The first spark ignited

After the agreement was signed, life seemed to be injected with a new and unfamiliar rhythm. Jiang Chen quietly embedded himself into Lin Wanxing's daily routine in a way that was neither too intrusive nor impossible to ignore.

At first, Lin Wanxing was somewhat wary and deliberately maintained a distance. She rarely contacted him first, as if the agreement was just a product of a momentary impulse, which she had once again shelved. However, Jiang Chen seemed to be diligently fulfilling his "duty".

On Monday morning, as she opened the door to go to class, she found a clean paper bag hanging on the doorknob. Inside was a well-sealed latte, served at the perfect temperature, with a note attached beside it. The note, written in bold, strong handwriting, read: "Two candies. Have a good day." There was no signature, but she knew who it was. Holding the warm coffee, she stood in the slightly chilly morning corridor, her feelings a complex mix of emotions. It was a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time—the quiet thoughtfulness of someone.

On Tuesday afternoon, she was engrossed in researching at the library, lost in the books, and lost track of time. The sky outside her window darkened without her realizing it, and by the time she realized it, raindrops were already pattering against the glass. She frowned slightly, remembering the umbrella she had left in the office. Just as she was about to pack her things and rush back in the rain, her phone screen lit up—it was a WeChat message from Jiang Chen.

"The umbrella is on the second shelf of the storage rack near the west entrance of the library."

His words are concise and to the point, just like his personality.

She walked to the west gate and, sure enough, found the familiar dark blue long-handled umbrella in the designated spot. Opening the umbrella and stepping into the rain, she subconsciously glanced at the handle, recalling the natural tilt of the umbrella he had used last time. That strange feeling resurfaced—it seemed he had truly etched those "unreasonable demands" into his mind.

On Wednesday, she stayed up all night grading papers and woke up the next day with a headache and looking unwell. During her break, she returned to her office and found a small white pillbox on her desk containing two pre-packaged headache pills, next to an open bottle of mineral water. A note under the pillbox read: "Non-prescription, safe. Get some rest."

On Friday, she found a small box of special grease and a clearly printed troubleshooting guide next to the old printer on her desk that always jammed. The printer itself seemed to have been carefully cleaned; the dust was gone, and a lush potted green plant sat on the windowsill next to it.

He didn't ask questions, nor did he claim credit; he simply provided what she might need at the right time. This silent and precise care, like a gentle rain nourishing the earth, was subtle yet possessed an irresistible power.

Lin Wanxing began to feel a long-lost sense of security, a feeling of being cared for. This security didn't come from passionate confessions or deliberate flattery, but rather from this gentle, ever-present thoughtfulness. She found herself unconsciously becoming accustomed to this presence. She got used to the warm drinks that might appear on her doorknob in the morning, the reminders he would send in advance to bring an umbrella on cloudy days, and the occasional "unexpected" solutions he would provide in the office to address her small needs.

The feeling of having everything quietly taken care of made her feel both reassured and slightly lost. She tried to measure it all in terms of money. She transferred money to him several times via WeChat, ostensibly for "coffee money" and "errand fees."

Jiang Chen would silently accept each gift, and then one day he would "return" it in some form—perhaps a rare, out-of-print book she had mentioned casually, or a ticket to a classical music concert she liked, even if the seat wasn't in the front row, but the price was clearly within the amount she had transferred to him.

He always managed to find a way to make her feel like she was being given charity, while clearly stating that "it's just an equal exchange." This clear-cut attitude made Lin Wanxing feel at ease, but also vaguely aware of a strange sense of loss.

She found herself getting used to his presence without even realizing it. She got used to the warm drinks that might appear on her doorknob in the morning, to the reminders he would send her on cloudy days to bring an umbrella, and to the occasional "unexpected" solutions he would provide in the office to address her small needs.

When Su Xiao came to her office, she immediately noticed the potted green ivy on the windowsill, with its glossy leaves and graceful vines.

"Oh, you're in such a good mood that you even got a potted green plant."

Lin Wanxing was organizing her lesson plans and didn't even look up: "It wasn't me."

Su Xiao immediately understood, leaned over, nudged her with her elbow, and chuckled in a low voice, "Is it all thanks to your 'thousand-yuan boyfriend'? Well done, Wanxing, looks like the money was well spent. You look better lately."

Lin Wanxing paused, subconsciously touching her cheek, without refuting. She couldn't deny that, because she could always have coffee at the perfect temperature in the mornings, her stomach seemed much more comfortable; and because she no longer needed to worry about sudden rain, her mood was less anxious when she went out. That long-lost sense of security from being cared for was gradually softening her frozen heart.

However, this growing dependence was accompanied by panic. Occasionally, in the quiet of the night, she would look out at the dark sky and think of Shen Yu. She would remember him clumsily brewing ginger tea for her, and how he would break out in a cold sweat over her just because she said she wasn't feeling well. A strong sense of guilt would wash over her like a tidal wave, drowning out any warmth she felt from Jiang Chen.

Am I relying on this false "employment relationship"? Could this be considered... a betrayal of Shen Yu?

This thought was like a thorn, constantly pricking her.

One day, she brought an umbrella in advance, but when she saw Jiang Chen's message saying "It's going to rain today," she replied without thinking, "I forgot my umbrella." When she received his reply, "I'll bring it to you," she immediately deleted it and resent it: "No need, I borrowed one."

