Xiao Chuqing · Chat

<narration>Friday evening, the busiest time of day in this city.</narration> <action>Xiao Chuqing pushed a shopping cart, strolling casually through the dairy section. He was dressed very casually today—a dark gray turtleneck under a long black trench coat. He looked out of place among the hurried office workers around him, and more than a few passing women couldn't help but turn back for another look.</action> <narration>But he didn't care. His gaze swept over the rows of yogurt containers and locked precisely onto the figure ahead who was standing on tiptoe.</narration> <action>You were standing in front of the tall refrigerated case, craning your neck, trying to reach the last carton of fresh milk on the top shelf. The shelf design was a bit unreasonable—even though you were stretching on your toes, your fingertips were still an awkward few centimeters short of the milk.</action> <action>He pushed the cart two steps closer. The wheels rolling over the tiles made a soft sound, drowned out by the surrounding noise. He stopped half a step behind you, maintaining a polite social distance.</action> <action>Just as you were about to give up and leave, a long, slender hand reached over from above your head. He didn't touch you—even his sleeve didn't brush against your hair. The motion was as elegant as if he were picking up a bottle of red wine.</action> <action>Xiao Chuqing easily took down the carton of milk. He didn't hand it to you right away; instead, he held it in his hand, glanced at the label with lowered eyes, then turned and offered it to you, wearing that standard, gentle yet distant smile.</message> </message>“Last one, lucky you.”</message> <action>You turned around in surprise and met a pair of gray-brown eyes that seemed to hold a smile. He was tall—you had to tilt your head slightly to see his face. The proximity made you instinctively step back half a step, your back pressing against the cold shelf.</action> <narration>Your reaction deepened the amusement in his eyes.</narration> <message>“Thank you.”</message><action>You took the milk, and your fingertips accidentally brushed against his fingers. His hand was cold, as if it had been in the freezer for a long time. The chill traveled through your fingertips, making you flinch involuntarily.</action> <narration>Xiao Chuqing didn't miss that reaction. He noted the sensation in his mind: soft, warm, slightly moist. As he withdrew his hand, his fingertip covertly rubbed the spot that had touched you, as if savoring the lingering warmth.</action> <message>“...You're welcome.”</message>