Chapter Two: The Pact Settled

Page 1 of 3

Yu Ling stared at the location tag for Cloud Peak Manor on her phone, the corner of her eye twitching uncontrollably.

This place? Prime downtown real estate, supposedly guarded so tightly it was like FBI headquarters. And a “regular office worker with a mortgage” was renting here?

“Are you sure the driver didn’t send you to the wrong place?” she asked, clinging to the car window and looking at the imposing beige building, her heart quaking.

“Miss, the navigation’s right,” the driver said. “Cloud Peak Manor, Building A. This is it.”

Taking a deep breath, Yu Ling got out with her canvas bag, which held the hot-off-the-press contract and her computer. The moment she had her feet on the ground, before she could even open WeChat, the entrance door clicked open as if on cue.

Zhao Chen stood inside. He wore a dark gray thin sweater under a navy wool coat, polished and handsome, smiling with the easy warmth of an old friend greeting her.

“You’re right on time.” He stepped aside. “The elevator’s this way.”

The corridor was so clean it could have served as a mirror, and a faint, refined fragrance drifted through the air. Yu Ling’s unease beat even harder.

“Good location, everything is convenient,” Zhao Chen said, pressing the button for the sixteenth floor, his tone carrying the resignation of an overworked office drone. “It’s just the rent that bites. Eats up a big chunk of my salary.” His expression was entirely natural.

Yu Ling nodded stiffly. “Mm... I understand.”

Understand nothing! That rent probably gnawed off half a life.

Ding.

The sixteenth floor had only two units. Zhao Chen took out an ordinary silver cross-shaped key and opened the deep brown solid-wood door.

“Come in.”

The moment Yu Ling stepped inside, she froze.

Warm air wrapped in sunlight, clean cotton, and the crisp scent of cedar smacked straight into her face.

What the hell?!

A huge floor-to-ceiling window had stolen all the city’s sunlight into the room. The cream-colored sofa looked as soft as a cloud, draped with a gray-blue throw that was clearly expensive at a glance.

On the white round coffee table stood a glass vase with fresh white tulips, so bright and dewy they seemed almost alive.

A whole wall of bookshelves, with not many books on them, but the ornaments all radiated the vibe of “I’m expensive, but I’m understated.”

And there was a fireplace. A linen floor lamp. Was this a rental? This looked like the cover of a home decor magazine.

“This... is what you rented?” Yu Ling’s voice nearly cracked.

Zhao Chen paused almost imperceptibly as he changed his shoes, then bent to take out a brand-new pair of light gray women’s plush slippers, still with the tag on, and set them by her feet.

“Mm. The landlord has good taste. The hard furnishings and furniture were all already set up, so it’s move-in ready.”

He said it as casually as if he were talking about renting a shared bicycle space. “I just added a few small things—throw, vase. I bought the slippers new. Try them.”

Yu Ling slipped them on, warmth enveloping her toes. Her eyes swept to the kitchen island.

Whoa. A compact white professional coffee machine sat there, and beside it an opened tin of coffee beans gave off a sinful, rich aroma.

“You grind your own coffee?” she blurted out.

“Mm, I’m used to it. Instant coffee doesn’t suit me.”

Zhao Chen walked to the island, picked up a thin white porcelain cup that seemed almost translucent, and asked, “What would you like? Coffee? Tea? Fresh orange juice, I’ve got plenty.”

“Just water is fine!” Yu Ling waved her hands hurriedly, afraid he might produce a Michelin chef in the next second.

“No trouble.”

With practiced ease, he opened a cabinet, poured water, and handed it over. “How does it feel? Can you... live here?”

He leaned against the island, looking at her face with a questioning expression, but deep in his eyes there seemed to be a silent assessment of something... a new piece of furniture, perhaps?

“It’s too... too much to be real!” Yu Ling said honestly.

“Is it?”

Zhao Chen laughed softly and rubbed the back of his neck, showing just the right amount of embarrassment.

“Maybe the landlord is particular. I just wanted something clean and bright. It’s a bit expensive, but I figured after work I should be able to come home and breathe.”

The explanation sounded entirely reasonable, and paired with that sincere, harmless face, the alarm bells in Yu Ling’s heart quieted a little.

She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. The city spread out beneath her feet.

“The view is incredible.”

Page 1 of 3

Page 2 of 3

“Mm. I gritted my teeth to rent this place just for this kind of breathing room.” Zhao Chen came to stand beside her. Sunlight gilded the side of his face. “When you’re worn out, look into the distance and empty your mind.”

