Chapter One: An Awkward Encounter at the Matchmaking Meeting

Page 1 of 3

Bzzz—bzzz—bzzz—

The phone on the desk was practically vibrating itself into oblivion, and the blood-red words “Her Majesty Mother” flashed across the screen like a death warrant. For the Nth time, Yu Ling flipped the phone over, trying to silence it by sheer force.

Three seconds.

“LINGLING!!” A shrill female voice pierced right through the partition, making Yu Ling flinch. Well, Her Majesty Mother had apparently mastered the art of the Lion’s Roar from across the airwaves.

“Mom…” Yu Ling barely got out, still out of breath.

“Are you off work? Don’t you dare start with your project excuses! This time your Aunt Wang has vouched for him—local guy! Owns a place! Works at a company! Honest and steady! I’ve seen the photo, he looks great!” Mom’s words fired out like a machine gun:

“Tonight at seven, ‘Moments Café,’ third seat by the window! Skip out again and tomorrow I’ll buy a standing ticket, come over, and drag you there myself!”

“Mom, I just—”

“Just what? You’re twenty-five! Back home, that’s stamped ‘unsellable goods,’ you get it? The neighbors’ gossip is about to drown me! I already sent you the address! Try turning off your phone and I’ll have your dad stake out your office!”

Beeps sounded—the busy tone, heartless, mocking her futile resistance.

Yu Ling slumped in her chair. The mass of spreadsheets before her blurred into a gluey mess. Twenty-five? Pushing thirty? She felt like a sacrificial lamb in the family’s intelligence network, the aunts’ matchmaking orders hanging over her head like a guillotine.

“Shit!” she groaned, raking a hand through her hair, opening up WeChat. Below the address, a glaring red envelope popped up: “Taxi fare! Don’t scrimp! Make a good impression!”

A ransom, she thought, face expressionless as she opened the ride-hailing app.

“Fine, let’s just call it… working overtime in a different spot,” she muttered, dragging her leaden legs to the restroom.

At exactly seven that evening, Moments Café.

As she pushed open the door, the scent of coffee mingled with jazz floated through the air. The lighting was soft and warm. Her target—third seat by the window—locked in.

A man sat in profile, posture straight, looking like a painting in the neon-lit shadows. Charcoal sweater, pale shirt collar, clean and neat. A glass of water sat on the table, and in his hands—wait? Principles of Economics? Who brings a textbook to a blind date? A rare species!

Yu Ling took a deep breath, forced her frozen facial muscles into action, and walked over.

“Hello, are you Mr. Zhao Chen?” she asked, voice steady with effort.

The man looked up at the sound.

The light fell across his face. Yu Ling’s heart skipped a beat.

He wasn’t the heavy-browed, striking type. His features were refined, with slightly upturned eyes of gentle light brown, like settled amber. At that moment, that amber shimmered with a polite smile—and perhaps a hint of knowing? As if he saw right through her forced composure.

“That’s me. Miss Yu Ling?” He stood, voice clear and gentle, naturally reassuring. He pulled out the chair across from him.

“Please, have a seat. It’s chilly outside, would you like something warm?” He gestured to the cup the server had just delivered. “I took the liberty of ordering a hot latte with a shot of syrup. Hope that’s all right? If it’s not to your taste, we can swap.”

Yu Ling’s pupils contracted. “…Thank you, it’s perfect.”

She wrapped her hands around the warm cup, the heat and rich sweetness seeping into her nose, and one of her taut nerves inexplicably loosened. How did he know?! Even her closest friends might not remember this preference!

“Good, then.” Zhao Chen sat, calmly closing the hardcover book and setting it aside. His hands lay loosely folded on the table, posture relaxed. “You’re very punctual, Miss Yu.”

“Just call me Yu Ling.” She took a sip, warmth trickling down. “Did you just arrive, Mr. Zhao?”

“I was a few minutes early,” he said with a smile that reached his eyes, utterly unthreatening. “Didn’t want to be late. And…” His gaze swept the café, “I like to scope out the ‘battlefield’ in advance. Makes me feel safer.”

“Battlefield?” Yu Ling nearly laughed. “Well said! Fellow survivor?”

“Misery loves company, more like,” Zhao Chen nodded, a flicker of shared exhaustion in his amber eyes. “Your family’s pushing hard, too? My mom’s calls have evolved to the point she can now predict my bladder’s capacity.” He pulled an exaggerated, helpless face.

“Pfft!” Yu Ling couldn’t help herself. “Brilliant! They must have some National Matchmaking Coalition—shared tactics and all!”

“No doubt about it!” Zhao Chen agreed, raising his water glass. “Ever since graduation, blind dating has been my second job. Civil servants, entrepreneurs, overseas returnees… and,” he paused, “the more… performance-art types. It’s… complicated. Some are fine, but there’s no spark. Some just show up to check the box, and the air freezes solid.”

So honest! Yu Ling instantly felt a kinship. “Same here! Interrogations, world domination lectures, and one even asked if I’d be willing to stay home full-time with three kids…” She rattled off her own ridiculous encounters.

