Ethan Gray gently took the spirit-infusion glass vessel from Blanche's hands and set it on the coffee table. "Come on, enough with the snacks. Let's head to the dining room. Dinner is served.""Hee-hee-hee," Blanche let out a series of forced, nervous giggles, standing rooted to the spot. "Mister, are you sure? This doesn't seem... right proper, does it?"Seeing her act like a demure little bride was almost too much for Ethan. He had to suppress a laugh as he gently steered her toward the dining table. "What's not proper about it? We slaved away in the kitchen together. I can't finish all this by myself, so consider it a favor to me. You're helping me out."As he nudged her into her seat, a massive bowl of chilled savory noodles appeared before her. It was a masterpiece of presentation: three large, scarlet-fried shrimp were laid out in a perfect row, flanked by thin, tender slices of beef. The bowl was practically overflowing with treasures.The sight was a dire

Ethan Gray had a new title.The nickname Boss Gray had spread through the Little Red Pony Academy with the speed of a seasonal flu. According to his "internal intelligence"—which usually consisted of overheard playground gossip—the source was none other than Blanche. It followed the same pattern as his previous moniker, Dark as a Barrow, which the little girl had coined in secret when Ethan had inadvertently blocked her path during a particularly intense game with Millie.The "Barrow" name was born out of spite; Boss Gray was born out of a bowl of savory cold noodles. Despite the entire student body knowing she was the architect of these titles—she was, after all, the only child who spoke in that distinctive, rhythmic Fourrivers dialect—Blanche remained a master of the tactical denial. Even after she and Ethan had mended fences and shared a meal, she refused to take credit. When asked, she would simply tilt her head, her face a mask of wide-eyed, "g

As the clock struck five at Riverport Film Studios, Ethan Gray was tidying his desk, ready to trade the hum of the air conditioner for the evening air. He had just reached for his coat when Roman Rowan hurried into the room, looking slightly frazzled."Oh, you're still here. Good," Roman said, leaning against the doorframe to catch his breath. "I wanted to catch you before you bolted. You saw the email about the payroll, right? Everything in order?"Ethan nodded. "I saw it. More than in order—it was a pleasant surprise.""Good, good," Roman replied, his mind already half out the door. "Listen, I sent you a few supplemental files over WeChat. They're background materials for the third episode's world-building. Don't worry about them tonight; you've got plenty of time. Just have a look when you're back at your desk on Monday."He paused as David Hartley, a production assistant, poked his head in, saw the two of them in a serious conversation, and immediately

It was Saturday morning, and even though the alarm hadn't gone off at seven, Ethan Gray stirred awake naturally, his internal clock kicking in like clockwork. Outside his window, the cicadas in the mulberry tree were already buzzing away, their chorus a sure sign that the day would be bright and sunny, the kind that painted Riverport in golden hues.After splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth, Ethan slipped into his shorts and a lightweight T-shirt, perfect for a quick workout. He stepped out into the courtyard, the cool morning air nipping at his skin, carrying faint scents of blooming golden osmanthus from nearby gardens. The courtyard was a quiet oasis amid the urban sprawl, with dew-kissed grass underfoot and the distant hum of the city starting to rev up. He jogged ten laps around the perimeter, his breaths steady and rhythmic, feeling the burn in his legs as he pushed through the last few circuits. It was his way of shaking off the week's cobwebs, clearing hi

"Blanche! For the love of—!" Ethan Gray shouted, instinctively covering his eyes as if he'd stumbled into a crime scene."Present!" Blanche replied, her voice crisp and entirely too cheerful. She didn't seem to register the sheer panic in Ethan's voice. "What's the matter, Mister? You look like you saw a barrow-wight.""Where are your clothes?" Ethan demanded through his fingers."My clothes?" she echoed, as if he were asking about the whereabouts of a random pebble."Yes! Your shirt! Your dignity!""Took 'em off," she said matter-of-factly."Why? Put them back on this instant!""They're dirty!" she shouted back, her voice echoing in the hallway. "They were all yucky, so I did a scrubby-dub. They're wet now!"Blanche stood there with a terrifying amount of toddler arrogance, her small, rounded belly protruding like a ripened melon, completely shirtless and seemingly proud of it. She paced back and forth in front of him, her tiny bare che