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1 Chapter One

◎ First meeting with Shen Qingshi ◎

Early March, Nancheng.

The Stomatological Hospital affiliated with University A’s Medical School.

Parking nearby was notoriously difficult. Chu Zhixia circled around several times before finally managing to neatly park her little car in a space. She opened the car door and raised a dark-purple parasol.

It wasn’t a weekend, but since University A was a prestigious “985” university, its affiliated hospital was considered the very best in the province. The hospital was always crowded, and getting an appointment was like winning the lottery.

As Chu Zhixia walked over, passersby couldn’t help but turn their heads to look at her.

It was March, around fifteen degrees—not hot, not cold, no sun, no rain. It wasn’t just because she was carrying an umbrella. She had gone out in a hurry that morning, dressed simply: loose dark gray sweatpants, a black training top, and a long-sleeved hoodie thrown over for warmth, with a disposable mask covering her face. Even so, her outstanding looks were impossible to hide.

She was slim, but not scrawny—her figure long and graceful. Below her pale-blue mask stretched a swanlike neck, slender and elegant, her skin porcelain-white. Her thick black hair had clearly been hastily tied up, lazily looped at the nape of her neck.

Her face couldn’t be seen, but she was without a doubt a beauty—tall, slender, and striking.

Chu Zhixia was long used to stares, so her expression didn’t change. Besides, her toothache made it hard to move her face. At the entrance she closed her umbrella and adjusted the edge of her mask with her fingertips.

The pain had flared up suddenly during her morning training. Thinking back, she’d already had warning signs—after eating sweet osmanthus-stuffed lotus root a few days earlier, her back molar on the right side had started to ache. At first it was on and off, tolerable. But this morning it became unbearable, drilling into her nerves. She’d originally considered going to a private clinic—better service, quiet environment, fewer people—but this was more serious. A top-tier public hospital was safer. By luck, she had even managed to snatch up a same-day slot on the hospital app.

The only drawback: long lines and crowded procedures.

At the nurses’ desk, Chu Zhixia checked in, received a disposable rinse cup, and patiently sat down on a plastic chair in the waiting area. She rarely came to places like this—if she went to the doctor at all, it was a private clinic for a cold. Curiosity made her glance around.

The hospital was clearly old. Behind this building were other outpatient departments. Through the windows she could see the exterior, white tiles mottled with age. Inside, the walls were painted in the old-fashioned style of the 80s and 90s: white on top, pale green on the bottom, wooden benches in the corners. Worn, but somehow solemn and orderly, plain yet reassuring.

Unexpectedly, Chu Zhixia found she didn’t dislike it. In fact, she even felt at ease here.

An hour and a half later, the broadcast finally called: “Department of Endodontics, new patient number 07, Chu Zhixia, to chair number 3.”

She had grabbed a leftover slot, so she didn’t even remember which doctor she’d booked. She looked up at the digital display.

In green letters, before her name: Doctor Shen Qingshi.

Shen Qingshi.

Removing her mask, clutching her appointment slip, she silently repeated the name to herself.

Nice name.

Clearly, this wasn’t some big-name specialist—impossible to snatch that. But still, a resident physician from University A, a PhD in dentistry—that was impressive. Her imagination began to run: maybe he was around twenty-eight or twenty-nine, working on his dissertation while doing clinic duty, hair thinning on top, white nylon socks, thick glasses…

Amused at her own mental picture, she crumpled her mask and tossed it into the bin. The interior of the department was much better than outside—bright tiles, floor-to-ceiling windows, new equipment, blue dental chairs. Eight workstations, divided by partitions. She counted and walked to the third.

The man there matched her imagination—glasses thick as bottle bottoms, looking a bit older. Normal for a PhD. A smile lingered faintly on her lips from her private joke, eyes curving, lips slightly upturned.

The man was typing on the computer. He looked up, blinked in a daze, then hurriedly stood, adjusting his frames. “New patient number 8, Zhu Lili?”

“Hello, I’m number 7, Chu Zhixia, chair number 3.”

Only then did she notice the seat numbers on the partitions. She was at number 6 by mistake.

“Oh—” His face showed clear disappointment. Scratching his forehead awkwardly, he called out, “Shixiong, your patient.”

Chu Zhixia realized she’d mistaken him for someone else. She turned—and just then, the real Shen Qingshi looked up.

In that instant, her heart skipped a beat.

She stared.

