Love on a Time Limit - Chapter 1

At two in the afternoon, the bright summer sunlight streamed through the glass, illuminating the blooming roses in the greenhouse. Their vibrant colors seemed to melt into the air, their rich fragrance permeating the space.

An embroidered cushion adorned with golden tassels lay discarded on the Persian rug, while the cream-colored vintage European-style sofa sat slightly askew—as if its occupant had risen in too much of a hurry, accidentally knocking it out of place.

The room exuded a warm, lazy comfort, missing only a little princess to gently inhale the fragrance of the blossoming petals.

—The “princess” was currently touching up her makeup.

Her dreamy pink princess dress spilled over, pooling onto the floor. Her sweet features twisted into a petulant scowl, revealing a hint of spoiled arrogance. The makeup artist attending to her had no choice but to tread carefully, silently cursing their bad luck.

A crew member standing far outside the shooting area glanced over, shook their head, and walked away.

That one was truly hard to please.

The semi-open tea lounge had a pleasant atmosphere, and the assistant crew member finally relaxed as they brewed themselves a cup of tea. Working for the “Moon Tide” studio paid well, but the jobs were notoriously difficult.

Take this one, for example—the model they’d hired was a rising star who had taken the domestic fashion scene by storm.

Big reputation, even bigger attitude. It was exhausting.

Before they could finish half their tea, a makeup assistant walked in, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

“You done already?”

“Hardly,” the makeup assistant grumbled, pouring themselves a glass of water. “It’s all up to Her Highness whether we get to rest or not.”

The crew member gave a wry smile. “Business hasn’t been great these past couple of years. Nothing’s booming. Landing a big project like this isn’t easy.”

The makeup assistant frowned, frustration bubbling over. “If it weren’t for that… but she’s just impossible!”

“Shh,” the crew member cut them off, then changed the subject. “How’s your team’s performance this quarter?”

“Way down,” the makeup assistant sighed. “This Moon Tide shoot is the biggest job we’ve landed all season.”

The crew member seemed at a loss for words, offering only a weak consolation. “Look on the bright side—at least we got to see Song Ming this time. I didn’t expect this series to bring her in. It’s my first time seeing her up close.”

The makeup assistant’s eyes lit up. “Same here. She’s stunning—tiny waist, long legs, like she stepped out of a painting. I wouldn’t even dare Photoshop someone like that. Everyone calls her ‘Teacher Song Ming.’ I don’t know much about photography, but there probably aren’t many photographers in the country who can compare to her. Even though her techniques don’t seem particularly special, her shots just have this… different quality. No wonder the Moon Tide boss keeps her as their treasure photographer.”

The crew member grew curious. “You’ve interacted with her more—what’s she like?”

The makeup assistant’s earlier frustration vanished, replaced by excitement. “She’s really nice. Doesn’t talk much, but easy to get along with. Even if she disagrees with something, she never loses her temper. It’s like…”

Here, the makeup assistant blushed slightly. “She just gives off this vibe of being really indulgent…”

The crew member’s eyes sparkled. “Do tell.”

“Oh, it’s still that spoiled rich girl,” the makeup assistant grumbled about today’s model, her frustration evident. “This morning when I was applying her base makeup, she was dissatisfied with everything, insisting my technique was wrong and the foundation wasn’t smooth enough. My mentor ended up scolding me in front of everyone. So many people were around, but only Teacher Song Ming noticed I was upset. Later, she deliberately found a quiet moment to comfort me and even bought me coffee.”

The makeup assistant blushed slightly as she spoke, and the production assistant instantly empathized, clasping her cheeks and murmuring, “She really knows how to pamper people.”

Meanwhile, the “pampering” treasure of a photographer, Song Ming, was dozing in a bamboo-woven armchair, a black fisherman’s hat covering her face, obscuring those breathtaking features. Her long legs, clad in cargo pants, were casually half-curled beneath her.

Suddenly, the set erupted into noise—something had happened.

The commotion reached the corner where Song Ming was resting, causing the wide brim of her hat to tilt slightly.

