[Inside the Workshop · Day After Day]
Ever since Lin Lie finally nodded and allowed her to stay by his side, Ding Yuxuan arrived at the workshop early every morning, excitement shining in her brows and eyes. She sat buried in blueprints while the sounds of meshing gears and hammered metal rang around her—yet not for a moment did she find it dull.
As she learned to drill and polish, she muttered to herself, "If this part can move… the wings can flap… add a pivot here… mm, then the bird can fly!"
On the table lay her draft—an "automaton bird" that was clumsy, childish, yet brimming with imagination. In the beginning, the wings snapped constantly, gears refused to bite, and it would often go 啪—scattering into parts.
"Ugh—broke again!" she pouted, picking up the tiny gears one by one, but she didn't get discouraged.
If anything, she looked like she was playing a game. Each time, she grinned and put it back together from scratch.
Not far away, Lin Lie kept his pen moving without pause, yet every so often he would lift his eyes to watch her—fail, rebuild, fail, rebuild again.
His brow had been tight at first. Slowly, it eased.
Sometimes, he would offer a single low reminder: "Your fulcrum is wrong."
And she would gasp like she'd discovered treasure. "Ah! So that's it!" Her eyes lit up as if someone had struck a lamp.
Days slipped by, drop by drop—
At last, she managed to make the wings twitch.
A few days later, the wings could flap twice, shakily.
Later still, the bird trembled in her palm, hopped—two little jerky hops—and even let out a tiny "chirp."
In that moment, she nearly shoved it straight into Lin Lie's arms. "Look, look—it's moving!"
Lin Lie glanced down, gave a flat "Mm."
His tone was neither warm nor cold.
But inside his sleeve, his hand tightened as if suppressing something.
—This girl's stubbornness and wild imagination were actually taking shape in reality, piece by piece.
—And her smile awakened more than that bird ever could.
[Workshop · Under the Noon Sun]
Afternoon sunlight poured in through the high windows, turning the dust in the air into floating gold.
Ding Yuxuan carefully cradled her newest version of the automaton bird in both hands, eyes full of expectation.
"This time it'll work!"
She pressed the trigger.
"Ka-da—"
Tiny gears turned. The wings flapped.
The bird wobbled… then actually lifted off her palm, beating its wings toward the air.
"It's flying—It's flying!!" Ding Yuxuan shrieked in delight, arms flailing so wildly she almost swept a pile of parts off the table.
The bird fluttered twice, veered crookedly into a wooden rack, and fell with a 啪.
Her heart lurched. She lunged to catch it—missed—
A long, strong hand shot out and caught the bird midair, steady and precise.
She looked up, meeting Lin Lie's slightly furrowed gaze.
"Making a fuss." His voice was cool as he handed it back to her. "It flew for a breath, and you've told the entire workshop."
"But it really flew!" Ding Yuxuan hugged the bird, her whole face bright with joy. "I made it little by little, piece by piece!"
Lin Lie stared at her curved brows and smiling eyes. His lips pressed into a thin line.
Yet somewhere deep inside, her laughter collided with his heart and sent ripples spreading.
He averted his gaze, tone still flat. "The wing angle is still off by two degrees. It won't fly far."
"Got it~" She wasn't discouraged at all. Instead, she chased after him with a grin. "Then will you teach me how to fix it? Maybe next time it can fly all the way to your desk!"
Lin Lie choked on her cheerfulness, shot her a look, and said coldly, "Focus."
But inside his sleeve, his fingers tightened.
The bird lay quietly in her hands, wings still trembling faintly.
In that sunlit moment, Lin Lie realized—
Her "bird" hadn't only flown.
It had, without him noticing, flown straight into his heart.
[Workshop Back Courtyard · Dusk]
Ding Yuxuan crouched in a corner, tinkering in secret, the bird tucked close.
Inside its chest, she'd built a tiny compartment for folded slips of paper.
"Hehe—now it can deliver messages!"
She proudly stuffed in a small note that read Try it, pressed the mechanism, and—
The bird flapped off toward the workshop, wobbling into beams and bumping a few times, then—miraculously—landed right on Lin Lie's desk.
Lin Lie had been drawing when he heard a soft pa-da. He looked up to see the stupid bird lying upside down on his blueprint.
Frowning, he picked it up—then noticed a paper slip tucked in its chest.
He unfolded it.
Two crooked characters stared back:
"Hehe!"
Lin Lie fell silent.
From the courtyard came a girl's stifled giggle.
He lifted his gaze—and sure enough, Ding Yuxuan was peeking around the corner, wearing the smug smile of someone who'd succeeded.
