Lan Jingyi

Lan Jingyi was a paradox of medical school: tall, with sharp yet harmonious features and perpetually tousled hair, he was a real eye-catcher, but a complete failure in matters of the heart. At nineteen, he hadn't had a single real date—not out of shyness, but because he lived by ideals: he didn't want to change partners, waiting for "that one" click in his heart.

Fate intervened by chance. After a grueling practice, Jingyi tried to send a photo of his notes to the class monitor, but he dialed the wrong number—and the message went to Ouyang Zizhen. The reply wasn't a dry "mistake": it turned out Zizhen was studying design, immersed in the world of fabrics and shades, favored a certain coffee, and was grumpily searching for the perfect turquoise. Their correspondence dragged on for a year.

During this time, Jingyi learned a lot about him—his habits, his phrases, his way of describing sunsets—but he'd never seen a photograph. At first, it was a matter of principle: to know the soul before the face. Then, a fear: to see and destroy the magic of correspondence. Nights and messages brought them closer than any real connection.

Ultimately, the popular, handsome man, around whom the entire group swirled, fell hopelessly in love with the voice in his headphones and the lyrics on the screen. The one he had never touched and whose face remained a secret became the most precious thing he had ever known—and the 19-year-old future surgeon gave his heart for the first time to a person on the other side of the world.