It was already early winter, and the night air carried a sharper chill. When Qi Ji stepped through the automatic doors of the convenience store, a warm gust of air immediately enveloped him.
Yet, for some reason, the comforting warmth made him sneeze uncontrollably—
“Ah-choo!”
A clerk at the entrance looked over with concern. “Are you okay?”
Qi Ji shook his head, signaling that he was fine.
No stuffy nose, so he probably wasn’t catching a cold.
Rubbing his nose, he walked further into the store, unaware that someone behind him was quietly commenting on his sluggishness. Following Pei Yusheng’s instructions, he went to the refrigerated section to pick out a bottle of water. It was only when he saw three fully stocked rows that he realized he didn’t even know which brand Pei preferred.
Qi Ji thought back over all their interactions—still nothing.
In the end, he could only pick the most expensive option by price: Evian.
After paying, Qi Ji sat in the waiting area with the bottle in front of him. Only now did he realize that despite working as a caregiver for so long, he knew nothing of his employer’s personal preferences.
The same went for his brother’s situation that night.
Qi Mingyu had been livestreaming for two months, and the platform had shut down two months ago—but Qi Ji had no idea.
In that regard, he was seriously lacking.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, acknowledging his fault. He wasn’t naturally adept at these matters, and, truthfully, he hadn’t made the effort.
Opening his eyes again, Qi Ji’s gaze landed on the Evian in front of him. In his daze, condensation had formed on the bottle, water droplets sliding down its surface, radiating a sharp, icy chill.
Even in early winter, the store kept bottled water in the refrigerated section.
Would drinking ice water hurt his stomach?
He considered it seriously.
Determined to correct his work attitude, Qi Ji went to the thermal drinks section to buy something hot.
Before he could choose, the electronic chime at the entrance rang again: “Welcome!”
Qi Ji’s attention remained on the drinks, but two young men nearby kept glancing toward the door, whispering excitedly. Qi Ji’s keen ears picked up snippets like, “So handsome,” though he paid it no mind.
Finally selecting a bag of soy milk, Qi Ji was about to close the fridge door when a familiar voice asked, “Do you like this?”
Startled, he looked up.
Silently, Pei Yusheng had appeared beside him.
“Mr. Pei?” Qi Ji blinked before reacting. “You mean this soy milk? I haven’t tried it myself.”
Pei’s expression was calm, and he wasn’t wearing headphones. Qi Ji asked casually, “Did you finish your call?”
“Yes,” Pei replied. “Let’s go.”
They went to the counter to pay. Pei took the icy water from Qi Ji’s hand. Feeling the cold against his fingers, he frowned.
“The soy milk… it’s hot?” he asked.
Qi Ji confirmed.
“Warm your hands first, then drink,” Pei instructed.
Huh?
Qi Ji realized the man had misunderstood.
“I’m not thirsty. I bought this for you,” he explained.
“For me?” Pei raised an eyebrow.
“Yes. They didn’t have room-temperature water, and it’s cold tonight. Ice water might be uncomfortable, so I bought hot soy milk.”
Qi Ji hesitated a little. “I chose low-sugar, plain flavor, but I don’t really know your taste.”
Since they usually ate together, he knew Pei didn’t like sweets much.
Qi Ji had thought that if Pei didn’t like it, he could drink it himself. Yet before he could finish, Pei had already taken the drink.
Pei glanced at him and smiled faintly. “Thank you.”
Qi Ji was momentarily taken aback.
He didn’t usually judge appearances, nor did he care about looks in daily interactions. But as a designer, Pei’s pursuit of beauty seemed instinctive, and Qi Ji couldn’t deny that this man almost seemed sculpted according to his own aesthetic standards.
Close-up interactions had already been intense; now Pei smiled, amplifying the effect. Qi Ji fumbled, hurriedly handing over the straw.
“T-This… is the straw, for you,” he stammered, even using polite phrasing.
Fortunately, Pei seemed unaware of his flustered state. He took the straw, lips curving slightly in a faint smile, and sipped the soy milk. Qi Ji, worried he might dislike it, watched anxiously.
Instead of commenting on the taste, Pei asked, “Low-sugar version?”