The atmosphere somehow loosened a little.

“You brought the contract?” Zhao Chen shifted to business, his tone gentle. “Shall we talk in the study? It’s quiet.”

The study was just as sleek and spacious. The dark solid-wood desk was huge. Yu Ling caught a glimpse, sharp-eyed, of a file on the desk with something like the words project risk on the cover. Her heart gave a jolt.

But Zhao Chen had already swept all the papers together without a trace of haste, sliding them into the drawer.

“A little messy.” He pulled out the chair opposite. “Sit.”

Yu Ling sat down and took out the contract and a pen. Zhao Chen fetched another clean contract from the drawer and a pen of his own, heavy in the hand and obviously very, very expensive—a fountain pen.

“Your changes?” He pushed his copy over.

Yu Ling handed over hers, the red edits marked clearly throughout. Zhao Chen took it and read with great seriousness.

His long fingers turned the pages steadily, his nails clean and shining. In the study, only the faint rustle of paper remained. That focus strangely calmed the last trace of Yu Ling’s unease.

“The revisions are very reasonable.” A few minutes later, he looked up, genuine approval in his eyes.

“Protecting the image is key. The details you added for alternating chores and noninterference are excellent. And the reminder about communication at the end of the term is very considerate.”

He picked up the elegant fountain pen and copied Yu Ling’s changes into his own contract word for word. His handwriting was beautiful and forceful.

“As for living expenses,” he said while writing, his tone suggesting discussion, “let’s set up a joint account and deposit a fixed amount every month to cover rent, utilities, management fees, and basic food. I’ll pay two-thirds of the rent, and you one-third? After all, I chose the place, so it’s pricier.”

He looked at her, his gaze open and frank.

Yu Ling did the math quickly. One-third? It hurt, but it was still cheaper than renting on her own. And he was low-key enough about it.

“Okay.”

“Other personal expenses, we each handle our own?”

“Okay.”

Zhao Chen neatly copied out two complete contracts and pushed them in front of Yu Ling. “Check it again? Any omissions?”

Yu Ling read every line carefully. Rights and responsibilities were clear, each side had room to advance and retreat. One year in duration. She took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on the signature line.

“The pen.”

Zhao Chen handed over his expensive pen. Its weight reminded her again that this thing was no ordinary object. She removed the cap and signed her name on the second-party line with force: Yu Ling.

Zhao Chen watched the final stroke land, and the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. So quick it could have been an illusion, but the feeling... was it the satisfaction of a hunter watching prey finally fall into a trap? In the next second, he signed with smooth precision: Zhao Chen.

The deed was done.

Zhao Chen took one copy and handed it to Yu Ling. “Keep this one.”

The other he naturally tucked into the desk drawer.

“Then,” he said, standing and seamlessly returning to his warm, harmless smile as he extended a hand, “Miss Yu? Roommate? Or... partner? Welcome home. Happy cooperation.”

Yu Ling looked at the hand he offered. The bones were distinct, the hand steady and strong. She stood, hesitated for half a second, then shook it lightly. His palm was warm and dry, carrying a kind of undeniable control.

“Happy cooperation.” Her voice was as soft as a mosquito’s buzz.

The pirate ship had already been boarded.

“Need help moving?” Zhao Chen withdrew his hand and instantly switched to helpful-roommate mode. “I’m free this afternoon. Free labor, and I bring my own mineral water.”

“No need!” Yu Ling waved her hands wildly, as if burned. “I barely have anything. The moving van can handle it! Just give me the unit number, and once I’ve packed up I’ll come over myself... I mean, move over!” Private territory. No audience required.

“Fair enough.” Zhao Chen nodded in understanding. “1601. It’s a password lock, initial code is six eights. Change it yourself when you get here.”

He walked to the entry panel. “I’ll record your fingerprint later. The key is your spare.”

He opened the drawer, took out a brand-new, heavy silver cross-shaped key, and handed it over. The metal was cold and hard in her hand.

“T-thanks.” Yu Ling took it as if accepting a ticking bomb.

“Want me to call you a car?”

“No need! I’ll book one myself!” She grabbed her canvas bag. “I should go back and pack? Maybe... move in tonight?”

Page 2 of 3

Page 3 of 3

“Anytime.” Zhao Chen opened the door, his smile impeccable. “If you need help carrying things, just call. Also,” he added as if just remembering, “the fridge is full. What do you want for dinner? Tomato brisket? Steamed fish? Or should I just make something simple... no, wait, let me cook?”

