She turned to find the dog's owner jogging up behind it, fixing the leash short before straightening to meet her eyes properly.
"My apologies, Ms. Ding. It seems my dog disturbed your afternoon again." Same flat tone, same surprisingly sincere apology underneath it.
"It's fine, really. He's too cute for anyone to be mad at." She crouched to scratch behind Arthur's ears and chin, only half-registering the inappropriateness of chatting this comfortably in public with a man who definitely wasn't supposed to be photographed standing next to her.
She'd just opened her mouth to politely excuse herself when police sirens tore through the street, loud enough that Arthur barked and lunged, forcing Luo Yang to haul the leash short to keep him from bolting into traffic.
"Coming through! Make way!" Officers fanned out, pushing the gathered crowd back from whatever they'd been clustered around.
Ding Jia spotted a gap and slipped through it before Luo Yang could finish saying, "Wait, I wouldn't—"
She made it to the front of the crowd, fixed her cap and mask, and looked down.
Time seemed to stop.
There, surrounded by officers, lay a lifeless body — and the face, even slack and lifeless, was unmistakable. Everyone watching was definitely feeling the horror, pity and fear as they witnessed a dead body.
But it was different for her. The same woman. The same bloodied figure who'd stared her down outside her own front door the other day, except now horrifyingly, undeniably real, her body marked by however long she'd been left undiscovered.
So she hadn't imagined it. She hadn't imagined any of it. The dog wasn't hallucinating either.
A hand closed firmly around her arm before she fully registered being touched, pulling her back through the crowd.
"Forgive my rudeness, Ms. Ding, but whatever your reason for wanting a closer look, I doubt staring at a body is good preparation for your role." Luo Yang's voice was quiet enough that no one nearby caught it, though the disapproval in it was unmistakable.
She didn't argue. She couldn't. Her mind was still circling the same fact over and over, unable to land anywhere else. He noticed her trembling the entire walk back to their building, his grip on her wrist never once loosening.
The moment they reached their floor, her legs simply stopped working. He caught her before she hit the ground, his free hand bracing her against the wall.
"Are you alright, Ms. Ding?"
She didn't answer. Her skin had gone noticeably colder under his hand, too cold for a warm afternoon, and clearly not something he was willing to chalk up to a passing chill. He made a decision and steered her into his apartment instead of hers, settling her onto the sofa while Arthur immediately climbed up to press against her side, offering comfort the only way he knew how.
By the time Luo Yang returned with a glass of warm water, she'd surfaced enough to realize whose apartment she was actually sitting in.
"Thanks. Sorry, Mr. Shen. I didn't mean to intrude." She drank the entire glass in one go and started to stand, only for a hand to appear in front of her, blocking the motion.
She looked up, hazel eyes meeting crimson.
"Luo Yang," he said simply.
"...Sorry?"
"Call me Luo Yang. Not Mr. Shen. That name's for work." He was weirdly strict about the names.
"Then, Luo Yang, please, call me Ding Jia as well." She extended her hand properly this time, and he shook it briefly before taking back the empty glass.
"You're still pale. Stay for dinner. I already cooked earlier. Reheated food still counts as dinner, doesn't it?" He was already moving toward the kitchen before she could decline, and somehow managed to have everything plated within three minutes.
She stared at the dish in front of her. Glazed meat and vegetables, glistening with a sauce that smelled far better than anything currently sitting in her own fridge.
If Lin Lin never finds out, she reasoned, this absolutely doesn't count.
And so, against every dietary rule her manager had imposed on her, Ding Jia surrendered completely to the meal in front of her.