“Yes,” Qi Ji replied.
Pei flipped the packaging over, looking at it. “Doesn’t taste like it.”
Qi Ji was surprised. “Too sweet?”
The label clearly said “low sugar,” and he had checked the ingredients. There wasn’t much sugar, and no substitutes.
“Yes, quite sweet,” Pei said. “Try it.”
Qi Ji took the drink back and sipped through the straw. The convenient built-in spout allowed direct drinking; the straw was just extra. Afterward, Pei could remove it and use the built-in spout if he wished.
Qi Ji wasn’t good with intimacy, but he always considered distance carefully.
The soy milk wasn’t much, and Qi Ji planned to drink it himself if too sweet.
Yet, upon tasting, it wasn’t cloyingly sweet at all—just a gentle soy and milk aroma.
“I think… it’s not too sweet,” he said hesitantly.
Standing in the light, with the store’s illuminated window behind them, the glow cast a soft halo around both.
Mid-sentence, Qi Ji shivered as if someone watched him from the shadows.
He scanned around; the store was quiet, few customers, all busy choosing items, none looking out.
He didn’t spot the gaze that made him suddenly uneasy.
Pei noticed his movement. “What is it?”
Qi Ji hesitated. “I feel like someone’s watching us.”
Remembering Pei’s sharp perception, he asked, “Did you notice?”
Pei shook his head matter-of-factly. “No.”
If someone as perceptive as him didn’t notice, Qi Ji dismissed it as his imagination.
“Must be my imagination,” he said.
About to continue commenting on the sweetness, Qi Ji had the drink taken from him. The man, who earlier said it was too sweet, sipped directly.
“The straw can be thrown away,” Qi Ji said quickly.
Pei looked up. “Hmm?”
In the night light, Pei’s face appeared almost dreamlike, his features framed by a soft glow.
His low, magnetic voice asked seriously, “Why throw it away?”
Qi Ji stumbled over his words. “I… just used it…”
Pei didn’t mind.
A black Mercedes G-Class idled nearby. Pei’s chin lifted slightly. “It’s cold—get in.”
He stepped ahead, opened the door, but didn’t get in. Instead, he turned, letting Qi Ji enter first.
As the boy bent to climb in, Pei held the inner edge of the door, preventing him from bumping his head.
Once Qi Ji was seated, Pei still hadn’t gotten in.
“I’ll throw this away first,” he said.
Finishing the remaining soy milk in a few sips, Pei leisurely walked to the trash, tossing the packaging with a calm ease.
After discarding it, he smiled. “It’s cold—go home and rest early.”
His tone was warm and considerate.
No one else was around; his words didn’t receive a response, yet he didn’t mind. Glancing once at the empty soy milk bag they shared, he curved his lips and turned away.
The next day at noon, Qi Ji returned home from Rose Villa. Before stepping inside, the hallway was already filled with a rich, savory aroma.
Qi Mingyu had simmered rib soup all morning; the meat fell off the bones, and the broth had turned milky white, steaming and fragrant. Even just smelling it made one’s mouth water.
Qi Ji held the largest soup bowl at home, drinking with deep satisfaction.
When his bowl was empty, Qi Mingyu refilled it. Handing it back, he suddenly asked, without preamble:
“How much of that debt is left?”
Qi Ji froze mid-sip.
Qi Mingyu’s voice was calm. “Don’t hide it from me. Even an approximate number is fine.”
Seeing how his brother had behaved the past two days, Qi Ji thought for a moment and finally answered:
“About a sixth has been repaid.”
Qi Mingyu fell silent.
His sudden question wasn’t impulsive. The man from last night had clearly stated: “Keep him employed until the debt is paid off.”
Qi Mingyu’s anger was stifled by the harsh reality.
No matter how sharp his mind, a person’s ability had limits. He couldn’t find a better solution, and seeing that man’s smiling, approachable, older-brother demeanor only fueled his frustration.
Qi Mingyu had read reports about him. He wasn’t naturally this way; the smile was a calculated tactic against him.
Pei’s cunning was deeper than Qi Mingyu expected. The effortless, manipulative charm left him powerless to act harshly.
