Yingqu Liuzi was pampered by her wealthy daddy.

After Shen Yu'an's fever completely subsided, Xize did not reduce his contact; on the contrary, he came even more frequently.

At first, Shen Yu'an thought it was just a coincidence.

On Monday morning, he walked out of the apartment building carrying his art supplies case. A black Rolls-Royce was parked on the side of the road, the back window rolled down, and Caesar's face appeared in the morning light.

"Get in the car, it's on my way."

On Tuesday afternoon, he came out of the studio, and the car was parked at the door again. Xize was holding a steaming cup of black tea and handed it to him, saying, "Just passing by."

On Wednesday at noon, Shen Yu-an bought lunch at a sandwich shop near the school. When she paid, the clerk said, "That gentleman has already paid."

He turned his head and saw through the glass window that the familiar car was parked across the street. The person in the back seat was looking down at his phone, his profile clearly defined in the sunlight.

By Thursday, Shen Yu'an had finally confirmed one thing.

This is no coincidence.

Caesar Leicester, this seemingly busy British nobleman, was there to personally pick him up and drop him off.

"Sir," Shen Yu'an asked softly as she got into the car, clutching her art supplies case, "Do you come to pick me up every day?"

Xize was looking at emails on his phone when he heard this. He looked up, his gray-blue eyes meeting Xize's, his expression completely calm: "It wasn't intentional, it was arranged."

Shen Yu'an blinked: "...Is there a difference?"

"It was just a spur-of-the-moment decision, but the arrangement was a long-term plan."

Shen Yu'an was speechless, opening his mouth but not knowing what to say, his ears slowly turning pink.

Xize glanced at him, a very faint smile playing on his lips, then lowered his head to continue reading his emails.

Shen Yu'an sat next to him, her heart skipping a beat.

He lowered his head and pretended to organize his art supply box, arranging the paintbrushes one by one neatly. After he finished, he counted them again and found that his fingers were trembling slightly.

He glanced furtively at the person next to him.

He wore a dark blue suit today, with a silver-gray tie and a shirt as white as fresh snow.

Shen Yu'an looked away and took out a pencil and a sketchbook.

The ride was very smooth, with almost no bumps.

He leaned back in his chair and made a few strokes in his sketchbook—unconscious doodles.

When he looked down, he realized he was drawing a hand.

Her fingers had distinct knuckles and long, slender lines; an antique-style signet ring adorned her ring finger.

It was Caesar's hand.

Shen Yu'an was startled and quickly closed his sketchbook, stuffing it into the bottom of his art supply box and weighing it down with several art books.

He glanced guiltily at Xize.

Xize had stopped looking at his phone at some point and was now looking at him with a faint smile in his eyes.

"What did you draw?"

"N-nothing," Shen Yu'an hugged his art supply box tightly. "I just scribbled a couple of lines."

Xize didn't ask any further questions, but the curve of his lips became even more pronounced.

As the car pulled up to the school gate and Shen Yu'an was about to get out, Xize called out to him.

What time does get out of class end in the afternoon?

"4:30."

"I'll be there at 4:30, don't wander off."

Shen Yu'an nodded and got out of the car carrying his art supplies box.

He took a few steps and then looked back.

The black car was still parked where it was, with the back window open. Xize was looking at him, his gray-blue eyes shining brightly in the sunlight.

Shen Yu'an waved to him, turned around and ran into the school, her ears red and the corners of her mouth turned up so wide she couldn't suppress it.

From that day on, picking up and dropping off became a regular part of my daily routine.

Every morning, when Shen Yu'an went out, the car was already downstairs.

He didn't know when Xize arrived. Sometimes he would come downstairs ten minutes earlier than the agreed time, and the car would already be there.

Every afternoon, as he walked out of the school gate, the car was always parked in the same spot. He didn't need to look at the license plate or confirm anything; he could find it with his eyes closed.

The late autumn in London was getting colder and colder, but Shen Yu'an did not wait in the wind for another second.

Every time he walked out of the teaching building, he could see that black car parked quietly by the roadside. He would jog over, open the car door, and be greeted by a blast of warm air, and a cup of warm black tea or hot cocoa would be handed to him.

Then the car started smoothly and carried him through the streets of London.

Shen Yu'an started doing her homework in Xize's car.