Because of the “shixiong” address, she had expected someone older, more mature—

But he was startlingly young.

Very, very young—possibly even younger than her.

Shen Qingshi looked barely in his twenties, but very tall. The white coat made his figure seem lean and elegant. Underneath he wore a pale gray-blue shirt of fine fabric, collar folded neatly, setting off jade-like skin. From his clean jawline to his cold-white collarbone, a small brown mole stood out. He was wrapped up tightly—cap, mask, translucent gloves—yet that mole was all the more striking.

As were his eyes. Narrow, slightly upturned, cold as frost.

He had been half-risen from his chair, one hand still in his pocket, his presence cool and quiet.

Perhaps because she was staring too long, his dark eyes met hers briefly.

He wasn’t her type—too clean, too immaculate, faintly aristocratic, distant.

And yet, her heart thudded wildly.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She liked him. She really liked him.

She couldn’t look away for a long time, until even the younger doctor nearby gave a polite cough.

Unbothered, Shen Qingshi lowered his head again to write, his neck pale and graceful.

“Chu Zhixia?” A few seconds later he looked up again, voice clear and calm, like cool autumn rain. “Come here.”

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Chu Zhixia was a worldly woman, but even she had to admit—this young PhD, top of his field, was more dazzling than any man she’d ever met. Especially now, close up, his features magnified: those eyes, inward-tilted at the corners, sharp double lids, even the arc of his lashes beautiful.

She lay back in the chair, describing her symptoms, and for the first time in her life, felt too shy to meet a man’s gaze. She fidgeted with her fingertips.

But she was still Chu Zhixia. While Shen Qingshi turned to fetch instruments, she swiftly pulled out her hair tie.

She’d grabbed just any old rubber band earlier, and it snapped. Her black hair tumbled down in soft waves, loose and alluring. If only her bag weren’t so far away—inside was her backup lipstick, a soft dusky rose YSL.

Two strands slipped down to frame her cheek, her lowered eyes forming a lovely pose—professional work, really. She knew exactly how she looked her best.

Yet Shen Qingshi was as calm as ever. He clearly noticed her hair, because when he switched on the lamp he frowned faintly. “Tie your hair.”

She bit her lip, widening her eyes innocently, showing him the broken elastic.

Surely he didn’t carry hair ties.

He said nothing more. Instead, he pointed to the strings of the blue dental bib she’d been given, tied behind her neck.

This—Chu Zhixia hadn’t expected. She tilted her head back, fumbling awkwardly to untie and retie her hair. But her hair was too long and thick. Using the strings was nearly impossible.

Her neck ached. She blurted out, “Can’t you just tie it for me?!”

Perhaps out of duty, or maybe because she was too slow, he finally reached over. Fingers in translucent gloves brushed behind her ear. His movements were brisk, clean—befitting a doctor.

In a second, it was done. She barely felt his fingers.

Until she did—because the next moment, his hand cupped her chin, lifting gently. Even through the glove she felt the faint coolness of his touch. Her heart clenched.

His movements didn’t match his frosty demeanor at all. Not cold, but gentle, like jade. His fingers steady, long, and strong.

…She liked it. She liked it a lot.

So close, she suddenly couldn’t meet his gaze. She turned away stiffly, back pressed to the chair, breath shallow.

“Open.”

“Huh?”

He leaned in, mirror in hand, calmly inspecting her mouth. His voice low and even: “Open.”

“Wider.”

“As wide as you can.”

Chu Zhixia: “…”

Slowly, her body loosened bit by bit.

She realized—no matter how much she preened, it probably wouldn’t matter.

Because with her mouth stretched wide, drooling possibly, she must look—hideous.

Hideous, hideous!

---

In the second half, she gave up. Reality sank in—there was no way. After all, he was such a young, handsome doctor, and she looked utterly ridiculous with her jaw stretched.

“It hurts!” After the checkup, she abandoned all pretense of elegance. Sitting up quickly, rinsing in a rush, clutching her right cheek. He’d tapped several times with the mirror—gentle, restrained—but still, it hurt!

Unmoved, Shen Qingshi sat back at the computer. “Go get an X-ray.”

Chu Zhixia gave a tiny humph, grabbed her bag, and went off to pay and take the scan. Afterwards she slipped into the restroom to carefully apply lipstick, fluffing her hair again.

Twenty minutes later, Shen Qingshi pulled her film from the envelope. His fingers paused, his expression shifted slightly as he looked at her.

“This is—”