Most importantly, he didn’t want Qi Ji caught in the middle.
But Qi Mingyu’s annoyance toward Pei Yusheng remained intense.
Since discovering him, Qi Mingyu had been openly hostile. Seeing him in person last night only intensified that.
Recalling sharing a drink with Pei, his irritation only grew.
Why had Qi Ji, usually careful to keep distance, broken that rule with this man?
Even sharing a straw.
Just then, Qi Ji called him.
“Mingyu?” Qi Ji asked curiously. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you eating?”
“Nothing.” Qi Mingyu snapped out of it and asked, “What do you want for dinner tonight?”
Qi Ji shook his head. “I won’t eat at home tonight. Yuntu has overtime.”
A vein popped on Qi Mingyu’s forehead; he suspected Pei had pulled some trick again. He opened his mouth, but Qi Ji couldn’t hide his excitement.
“Remember the dessert design I did before? The new Starsea phone just launched, and our proposal got selected! It’s being sent to headquarters for marketing. Tonight’s overtime is for this. If a few pilot cities succeed, it’ll go nationwide.”
Hearing it was work he was passionate about, Qi Mingyu remained silent.
He only asked, “Will you be back home tonight?”
“No,” Qi Ji shook his head.
Qi Mingyu frowned, but finally just added a few more ribs to his bowl. “Eat more before your overtime.”
Looking at the steaming ribs and white broth, Qi Ji felt a twinge of guilt.
Although he had afternoon overtime, he could return home after ten p.m. But Pei had just returned from a fourteen-day business trip and clearly hadn’t rested enough. Qi Ji would have to leave his brother home alone if he wanted to work diligently.
After lunch, Qi Ji went to Yuntu for overtime work.
This occupied him for nearly half a month.
At year’s end, the highly anticipated Starsea flagship phone launched, drawing wide attention. On the first day, customers lined up in major cities for the limited special color editions.
Pre-launch campaigns had lasted nearly a month. The flagship’s features were top-tier, making long lines unsurprising.
Staff in Starsea uniforms handed out snacks and drinks to waiting customers.
This wasn’t unusual—caring for customers was part of marketing—but what was special was the packaging.
Every snack and drink used Starsea’s original designs.
It surprised many.
One customer remarked, “Has Starsea’s aesthetic gone online? These cake wrappers are gorgeous.”
A friend replied, “Starsea’s taste has been online for a while. The last limited edition X9 sold out immediately; that’s why we came early today.”
“First time using a domestic phone. Didn’t expect this level of quality,” the first customer said.
At first, compliments were scattered. As hunger grew and people began eating the snacks, praise came in a chorus:
“This cake is so delicious! The milk flavor is so rich!”
“Really? Let me try.”
“The candy’s good too… tastes familiar… just like when I was a kid.”
There were multiple types of distributed snacks, and every single one received enthusiastic praise.
“The chocolate even has hazelnut pieces—it’s so satisfying.”
“What did you get? Nougat? Is it good?”
“Yes! Delicious! Just… delicious!”
It was the taste and aroma that drew in more and more customers. Once someone took a bite, others couldn’t help but join in, creating a chain reaction of delighted exclamations.
The snacks were indeed delicious, and many had skipped breakfast to stand in line, which made each bite even more satisfying. Coupled with the enthusiastic comments from everyone around, the praise for the treats grew louder and more frequent.
Some even began asking questions.
“Hey, can we get more of these after finishing?”
“The packaging is so pretty, I don’t even want to throw it away—they even have stickers on it!”
“Is this available online? I want to buy a pound of these candies right now!”
“Let’s check the manufacturer.”
Quick-fingered attendees had already found the information.
“Wonder… Miracle Foods Processing Co., Ltd.? What’s that? Never heard of it.”
“Miracle… originally Fortune Foods, makers of Yuanbao brand milk candies, chocolates, mini cakes… Yuanbao?!”
“Isn’t that the brand we used to eat all the time as kids? Oh yeah, the Yuanbao milk tablets!”
Two decades ago, Yuanbao pastries were household names across the Yangtze River Delta and famous nationwide—a staple of many childhoods.
“Yeah, I thought the company went under. Didn’t expect it to still exist.”
