Assistant Fang was driving when he heard the constant vibration of a phone coming from the backseat.
Puzzled, he scratched his head.
Was President Feng being bombarded with messages?
This time, it took him only 0.1 seconds to guess who was on the other end.
No one else but his wife.
There was no other possibility.
Taking advantage of the red light ahead, Assistant Fang stole a few glances in the rearview mirror.
His expression froze.
Utterly delighted.
That was the first phrase that popped into his head.
But he quickly erased it—it didn’t seem quite accurate for President Feng.
Though his surname was Feng, he wasn’t some tyrannical, old-fashioned CEO.
Aside from being a little cold and reserved, he was impeccable in every way.
And, to be fair,
the President Feng in the rearview mirror only had the faintest upward curve at the corners of his eyes. If he had to use that phrase, it’d be more like "mildly pleased."
Assistant Fang turned his head back.
Mentally reminding himself: You’re a professional assistant. Don’t make a fuss over every little thing.
With that thought, he glanced at the rearview mirror again.
Still curved…
Assistant Fang: Totally normal. President Feng is texting his wife—a little happiness is expected.
A few more traffic lights passed.
Another glance.
Still curved…
Assistant Fang: Pfft, completely normal… Ugh, screw it, this isn’t normal at all!
President Feng might as well have welded that smile onto his face!
When has he ever been this visibly happy?!
If it weren’t for driving and safety concerns, he’d have whipped out a telephoto lens and snapped a close-up of President Feng’s faintly upturned lips.
Selling it to a tabloid would fetch a pretty penny.
Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw President Feng—whose face was usually icy (scratch that) now radiant like peach blossoms—shift slightly in the rearview mirror.
Assistant Fang immediately stopped his overactive imagination and gave a professional nod-smile in the mirror.
Just as he was about to nonchalantly return his focus to driving, President Feng’s calm voice drifted from the backseat:
“Xiao Fang…”
“Yes!” The moment he heard his name, Assistant Fang stiffened.
“Do you and your girlfriend chat every day?”
Assistant Fang was taken aback.
Without exaggeration, in all these years, having accompanied President Feng through countless high-stakes situations and handled all sorts of directives, he’d almost never heard him bring up anything unrelated to work.
Only twice.
The first was when they went to pick up his wife at a restaurant, and President Feng had asked if he’d been with his girlfriend for long.
Today was the second time.
Even the densest person would start to realize something.
President Feng wasn’t the same cold, aloof man he used to be.
Now, he was just like him—someone who overthought relationship matters and even sought advice from others.
Speaking of advice,
he had plenty to share.
After all, he’d been through every high and low with his girlfriend.
He remembered the phase when they texted nonstop—back in the early days of their relationship.
Thinking of this,
he held nothing back and poured out his experiences:
“Of course! We chat every day. The most intense was right after we started dating. I’d even take my phone to the bathroom, afraid of missing a message. I’d see an ant on the sidewalk and feel the urge to snap a photo for her…”
“President Feng, you might not know this, but my girlfriend is the quiet type with outsiders but super lively with me. She never runs out of things to say—constantly asking if I’ve eaten, if I’ve slept…”
“She always says, ‘Where the sharing goes, the heart follows.’ She messages me all the time because she likes me…”
At this point, Assistant Fang scratched his head sheepishly.
From the backseat came a low, relaxed hum:
“Is that so…”
“Absolutely!” Assistant Fang replied earnestly. “And I’ve been a model boyfriend, textbook-perfect…”
A faint “Oh?” came from behind.
“President Feng, you don’t believe me?”
Assistant Fang straightened up.
“Not to brag, but my girlfriend even sends me photos of her toenail polish colors—each toe a different shade—asking for my opinion.”
“And I take it dead seriously. I’ll write a hundred-word essay analyzing which color suits best, giving the most thoughtful feedback.”
“I keep her chat pinned at the top so I never miss a message.”
Silence from the backseat.
After a moment, a quiet “Hmm.”
Assistant Fang glanced up at the rearview mirror.
President Feng’s phone vibrated again as he lowered his gaze to read the message.
Assistant Fang tactfully stopped talking.
Today’s casual chat with President Feng, though mostly one-sided, somehow made him feel much closer to him.
Assistant Fang beamed.
This version of President Feng was… nice.
In the backseat of the luxury car,
streetlights flickered across the man’s handsome, chiseled face.
The window was half-down, letting in a cool breeze.
Summer had arrived, bringing with it a warmth that lingered in the air—vibrant, alive.
His dark eyes softened imperceptibly, a quiet glow blending with the usual coolness in his brow, easing into something relaxed, unhurried.
Feng Yan finished replying to Sang Lu’s latest message, then let his thumb drift to the top-right corner of the screen.
A tap.
A swipe down.
Finding a feature he’d never used before—pin chat.
Without hesitation, he pressed it.
Back at Qinghe Bay,
Feng Yan didn’t head straight to his study.
He walked through the living room into the kitchen,
phone still in hand as he typed out another message to Sang Lu:
[Feng: I’m home.]
Pulling open the fridge, a burst of colors greeted him—rows of brightly colored soda cans neatly stacked on the upper shelves.
He reached in, grabbed one, and shut the door with a soft click.
Just as he was about to leave, he paused, turned back,
and snapped a photo of the fridge’s contents.
Opening the chat he’d checked countless times today,
he sent the picture.
With a psst,
he popped open the can, took a sip, his throat working as he swallowed.
Leaning against the kitchen island, tall and poised, he set the soda down behind him without looking.
His eyes stayed on his phone as Sang Lu’s reply came swiftly:
[Sang Lu: I just got to my room too! What a coincidence—we’re totally in sync!~]
Feng Yan’s fingers hovered, the screen’s light catching the clarity in his gaze.
[Feng: The fridge is running low on soda.]
He started typing: Remember to restock…
Then paused.
Deleted it.
Instead, he wrote:
[Feng: We’ll restock together when you’re back.]
