The delicate cannon fodder is stunning, saving the male supporting role but getting teased instead

When Wenrou returned home, it was already dark outside the window.

She placed the file bag on the desk and gently stroked the gold-embossed logo on it with her fingertips.

Turning on the desk lamp, warm yellow light sprinkled on the spread-out documents - Shen Che's schedule was accurate to the minute, and the interview transcript was densely packed with key points marked by Lin Xiaoyu with a highlighter.

She opened her notebook and began to record everything.

When she came to the line "I hate sweets," her gentle hand suddenly froze in mid-air. The ink smudged across the paper, leaving a tiny dot like a frozen tear. She remembered a Lantern Festival in a certain world, when Chu Mo frowned as he swallowed the glutinous rice balls she'd made, yet he still finished the entire bowl, finally drinking three cups of tea in a row, overwhelmed by the sweetness.

My phone suddenly vibrated. Lin Xiaoyu sent me a message: "The interview has been rescheduled to tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM! Brother Che had to fly to Paris at the last minute, so he's here early!"

Gentle heartbeat suddenly quickened.

She hurriedly got up, picked out the most formal white shirt and black suit pants from the closet, and took out the makeup bag that had not been used for a long time.

In front of the makeup mirror, Wenrou carefully examined her face. Her eyes were still a little red and swollen, stinging as if they had been rubbed with sand.

She took out an ice towel from the refrigerator, and the cold air turned into fine water droplets the moment it touched her skin.

After applying it for a long time, the redness and swelling subsided slightly, but the bloodshot eyes were still clearly visible.

At three in the morning, Wenrou was still revising her self-introduction. She deleted all the flowery words and left only one simple sentence: "I want to make your work and life easier."

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At 9:40 the next morning, Wenrou stood in front of the glass door of Shen Che's studio.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the document bag tightly, her knuckles turning slightly white. As the receptionist checked the list, Wenrou heard her own heartbeat so loud it almost drowned out the background music—which was Shen Che's latest piano piece.

"Miss Wen?" A lady wearing glasses came over, her eyes behind the lenses showing a professional smile. "Please follow me."

Both sides of the corridor were hung with photos of Shen Che's performances around the world. His gentle eyes swept across the unfamiliar scenery and suddenly stopped in front of a solo photo in front of the Eiffel Tower.

In the photo, Shen Che was wearing a black turtleneck sweater, and his profile was stern, but it reminded Wen Rou of Chu Mo holding an umbrella for her on a snowy night.

"This is it." The woman with glasses stopped in front of a frosted glass door and knocked gently. "Teacher Shen, the next interviewee has arrived."

A familiar voice came from inside the door: "Come in." These two words were like a key, clicking open the floodgates of gentle memories.

Wenrou took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The interview room was much simpler than she had imagined.

Shen Che sat beside the piano in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, the sunlight giving his outline a golden edge.

He was wearing a light gray sweater today with his sleeves loosely rolled up.

"Sit down." Shen Che pointed to the chair opposite, his eyes falling on the file bag in her hand, "I brought all the information." His voice was lower than in the recording, with the hoarseness unique to waking up in the morning.

Wenrou gently put down the file bag and found that her fingertips were trembling slightly.

She forced herself to look directly into Shen Che's eyes. His amber pupils looked like melted honey in the sunlight, and also like the amber pendant she had treasured for many years.

"Why do you want to be my assistant?" Shen Che flipped open her resume, twirling the pen between his slender fingers. "Your previous experience has nothing to do with the entertainment industry."

Wenrou swallowed her dry throat, her voice steady than she'd expected. "Because I know you." She paused, as if gathering her courage. "You frown unconsciously when you play Chopin, and you rub your left wrist if you practice for more than three hours. And..." She took a deep breath. "You actually don't like others touching your piano."

The pen suddenly stopped on the paper, leaving a small stain of ink, like a black tear.

Shen Che slowly raised his head, his eyes sharp as a hawk: "These are not public information."

"I observed it," Wenrou said softly, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the edge of the briefcase, "in the audience." What she didn't say was how she had watched his every move on the stage for thousands of nights, just as intently as when she watched him play the piano under the peach tree.

The room fell silent, with only the faint hum of the air conditioner vent, like some hidden sigh. Shen Che suddenly stood up and walked to the window. The sunlight cast his tall figure on the floor, stretching it so long that it almost touched the gentle toes.

"One last question." He didn't turn around, his voice a little hoarse, "Would you be happy if you became my assistant?"

She froze, her eyelashes trembling slightly, casting a small shadow under her eyes. Clouds drifted by the window, and the sunlight flickered across her cheek.

She hadn't expected this question, and she hadn't expected Shen Che to ask something so... personal. Clouds drifted by the window, and the sunlight flickered across her cheek.

"I hope you can be happy." She finally answered, her voice so soft that it was almost inaudible, "When you smile, your eyes will bend first, and then the corners of your mouth..." She regretted it as soon as she said it, and hurriedly bit her lower lip, as if to stop herself from saying more words that she shouldn't say.

Shen Che turned around, his expression unclear in the backlight. He walked back to the piano, bent down and took out a brown paper bag from under the piano stool, his movements smooth as if he were playing a piece of music.

"This is the work manual and the confidentiality agreement." He pushed the paper bag over, his fingertips leaving a few tiny wrinkles on the brown paper. "Can you start tomorrow? I need someone to accompany you on your trip to Paris." His tone was businesslike, but he paused subtly when he mentioned "Paris."

Wenrou opened her eyes wide and forgot to breathe for a moment.

She nodded mechanically, and their fingertips touched briefly when she took the paper bag. Shen Che quickly retracted his hand as if burned, and his knuckles accidentally touched the piano keys, making a discordant sound.

"And..." He hesitated and pulled out a dark blue handkerchief from his pocket. "Don't cry."

Wenrou then realized that her tears had fallen on the contract, blurring the ink. She hurriedly took the handkerchief, and the familiar scent of sandalwood hit her face, exactly the same as the incense on Chu Mo's lapel.