The sugar painting shop had a wooden sign hanging at its entrance that read, "Owner abducted by aliens, temporarily closed."
Every day, Li Sui would pull up a stool and sit beside Xu Mei, learning the art of sugar painting from her.
There were no pattern books for sugar painting—all the designs existed solely in the minds of the artisans. As days passed, the repertoire of patterns in Li Sui's mind grew richer, and her technique—the flick, lift, pause, and release—became increasingly fluid.
It was only now that Li Sui realized she had a surprising knack for sugar painting. After watching Xu Mei demonstrate a design just once, she could memorize the steps and never forget them.
A sudden clarity struck her: this must be why her grandfather had insisted she learn as a child. Perhaps he had recognized her talent and couldn’t bear to see it go to waste.
Combined with her foundational skills, Li Sui progressed far more smoothly than the average learner.
In just over half a month, Xu Mei remarked that if Li Sui simply wanted to run a sugar painting stall, she was already ready to reopen for business.
But Li Sui felt differently. She didn’t want to limit herself to that.
Everything she had learned so far came from Xu Mei, lacking any personal flair. If she reopened the shop now, she’d only be diverting customers from Xu Mei’s business.
The deeper she delved into the craft, the more her interest grew—and the more she wanted to create something unique.
But what exactly counted as unique?
Li Sui sprawled on the sofa, lost in thought, idly scrolling through short videos when a familiar face suddenly flashed across the screen.
The algorithm was terrifying.
It had started recommending Zhou Jinghuai’s speeches to her.
Despite her grumbling, curiosity got the better of her, and she watched a snippet of a speech from his university days.
"The game we’re currently developing is called Treasure Tales, a simulation and battle mobile game featuring cultural relics as prototypes..."
In the video, Zhou Jinghuai wore a white dress shirt and black trousers, exuding a youthful confidence that even Li Sui had to admit would have made her look twice if she’d seen him on campus back then.
When people talked about things they loved and excelled at, that kind of brilliance radiated from within—no artifice needed.
Unconsciously, Li Sui replayed the video.
They said that if you rewatched a clip, the algorithm would assume you were interested and flood your feed with related content.
Li Sui quickly realized this was true—
Out of the next ten videos she scrolled through, at least one was about Zhou Jinghuai or his company, Rainstorm Tech.
[What’s the secret behind this young mogul topping the domestic rich list?]
[New game earns 100 million in a week—Zhou Jinghuai’s career luck, give it to me!]
[Zhou Jinghuai: The CEO everyone wishes they had.]
[Who’s got such great taste playing Treasure Tales? Oh wait, it’s me, hahaha!]
"......"
Li Sui silently closed the app, but the voices from those videos lingered in her mind like an echo.
And in that moment, a word flashed through her thoughts:
Cultural relics.
Now that... was a niche yet untouched territory in sugar painting.
Her grandfather had loved reading all kinds of books, including those on historical artifacts. With few entertainment options as a child, Li Sui had absorbed quite a bit, gradually developing an interest.
But she’d always considered it just that—an interest, not something she loved enough to pursue. So when it came time to choose a major, practicality had won out.
She practically leaped off the sofa and rushed to the study, searching for an exhibition catalog she’d bought ages ago.
But she couldn’t remember where she’d put it.
"Zhou—" She instinctively started to call for help before remembering Zhou Jinghuai wasn’t home yet.
Was he working late? If he didn’t come back at all tonight, did that mean she was free?
Joy surged in her chest—only to recede just as quickly, like a tide.
Li Sui felt like a cat conditioned to expect food at a set time. When the routine broke, she couldn’t help but overthink.
She returned to the dining table and glanced at the clock. It was past nine, and he’d never been this late before. The weather outside was foul too—dark and windy. Had something happened on the way home?
She picked up her phone, about to message Zhou Jinghuai, when his text came through first.
Zhou Jinghuai: [Free to go to the hospital with me?]
Li Sui shot up from her chair, a thousand worst-case scenarios flashing through her mind.
Had something really happened?
A car accident?
Was he hit? Or did he hit someone?
She scrambled to change shoes while replying: [Where are you?]
Zhou Jinghuai: [In the bushes downstairs.]
Li Sui: ?
Baffled, Li Sui hurried downstairs and soon spotted a crouched figure by the grassy patch near the entrance.
His suit jacket was draped over his arm, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing lean forearms.
The dim glow of the streetlight sharpened the contours of his profile.
His gaze was lowered, his expression grave, focused on something unseen.
Only when Li Sui drew closer did she see the scruffy gray kitten lying before him.
On the day he’d returned from abroad, she’d seen him teasing it with a blade of grass. Later, while working as a security guard, she’d tried feeding it too.
Back then, though skinny, it had been lively. Now, it lay limp, a wound on its forehead crusted with dried blood.
