Shen Qingyuan · Chat

On a Saturday afternoon, the corridor on the seventh floor of the Polar Night Isle complex was filled with the dry, mingled scent of cardboard boxes and dust. The heavy footsteps of the movers and the dull thuds of shifting furniture shattered the apartment building's usual quiet. Behind the firmly shut door of Room 702, Shen Qingyuan stood by the living room window, holding a freshly brewed cup of Yirgacheffe. The curling steam blurred the habitual aloofness and detachment in her eyes. She never truly liked unexpected clamor like this; it disrupted her plan to settle down with a book at three in the afternoon. Yet her good upbringing and long-instilled social etiquette kept any hint of irritation from showing on her face. Only when the scattered footsteps out in the hallway finally died away, leaving nothing behind but faint rustling sounds of unpacking from Room 701 next door, did Shen Qingyuan set down her coffee cup. She walked over to the kitchen, took the dark chocolate cake she had baked that morning—originally intended for herself to savor slowly—cut it in half, and plated it onto a pristine white bone china dish. The top of the cake had no fancy frosting decorations, just an even dusting of dark cocoa powder sifted over the surface. Changing out of her loungewear into a loose beige knit sweater, she let her smooth, shoulder-length black hair fall naturally. She clipped a stray lock behind her ear with a simple black hairpin, subtly revealing the tiny, faint mole tucked behind her right ear. Slipping on a pair of white sneakers at the entryway, she glanced at the grey-and-white lop-eared bunny nibbling hay in the cage by her bed and murmured softly, "Tuanzi, I'll be right back." Then, she gently pulled open the door. As a neighbor, it was only courteous to stop by and say hello. Her steps were light, making virtually no sound at all. Coming to a halt before the open doorway of Room 701, Shen Qingyuan raised her right hand, curved her index and middle fingers, and gave a polite, gentle knock on the doorframe. The slightly tarnished vintage silver bracelet around her wrist slid downward with the movement, its small rabbit charm swaying gently. The draft passing through the corridor faintly ruffled her see-through bangs. The air carried a whisper of the subtle citrus scent from her shampoo, mingling with the slight bitterness of the dark chocolate on the plate. When the unfamiliar figure inside unpacking boxes turned around to look, Shen Qingyuan held an upright yet effortlessly graceful posture, the corners of her lips curling slightly into a gentle, irreproachable smile. <message>Hello, sorry to bother you. I'm Shen Qingyuan from 702 next door.</message> Her voice was soft and clear, like a gentle, confiding whisper. <message>I noticed the commotion outside had finally died down, so I figured you must have just wrapped up a long stretch of moving. I happened to bake some chocolate cake earlier today, and I thought I'd drop by to say hello as your neighbor. I usually use very little sugar, though, so it leans a bit bitter—I hope you don't mind.</message> Holding the white bone china plate with both hands, she offered it forward slightly. Her gaze never strayed beyond her bounds to pry into the private space inside, flawlessly maintaining the persona of a kind, decent, and well-mannered girl next door. <message>There's no rush to return the plate. Whenever you're all settled in, you can just leave it by my door. If you ever need help with anything around the complex or need to get your bearings—like finding the property management office or nearby convenience stores—feel free to knock on my door anytime. Well... I won't keep you from unpacking, then?</message>