The President Comes Knocking -

By this point, Chu Ziyu had already said as much as he possibly could. Noticing that Qingyi’s expression had softened significantly and that the tension in the air had eased, he lowered his gaze and sat quietly to the side, transforming himself into a silent work of art. He resolved not to answer any further questions, no matter what might be asked.

Qingyi was all too familiar with this look of his. Back when they were in school, Chu Ziyu often wore this expression whenever he grew tired of people trying to chat with him. It was as if he possessed an innate “mute button” that compelled others to instinctively close their mouths and avoid disturbing him.

This demeanor of quiet rejection even earned Chu Ziyu the nickname “Poppy,” a reference to how he resembled a serene and elegant flower when he lowered his gaze and disengaged in this manner.

Qingyi had often secretly mocked those who had been so effortlessly dismissed by Chu Ziyu’s aloofness. Yet, as fate would have it, he now found himself experiencing the very same treatment.

With a burst of frustration, Qingyi slammed his hand on the table, his eyes wide with indignation. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by Chu Qianqian’s soft, melodic voice, tinged with amusement. “What are you two chatting about? Step aside, will you? Don’t block the way.”

Not wanting Chu Qianqian to learn what had just transpired between him and Chu Ziyu, Qingyi quickly turned around, narrowly missing the brief flicker of a smile that danced in Chu Ziyu’s eyes the moment he heard her voice.

As Qingyi turned, he promptly moved a few steps aside. Chu Qianqian walked in, carrying a wooden tray in her hands. In the center of the tray was a large bowl of dumplings, surrounded by four small bowls of dipping sauce. It was evident that the arrangement had been carefully balanced to prevent any mishaps.

With Qingyi no longer obstructing her path, it only took Chu Qianqian a few seconds to gracefully place the tray onto the dining table. Her movements were so fluid and controlled that the arrangement on the tray remained perfectly intact.

“Qianqian, why are you carrying so much by yourself? You could’ve called us. We could’ve helped bring the bowls out.”

“Well, I saw the two of you deep in conversation and didn’t want to interrupt. Besides, this isn’t heavy. Apart from one bowl of dumplings, the dipping sauces are practically weightless. But if you’re itching to help, there are a few more bowls in the kitchen. Why don’t you bring them out?”

“Alright,” Qingyi nodded and began heading toward the kitchen, only to see Mu Han emerging with another tray. It was identical to Chu Qianqian’s wooden one but carried three sizable bowls, clearly heavier and holding more than what Qianqian had just brought out.

After setting down the tray, Mu Han pointed to the bowls of dumplings arranged in the middle of the table. “The bowl on the left is Qingyi’s, the one on the right is Chu Ziyu’s, and the rest are mine. Don’t mix them up-they were cooked separately to match each person’s preferred taste.”

Meanwhile, Chu Qianqian had already placed a small bowl of dipping sauce at each person’s seat. The sauces were visually vibrant, with the fiery red chili oil and fresh green scallions creating an enticing color combination that immediately tempted one’s appetite. Since she knew Chu Ziyu and Qingyi couldn’t handle much spice, she had used a mild chili oil. However, the addition of Sichuan peppercorns gave the dipping sauce a distinctive numbing-spicy kick, making the flavor rich and complex.

“These dumplings are a little pre-celebration for the final month of the year,” Mu Han said in his steady tone. “It might not be tied to any particular holiday, but I still want to wish you all success in your work.”

Qingyi, who had been distracted just moments ago, sneaking glances at Chu Ziyu out of the corner of his eye, suddenly tuned back into the conversation. He hadn’t noticed Chu Qianqian’s small slip of the tongue but quickly responded with a grin. “If we’re talking about well-wishes, then the best way to do it would be to stuff some coins into the dumplings! That’s how you’d ensure everyone gets a bit of good fortune.”

The tradition of hiding coins inside dumplings is a common practice during Chinese New Year. Those who find a coin in their dumpling are said to be blessed with wealth and prosperity, a lighthearted and joyous way to infuse the holiday with fun and good luck.

Chu Qianqian pursed her lips, looking a little embarrassed. “Well… my family never really had that tradition…”

As she spoke, she glanced at Chu Ziyu instinctively. His head was lowered, and his usually calm expression seemed clouded with a hint of melancholy.

The Chu Family was known for its strict household rules and formality. Their lifestyle was structured and proper throughout the year, and although Chinese New Year could have been a time for letting loose and celebrating, it wasn’t much different. Mr. Chu, her father, carried an air of gravitas and solemnity that overshadowed the festivities. As for Mrs. Chu, her mother, she disliked cooking and avoided the kitchen entirely. Whether it was the coin-filled dumpling custom or other lighthearted traditions, none of them took place at the Chu Family home. Even their New Year’s Eve dinner was always held at a fancy restaurant, a lavish banquet shared with extended family and business acquaintances. Rather than a cozy family gathering, it felt more like the final networking event of the year, devoid of the joy and warmth typically associated with a New Year’s celebration.

Seeing how her unintentional comment had visibly dampened the mood, Qingyi, ever the self-proclaimed “atmosphere booster,” quickly sprang into action with a bright idea. “How about we save that tradition for the Winter Solstice? We can fill some dumplings with coins then!”

This suggestion piqued Chu Qianqian’s interest. She hesitated for a few seconds before saying, “Isn’t that a New Year’s tradition? Feels a bit out of place to do it now.”

“Traditions,” Mu Han responded in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, “are simply activities people created for specific days to evoke a particular atmosphere. If you want, every day can be a holiday. You can try different activities anytime-you don’t have to stick rigidly to a single date.”

As he spoke, Mu Han kept his eyes fixed on Chu Qianqian. His gaze carried a soothing warmth, much like water from a perfectly temperate spring-not too hot to hurt, not too cold to lose its comfort. It wrapped around Chu Qianqian’s heart, filling her with a sense of gentle warmth.

Quickly breaking eye contact with Mu Han, Chu Qianqian found herself struggling to calm the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat, which seemed just moments away from leaping out of her chest. She forced her attention toward Qingyi instead, cleared her throat, and said, “Alright, let’s do as you’ve suggested.”

When it came to holidays, Qingyi always maintained a childlike enthusiasm that bordered on obsession. At her words, he practically jumped with excitement. As if suddenly remembering something important, he quickly added, “Chu Qianqian, make sure to rig things a little for me when the time comes. Slip a few extra coins into my dumplings, will you?”

Chu Qianqian was caught off guard by Qingyi’s unexpected request, particularly since both Mu Han and Chu Ziyu were right there to hear it. She could only give a helpless smile. “What kind of request is that?”

“It’s all because of Mu Han! Qianqian, you have no idea how overpowered Mu Han is,” Qingyi exclaimed, throwing an exaggerated gesture of frustration. “Every Spring Festival when we hide coins in the dumplings, he always manages to eat nearly all of them. Meanwhile, I end up with just one or two-or none at all!”

It was clear that Qingyi held a profound grievance on this matter. As he spoke, his eyes locked onto Mu Han, his cheeks puffed up in indignation like a disgruntled child.