Title: The Echo of Ink and Rain
Prologue: The Meeting
The rain in Shanghai didn’t just fall; it reclaimed the city. Wei Wei stood under the narrow awning of a bookstore, clutching a damp manuscript to her chest like it was a shield. She was five minutes late for a meeting that could change her life, and her umbrella had just surrendered to a gust of wind.
Then, a black umbrella tilted into her field of vision.
"You're going to ruin the ink," a calm, melodic voice said.
She looked up. The man holding the umbrella was dressed in a charcoal overcoat that looked far too expensive for a Tuesday afternoon. His eyes were sharp, yet there was a softness in the way he tilted the shade toward her, leaving his own shoulder to get drenched.
"I'm Yan Yan," he said, noticing the name on her folder. "And I believe you’re looking for me."
Chapter 1: The Cold Architect
Yan Yan was known in the architectural world as "The Iceman." His designs were brilliant—all glass, steel, and calculated precision—but they lacked warmth. His father, the CEO of Yan Group, had sent him to this meeting not to buy a book, but to scout a storyteller. They needed a narrative for their new heritage project, and Wei Wei’s blog on "The Soul of Old Streets" had caught their eye.
Inside the cafe, Wei Wei tried to stop her hands from shaking. She was a freelance writer living in a studio apartment that smelled of jasmine tea and overdue bills.
"Your writing is... emotional," Yan Yan said, sipping an espresso. He made it sound like a mild critique.
"Architecture without emotion is just a pile of expensive rocks, Mr. Yan," Wei Wei countered, her spirit returning as she dried her glasses.
Yan Yan paused, the cup halfway to his lips. He looked at her—really looked at her—noticing the stubborn set of her jaw and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about history. For the first time in years, something in his chest felt less like steel and more like a heartbeat.
"Prove it," he challenged, leaning in. "Work with me on the North District project. Show me the 'soul' you keep writing about. If you succeed, I’ll fund your library project."
Wei Wei reached out her hand. "Deal. But don't complain when I make you walk through the mud to find the real stories."
Yan Yan took her hand. Her skin was warm, a startling contrast to the rain-chilled air. "I look forward to it, Wei Wei."
