Chapter 12: Style

“Hey, Qiao, why the hell are you coming to *me* for this?”
“You’re the only one whose style really captures my otherworldly imagination and taste. You know that.”
“Can we just be friends? Seriously—will you do it or not?”
“Do it, do it, do it.”

The otherworldly imagination and taste had no choice but to surrender…

After seeing Amy off, Jingjing was already scheming how to quietly send Xiao Zhu home so she could go deliver her surprise. Just then, the phone rang—the “surprise” call.

“Jingjing,” came the voice, urgent and strained. “I’ve got an emergency assignment—I’m leaving right now. Just packed up. I can’t stay for New Year’s this year… not even tonight.”
“Leaving… now?”
“Yeah, getting in the car right this second. A few people from the institute are going together.”
“Well… go on, then. Take care of yourself.”

Jingjing stood at the gate of the residential complex, watching through the wide road and the greenery beyond as a minibus—Kia Coach—pulled out of the research institute’s main gate and vanished into the distance.

“Xiao Zhu,” she sighed, “let’s head back.”

Xiao Zhu stared at a flower that had just turned to dust.

What the hell happened?

Just as Yu Tu was about to shut down his computer after finishing the document, he froze again. That screensaver image…

The resolution wasn’t great—but he still recognized himself, half-hidden among the greenery.

Shanghai Jiao Tong University Library. That was…

He turned to look for Jingjing. She was over there, striking a twisted yoga pose while reading her script.

“Jingjing,” he said, “when was this photo taken? I don’t remember ever seeing it.”
“Oh, *that* one!” She rushed over, a little flustered.
“It’s from the campus drama I just wrapped up. We shot a scene at the library.”
“Around March—springtime. I caught you in frame, so I… cropped out Duan Wu from that shot.”

Yu Tu pulled her onto his lap.
“I mean, where were *you* when this was taken?”
“I was… behind the camera, watching the lead actor…” *Mmm.*

He yanked out the USB drive, then shoved it back in. He’d saved a file so tiny it barely registered.

Later, Da Meng asked with genuine concern:
“Yu Tu, are you under too much pressure? Using your own photo as a screensaver? That’s not normal.”

But in Yu Tu’s mind, it wasn’t *his* photo. It was *her* version of him—how she first saw him years ago, how she looked at him, how she…

Before falling asleep, he quietly corrected his self-perception: Not an idiot. An idiot’s idiot squared.

By late afternoon, the studio crew started bombarding Xiao Zhu with WeChat messages:
“Boss Lady! The boss’s mom called—she brought us tons of food. Where is it?”

Xiao Zhu pointed to the sky and swore: “I didn’t see a thing.”

Yu Tu arrived at the compound around 7:15, holding two big bags. He hesitated for two seconds, then headed straight for the canteen.

He picked the farthest table from the serving counter—not because he wanted privacy, but because he felt guilty.

In a quiet corner of the canteen, Xiao Hu, Da Meng, Zhou Gong, and others slowly gathered, chomping away with loud satisfaction. Colleagues who’d finished eating drifted over to join the feast.

“Did your project finally clear the hurdle? Everyone’s here for lunch already?”
“Yu Tu’s mom flew all the way from home with love. We’re sharing it with him.”

Da Meng was slightly overzealous.
“One act of kindness has been divided into eight acts of kindness. Haha.”

Yu Tu wanted to shove him back to the meat buns.

Finally, he managed to protect the last two boxes of *Yanlai Xun* mushrooms. Then—just as he looked up—a new arrival burst in, full of energy:
“Old Yu, you’re not playing fair! Couldn’t you have called me this morning and told me to skip breakfast so I could come straight here?”

Before Yu Tu could respond, both intact food boxes were snatched from his hands.
“See? We’re family. If there’s no one else’s, there’s always mine. These mushrooms are *perfect*.”

Yu Tu watched as Guan Zai waved enthusiastically at the canteen manager.
“Old Zhang, save these in your freezer for me—I’ll pick them up after work.”

Why did I only think about the dorm without a fridge, or the new apartment without one? Why didn’t I think the canteen had a whole row of freezers?

Yu Tu felt utterly defeated. His voice floated weakly:
“No… one box is for the professor.”

When the time came to leave, Academician Zhang was waiting by the canteen entrance, holding the small food container. Hu Suo walked over, just in time to discuss the Beijing symposium two weeks ahead.

The modest box was handed over. The old academic took it gently.
“This is what Yu Tu’s mother made. She said it’s the peak season for mushrooms.”

Hu Suo laughed heartily.
“One day as a teacher, forever a father. Your student’s generosity makes everyone jealous.”

After landing, Jingjing received a photo. A jar of rice wine sat alone, tucked into the corner of a locker—only one left.

By year-end, Jingjing was spinning like a top: award ceremonies, galas, new ad shoots, fashion extravaganzas—all across the country. She’d mastered the art of sleeping anywhere—on planes, in cars, even during makeup sessions.

Finally, after a long stretch of unconsciousness, she arrived back in Shanghai on the 29th, slept through the night, and didn’t wake until past ten.

Then she saw Yu Tu’s message: *“I’ll be able to leave on time today.”*

A good sign. Jingjing rolled over in bed, scrolling through more WeChat notifications. Her parents asked how many days she’d be home on the 2nd. Chen Xue said she’d booked a room on the rooftop of Peace Building—New Year’s Eve party planned, main event: mahjong. Her boss confirmed the payment for her narration work had gone through.

It wasn’t close to market rate, but it was the institution’s gesture—and taxes were already deducted.

Wait—Jingjing sat bolt upright. A text popped up: *Payment received: 333.*

333? What kind of luck is that? In the middle of the Lunar New Year, giving someone such an unlucky number?

She wanted to stab a paper doll of him.

Fuming for hours, the words finally burst out of her mouth when she finally collapsed into Yu Tu’s arms around 7 p.m.:
“At last, someone to vent to!”

Yu Tu took off his coat, washed his hands. Jingjing followed him like a shadow, chattering nonstop:
“Doesn’t the boss have zero emotional intelligence? And the accountant too? Maybe I should just donate the money—spare myself the anger.”

“Mmm…”

Her words were cut short—by his lips. He murmured, barely audible:
“I’ll give you everything I have. That’s 66,000. Six-six—good luck, big time. The director, deputy director, boss, accountant, cashier—everyone’s amazing.”

Qiao Jingjing wrapped herself tightly in layers, dragging her boyfriend out shopping, buzzing with excitement.

Yu Tu was also bundled up, face covered by a mask. Her excuse? “So we don’t draw attention.”

But honestly—this was *exactly* what drew attention.

Inside the mall, crowds surged through the aisles, alive with holiday cheer. But Jingjing’s eyes weren’t on the displays.

She’d already gotten every new product from brands she represented. And for those she didn’t represent? Too awkward to buy.

Instead, she pointed at the lights, the people walking by, the buildings—everything vibrant and beautiful, simply because someone was holding her hand.

For Yu Tu, it all felt distant. The brightness of the city, the noise, the joy—it only deepened the loneliness of a star far away.

But he held tighter.

Because Alicia had once said: *Just keep walking together.*