The life of a freelancer is actually not free at all. Working for a company comes with labor law protections—five days a week, eight hours a day, overtime paid separately, though unscrupulous bosses are another story. Regardless, there are clear regulations for working hours.

Freelancers don't have fixed schedules, life and work are completely intertwined. Sleeping in late, working late into the night, skipping sleep altogether, or doing absolutely nothing—the choice is yours, as long as you can live with yourself. Without external supervision, everything is self-planned, and establishing a work rhythm is incredibly challenging. To make a living and overcome the underlying anxiety, for many, freelancing means working 24/7, 365 days a year.

Before choosing freelancing, Zhou Zhi thought she had considerable self-discipline. However, after writing full-time, she realized self-discipline is a scarce resource—far rarer than intelligence or wealth.

Once writing became her freelance career, Zhou Zhi felt she had even less time. Writing isn't just about churning out paragraphs, it encompasses the entire process, from brainstorming initial ideas and developing them into rough outlines to conducting extensive research and handling various non-writing tasks. Especially when an author tries to portray professions and backgrounds realistically in a novel, the time required multiplies. During such times, she felt rooted to her desk, as if her butt had sprouted roots in the chair.

Fortunately, she had a dog. Usually walked twice a day, whether she felt like it or not—the dog would walk her.

However, pets often resemble their owners. Unlike other dogs with restless hearts, Gang Kai had his own considerations. He only went out when he wanted to. If he didn't, no amount of coaxing, threatening, or dragging would change his mind, he simply wouldn't go. Even if dragged out, he could escape halfway back home—boasting the peak intelligence of an eight-year-old child combined with a dog's natural instincts.

In early March, spring in Shencheng alternated between overcast and rainy days. Zhou Zhi was too lazy to go out and hoped for rain every day. Finally, drip-drop, pitter-patter—the rain came. Pretending to be regretful, she said to Gang Kai, who sat wagging his tail in front of her, demanding to go out, "It's raining outside, not good to go out. Your fur will get wet, turning you from a handsome dog into a drowned rat. Do you want to become a rat?"

Gang Kai: "Woof!"

"I knew you wouldn't. You're too vain for that. Most importantly, we just gave you a bath two days ago. Going out in the rain means another bath. Do you want a bath?"

Gang Kai bared his teeth. As a dog who would hide and sulk at the mere thought of an impending bath, Gang Kai utterly despised bathing.

Stroking his chin to soothe him and about to say more comforting words, Fang Jiang's voice call invitation came through.

Zhou Zhi didn't answer immediately, she was a bit puzzled.

Ever since thanking Fang Jiang for the PPT matter that day, Fang Jiang had become active on her social media feed—often liking her posts, leaving a comment or two, and frequently praising her dog, as if they were close friends. Occasionally, she'd send a message or two, usually unedited photos of herself with other celebrities.

Each time, Zhou Zhi would ask: Who's that next to you?

At first, Fang Jiang would retort: You don't know XXX?

Later, she found out that Zhou Zhi knew nothing about the various popular young starlets in recent years. Photos were sent, and the conversation continued. Zhou Zhi had a strange feeling: it seemed Fang Jiang quite enjoyed the process of telling her who those people in the photos were, offering a brief introduction along with a hint or two of restrained gossip.

What exactly was she trying to do?

Fang Jiang always left her puzzled, just like this voice call invitation.

Before the system defaulted to no answer, Zhou Zhi picked up the call.

On the other end of the phone, the voice was cheerful and casual. "What are you doing? Why did it take you so long to answer?"

Zhou Zhi stroked Gang Kai and said, "I'm reasoning with Gang Kai, explaining why we can't go out when it's raining."

Such an ordinary sentence made Fang Jiang laugh for quite a while. "Can Gang Kai understand your reasoning?"

"Of course, just takes a bit more explaining."

Zhou Zhi only thought the big star had a low threshold for laughter and didn't ask what she wanted. A brief silence fell over the call.

The big star said, "It's always me reaching out to you. Don't you... have anything to say in return?"

Zhou Zhi's heartbeat skipped half a beat. If this were a script, the line would be quite ambiguous. She slowed her tone and asked leisurely, "What do you mean?"

"Of course, the PPT! I made a PPT for you, you know. I put more effort into this one than my graduation defense."

Patting her chest, which had momentarily stopped before racing wildly, Zhou Zhi said, "Hey, I think I made a PPT for you first."

"I treated you to a meal, alright?"

"That counts?" The meal came before the PPT. Can two meals count as one?

"Why wouldn't it? As a matter of courtesy, you should treat me back. It's almost noon—think about what you're going to treat me to."

So the big star contacted her just to get a meal out of her?

If someone actively asked for a meal, most people would naturally ask what the other person wanted to eat. After all, it's just a meal, and the person in question is a big star.

But not Zhou Zhi. The moment she thought about the various hassles, taboos, and potential consequences of a celebrity eating out, she felt annoyed. So she bluntly said, "I can't afford it, I can't afford it."

Fang Jiang could hardly believe her ears. Someone actually refused to treat her to a meal. "What did you say? Am I asking to eat gold or dragons or dolphins? You're a 'da-da (big shot)' after all—how can you not afford a single meal?"

"What da-da? I'm an obscure nobody. Think about it—you're a big star. To match your status, we'd have to go to a private kitchen or someplace with a private room, right? At least 500 per person, right? And you said yourself I don't make money from writing. I can't afford something that fancy." Zhou Zhi shook her head.

"How can you say that? You... you're so stingy! Cheapskate!"

"I'm just being realistic. In life, the most important thing is not to pretend to be something you're not. Do you expect me to follow some novel trope and take you to a street stall? Calling it 'life in another place'? Ms. Meng would probably ki.ll me. Besides, I don't like street food either. At regular restaurants, people would recognize you, want to take photos with you, and stare at you the whole time. Could you even eat under those conditions?"