“Maybe SeaStar is supporting domestic brands?”
“Whether they are or not, it’s delicious! That’s what really matters. Can we still buy Yuanbao online?”
“I checked, no luck. But the SeaStar staff said there are more snacks—they’ll keep distributing them later.”
“Really?! Haha, I almost forgot I came here for the phone, now I’m just waiting for the little cakes.”
“Same here, I might line up again just for the snacks!”
Among those waiting, these thoughts weren’t uncommon. Before long, these SeaStar-branded special snacks shot straight to the top of the day’s trending lists.
Not only ordinary customers, but content creators and reviewers also amplified the phenomenon. With the SeaStar flagship phone launching on the same day, everyone was eager to release first-hand content—and these snacks became the initial viral hook.
Within a single day, “SeaStar Snacks” exploded across social media, becoming an internet sensation. Even before phone reviews, snack reviews had already started a frenzy.
This surge owed much to the long-standing reputation of the Yuanbao brand. Words like “childhood memory” and “classic domestic brand” naturally triggered widespread attention and massive traffic. Yuanbao’s decline in recent years was not due to quality, only a lack of marketing. Even while struggling, Fortune Foods had kept operations running by producing for big-name brands. Only with the SeaStar order did the decades-old brand finally return to public attention.
The story of Fortune Foods and Yuanbao pastries alone was enough to dominate social media feeds.
Meanwhile, SeaStar itself wasn’t overshadowed. Rather, it was a mutually reinforcing victory.
Another praised feature of the SeaStar snacks was their exquisitely designed packaging. The hardest thing in branding is balancing memorable brand identity with broad appeal—too large a logo looks ugly; too pretty a package and nobody remembers the brand.
This time, SeaStar struck the perfect balance. All packaging featured SeaStar’s signature visual colors, leaving a strong impression, while the design was aesthetically pleasing enough for pure enjoyment.
These packaging bags sparked a collecting craze. The snacks came in various designs, all part of a single series, and many collectors wanted the complete set. Beyond aesthetics, the packaging was highly practical—the backing material had adhesive, allowing stickers to be peeled and applied anywhere.
Originally designed for SeaStar phones, tablets, and laptops, buyers found other uses: decorating planners, keyboards, lipstick cases, even nails.
SeaStar’s phone launch was never just a smartphone event. The unexpected snack craze brought cross-industry marketing to a new level.
By the second day, not just tech reviewers, but beauty and lifestyle bloggers joined the conversation. The buzz generated more discussion, which in turn enriched the topic—creating a positive feedback loop, a textbook case of the Matthew Effect.
Because the snacks were only available in-store, many cities lacked even a large SeaStar retail presence. People interested in the treats couldn’t buy them, flooding SeaStar’s official accounts with requests. Fans suggested expanding availability, even if not sold separately, similar to other brands giving out free snacks with purchases.
After collecting public feedback, SeaStar announced: Miracle Foods had limited production capacity, so online sales of the snacks weren’t feasible yet—but during the year-end shopping festival, all online orders of SeaStar products would come with free snacks.
Half a month later, during the year-end shopping festival, SeaStar’s online sales set new records, despite flagship models not being part of any discount promotion. While new phones drove sales, the contribution of the SeaStar snacks was undeniable.
Within the industry, “SeaStar Snacks” became a case study in viral marketing success.
Qi Ji, the lead designer for the snack packaging, was thrilled. This was his first project as the primary designer. Building on previous work with tea treats, he refined the designs independently. The series’ packaging and adhesive elements were all his ideas.
Every tiny detail on the packaging was hand-drawn by Qi Ji. Initially, he didn’t expect such scale—his plan was just a small launch-day project. The headquarters’ design team refined it repeatedly, but even they didn’t foresee the massive acclaim it would receive.
Following this success, SeaStar planned flagship stores in top-tier cities, with subsequent snack designs to follow. Headquarters wanted the snack packaging to become a lasting brand memory. Qi Ji, as the designer of the first successful project, gained significant recognition.
At first, people questioned Qi Ji’s “college senior” status, but after the viral success, his internship label vanished. Though just signed to a three-party contract, his achievements already surpassed many long-time full-time employees. In tech companies, skill outweighs seniority.
