Huffily, Xiaoxian shooed out the silly maid Xiyan, who chirped, “So cute! Young mistress, kick me again!” Then she turned back to chat with Shi Xia.

Ye Xiaoxian: “P-Please… take a few more! My brother’s sleeping face…”

Ye Shixia: “What are you gonna do with them~?” (boastful smirk)

Ye Xiaoxian: “Frame it and hang it in my bedroom…”

Ye Shixia: “So you’re replacing the *Mona Lisa*!?”

Ye Xiaoxian: “That one’s in the Louvre. Ours is *La Gioconda*—you know, the ‘Non-Smiling Mona Lisa.’ Also da Vinci. No mistake.”

Ye Shixia: “So Father’s sleeping face rivals *that* level of masterpiece… and I just happened to admire it all night~”

Ye Xiaoxian: “Ugh, that’s so infuriating…”

“Young mistress, today’s schedule…” A bespectacled maid knocked softly on the bedroom door, head bowed humbly.

“Cancel it! Prep the car—I’m going to Shi Xia’s villa!”

“…Yes, ma’am.” Knowing better than to defy the willful young mistress, the maid slipped away in her Mary Jane flats to relay the order.

As of this morning, only Ye Shixia, Ye Xiaoxian, and the notoriously laid-back maid Xiyan knew Chang’an had returned.

But soon, more would learn—and ripples would spread.

Xiaoxian stopped fretting over that “photo.”

If it really was her brother… with his shy, earnest nature? Getting intimate with Shi Xia last night?

No way.

She knew her brother had a soft spot of panic around mature women. Those older female cousins back home were relentless—ruffling her hair, pinching her cheeks. What’s wrong with being cute?!

Conclusion? Her brother’s innocence was perfectly safe.

She settled into the luxury car and messaged Shi Xia again. No reply.

Three minutes later, Shi Xia’s status updated: *Making breakfast for my love. Do not disturb.*

*Sigh.* This single morning had Xiaoxian burning through a full month’s worth of frustration.

Meanwhile, another girl blinked awake at 6:30—bleary-eyed, rubbing her eyes. Not too early, not too late.

Her room drowned in soft pink; her bed buried under plush toys.

Clearly a girl who feared loneliness.

With so many plushies, she couldn’t possibly favor them all—like an emperor with three thousand consorts.

So one reigned supreme: the “Prince Charming.”

A tiny plush prince with a cape—dashing yet adorable. She’d named him “Chang’an,” and hugged him every night to fall asleep.

Her first waking motion? Reach for the phone beside the bed.

Modern habit, unnoticed yet universal: scan notifications before breakfast, terrified of missing a single message.

*Breakfast? Skippable. Messages? Non-negotiable.*

Such was the quiet resolve of a radiant, popular girl.

Gu Qianqian cradled Chang’an, a content, slightly dazed smile on her lips. Her pink nightgown fell neatly to her knees—a modest little thing. (Unlike elder sister Shi Xia, already in her “victory” lingerie.)

Silky hair cascaded to her waist, glowing faintly in the dawn light as if tiny sprites danced around her.

Why keep it so long? Endure tangled washes, skip the easy short cut?

If she had to say…

Probably… because *he* liked it.

*When my hair grows long enough to reach my waist… will you marry me?*