Zhao Chen listened quietly, focused. Only at “three kids” did the corner of his mouth twitch, betraying genuine shock.

“Seems like the ‘battlefields’ we’ve each seen are quite the diverse ecosystem,” he concluded with a laugh once she’d finished. “So sitting here today, it’s like the air’s been purified—PM2.5 levels way down.”

Yu Ling was amused. The tension evaporated. Talking with him was like sinking into a beanbag chair—comfortable.

He listened, replied, and kept perfect balance. There was a quiet strength about him, like autumn sunlight—gentle, not scorching, but warm.

Page 2 of 3

The server brought over dessert. Zhao Chen, with a small fork, gently brushed the mint leaf off the tiramisu and pushed it toward Yu Ling. “The tiramisu here isn’t too strong on the liquor. Want to try?”

Yu Ling’s heart skipped again. She hated strong alcohol, and never ate mint leaves. Once was coincidence, but twice? She glanced up at him. He was calmly stirring his now-cold Americano, profile soft, his movements so natural, as if it were a given.

Suppressing her suspicion, she took a bite. Delicate, slightly bitter, perfectly balanced. The sweetness melted on her tongue, and the last bit of ice inside her cracked.

Their conversation bounced from a newly-opened trendy bookstore to mind-bending thrillers, and then to the daily absurdities at the office.

Zhao Chen was articulate but not pretentious, his dry humor hitting all of Yu Ling’s laugh buttons. Time flew by in a haze of jazz and easy chatter.

When only coffee dregs remained in her cup, Zhao Chen set his down, tapping the table lightly as if pressing a hidden switch.

He looked up, those amber eyes fixed on her, the previous warmth receding, replaced by a deep, serious focus.

“Yu Ling,” he called her name, voice low and clear, “after all this, I feel we really click. At least, this is a thousand times more comfortable than the previous ‘battlefields,’ right?”

Yu Ling nodded instinctively, her heart skipping a beat.

“So,” he leaned in slightly, and she caught a clean, sunlit scent of cedar—reassuring, but with an assertive edge.

“Rather than running ourselves ragged in the blind date market, fending off endless family bombardment, and most likely winding up with more cases of terminal embarrassment… why don’t we,” he paused, then dropped the bomb, word by word, clear and calm: “Why don’t we just get married?”

“Pfft—cough, cough, cough!!” Yu Ling choked on her coffee, coughing up a storm, eyes streaming. “Mar—married?!” her voice cracked. “Mr. Zhao, what did you just say?!”

Zhao Chen seemed entirely unsurprised by her reaction, calmly passing her a tissue, his gaze still frank and gentle, even with a trace of “I saw this coming” in his smile.

“Yes. A flash marriage,” he repeated, as serenely as if he’d said “another cup of coffee.” “I know it sounds like I’ve lost my mind. But Yu Ling, think about our situation.”

He leaned back, posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp as scalpels. “Pain point one: family pressure. The core issue! The marriage mandate hanging over us—every failed date just brings on a new wave of anxiety. An endless loop!”

Yu Ling gripped the tissue. She couldn’t refute him. It was too real.

“Pain point two: time cost. Every blind date—prepping, going, awkward small talk for hours—total waste of life! Our time and energy could go to better things.”

Yu Ling nodded vigorously. Preach!

“Three: practical compatibility.” His tone softened, full of sincere conviction. “We’ve only just met, but our conversation was easy and relaxed—that’s like winning the lottery in the dating market!”

His gaze locked on hers. “As for deeper understanding, developing feelings… who says that can’t happen after marriage? Isn’t marriage itself the most direct and efficient petri dish for getting to know each other?”

Yu Ling was pinned by his twisted—no, brilliant logic. He… sort of had a point?

Zhao Chen saw the waver in her eyes, leaned in again, hands clasped, gaze intent, radiating unwavering commitment.

“Yu Ling, this isn’t impulsive. It’s a rational analysis of our predicament, based on my initial judgment of your character—you’re sincere, independent, have your own ideas, and,” the corner of his mouth twitched up, “your sarcasm is sharp but never cruel. That’s a solid foundation for cohabitation—oh, for sharing a life.”

He threw out the core idea:

“Let’s sign an agreement. One year.”

“For a year, we play the part of a real married couple, live together, join forces to fool both families, and completely shut down the marriage pressure! Meanwhile, we don’t interfere in each other’s private space or careers, split expenses or set up a shared fund. After a year, if it works, we continue. If not, we part ways peacefully—contract over, no strings attached.”

He pulled out his phone, opening a document, and slid it over. The title was stark:

“Mutual Assistance Marriage Agreement (One-Year Term).” The clauses were clear: property, privacy, responsibilities, terms of separation—even a “friendly assistance clause” (like dealing with weird relatives).

“First draft. Change whatever you like.” His tone was full of respect. “It’s just a proposal. Take all the time you need. No need to decide now.”

The light outlined the clean lines of his jaw. He leaned in, relaxed but exuding silent strength.

Those amber eyes met her startled gaze, unwavering—just calm insight and the certainty of someone who knew the odds were in his favor.

