Chapter 2

Do you know what my first impression of him was?

A sense of inferiority.

My pride was so strong that I instinctively closed my mouth and shyly pressed together my red-colored lips.

As a newcomer to the workforce, everyone was just another office drone. I was already one of the people in the company who spent the most effort on their appearance. But meeting him made me realize that some things can’t be achieved through grooming alone.

Nowadays, people say you should automatically add twenty percent to a straight man’s selfie score, but that wasn’t common knowledge back then. Sitting there in a daze, I thought he looked even better than he did in his Douban photos. The dim lighting inside the car cast a mysterious glow over his features. One hand rested casually on the steering wheel, and he looked exactly like the wealthy male lead from the Taiwanese drama I’d watched the night before.

Of course, the car probably helped.

The Cadillac’s sharp, angular rear end was ridiculously sexy.

The few steps I took toward his car shattered the barrier between the online world and reality.

People always say meeting in person ruins the fantasy.

For him, it was the opposite.

Meeting in person was like a rebirth.

I admit it—I was completely smitten.

Twenty-nine years old, driving a car worth half a million yuan or more. From our chats, I knew he was a local, lived alone, and therefore probably owned at least one apartment.

In a very worldly, practical way, I thought:

So this is what they call a “tall, rich, handsome guy.”

He pushed open the passenger door from inside.

“Hey.”

I waved awkwardly.

“It’s too crowded here. Couldn’t get out and open the door for you like a gentleman.”

He gave me a quick once-over before returning his gaze to the road.

That glance felt exactly like when a proctor compares your ID photo to your face during an exam.

A cold look.

No emotion.

Purely mechanical.

Back during exams, I always worried that too much makeup would make me look different from my photo.

Today, I worried that some part of my face wouldn’t fit his standards of beauty.

“Where are we going?”

“Have you decided what you want to eat?”

We spoke at the same time.

He was a sword.

I was silk.

We looked evenly matched, but in reality I had no defense against him.

My fingertips were practically digging into the seat cushion.

He chuckled and answered first.

“You choose. Japanese, Korean, Chinese, French—anything. I’ve made reservations for all of them.”

“All of them?” I asked, stunned.

“Of course. I asked you yesterday and you couldn’t decide. I couldn’t let you stand around hungry waiting for a table. That’s the kind of suffering only immature boys make beautiful women endure.”

While waiting at a red light, he turned toward me and raised an eyebrow proudly.

Cocky.

Smug.

And unbelievably attractive.

Honestly, if anyone else had said that, it would’ve sounded pretentious.

But coming from him?

Even the corny word beautiful woman struck me right in the heart.

The insecurity his earlier glance had stirred up immediately faded.

I tend to be awkward around strangers.

Especially a stranger I had a crush on.

The feeling was strange and unsettling, like something scratching at my heart.

All the wit and confidence I had online disappeared.

Pretending to be relaxed, I said,

“Then let’s do Korean food.”

“Sounds good. I really like their stew.”

As he spoke, he glanced at me again.

I wanted so badly to tease him the way I would online.

Am I really that pretty? Why do you keep looking at me?

I knew I was attractive.

I wasn’t some innocent little girl.

I would never have uploaded a group photo online if I wasn’t the prettiest person in it.

Even if nobody knew me, vanity was still vanity.

That photo had definitely been a landslide victory.

But the kind of beauty born on a college campus is often fresh and delicate.

It doesn’t always hold up under more sophisticated scrutiny.

What I didn’t know was that my shyness and youthful awkwardness were exactly what he liked.

The meal itself wasn’t very enjoyable.

I wasn’t used to cheese. It stretched awkwardly from my lips whenever I ate, which wasn’t exactly flattering.

On top of that, I was too tense to relax.

After only a few bites, I was already full.

When he saw me put down my chopsticks, the corners of his mouth lifted.

“Aren’t Northern girls supposed to eat a lot?”

“That’s a stereotype! We have tiny appetites in the North too!”

He had just taken a sip of water.

The moment I said it, he burst out laughing.

Water sprayed from both corners of his mouth.

I hurriedly grabbed some tissues.

He laughed so hard he could barely breathe.

Holding a napkin over half of his handsome face, covering everything up to the bridge of his nose, he kept laughing uncontrollably.

His eyes sparkled as he looked at me.

“You are way too funny.”

With his constant encouragement, I gradually relaxed.

My conversation style started returning to its online version.

I began bringing up topics myself.

We talked about movies—the same movies I’d practically memorized from browsing his profile.

I tried to show off my unique perspectives on cinema.

But he didn’t seem particularly interested.

Within a few sentences, he’d steer the conversation back toward relationships and sex, leaving me flushed with embarrassment.

“When was your last relationship?” he asked.

His eyes were fixed directly on me.

The seriousness in his expression made it sound as though he were asking about my university GPA.

I tucked my hair behind my ear and coyly asked,

“Why do you want to know?”

If it were me now, I’d simply ask him the same question back.

Instead, back then, I became so shy that my brain practically stopped functioning.

Looking back, every sentence I said was embarrassing.

I was completely letting him lead the conversation.

“Just making conversation.”

He asked a server to replace my drink with fruit juice.

Then he casually raised an eyebrow and glanced at me again.

The look immediately made me flustered.

“Junior year, I guess,” I answered.

If I remembered correctly.

I’d dated plenty of times, but never for very long.

If I gathered all my ex-boyfriends together, I could probably field an entire soccer team.

None of them had lasted more than two months.

At that moment, I realized I should probably ask about his dating history too.

He rarely talked about himself.

Most of our conversations revolved around me.

But my skin suddenly felt thin again.

All the ease and playful flirtation I’d had online disappeared.

“Then…”

I had just opened my mouth when his next sentence stole my attention.

“So it’s been more than a year since you’ve been in a relationship.”

He seemed thoughtful.

His four fingers tapped lightly against the table.

The soft knocking sound left me unsure whether I should breathe in or breathe out.