xin said, even as she reached for a pancake.
"Nonsense," her mother said, waving her off. "City girls need home-cooked food to survive. You can't live on iced lattes and stress forever."
Her father peeked over his paper. "Your mother woke up at 5 a.m. to steam those buns. She also tried to label your spice jars. In Mandarin. With a calligraphy brush."
Liu Xin blinked. "That explains the 'Joy' sticker on the chili flakes."
"You should see what I did with your sock drawer," her mother added cheerfully.
She ate in silence, the domestic familiarity oddly comforting—even as anxiety buzzed beneath her skin. Today was going to be… tricky. Finalizing the gala entertainment lineup, navigating a workplace freshly disturbed by ex-fiancée ghosts, and trying not to scream every time someone mentioned Wu Jian's name like it was a matchmaking prompt.
Speaking of…
Her phone buzzed again.
Wu Jian:
Meeting room 2B. 9:00 sharp. I've moved your presentation slide to the top of the agenda.
No "good morning," no emojis, not even punctuation beyond the colon. Classic Wu Jian. Efficient and cold… except for when he wasn't.
Like yesterday.
Like the moment he'd stared just a beat too long at Qiao An, then blinked and turned to Liu Xin like she was the only person in the room. That look had rattled her more than she cared to admit.
She stood and began gathering her things. Her mother followed her to the door with a lunchbox wrapped in a cloth.
"Here," she said. "Bento for your boss. You said he works too much, right?"
Liu Xin gawked. "Mum, no—he's not the kind of man who accepts lunchboxes. He's the kind of man who eats salad like it's a punishment."
"Then maybe he needs warmth more than vegetables."
"Mum!"
But it was too late—her mother shoved the bento into her hands like a mission from the gods. "You be careful with your heart, Xin Xin. But don't be afraid to let people see it either."
Those words echoed in her mind as she stepped out into the sun, bento in hand, doubts clinging to her heels like shadows.
—
At the office, the air was unusually charged. People whispered in corners. Marketing interns practically sprinted when Qiao An walked by.
Yes. She was still here.
Liu Xin stepped into Meeting Room 2B with her spine straight and her nerves in lockdown mode. Wu Jian was already inside, standing near the screen, dressed in dark gray like a thundercloud.
"Morning," she said, placing her laptop down.
He looked up, eyes flicking briefly to the bento box she was awkwardly trying to hide behind her planner.
"Morning," he replied, voice smooth but unreadable. "Did your parents arrive safely?"
She blinked. "You… knew they were coming?"
"You mentioned it yesterday, in passing."
Had she? Between the mental spirals and childhood photo threats, she must've.
"They ambushed me," she said with a dry laugh. "There was no passing about it."
His mouth quirked, just slightly. "They seem enthusiastic."
"That's one word for it. My mum tried to feed you through a lunchbox."
He raised an eyebrow.
"It's… here." She reluctantly set it on the table. "You don't have to eat it. Just pretend you've been fed emotionally."
To her surprise, he reached for it.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
She blinked. "You're going to… actually eat it?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"I don't know," she blurted. "You just don't seem like the pork-bun-at-9-a.m. type."
"I'm full of surprises," he said, opening the box with reverence. Inside were neatly packed compartments—tea eggs, stir-fried lotus root, pork buns shaped like roses.
"My mother loves shaping food more than people," Liu Xin muttered.
He studied the food, then her. "You're lucky."
She looked up. "To have a mother who's pathologically invested in my lunch?"
"To have parents who visit you. Who remember what you liked to eat when you were ten."
There was something in his voice then—a thin thread of longing quickly buried.
Before she could respond, the door opened and Qiao An walked in.
She greeted them both with that graceful smile that somehow made Liu Xin feel like a potted plant in comparison.
"Jian," she said warmly. "Liu Xin."
Liu Xin nodded. Wu Jian simply gestured for her to sit. He didn't look at Qiao An again, not even when she adjusted her blouse just a little too deliberately.
As the meeting began, Liu Xin tried to focus. She pulled up the finalized entertainment schedule, smoothly moving through the slides. Acrobatic violinists. Shadow dancers. A brief comedic monologue by a rising stand-up star. It was elegant, memorable—exactly the vibe the charity gala needed.
She could feel Wu Jian's gaze on her the entire time.
When she finished, he spoke: "Well done."
And it wasn't just polite. It was firm. Real. The kind of praise Wu Jian rarely gave without weighing it first.
"Thank you," she said, surprised at how much that warmed her.
Then Qiao An spoke.
"I wonder if we should reconsider the violinist," she said with a smile. "Someone from the board mentioned their performance can be… intense. Might not be appropriate for a charity focused on youth education."
It was subtle. Professional.
And pointed.
Liu Xin's hands clenched slightly.
Before she could defend the choice, Wu Jian said, "I've reviewed the footage. The act stays. We're not here to sedate donors—we're here to move them."
Qiao An blinked. Just once. Then smiled again. "Of course. Just a suggestion."
Liu Xin didn't look at her. She didn't need to. She could feel the tension stretching between the three of them like a wire.
But for the first time, it didn't rattle her. Wu Jian had chosen. Not loudly, not dramatically. Just clearly.
And that said more than any declaration could.
—
Later, as she stepped out of the conference room, Liu Xin's phone buzzed again.
Wu Jian:
Tell your mother the lunch was excellent.
She stared at the message.
Then grinned.
Maybe Qiao An was a wave.
But Liu Xin wasn't drowning.
Not today.