Chapter 1

Du Ruo had just endured thirty-three hours in a hard seat. By the time she got off the train, her feet were so swollen it felt like walking on steamed buns soaked in water. Every step pinched and tingled.
Beijing West Station was a crush of people, about as chaotic as herd-wrangling thousands of ducks at her grandma’s place in the countryside.
She was wiry and skinny, a lone bean sprout swept along by the crowd, tumbled off the platform and funneled into the station hall.
The phone in her pocket started vibrating and wailing. Fumbling for her phone, she noticed people glancing her way. Who even uses a Nokia these days?
Du Ruo mumbled softly, “Hello?”
“Where are you?” The guy’s voice on the other end was already impatient.
“I just got off the train.”
“I’m asking where you are, not what you’re doing!”
She scanned for signs. “The hall. North Square Hall.”
“North Zone 3 Parking Lot, Area A, 0209.” He hung up before she could reply, like calling her was some huge favor.
Du Ruo had met Jing Ming before.
Four years ago, the Jing couple came to the southwest border to support impoverished students, bringing their son Jing Ming along.
The fourteen-year-old boy was tall and thin, paper-pale, so startlingly clean that Du Ruo and the rest of the grubby, skinny kids just stared, unable to get close.
He looked angelic, that pretty boy, curled up in the car playing on his iPad, only dragged out by his mom. Even then, he gave the world this slanted, disgusted look, like everything around was trash.
The plan was to have a simple meal at Du Ruo’s place. Jing Ming flat-out refused, wouldn’t even touch a cup of water, so the Jing couple gave up and quickly left.
As Jing Ming got into the car, a reporter from the TV station shoved a bouquet into Du Ruo’s hands, asking her to give it to him.
He sat in the car and shot her a warning look, and she didn’t dare approach.
He slammed the car door shut.
Now, dragging a gargantuan suitcase, Du Ruo asked directions until she finally, finally found North Zone 3 Parking Lot.
Parked in Area A, 0209 was a white car, screaming arrogance, built like a tank.
Jing Ming, all slim lines, white shirt and jeans, was leaning against the hood gaming on his phone. Dark sunglasses on, earbuds in, jaw working gum now and then.
“Shit!”
“Goddamn idiot!”
“Do you even know how to play, dumbass!”
Du Ruo was dripping with sweat, palms slippery as she gripped her rolling suitcase and walked over.
Jing Ming’s thumbs were flying across the screen; he noticed her approach from the corner of his eye, shifting his face slightly. His sunglasses masked his gaze, expression unreadable, borderline blank.
He did nothing, stayed stone-cold silent until she stopped right in front of him. Only then did that sharp eyebrow flick upward under his glasses.
Behind those black lenses, his eyes swept her up and down, wary and appraising.
Her hair was sweaty, shirt wrinkled, complexion sallow, looking utterly spent. Those wide dark eyes on him, as lost and hopeful as a stray duckling finding its way home.
He finally seemed to remember why he was here. His game was turning sour anyway. He muttered, frustrated, “Forget it, I’m done.”
Ripping out an earbud, cramming it into his jeans pocket, “Du Ruochun?”
Du Ruo said softly, “I changed my name.”
“Oh?” His brow arched.
“Du Ruo.”
A smirk tugged up the corner of his mouth.
Seriously, Du Ruo?
Looking like this? More like a wilted weed, not some rare orchid.
He pulled out the car keys, thumbed the remote, and popped the trunk. He jerked his chin that way, clearly meaning: put your suitcase in.
Du Ruo, silent, head down, tried to heft her suitcase to the back of the car, but it was stuck. Sweat broke across her brow, her cheeks burning red with effort.
Jing Ming looked over, eyebrows knitting so tight they practically knotted; the word “repulsed” might as well have been carved across his chest.
At last, unable to watch, he stomped over and seized the handle, intending to toss the suitcase in. He hadn’t expected it to be so heavy; it slipped and nearly crashed onto his foot. That would’ve been a real spectacle.
Face flushed, he managed to wrestle it into the trunk anyway, cursing through his teeth: “Shit! What the hell’s in here?”
Du Ruo murmured, “I… brought some gifts for your parents.”
His temper flared for no reason. “What gifts? Rocks from your hometown?”
“…”
She fell silent.
He closed in, grabbed the trunk lid and slammed it shut, his tall frame momentarily blocking out the parking lot lights. The scent of packed train cars clung to her, making Jing Ming scrunch his nose in disgust once more.
Du Ruo, oblivious, tried awkward flattery: “You’ve gotten, um… really tall.”
Jing Ming mentally rolled his eyes at the clumsy attempt. “We’ve met before?” he said, coldly.
“We have, actually. Four years ago, your parents brought you to our house.”
“Don’t remember,” he replied. “Don’t try to act close.”
Du Ruo shut her mouth.
The car wound through the underground lot, alarms beeping nonstop. Jing Ming got irritated. “Put on your seatbelt.”
“Huh?”
“Seatbelt!”
She scrambled to pull out the strap and buckle up, realizing this guy wasn’t just bad-tempered, he seemed to hate her, specifically. Lost, awkward. The whole stifling, embarrassed vibe was just like that time she got bombarded with interviews after getting into a top university, reporters lining up to force her into gratitude speeches.