At first, he felt embarrassed, thinking it sounded strange to do his homework in someone's car.

But he later found that the car was too stable, the seats were comfortable, and the lighting was just right.

Moreover, when Caesar is in the car, he is usually working—looking at documents, replying to emails, and occasionally making a few phone calls.

He works quietly and won't disturb Shen Yu'an.

So Shen Yu'an gradually developed a habit: after getting on the bus, she would open her art supplies case, take out her homework, and lie on the back seat to draw and write. Xize sat next to her, and instead of an armrest, between them were Shen Yu'an's open sketchbook and a box of scattered colored pencils.

Sometimes, Shen Yu'an would lean over while drawing, her shoulder touching Xize's arm, and the space between them would get smaller and smaller.

Xize never pushed him away, nor did he deliberately move aside.

He sat there, letting the boy's shoulder rest on his arm, quietly reading his documents, like a large, docile feline, letting the person next to him use him as a cushion.

One afternoon, Shen Yu'an was drawing a sketch in the car. It was a street near the school.

He was so engrossed in his drawing that the pencil scratched on the paper. His lips were slightly pursed, and he was curled up in his chair with his legs crossed, not even noticing that one of his shoelaces was loose.

Xize hung up a work call and turned to see this scene.

The boy nestled in the back seat of his car, his entire body wrapped in the leather of the seat, making him appear very small.

Sunlight streamed in through the car window, falling on his hand holding the pen.

His pencil moved quickly across the paper, his elbows shifting slightly with the lines, occasionally pausing to glance at the drawing before continuing.

Xize stared at him for a long time.

Shen Yu'an felt the gaze, looked up, and met those gray-blue eyes, momentarily stunned.

"What's wrong?" He looked down at his painting. "Is it bad?"

"It's very well drawn," Caesar said, "but don't look at it for too long in the car, it's bad for your eyes."

"Almost done, just a little bit more." Shen Yu'an lowered his head and continued drawing, his pencil moving even faster.

Xize didn't say anything more. He took the half-finished cup of black tea from Shen Yu'an and tested its temperature; it had cooled down a bit.

He unscrewed the lid of the thermos, filled it with hot water, and then gently placed it beside Shen Yu'an.

Shen Yu'an finished drawing, put down his pencil, picked up his cup, took a sip, and his eyes crinkled slightly.

"It's hot."

"Um."

Shen Yu'an held the cup in his hands, huddled in his seat, and watched the street scene moving past the window.

The streetlights in London lit up one by one, the sky was deep blue, but it wasn't raining.

He suddenly felt that he wished this kind of life could continue forever.

It made him feel that London wasn't so cold anymore.

What he didn't know was that Caesar's assistant was quite confused lately.

The assistant's surname was Thompson. He had been with Caesar for five years and had seen his boss in all sorts of ways—from his coldness at the negotiating table to his decisiveness in handling family affairs.

In his mind, Caesar Lester was an extremely self-disciplined, extremely rational person whose time management was precise down to the minute.

But recently, the boss's schedule has changed.

The first thing Thompson does every morning is check Caesar's schedule for the day and then coordinate with all parties involved.

But over the past week, he noticed an extra item on his boss's schedule, without fail, twice a day, at precise times.

8:20 AM to 8:50 AM: Pick-up and drop-off service for Ian.

4:30 PM to 5:10 PM: Pick-up and drop-off for Ian.

When Thompson first saw this entry, he thought he was seeing things.

He refreshed the page three times and checked his permissions again to make sure he hadn't misread the schedule or the note.

ian.

There was no explanation.

Thompson thought for a long time but couldn't recall any business partner named "Ian" that his boss knew.

He then checked the corresponding locations for this time period—in the morning it was from an apartment to the London College of Art, and in the afternoon it was the opposite direction.

London College of the Arts.

Thompson remained silent.

He remembered that his boss had asked him to look up information on a Chinese student who was 21 years old and studying fine arts.

The boss spoke casually, saying "Let me know," and he did as he was told.

It now seems that the meaning of "take a look" is not quite the same as what he understood.

There was a family trust meeting scheduled for Monday, originally set to start at 9:00 AM. The boss said, "It's postponed to after 9:00; I have something to do before 8:50."