Lin Lie's eyes were cool, but he didn't expose her. He folded the note back up, slipped it into the bird again, and lightly flicked the mechanism.
The bird flapped back toward her.
Ding Yuxuan caught it, opened the compartment—
Inside was a single word, written in neat, spare strokes:
"Nonsense."
She stared, lips pursed—then broke into a smile anyway.
—He complained… but he answered seriously.
From that day on, she sent him notes whenever she pleased.
Sometimes, questions: How do I fit this gear?
Sometimes, complaints: You made me sweep again today!
Sometimes, doodles and teasing: Lin Lie, Ice Block.
Every time, Lin Lie's brow would tighten—yet he never truly ignored her.
Sometimes he returned one word: "Wrong."
Sometimes he corrected a sketch.
Sometimes he drew the proper structure outright.
Before long, rumors spread through the workshop:
—Lord Lin's desk now had a "little bird that delivered letters."
Those who knew only smiled and said nothing.
That bird never wandered.
It always circled past everyone—then landed straight into Ding-girl's hands.
[Workshop · Night]
Lamplight swayed.
Ding Yuxuan was bent over something again, sweat beading at her brow, fingers deft as she snapped tiny parts into place, concentration so bright it seemed to reflect the flame itself.
Lin Lie passed by and slowed.
—These days she'd been acting mysterious. Sneaking around. Drawing in secret.
A faint, inexplicable anticipation rose in him.
Was she… making something for him?
He pretended not to care, eyes sweeping lightly past—yet he caught every movement.
A few days later, during a bustling noon break, Ding Yuxuan appeared with a small wooden box, excitement bubbling all over her face.
"Ah Tang!" she called loudly, shoving the box into Tang Jun's hands, smiling until her eyes curved. "I made a little thing for you—thanks for the advice before. It helped me finally learn what I wanted!"
Tang Jun blinked, then laughed and opened it.
Inside was a miniature gear top—tiny, delicate, absurdly cute.
"Whoa. This is amazing. You made this?"
"Of course!" Ding Yuxuan puffed up proudly. "If you're ever in a bad mood, just spin it—when it turns, it means your energy's fully charged!"
Tang Jun roared with laughter, completely unguarded, and ruffled her hair.
"Ding Ding, you really are the most fun."
That scene landed cleanly in Lin Lie's eyes.
His fingers paused.
His chest tightened—fast, sharp.
—So the thing she'd stayed up tinkering with… was for him?
—So that smile of hers was because of one sentence from that boy?
A sour heaviness jammed in his chest like a gear caught in its teeth.
He forced his expression calm, but his face grew darker by the breath.
"…So are they… a pair?"
"…Does she like Tang Jun?"
Lin Lie lowered his eyes, cold and hard. His knuckles turned pale.
And Ding Yuxuan—completely unaware—kept chatting cheerfully with Tang Jun about the toy's mechanism, not the slightest bit "reserved."
—To her, Tang Jun was a friend she could share secrets with, laugh with, fool around with.
Gender had never been something she worried over. If she liked someone, she liked them. A friend could be a soul-matched "companion," plain and simple.
But Lin Lie couldn't see that purity yet.
All he saw was her smiling easily with someone else—
and the "gift" he'd subconsciously claimed in his heart, now resting in another man's palm.
The resentment and irritation surged, hot and tangled.
He turned and left, his back rigid as ice.
[Workshop Rear Corridor · Night]
Night deepened. The workshop quieted, leaving only wind brushing the lattice windows.
Ding Yuxuan finished tidying her tools, humming as she walked out—then suddenly ran into something solid in the darkness.
She looked up.
Lin Lie's eyes met hers.
Moonlight outlined his sharp features. His gaze was cold, as if a storm were being crushed behind it.
"What are you doing lurking here in the middle of the night? You scared me." She grumbled, trying to step around him.
He blocked her.
"Do you… like Tang Jun?"
His voice was very low, restrained to a dangerous calm.
Ding Yuxuan froze, then blinked hard. "Huh? Ah Tang?" She laughed. "What are you talking about? He's my good friend!"
"Friend?" Lin Lie's brow knotted tighter. "Do you know how it looks to others? You're too intimate. It's ridiculous."
"So what?" She planted her hands on her hips, righteous and unbothered. "I don't care what people think! Ah Tang is great—he listens, he helps me, he even gives me terrible ideas. Friends like that are rare. And gender—who decided friends have to draw lines so neatly?"
Her eyes were clear. Her voice was open. Not a trace of embarrassment.
Lin Lie's breath caught. The words jammed in his throat.
He'd meant to press her.
But looking at her—so unaware of worldly eyes—his anger had nowhere to land.
