Wu Li Qing

“Don’t keep looking at him. Please, look at me too.”

Chen Qingwu has always believed that she would one day marry Meng Qiran—after all, they grew up together, inseparable since childhood.

That Friday, Meng Qiran’s band had a performance, and Chen Qingwu took a midnight flight to go support him.

Meng Qiran got drunk, and the one who went to pick her up at the airport was his older brother, Meng Fuyuan.

The eldest son of the Meng family was serious and reserved, never smiling easily. He sat in the car handling work matters, not sparing her even a polite smile. Chen Qingwu had long felt that Meng Fuyuan might dislike her.

That was, until later, when Meng Fuyuan went on a business trip abroad and brought her back a set of porcelain made by a friend’s grandmother as a gift.

Such thin, delicate porcelain—wrapped in soft shockproof materials layer after layer, five layers in total—carried thousands of miles back without the slightest damage. She was already exhausted just unpacking it, let alone imagining the effort it took to pack it personally.

A sudden, absurd thought flashed through her mind:

Could it be… that Meng Fuyuan likes me?