Since the freshman welcome night, Tang Coco slipped into a normal yet noisy college life, like a sparrow nesting beside a busy road.

Each day, confessions piled up like postcards in a spring wind.

Bit by bit she adapted; in class she joked with Meng Xiaoxiao like sunlight dancing on desks, and after class she dodged crowds like a fish slipping through reeds.

On top of that, a new task landed in her lap like a warm pan.

She had misspoken and taken a light “punishment,” so Ye Yiyi asked her to teach cooking, earnest as rain on dry soil.

Tang Coco apologized, but Ye Yiyi held firm like a bamboo stalk in a breeze.

Seeing her sincerity, Tang agreed; each evening she shared kitchen tricks, flame blooming like a small sun, while Li Muyan was left cooling his heels like a shadow at dusk.

Meanwhile, Ningxin hadn’t reached out in a long while, a silence like mist over a river.

Maybe it was because Tang still couldn’t control her Anomaly Power, which surged like a young flood behind a fragile dam.

A week later, Saturday arrived with the clean edge of a new blade.

She had one thing to do: check out a new job, arranged by Li Muyan through a friend who owned a hotel, the invitation like a gilt-edged card.

Wanting a good first impression, she dressed carefully, a white dress dusted with blue flowers like sky over porcelain.

She still couldn’t handle heels, so she wore white canvas shoes like clouds at her feet.

Bare limbs met the air like cool water, and a single ponytail swayed behind her like a ribboned stream.

Riding in Li Muyan’s sports car, she headed to the place, the engine purring like a big cat.

Only Li came to see her off, and along the way Ye Yiyi’s worried face kept flickering in her mind like a lantern behind paper.

“Hey, what are you thinking?” Li asked, voice light as a tossed pebble.

“Oh… nothing,” Tang said, the word thin as smoke.

They were “small enemies,” two cats with bristled tails sharing one sun patch, and Li had teased her often enough to make Tang bristle back.

“Whatever,” Li snorted, and the car flowed on like a silver fish.

They parked beneath a luxury tower that rose like a polished cliff.

She looked up and saw the name spelled out: Qingzhicheng, big and bold like a stamp on the sky.

“What an edgy name,” she muttered, voice as soft as a leaf.

“Hm? What did you say?” Li asked, gaze cutting over like a quick blade.

“Nothing. Let’s go,” Tang said, swallowing the rest like a pebble in her throat.

“Don’t say it then. You go in alone; I’ve got things,” Li said, her words brisk as winter air.

“Tell the receptionist my name. She’ll take you to Mu Qingcheng’s office. The rest is on you.”

“Oh,” Tang answered, and stepped out, the door’s click neat as a snapped twig.

“By the way, if you can go home tonight, call me. I’ll pick you up,” Li added, voice drifting like a warning bell.

Before Tang could ask, the car shot off, taillights streaking like twin comets.

“What do you mean, if I can go home,” Tang murmured, a bad premonition pebbling her chest like rain on glass.

She stared at the hotel’s lines, all gleam and shadow like a mirrored lake.

Forget it, she thought; I’m here, and they wouldn’t harm me, the thought settling like a stone in a stream.

She walked in, steps steady as drumbeats.

Inside, brilliance flooded the lobby like gold on water.

The décor unfurled a grand air, pillars and light pooling like dawn in a temple.

From the huge front desk, a receptionist in a fitted suit approached, sleek as a willow in the wind.

Tang wore sunglasses, a small veil like a dark wing, and the woman didn’t gawk, just weighed her like a jeweler.

“Hello, how may I help you?” the receptionist asked, politeness smooth as silk.

“I’m here to see Mu Qingcheng,” Tang said, sending the name like a stone across a pond.

“May I ask who you are?” the woman asked, smile steady as a candle flame.

“Tell her: Li Muyan,” Tang said, dropping the name like a key.

“One moment. I’ll check with the chairwoman,” the woman replied, and she called, her fingers moving like quick rain on glass.

Soon she returned, smile bright as a host’s lantern.

“Hello, the chairwoman is waiting. Please follow me.”

“Okay,” Tang said, and they rode the elevator up, the humming lift like a beehive rising.

At the office door, the receptionist knocked, knuckles light as tapping bamboo.

A slightly sultry voice drifted out, warm as red wine. “Come in.”

The receptionist went inside, and Tang waited, seconds stretching like taffy.

After a short while, the receptionist came out. “President Mu will see you,” she said, then left, her departing back neat as calligraphy.

Tang watched her go, a clean impression settling like clear ink in water.

“Come in already,” the voice called again, a smile under the words like a hidden crescent.

Tang hurried in, feet whispering like brush on paper.

She stopped, stunned.

Was this an office?

A chandelier hung like a bright moon.

Three big sofas circled a sandalwood tea table like a small island in a calm sea.

A wall-mounted TV gleamed like a dark mirror.

A massive desk sat like a quiet mountain.

There was even a sleek bar, and a few closed doors beyond like secret paths.

It felt like a high-end living room, not a battlefield of papers.

“You’re Tang Coco?” the voice asked, tugging her back like a hand on a sleeve.

“Mm. Hello, I’m Tang Coco,” she answered, politeness smooth as a bow.

“No need to be so stiff,” the woman said, eyes smiling like ripples.

“I’m an old friend of Muyan and Yiyi. If they vouch for you, you’re one of us.”

Hearing that, Tang studied Mu Qingcheng properly.

A red gown flared around her like a quiet flame.

A snowy sweep of skin showed at her chest like first snow on a branch.

Her black hair spilled down her back like ink over silk.

Her features held a lazy allure, fox-bright yet soft as dusk.

Her lips were red as a fresh petal.

She held a stemmed glass, red wine swirling like a pocket sunset.

They looked at each other, silence stretching like a silk thread.

“Take off the sunglasses,” Mu said. “No one comes in here without my say.”

“Okay,” Tang replied, and slipped them off, the motion smooth as water.

For a beat, Mu stared, briefly stunned like a hawk pausing mid-glide.

Then her beautiful eyes narrowed, locking onto Tang like a falcon on a bright fish.

The stare pricked at Tang, annoyance rising like heat off a pan.

“Um, President Mu, about the job…” she began, voice careful as a step on ice.

“Can you cook?” Mu asked, the question landing like a seed.

“Mm,” Tang said, a small nod like a leaf tipping.

“Then make me a meal first. I skipped lunch. The kitchen’s over there,” Mu said, pointing with her glass like a wand.

Speechless, Tang wondered if this was an office or a home, the thought sour-sweet as citrus.

She followed her gesture to the kitchen, which was fully stocked, everything lined up like soldiers on parade.

She found ingredients in the fridge and got to work, flame blooming like a small sun and oil singing like cicadas.

Mu leaned in the doorway and watched, propped like a painting.

At first, Mu’s gaze traced Tang’s silhouette like a slow brushstroke.

As the fragrance drifted out like a warm tide, her eyes slid to the wok, hunger waking like a tiger.

Half an hour later, Tang set down the dishes with a soft clink, neat as stacked clouds.

“Done,” she said, the word light as steam.

A plate of sweet-and-sour pork gleamed like lacquered amber, and a chilled appetizer sat crisp as morning dew.

She invited Mu to taste, palm open like a host’s fan.

Mu’s chopsticks flashed, one bite and then a small storm, appetite flowing like river water after rain.

Tang watched, half helpless, half amused; sure enough, good food melts a girl’s defenses like sugar in tea.