The resentment churned, only to be sealed tight by her simple "good friend."
After a long silence, he turned his face aside, voice lowered even more.
"…You're too naïve."
Ding Yuxuan huffed. "You're the one who's old-fashioned! You worry about everything. Must be exhausting."
Then she walked right past him, leaving him her carefree, unrestrained back.
Lin Lie remained where he stood, fingers clenched.
That heaviness didn't fade.
It sharpened.
Because he finally understood—
He wasn't angry because he "worried she was naïve."
He was angry because…
He cared.
[Workshop Back Courtyard · Dusk]
The setting sun slanted low. The courtyard was quiet.
Tang Jun paced anxiously. When Ding Yuxuan approached, he inhaled hard like he was bracing for battle.
"Ding Ding, I want to ask you something."
His tone was unusually serious, his eyes full of expectation that didn't belong to "just friends."
Ding Yuxuan tilted her head. "What?"
Tang Jun looked straight at her and blurted it out in one breath.
"Do you like me?"
Ding Yuxuan paused—then burst into laughter, bending over. "Hahaha! Ah Tang, did a gear get stuck in your brain? When have I ever liked you?"
Tang Jun's face stiffened. He pressed on stubbornly. "I don't believe it! When I hug you, you don't push me away. When I get close, you don't refuse. I always thought… you liked me."
At first, Ding Yuxuan wanted to joke it off.
But the look in his eyes wasn't his usual bright cheer—it was urgent, insistent, almost… forceful.
Her smile slowly faded. Her voice turned serious. "Ah Tang, listen carefully. I really only see you as a good friend. Not the kind that makes your heart race, you understand?"
"But the gift you gave me… I thought you meant something."
Her eyes went round, then she snorted with laughter again. "What are you thinking?!" She laughed until she nearly choked. "That was me thanking you for the advice! Otherwise how would I have gotten to learn anything?"
A flicker of hurt crossed Tang Jun's eyes—quickly buried under stubbornness.
"Then why did you let me misunderstand? You're just shy—you don't dare admit it!"
As he spoke, he stepped closer.
Ding Yuxuan instinctively backed up until her spine hit the cold bark of a tree.
"Ah Tang… calm down."
Tang Jun slammed his hands against the tree on either side of her, trapping her between his arms and the trunk.
His face was flushed with emotion, his voice nearly out of control. "If you don't like me, then why have you never refused?"
Ding Yuxuan's heart tightened. Her palms pressed against his chest, tense and trembling.
It was the first time she'd seen Tang Jun like this.
So unfamiliar—
so frightening—
that a long-buried memory flashed through her mind.
After her mother died, there were only her father and four older brothers left at home.
She was the only girl—yet no one ever taught her how to "be a girl."
When she was thirteen and bled for the first time, she panicked, convinced she was dying. Her three brothers were out working. She sobbed and ran to her youngest brother—only two years older, clumsy and helpless, fumbling for cloth and herbs because he didn't understand either.
In the end it was Aunt Zhang, the neighbor, who heard the commotion and rushed over to comfort her. She rubbed Ding Yuxuan's head and scolded fondly, "Silly girl—this is what a woman's body does. It's not an illness. If your mother were here, she would've taught you long ago."
Ding Yuxuan cried so hard she hiccupped, eyes full of confusion. "Women… are different from men?"
Only then did she understand: she was different.
But at home, no one had taught her the delicate boundaries.
All her life, she'd grown up with her brothers—
eating with big mouthfuls, hauling wood with brute strength, speaking bluntly, laughing loudly, touching without thinking.
To her, Tang Jun was just a "good friend."
No different from her brothers.
But now—
the look in Tang Jun's eyes wasn't like a brother's.
It wasn't like a friend's either.
His closeness, his posture… made her finally understand—
the touch she'd never thought twice about could truly make someone misunderstand.
"Ah Tang… we're friends." Her voice trembled, hands still braced against his chest. "But this… this is too much."
In that instant, she realized:
If she didn't draw a line—
even the purest friendship could turn heavy, and wrong.
Tang Jun froze, breathing rough.
Under her frightened yet unwavering gaze, he finally understood what he'd done.
His hands shook, then fell.
He stepped back, bitterness flooding his face.
"…Sorry," he said hoarsely, then turned and walked away fast.
Ding Yuxuan stayed pressed against the tree, heartbeat wild and chaotic. She took a shaky breath, forcing herself to steady.
Moonlight spilled over her features, and her eyes—finally—turned clear.
In that moment, she truly understood what "avoiding impropriety" meant.
And she understood, too—
there are lines between people.
And once crossed, even friendship can no longer return untouched.