His tone was so natural it sounded like he was asking, “What do you want for dinner?”

Yu Ling was dazzled by the sudden dinner menu, warmth and absurdity surging straight to the top of her head.

“Anything... as long as it doesn’t kill me!” she nearly ran, moving toward the elevator with both hands and feet out of sync.

Six in the evening.

The blue moving van was parked below, unloading Yu Ling’s pitiful belongings:

two suitcases, three cardboard boxes, and a canvas tote containing a pothos plant and some books. In the gathering dusk, the apartment building looked even more high-end. Staring at this pile of shabby stuff, Yu Ling felt a powerful wave of social death creeping over her.

Her phone screen lit up. Just as she hesitated over whether to message Zhao Chen, the entrance door clicked open again.

Zhao Chen walked out. Gray tracksuit, dark blue knit cardigan, soft slippers. A homey, lazy style, absurdly handsome.

“You’re here?” His gaze skimmed over the luggage, with a light teasing note. “Even more minimal than I expected.”

“Decluttering master, ever heard of it?” Yu Ling lifted her chin stubbornly.

“Not bad.” He bent down and easily picked up the heaviest box of books. “I’ll handle it. This way to the elevator.”

His movements were crisp and efficient, like a professional mover.

Yu Ling dragged the suitcase; the driver carried the boxes. The elevator rose.

“You’ve worked hard,” Yu Ling said, noticing the faint sheen of sweat at his temple.

“Nothing much.” His gaze landed on the canvas bag. “Your pothos looks healthy. Easy to keep.”

“Mm, just like me.”

She carefully cradled it.

The elevator opened, and Zhao Chen unlocked the door. A fierce, irresistible fragrance immediately rushed out—a rich aroma of tomatoes and meat mixed with herbs. Yu Ling’s stomach growled so loudly that it could have been thunder in the silence. She instantly wanted to dig a hole and disappear into it.

Zhao Chen acted as though he heard nothing. “Come in first. Leave the stuff at the entrance; we’ll sort it out after dinner.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “The tomato brisket is almost done. You must be starving.”

Yu Ling gave a vague “Mm,” carrying her pothos and a small box as she slipped into the door with her head down. The slippers were already waiting. Once she changed into them, the smell attacked even more fiercely. She couldn’t help glancing toward the kitchen.

On the stove, a white enameled cast-iron pot was bubbling enthusiastically. On the counter sat bright green scallions, pale yellow ginger shreds, and fresh basil leaves. A glass salad bowl glowed with color. The rice cooker’s warm-light indicator shone invitingly.

Zhao Chen stood with his back to her at the stove. He had tied on a navy apron printed with tiny white cartoon whales. The straps were knotted neatly around his lean waist.

He bent slightly, holding a professional chef’s knife with a razor-thin blade gleaming cold as silver. With precise, almost ruthless elegance, he tapped away as he cut a piece of soft tofu into thin, uniform cubes as delicate as cicada wings. The speed, the steadiness—absolutely the level of a Michelin three-star chef.

Tracksuit plus little whale apron plus top-tier lethal weapon plus god-tier knife skills equals...?

Yu Ling’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

This was a “regular office worker”? Wasn’t this more like the honorary dean of a culinary school?!

Zhao Chen seemed to sense her stare and looked back. The warm yellow light softened his features. Seeing Yu Ling standing there dumbstruck, he curved his lips into a gentle(?) smile and lifted the knife in his hand, as if it were just another everyday tool, then said casually:

“Hungry? Mapo tofu. Three minutes. Wash your hands and get ready to eat.”

His eyes were clear and innocent, as though cutting tofu with a top-grade chef’s knife was a basic survival skill every office worker possessed.

Yu Ling’s gaze was fixed, dead center, on the fingers around the knife handle. Distinct knuckles, steady as a rock, precise to the millimeter. How many dishes had those hands cut? How many...?

That tiny flame in her heart—“who exactly is he?”—suddenly roared into a wildfire.

“O-okay! Right away!” she answered a little dazedly, clutching her pothos and walking, both hands and feet out of sync, toward the floor-to-ceiling window bathed in sunset light. There seemed to be a vacant spot there, waiting for the only living green that belonged to her.

And so her new life officially began amid the room-filling fragrance, the enormous contrast between the little whale apron and the murderously sharp knife, and the earth-shaking “what the hell” echoing in her heart.