But at least it was her first time in the capital. She was thrilled, soon distracted by the view.
It was still summer. Rows of poplars and plane trees lined the wide streets, lush and green. Blue sky overhead, skyscrapers rising, overpasses arching like rivers of concrete, and hot, dry wind pouring in through the window.
Even the air was parched and electric.
Tomorrow she’d register at her dream school, beginning a brand-new life in this bright international city.
The very best capital. The very best university.
Her heart fluttered with excitement, a wild happiness she couldn’t suppress.
But first, she had to stop at the Jings’ place to pay her respects. Her father had died young, her family was poor. If not for the Jing couple’s support, she’d have been hustling in an urban village instead of heading to school.
Last month’s interviews had been mortifying, forced to voice her gratitude again and again for the cameras. But she meant it, the debt was real and etched in her heart.
The two of them barely spoke the whole ride.
Half an hour later, the car stopped inside a residential neighborhood. Old red-brick buildings, a row of little restaurants outside: things like Guilin noodles, braised chicken rice, Chongqing spicy noodles.
Du Ruo stepped out, marveling at how the Jings’ modest home hid so much generosity. Jing Ming locked the car and strode toward a building by the street.
She hurried after him. “My luggage is still in the car.”
He didn’t look back, taking the stairs three at a time. “Not getting it.”
Du Ruo followed Jing Ming upstairs, only to discover… an internet café.
Jing Ming picked a computer, popped on headphones, and dived straight into gaming.
His eyes shone wild on the screen, slender fingers flying over the keys, tapping out a storm, muttering curses every so often.
On screen: digital chaos, characters fighting, lasers exploding everywhere.
Du Ruo could barely follow, and honestly didn’t care. She just sat and waited.
When the round ended, he won. In a good mood, he joked with teammates through his mic, then glanced over to see Du Ruo zoning out by herself.
Wordlessly, he reached over and powered on her computer for her.
Only then did Du Ruo notice the sheer detail of his white shirt: a faint golden dragon motif winding down from the shoulder to the cuff, ornate but subtle, almost invisible unless you looked close.
She also spotted a small silver-gray patch hidden inside the cuff, patterned delicately, adding a finishing touch. All the buttons were cypress wood, each intricately carved, every detail full of surprises.
That shirt wasn’t just stylish, it was bespoke. At first glance, just a plain white dress shirt; look closer, and the craftsmanship stood out everywhere.
Du Ruo instinctively tried to hide the loose threads fraying from her own shirt’s cuffs.
Jing Ming went right back to his game.
Du Ruo, at a loss for what to do, was exhausted after a long day’s journey. She yawned a few times and eventually drifted off, head pillowed on the desk.
Halfway through the next game, Jing Ming shot a glance at her, fast asleep, features soft, lashes long and thick like brushes sweeping her cheeks.
On the computer screen glowed her school’s official website.
He looked away, expressionless.
In that world of flashing screens, chaos reigned, game avatars clashing in a virtual brawl, no one caring that outside the evenings grew shorter.
Du Ruo didn’t know how long she’d been asleep before someone nudged her shoulder.
Startled awake, she opened her eyes. Jing Ming was taking off his headphones. She asked groggily, “Finished playing?”
He handed her a hundred-yuan bill and ordered, “Go get us some instant noodles.” With that, he put the headphones back on.
Du Ruo glanced at the computer clock. It was already 7 PM. Without a word, she took the money and stood up.
Night had fallen outside. All around the internet café, young people with headphones sat in neat rows waging virtual war.
Several girls were buying snacks at the counter; Du Ruo lined up behind them. As she waited, she caught a glimpse of herself in a nearby mirror and startled at the sight.
Her hair was oily and mussed, her cheeks sallow and drawn, her thin body lost inside an oversized white shirt and faded jeans, both so hopelessly out of style and cheap-looking that not even the cleanest wash could save them.
Suddenly Du Ruo understood the feeling that had clung to her ever since meeting Jing Ming, an inferiority she couldn’t shake.
They both wore white shirts and jeans, but really, it wasn’t even the same thing. One was sharp, stylish, effortless. The other, just plain shabby. Two different worlds.
He was gorgeous, bright, impossible to look away from. And her…
She remembered all those times he’d looked at her and frowned on the way over, and the shame made her want to sink into the ground.
Du Ruo brought back two bowls of instant noodles; under Jing Ming’s bowl, she slipped ninety-five yuan.
Jing Ming picked up his bowl, ready to dig in, and happened to spot the change. “Two bowls for only five yuan?”
“Mine, I paid for my own.”
Jing Ming paused, then, after a beat, quirked his lips into a strange little smile and didn’t say more, just dove back into his game.
Du Ruo’s face burned. She knew exactly what that smile meant.
Even her money wasn’t really hers. It was his family’s.
Jing Ming’s phone buzzed repeatedly, but he ignored it, completely absorbed in his game.
Only when he’d finally had enough did he go pay at the front desk, then leave the café. As he headed down the stairs, his phone rang again. He answered with open impatience, “Yeah, I picked her up… What do you want me to do? The train was late, how’s that my fault?... Fine, we’re coming back.”
He looked back at Du Ruo. “When we get home and they ask, you know what to say?”
She nodded quickly. “Yeah. My train was delayed.”