Yu Ling’s mind was a nest of shrieking chickens. Flash marriage? Agreement? Living together? Every word set off fireworks in her life plan.

Reason screamed, “Absurd! Run!” But her soul, cornered by family pressure, howled, “Way out! Freedom!”

She looked down at the contract-like agreement—independent finances, protected privacy, clear responsibilities, a defined exit…

“Why me?” she looked up, her voice tight, gaze probing. “Mr. Zhao, with your qualifications… finding a ‘rich, beautiful, well-matched’ bride shouldn’t be hard?” She glanced pointedly at the Principles of Economics on the table.

Page 3 of 3

Zhao Chen wasn’t surprised. He picked up his cold Americano, swirled it, his gaze on the surface, just the right touch of self-deprecation.

“Well-matched?” he gave a cool little laugh. “In the dating market, ‘well-matched’ usually means equal family backgrounds, useful connections, or some promissory ‘high-potential’ IOU.”

He looked up, his eyes clear. “I have none of those. I’m just a regular office drone—nine to five, saddled with a mortgage, a fixed salary, and driven crazy by family pressure to get married.”

His tone was matter-of-fact, but it landed with surprising weight on Yu Ling’s heart.

“And you,” his gaze returned to her, pure appreciation in his eyes, “you’re real. You worry about work, fret over your family, you complain, you get tired, but there’s light in your eyes, a kind of drive. You don’t look at me for my ‘market value,’ don’t dig for my ‘background’ or ‘potential.’ Talking to you is comfortable.”

He paused, searching for words. “Like, on a gloomy day, suddenly catching a ray of sun without any heaviness.”

Yu Ling’s heart lurched at that “ray of sun without any heaviness.”

“More importantly,” he leaned in, voice lower, utterly sincere, “I need a comrade-in-arms. Someone else burdened by marriage pressure, looking to break free, rational and independent. We need a partnership based on trust, not just mutual advantage. Yu Ling, you’re the best candidate. We each get what we need, solve each other’s problems, and give ourselves a chance to get to know and choose again. Fair, efficient, and easy on the nerves!”

Each gets what they need. Solve the problem. Fair. Efficient.

Those cold words cleaved a golden path through Yu Ling’s muddled mind. What did she want most? To shed the pressure! Breathe free! Take back control! Love? That could wait.

A year. A nominal husband. A human shield. The written guarantee of freedom. A tailor-made solution?

“So… live together?” she asked, voice shaky, heart pounding.

“Has to be. If we’re acting, we go all in.” Zhao Chen nodded, straightforward. “The agreement spells it out: separate bedrooms, private space absolutely off-limits. Shared areas—cleaning, cooking, all split or negotiated. I rent a two-bedroom near my office, decent environment, good commute. If you’re okay with it, move in—it’ll save you rent, which can go into our joint fund.” The pragmatism was almost shocking.

Renting? Two bedrooms? Splitting chores? The details immediately softened the horror of “flash marriage and cohabitation”—it sounded… doable?

Yu Ling fell silent, unconsciously picking at her phone case. The saxophone languidly teased the air. Outside, neon spilled over Zhao Chen’s calm profile. His gaze was warm and candid, waiting patiently, not pushing, no pressure.

Time ticked by.

Yu Ling took a long, deep breath; the cold air stung her lungs, bringing a reckless kind of clarity.

She looked up, meeting his gaze. Deep in that gentle waiting, there seemed to be a barely perceptible confidence that this deal was already in the bag.

“The agreement…” her voice was hoarse but steady, “I’ll take it home to review. There are some things… I’d need to change.”

A fleeting spark flashed in Zhao Chen’s eyes! His smile deepened—a mix of relief and genuine delight.

“Of course!” He grabbed his phone, moving fast. “I’ll send you the digital version on WeChat. Edit all you want, call me anytime.” The QR code popped up, the action smooth and practiced.

Yu Ling scanned. Ding! Friend request accepted. The document dropped into the chat.

“Also,” Zhao Chen put away his phone, more relaxed now, as if he’d just closed a big deal. “Since we’ve reached a preliminary understanding, as a gesture of good faith—and for the sake of future harmonious ‘cohabitation’… tomorrow’s Saturday, so I was wondering, Miss Yu… oh, soon-to-be roommate, would you do me the honor?”

“Roommate?” Yu Ling was thrown.

“I’d like to invite you,” he smiled, sunny and harmless under the warm light, “to come check out my place? Maybe try my cooking? I can just about manage a decent home-cooked meal.” He said it as casually as “Had dinner yet?”

Yu Ling was utterly dazed.

First meeting. Flash marriage agreement?

Agreement not even signed, and he’s inviting her over?!

At rocket speed?!

She looked at that reassuring face, at the cold contract in her WeChat, and felt the burst of reckless courage that came from being cornered…

Her thoughts clashed and collided, until suddenly one voice clanged above the rest: Go! See what this “ordinary office worker’s” lair is really like! Inspect the goods!

“Okay.” She heard her own voice, remarkably calm. “See you tomorrow.”