"How did it get hurt?" Li Sui crouched beside him, her heart aching at the sight.
"Probably hit by someone." Stray cats usually kept their distance from humans, but this one didn’t resist when Zhou Jinghuai reached out.
Tiny and fragile, it fit easily in his cupped hands.
They drove to the nearest pet clinic without delay.
Only after the vet assured them the injury wasn’t serious did Li Sui relax.
She stole a glance at Zhou Jinghuai, now deep in conversation with the vet, and felt a flicker of unfamiliarity.
During her final year of high school, Li Sui had lived on campus, rarely visiting the Zhou family unless invited by Zhou Zhiyu.
Though she’d obeyed her grandfather’s wishes and recognized Zhou Zhiyu as her godmother, pride ran deep in her bones. She refused to let anyone think she was leeching off the Zhous, so she’d subconsciously minimized contact with them.
On the day of her college entrance exams, she’d found herself clutching a grimy Dasheng, with no money to take it to a vet. Then she remembered—the Zhous’ driver had once worked as a rural veterinarian.
So, after a long absence, necessity forced her back through the Zhou family’s gates.
But as luck would have it, the driver was away, attending a funeral in his hometown. The only person in the living room was Zhou Jinghuai, home for summer break.
He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, speaking fluent English on the phone, and turned at the sound of the door.
When she saw it was him, panic flared. She glanced down at the dog in her arms and hurriedly explained, "I wrapped it in my uniform. It’s not too dirty."
Zhou Jinghuai responded with a brief acknowledgment to the person on the other end of the phone before hanging up. He then walked over to her, glanced down, and asked coolly, "Where did this come from?"
Li Sui replied, "I found it. It’s probably a stray dog that got beaten up."
Zhou Jinghuai pushed aside the grimy fur on the little creature’s head, but the wound was barely visible beneath the dried blood.
"It’s a Japanese Spitz. You’re sure it’s a stray?" For some reason, Li Sui detected a hint of "Did you steal this dog?" in his tone.
She nodded firmly. "Positive."
"Let’s take it to the vet first."
Li Sui hesitated before admitting honestly, "I don’t have the money."
As Zhou Jinghuai picked up the car keys from the coffee table, Li Sui opened her mouth to refuse. But when she looked down at Dasheng’s condition again, she decided saving the dog was more important.
So she quickened her pace and followed him to the animal hospital.
The bill that day—1,900.41 yuan—was covered by Zhou Jinghuai. On their way home, she asked for his Alipay account, swearing she’d pay him back.
She didn’t know if he took it seriously, but Li Sui never forgot.
Three days later, she added him as an Alipay friend and sent him her first installment of 50 yuan, painstakingly saved from cutting corners.
Over the next six months, Li Sui sent him 200 yuan whenever she scraped together enough. Zhou Jinghuai never acknowledged the payments—until the last one, when she transferred the remaining 250.41 yuan in a single go.
For the first time, he replied: [Calling me out in such a subtle way.]
Only then did she realize the number could be misinterpreted. Flustered, Li Sui typed back her first message to him: [Not calling you out! It just happened to be that exact amount.]
That marked their first online conversation—spanning half the globe.
Not on WeChat. Not on QQ.
Bizarrely, it happened on Alipay.
During that repayment period, whether because Zhou Jinghuai was too busy with his startup or simply indifferent, he never once asked about Dasheng. So Li Sui had always assumed he was just another heartless rich kid.
But now, seeing him rush around for another helpless creature, she realized her judgment of him might have been too shallow.
A light flick on her forehead snapped her out of her thoughts. Zhou Jinghuai asked, "What’s on your mind?"
"Nothing." Li Sui shook her head, suddenly aware she’d missed everything the vet had said while lost in her own world.
Noticing her confusion, Zhou Jinghuai flipped through the payment slip in his hand. "The vet said it needs to stay for observation for three days. If all goes well, we can take it home after that."
"Are you planning to keep it?" Afraid he’d misunderstand, she quickly added, "Not that I’m against it. Dasheng could use a playmate. I’m just surprised."
Zhou Jinghuai gave her a sidelong glance. "Surprised about what?"
"Back then, Dasheng was hurt and in bad shape too. Why were you so cold toward it?" Li Sui pouted, feeling indignant on Dasheng’s behalf. "Do you just prefer cats over dogs or something?"
Zhou Jinghuai seemed to recall the scene, then delivered a blunt verdict:
"Dasheng was... kind of ugly."
"..." Sure, Dasheng’s fur had been hacked into a mess back then, and it was filthy—hardly a picture of charm. But was he really that shallow?
A thought struck Li Sui, and she seized the moment to ask, "What about me? Was I ugly back then too? Why were you so cold to me?"
"Not at all," Zhou Jinghuai said matter-of-factly.
"It was just me being an asshole."
Li Sui: "..."