Qi Ji loved SeaStar—and he was lucky that he fit perfectly with them.
As “SeaStar Snacks” went viral, construction of the Qingpu Lake campus also began. Jianghai Company officially transferred usage rights to SeaStar, and both parties were to sign agreements under the S City government’s supervision.
Qi Ji was assigned some reception duties—light work, as he was busy with design—but proper etiquette was still required, including dress.
For days, Qi Ji had fretted over clothing. Not only for welcoming headquarters visitors, but the snack project success meant he attended formal meetings and exchange sessions. Since university, he mostly wore T-shirts and hoodies, borrowing formal attire only when absolutely necessary. Casual borrowing wouldn’t suffice now.
He planned to buy clothes, but Pei Yusheng stopped him.
“Don’t you already have them at home? Business attire fits you,” Pei said. “I think your size is about right.”
Fit was perfect, but Qi Ji worried about the price. Pei’s clothes were too expensive. Even with tags removed, brand logos remained—prices Qi Ji wouldn’t even consider.
Some unbranded pieces were likely custom-made and even pricier.
Qi Ji tried to decline: “We’ll need them often; borrowing isn’t convenient…”
Pei interrupted: “No inconvenience. If you don’t wear them, they just sit there unused.”
“Really? Aren’t these your cousin’s clothes?” Qi Ji asked.
“…Yes,” Pei admitted reluctantly.
“His cousin isn’t coming soon. You don’t have time to shop, so wear these temporarily.”
Qi Ji agreed, as buying and fitting clothes properly would take too long.
The first borrowed suit, misty white, fit perfectly—so well he was pleasantly surprised. The suit looked sharp, suitable for formal occasions. Qi Ji thought of asking Pei if his cousin didn’t like it, so he could buy it for himself.
But both were busy, and the next day, the suit disappeared, replaced by a blue-gray denim jacket and Martin boots. Qi Ji didn’t want to borrow so many outfits, but Pei said: “The white suit is at the dry cleaners; wear this for now.”
A day later, the dry-cleaned suit still wasn’t back, and Qi Ji was dressed head-to-toe in brand-new clothes. The daily changeover made his plan to buy a set of clothes impossible. Even when he suggested buying his own, Pei said there were too many clothes belonging to his cousin, and he didn’t track which were cleaned or returned.
Every morning, Pei handed him a new outfit. Frequent meetings meant no one doubted the gap between Qi Ji’s own financial means and the clothing’s cost.
On the day SeaStar executives visited S City, Qi Ji received a completely new outfit early in the morning.
“Important people to meet today,” Pei explained. It wasn’t formal wear, just a loose drawstring windbreaker with white cropped pants. Qi Ji hadn’t worn this casual style before and didn’t know how it looked.
When he emerged in the outfit, Pei’s gaze lingered, silent, making Qi Ji uneasy.
“Mr. Pei? Is it… strange?” he asked.
Pei rubbed his upper lip, staring a moment longer before saying: “Not strange.”
Pei’s thought was simple—he didn’t want others seeing Qi Ji in the new clothes yet.
Qi Ji, observing the frequent outfit changes, had a strange feeling… he felt like a model.
Despite the outward appearance, Pei seemed childlike at heart—fond of toys, cartoon pajamas, and dress-up games. Previously, this only applied at night; now it extended to daytime.
The thought intensified when Pei approached to tie a matching scarf. Qi Ji couldn’t help asking: “Mr. Pei… are you interested in fashion?”
Zong Lin, Pei’s stylist, overheard from upstairs.
He couldn’t help sniping: “Interested? Ha.”
“Critiquing a Cartier watch worth forty million for being hard to read, running in handmade calfskin shoes across a salty beach, tossing aside high fashion to make room for a room full of pajamas, still plush ones. This guy? Nine-dollar T-shirts and flip-flops suit him.”
Qi Ji was stunned.
Zong Lin then noticed Qi Ji’s outfit—the new windbreaker he had styled first that morning—and apologized to Pei: “Sorry, Second Young Master, I take back what I said about him being a straight man.”