There's a cocktail party with our partners from France on Tuesday afternoon, starting at 4:30. The boss said, "I'll arrive at 5:10, you guys go ahead."

Thompson had worked for Caesar for five years and had never seen his boss adjust his work schedule for personal reasons. Not even once.

Caesar Lester was the kind of person who would schedule work until 2 a.m. and still be in the office promptly at 7 a.m. the next day. His timing was impeccable.

But now, his schedule has two additional time slots that seem completely unrelated to work, and these two time slots are marked as "unadjustable".

Thompson once cautiously asked, "Sir, regarding this 'Ian pick-up and drop-off' arrangement... do you need me to help you coordinate the vehicle and driver?"

Xize was signing a document without even looking up: "No need, I'll open it myself."

Thompson remained silent.

I'll drive it myself.

The boss drives him around.

His boss, the heir to the Leicester family and a well-known iceberg in London's high society, was personally driving a Chinese student to and from school.

Every single day. Without fail.

Thompson silently closed the schedule and decided not to ask any more questions.

He's a professional assistant; he shouldn't be prying into his boss's private affairs.

But he couldn't help but think to himself: Is the boss... in a relationship?

On Friday night, Xize drove Shen Yu'an back to her apartment.

The car stopped downstairs, but Shen Yu'an didn't get out immediately. He hesitated for a moment, holding his art supplies case, and then turned to look at Xize.

"Sir, you don't need to pick me up every day next week."

Xize paused as he was unbuckling his seatbelt, then turned to look at him.

Why?

"It's too much trouble for you," Shen Yu'an said earnestly. "You're so busy, and you still have to go out of your way to pick me up every day. I can take the subway myself; it's very convenient."

Xize looked at him and remained silent for two seconds.

"It's no trouble at all."

"But what if your assistant thinks...?"

"My schedule is my own decision." Xize's voice was not loud, but his tone was calm, with an unquestionable certainty.

Shen Yu'an looked into his eyes without a trace of perfunctoriness.

His heartbeat started to become irregular again.

"But..." Shen Yu'an wanted to say something more.

"Xiao An," Xize interrupted him, his voice softening, "I'm picking you up not because it's on my way, nor because it's convenient."

He looked into Shen Yu'an's eyes and spoke slowly, word by word.

"It's because I wanted to pick you up."

Shen Yu'an's heart skipped a beat.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but all the words stuck in his throat, turning into a very soft "hmm".

He lowered his head, his fingers gripping the handle of the art supply box until his fingertips turned white.

"Then...then please drive carefully." After saying this, his ears turned so red they could bleed, and he pushed open the car door and drove off.

Xize sat in the car, watching the boy's figure disappear at the apartment entrance. The hood of his light gray hoodie fluttered in the wind and quickly disappeared from sight.

He leaned back in the driver's seat, the curve of his lips slowly deepening until it finally became a genuine smile.

He reached out and picked up something from the passenger seat—Shen Yu'an's sketchbook that he had left in the car.

This afternoon, after Shen Yu'an finished drawing, while she was in the restroom, Xize inadvertently saw the open page of her sketchbook.

There is a hand drawn on it.

It was his hand.

Xize stared at the sketch for a long time.

The drawing wasn't particularly exquisite, but every stroke was done with care, especially the patterns on the ring, which were drawn very meticulously, clearly showing that a lot of thought had been put into it.

He closed the sketchbook, put it back in its place, and pretended he hadn't seen anything.

But since then, his heartbeat has never returned to normal.

Caesar put the sketchbook back in the passenger seat, started the car, and drove into the London night.

My phone vibrated; it was a message from Shen Yu'an.

"Sir, did I leave my sketchbook in your car?"

Xize typed with one hand: "Hmm."

"Can I pick it up tomorrow?"

"Can."

Thank you, sir. Good night.

Xize glanced at the last message, his thumb pausing on the screen for a moment.

He thought for a moment and typed two words.

"Good night."

After sending the message, he put his phone aside and tapped his fingers lightly twice on the steering wheel.

The light from the dashboard illuminated his face, and his eyes reflected the headlights, along with something else.

It's bright and gentle.

He will be at the apartment building again at 8:20 tomorrow morning.

Rain or shine, thunder can't move.

It wasn't because it was on the way, or for convenience.

It's because he wanted to pick up that child.

It's that simple.