Beneath the hat, Song Ming sighed. A slender, well-defined hand lazily lifted the hat away, and after a brief delay, her eyes slowly opened. Light refracted in her irises as her gray-green pupils shifted toward the source of the disturbance.

With Southern European mixed heritage, her jet-black hair gleamed like ebony in the sunlight. A slight turn of her head cast shadows from her long, thick lashes across the bridge of her nose.

Her gaze swept over the scene, landing on the new-generation model Ruan Jinjin, who stood with her arms crossed in front of a group of staff. On camera, she appeared fragile and delicate, like a crystal doll, but now her sharp chin was raised arrogantly, her expression aggressive.

“My afternoon tea is never supposed to have sugar! What’s wrong with your staff? Don’t they know my preferences? My sugar intake is way over the limit today—all because of your people!”

The site manager hurriedly apologized, “So sorry, Miss Ruan! We truly didn’t expect this to happen. It was indeed our staff’s oversight.”

“I don’t want apologies! I want a solution!”

Judging by her stance, Ruan Jinjin wasn’t going to back down anytime soon. Song Ming gave up on napping, flicking her wrist to toss the hat aside before propping her head up, watching Ruan Jinjin’s relentless tirade with mild amusement.

“Well, it was our staff’s mistake,” the manager conceded carefully. “But… each artist has different dietary habits, and our team has a heavy workload. Miss Ruan, you could’ve checked first before deciding whether to eat it. Our staff would’ve been happy to adjust it for you at any time.”

“What are you implying? After working all day, am I supposed to waste energy on trivial things like this?” Ruan Jinjin’s voice turned shrill. “Afternoon tea is one of my few breaks, and now it’s just another hassle!”

The commotion drew the attention of the event organizer’s representative.

This promotional series had only hired five models, and Ruan Jinjin was the one whose aura best matched the product. The designer had personally chosen her to represent the flagship item in the collection.

If Ruan Jinjin wasn’t appeased and ended up throwing a tantrum that affected the shoot, the organizer’s rep would have a hard time explaining things to both sides.

A botched afternoon tea was nothing in the rep’s eyes—as long as Ruan Jinjin calmed down, any solution would do.

Meanwhile, the young staffer who had mistakenly ordered the wrong tea stood frozen, on the verge of tears, realizing she might lose her job over this tiny mistake.

Song Ming’s gaze swept indifferently over the group at the center of the dispute, lingering for a few seconds on the little girl’s reddened eyes. How tedious, she thought to herself.

“Hasn’t it started yet?” Song Ming stood up, cutting off the conversation between the others.

Ruan Jinjin, the venue manager, and the event organizer’s representative paused mid-sentence, all turning to look at Song Ming.

“Equipment, venue,” Song Ming shoved her hands into her pockets and asked absentmindedly, “Are these still not ready?”

“Almost there, almost there,” the organizer’s representative snapped out of it, suddenly realizing who they’d been neglecting, and hurriedly tried to make amends. “Apologies, Teacher Song, we’ll be ready right away.”

As he spoke, the representative turned to rally the others, urging the staff to quickly tidy up the filming location.

“Don’t miss the lighting I want,” Song Ming added nonchalantly.

“Of course, of course, rest assured,” the representative called back amidst the bustle, offering an apologetic smile.

Song Ming gave a half-hearted nod and leaned against the wall, lighting a slender cigarette. The smoke curled hazily around her gray-green eyes, brushing softly against her lashes before dissipating soundlessly.

The clamor of the venue didn’t touch her in the slightest; her innate air of tranquility set her apart from the crowd.

Song Ming was tall, her frame more expansive than most girls’. A heavy-looking motorcycle jacket weighed down her gray crewneck, revealing a long, pale neck and the sharp jut of her collarbone. The soft skin dipped into a hollow where the fabric barely concealed a hint of warmth and allure.

The little girl, who had narrowly escaped trouble, timidly approached to thank her. She glanced up at Song Ming and, before she knew it, blushed.

Song Ming tilted her head slightly, taking in the girl’s smooth, rounded features.

“It’s nothing,” Song Ming said casually, patting the girl’s head. “Go play outside.”