Looking at the umbrella in her hand, she suddenly laughed at herself. She wanted to rely on it, but she was also afraid that this reliance would be a betrayal of Shen Yu.

So she began to deliberately reduce the scenarios in which she might "need" Jiang Chen. She forced herself to remember to bring an umbrella, even when the weather forecast showed a high probability of rain; she no longer stayed in the office too late to avoid giving him a reason to "bring an umbrella" or "escort" him; she even tried to fix the desk lamp that had been broken for a long time, but ended up with dust all over her hands and lost a few small screws, and the lamp was still lying broken in the corner.

That night, staring at the broken lamp, she felt a wave of frustration and inexplicable resentment. Just then, her phone rang; it was Jiang Chen. He rarely called her first.

“Professor Lin,” his voice came through the receiver, the background quiet, “your office light is still on. Is something wrong?”

Looking at the mess on the floor, Lin Wanxing felt a sudden pang of sadness, but she forced herself to speak: "It's nothing, the desk lamp is broken, I... I'll try it myself."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, then he said, "I'll come up and take a look."

Less than ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Jiang Chen stood outside, holding a small toolbox, looking quite professional. He didn't ask any questions, but simply glanced at the parts on the floor and the broken desk lamp, then naturally squatted down to begin his inspection.

"It's a minor issue caused by poor contact and a loose screw," he said succinctly, before getting to work. His long, nimble fingers deftly disassembled, inspected, reconnected, and tightened the screws with practiced ease.

Under the warm yellow light of the desk lamp, his focused profile appeared exceptionally serene. A few strands of hair fell across his forehead, partially obscuring his eyebrows and eyes, but unable to conceal his earnest expression. He raised his hand to smooth a strand of hair from his forehead, but it soon slipped down again, blocking his view.

Lin Wanxing watched as he kept tilting his head to avoid her hair. She subconsciously raised her hand, her fingertips almost touching the strand of hair, before she quickly pulled it back—she instantly realized that this action was too rash.

But Jiang Chen still caught this slight pause out of the corner of his eye. His fingers paused, the force with which he tightened the screws lessened slightly, his Adam's apple bobbed slightly, but he didn't look up, and just continued with his work.

As if to ease the awkwardness of the moment, Lin Wanxing looked at his practiced movements and suddenly asked, "Do you...do this often?"

Jiang Chen continued working, his tone calm: "Yeah. In the past... when things broke at home, I always fixed them myself." He didn't say much, but the hint of the past in his words instantly etched a few shallow lines into her hard-won composure.

However, as soon as she finished speaking, she noticed a slight, bleeding scratch on Jiang Chen's index finger joint—it must have been from when he was disassembling parts. Without thinking much of it, she turned around, rummaged through the drawer, and pulled out a band-aid, handing it to him: "Did you accidentally cut yourself just now? Put this on, so it doesn't get infected."

When Jiang Chen took the band-aid, his fingertip accidentally touched her slightly dusty fingertip. The warmth was faint, yet it surged into his heart like an electric current, making his heart skip a beat.

Jiang Chen's Adam's apple bobbed, and he whispered "thank you," his fingertips holding the band-aid, but he hesitated to remove it.

He noticed her dusty fingers and remembered what was written in that person's notes: "Wanxing is clumsy and always gets her hands dirty when fixing things." He wanted to help her wipe them clean, but he was afraid she would think he was overstepping his bounds.

Soon, the desk lamp was turned on again, and its warm light dispelled the darkness in the corner.

"Alright." Jiang Chen stood up, tidied up his tools, and glanced at her fingers, which were still a little dusty. He took a soft cloth from the toolbox and gently wiped the dust off her fingers from the table. His eyes flickered slightly. "Next time, for something like this, you can just call me." He paused and added, "Article four of the agreement."

Another agreement! Lin Wanxing looked at his calm and expressionless face, listening to him once again use an agreement to draw a line, and the inexplicable emotions in her heart intensified. She nodded and whispered, "Yes. Thank you."

Jiang Chen didn't say anything more, picked up his toolbox, said "Goodnight" and left.

The office returned to silence, with only the repaired desk lamp casting a steady glow. Lin Wanxing looked at the light, then at her dusty fingers, and at her lonely shadow cast on the wall, a mix of emotions welling up inside her.

Meanwhile, back at his rented apartment, Jiang Chen locked the door behind him, leaned against the cold, rough door panel, and slowly slid to the ground as if all his strength had been drained away.

Jiang Chen held the light pink band-aid in his hand, his fingertips still warm from touching her fingertips—light like a feather, yet carrying the warmth of her palm. The soft words, "Don't let it get infected," echoed in his ears again. He could even clearly remember the way she had lowered her eyes and trembled her eyelashes as she handed him the band-aid. His heart suddenly felt like it was being gently squeezed, and he unconsciously tightened his grip on the band-aid.

The neon lights of the city outside the window cast flickering, bizarre shadows on his face through the gaps in the slightly open curtains. He sat silently for a long time before pulling a dark blue notebook with worn edges from his inner pocket. He didn't open it, but instead gently and repeatedly stroked the cover with his fingertips, as if drawing strength from it, or perhaps suppressing some surging emotion about to break free.