Sweetie, don't look at him, kiss me.

Lin Qingmian stood in the corridor, phone in hand. The afternoon sun streamed in through the side window, making her squint slightly. "...Exhibition?"

"Yes, Director Fang has already reported it to you. If you have time, we can meet in the next couple of days to discuss the specific arrangements."

After hanging up the phone, she stood there stunned for two or three seconds, then looked down and sent Ji Linzhou a message: "The shirt I designed has been selected for Paris Fashion Week."

Less than half a minute after the message was sent, a reply came back with just three words: "I know."

She stared at those three words for a long time, then typed a string of question marks: "When did you find out?"

The other end took a while to reply, but their tone remained unhurried: "I already looked at the design draft when it was submitted. Your design doesn't need to wait for someone else to choose it."

Lin Qingmian stood in the corridor, sunlight falling on her phone screen, making the text appear somewhat pale. She held the phone, a smile she couldn't suppress. She put the phone away and turned to see Yao Yingyu peeking at her with a knowing look: "What are you laughing at? Like you've won the lottery."

"Pretty much," Lin Qingmian said. "Let's go eat."

As she walked towards the stairwell, she had only taken two steps when she suddenly heard the rapid sound of high heels behind her. She instinctively turned around and saw a young woman in a black business skirt rushing towards her, her face showing anxiety: "Miss Lin! Wait, it's urgent—"

Lin Qingmian stopped in her tracks. The young woman ran up to her, her chest heaving slightly, as if she had traveled a long way: "You're Mr. Ji's wife, right? I'm Miss Su Tingwan's agent. Miss Su... she's disappeared again. This time she left a letter saying she wants to talk to you in person."

She took a folded piece of paper from her bag and handed it to Lin Qingmian. Lin Qingmian took it and unfolded it. She had seen Su Tingwan's handwriting a few times; it was the same as this person's—the strokes were rounded and soft, but each stroke was executed with great force. The paper contained only one sentence: "Can we meet and talk things out? I'll leave after that." Below it was an address, and the signature was her name.

Lin Qingmian stood in the afternoon sunlight, holding the letter. A breeze blew in from the window at the end of the corridor, causing the edges of the letter to curl slightly. She looked down at the words, remained silent for a long time, then folded the letter back in half and handed it back to the agent.

Tell her I won't see her. Tell her to stop writing.

The agent stood in the hallway, the letter fluttering in the wind, a corner turned upside down. She clutched the edge, a troubled expression on her face. "Ms. Lin, Ms. Su is very emotionally unstable right now. She says she won't go to work unless she sees you. She has a brand event to attend this afternoon, and they're already urging her to come back..."

"That's her business," Lin Qingmian said calmly. "She should be responsible for her own work and emotions. I've made myself clear; no matter how many times she writes it, the result will be the same."

The agent opened her mouth, as if to say something, but swallowed her words after meeting Lin Qingmian's calm eyes. She put the letter back in her bag and nodded: "I understand. Sorry to bother you."