"Bulsh.it, all excuses. You're just stingy, tight-fisted, a regular Scrooge!"

She must be really angry to even say "Bulsh.it." Zhou Zhi suppressed a laugh. "If you eat breakfast, I could treat you to that."

"Breakfast? You wouldn't take me for fried dough sticks and soy milk, would you? You cheapskate."

"At the very least, it'd be pan-fried buns-level."

"Pfft!"

"Two McDonald's breakfast sets with two hash browns should do it."

"How can there be someone as stingy as you in this world? Give me back my kiwifruit!"

"Already digested. Hey, do your fans know their big celebrity is the type who asks for gifts back after giving them?"

"Do your readers know their favorite author is a cheapskate?"

"Of course, life is tough these days."

"You!" Fang Jiang wished she could drag the person before her and roughly rub her bald head. "Come out, I'll send a driver to pick you up."

Zhou Zhi thought Fang Jiang would hang up, but unexpectedly the situation took a turn and she was asked to go out. "Go out for what?"

"To eat, my treat, alright?"

"Then I'd be too embarrassed."

"It's just a meal, just adding an extra pair of chopsticks."

"No, I'm socially awkward."

Fang Jiang finally understood why some people liked using profanity—sometimes only swear words could fully express certain feelings. "Are you fucking kidding me? 'socially awkward'? Last time, which socially awkward person kept making sarcastic remarks the moment they saw me? Hurry up and change clothes, I have something to ask you later."

"What is it?" Zhou Zhi didn't want to go out. Eating with a big star felt so awkward, like they were close friends. She only went on impromptu outings with old classmates and close friends.

"I'm hungry, I'm starving to death. Quickly send me your location." Not giving Zhou Zhi a chance to refuse, Fang Jiang ended the conversation.

What to eat? Fang Jiang wondered. With that bald head like a nun, she probably eats grass.

Zhou Zhi tossed a lamb bone snack to Gang Kai, grabbed a small umbrella, and went to the entrance of her residential compound to find Fang Jiang's car—a black Audi A8 parked boldly at the gate.

She hadn't paid attention when receiving the WeChat message, but upon seeing the car, Zhou Zhi found it somewhat familiar. Audis were common near her home, but A8s were rare. Those four rings instantly brought back memories of Spring Festival: the convenience store on a cold night, the woman in sheep's clothing, the scatterbrained FamilyMart clerk, plus her own momentary lapse—straight out of a Haruki Murakami novel.

The driver took Zhou Zhi to the building where Fang Jiang Studio was located. Song Yuan met her in the underground parking garage and escorted her up to the 48th floor where the studio was situated. Fang Jiang had only told her to order food and pick someone up, without mentioning who it was. When Song Yuan saw Zhou Zhi, her jaw nearly dropped.

Noticing her full of questions, Zhou Zhi shrugged: "Don't ask me, I don't know the reason either."

Song Yuan rephrased her question. "Have you been chatting with Teacher Fang all along?"

"Just liking-each-other's-posts acquaintances."

"Author, don't you think this plot seems familiar?" It was a common trope in Girls' Love novels—a Best Actress and an ordinary person meeting by chance, thus beginning an inseparable fate.

"Best Actress story?"

"Yes."

"Too bad your Teacher Fang isn't a Best Actress."

When the elevator reached the 48th floor, Zhou Zhi didn't immediately step out. Patting Song Yuan's shoulder, she said: "Fiction is fiction, reality is reality. Don't let your imagination run wild and make your boss unhappy. Your job is what matters most." She wrote novels, but never fantasized about people she encountered in real life. As she put it, too much imagination makes it impossible to interact normally. Besides, the way she met Fang Jiang was dramatic enough—if she let her imagination run wild, how could she even eat this meal?

During their second formal meeting, Zhou Zhi remained awkward. Fang Jiang raised her hand, unconsciously waved it a few times, then pointed to the sofa, indicating Zhou Zhi could sit wherever she wanted.

"Aren't you hot? Still wearing a hat." Fang Jiang's original intention was to touch the bald head, but she immediately felt it was inappropriate as her hand rose.

Zhou Zhi took off her coat. "It's fine, I'm used to wearing it. If I didn't, I'm afraid you'd laugh so hard you couldn't eat."

Fang Jiang really did laugh. "In your dreams. I've gotten hungry waiting for you—let's eat first."

On the coffee table in front of the sofa were steaming hot stir-fried dishes fresh from the wok, with white rice served in beautiful porcelain bowls. Zhou Zhi's bowl was more than half full, while Fang Jiang's portion was just a few mouthfuls.

Fang Jiang had been watching Zhou Zhi's expression closely—just like last time, she seemed awkward and uneasy. That was, until her eyes lit up at the sight of the dishes on the table. It wasn't what she had expected at all.

Stir-fried artemisia selengensis with dried tofu, sautéed broad beans, braised bamboo shoots, and scrambled eggs with Chinese toon—all seasonal delicacies, but not a single meat dish. The only hint of meat was in the soup—pork ribs with Chinese yam.

Fang Jiang had intentionally avoided ordering meat dishes, thinking that if Zhou Zhi showed even the slightest dissatisfaction, she could tease her for being a nun who only ate vegetarian food. Who would have thought Zhou Zhi would look as though this was exactly what she wanted—and it didn't seem fake. Seeing the timid yet bright glimmer of delight in her eyes, Fang Jiang couldn't help but curl the corners of her lips, her tone softening.

"I have to watch my diet—less oil and salt. If you find it too bland, I'll treat you to something else next time."

Author's note: Ah, I really want to eat artemisia selengensis~~

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