Qiu Yingying is reborn and bound to a learning system.

London winters are always shrouded in a thin mist that drifts across the Thames and gently covers the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse riverfront mansions.

This house, with its expansive view, understated yet exquisite decor, is a private property that Meng Yanchen rarely mentions to the public. It is spacious, quiet, and exudes a sense of aloof sophistication.

But ever since Qiu Yingying arrived, the place has been filled with the aroma of cooking, the smell of food, and the soft sounds of laughter.

Today, Qiu Yingying is no longer the stumbling young girl she once was in Shanghai. She started as a food blogger, gradually building her popularity with authentic, heartwarming, and down-to-earth content. Later, she simply started her own business, opening a live-streaming company.

From content planning and supply chain selection to team management and business coordination, she excelled in everything she did. The company was small, but it had an excellent reputation, and she transformed from an ordinary girl into a bright, determined, and capable entrepreneur.

But in front of Meng Yanchen, she was still Qiu Yingying, who could laugh, make a fuss, rely on him, and stand shoulder to shoulder with him.

This was the first time they had ever spent the Lunar New Year quietly in a foreign country.

There were no social obligations, no rules, and no one else around.

It was just the two of them, and the whole room was filled with tranquility and gentleness.

On New Year's Eve, Qiu Yingying rushed into the kitchen as soon as she opened her eyes.

The open kitchen was spacious and bright, and fully equipped with kitchen utensils. She had prepared all the ingredients the day before.

She wore a beige apron, her long hair loosely tied back, revealing her slender and clean neck.

Her knife skills were swift and precise, her cooking precise and effortless; every gesture exuded expertise and confidence. Meng Yanchen leaned against the island counter, quietly watching her, his gaze so tender it could melt hearts.

"If you keep staring at me like that, I'm really going to get distracted." Qiu Yingying turned around and smiled, her eyes curving into crescent moons.

Meng Yanchen stepped forward and discreetly tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

As his fingertips gently brushed against her earlobe, Qiu Yingying's ear instantly felt warm.

"I won't bother you," he said in a low voice, "I'll stay with you."

She stopped chasing him away and let him stand beside her as they busied themselves preparing the New Year's Eve dinner together.

Steamed sea bass, garlic vermicelli shrimp, braised chicken with chestnuts, four-happiness dumplings, brown sugar glutinous rice lotus root... one after another, the dishes of the New Year are served, steaming hot and fragrant.

She casually started a short live stream to wish her fans a Happy New Year. The chat was filled with envy and blessings, and she even gave out 20 yuan in red envelopes to her fans, genuinely making them happy. Meng Yanchen quietly helped her adjust the lighting, hold her phone, and straighten her clothes, being her most silent and reliable support.

By the time the food was served, it was already late at night outside the window, and the lights of the Thames River covered its surface.

The two sat facing each other, without saying much, only sharing the warmth of the table and the undisguised excitement in each other's eyes.

Qiu Yingying picked up a piece of deboned fish and handed it to him: "Eat quickly, may you have abundance every year."

Meng Yanchen ate, looked at her, and said softly, "With you here, anywhere is home."

Her heart softened, and she reached out and placed her hand on the back of his hand.

Meng Yanchen flipped his palm over, his fingertips wedging into hers, their fingers intertwined tightly.

The warmth of her palm seeped in little by little, making her heart tremble.

After dinner, they laid out a carpet in front of the French windows and sat together to watch the Henan Spring Festival Gala broadcast.

The signal was a bit unstable, and the video occasionally stuttered, but it didn't affect the atmosphere at all. Qiu Yingying nestled in Meng Yanchen's arms, a cashmere blanket covering her lap. The light, soft scent of his wool enveloped her, making her feel so peaceful and sleepy.

Meng Yanchen's arm gently encircled her waist, neither too tight nor too loose, just enough to protect her in his embrace.

His fingertips occasionally brushed lightly against her side, like a feather, making her feel weak all over.

As midnight struck, fireworks exploded in the distant sky.

Colorful light shone on the French windows, and Qiu Yingying sat up in surprise, pointing out the window and laughing.

Meng Yanchen didn't watch the fireworks; his gaze remained fixed on her face the entire time.

He took out a small velvet box from his pocket, opened it, and inside was a thin chain with a tiny moon pendant.

Before Qiu Yingying could react, he had already leaned down slightly and approached the back of her neck.

My fingertips brushed against her skin unintentionally, a fleeting coolness followed by an even deeper heat.

Happy New Year, Yingying.

He pressed his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling and merging.

They were so close they could count his eyelashes, so close they could hear each other's heartbeats faltering.

Qiu Yingying closed her eyes and softly hummed in agreement.

The next second, Meng Yanchen's thumb brushed against the corner of her lips very slowly and lightly.

It wasn't a kiss, but it made me more uneasy than any kiss.

"I want to hold you like this forever," he whispered.

She snuggled closer to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and buried her face in his chest: "Me too."

Fireworks lit up the sky outside the window, while the lights inside the house shone softly.

They embraced, sharing a New Year that belonged only to each other on a winter night in a foreign land.

For the next few days, they strolled leisurely through the streets of London like any couple deeply in love.

Hand in hand, we stroll along the stone-paved road, browse for small porcelain bowls at the vintage market, feed pigeons in the park, and spend an afternoon sitting by the window in a coffee shop.

Meng Yanchen would put her hand in his coat pocket and hold it tightly; he would subtly protect her on the inside when crossing the street; and he would gently smile when she smiled.

Every little gesture reveals boundless tenderness.

What was supposed to be a relaxing trip turned into a nightmare when a visit to the British Museum shattered all the joy and relaxation.

The smile on Qiu Yingying's face gradually disappeared the moment she stepped into the Chinese exhibition area.

Shang and Zhou bronzes, Tang and Song porcelains, Dunhuang murals, Buddhist statues...

These treasures, which should have been kept in their homeland, are now being cut up, looted, and displayed in glass cases in foreign countries, where they are casually examined, pointed at, and photographed by strangers.

She stood in front of the display case, her fingertips pressed tightly against the cold glass, her eyes gradually reddening.

"These are all things from our country, right?"

Meng Yanchen's face was cold and stern as he gripped her hand tightly: "Yes."

"They should be at home..." Qiu Yingying's voice trembled. "Why did they steal our treasures?"

She didn't cry out loud, but her shoulders trembled slightly. Heartache, anger, and helplessness all choked her, making it hard to breathe. Meng Yanchen pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, using his warmth to gradually calm her emotions.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her tears silently soaking his collar.

That hug was so steady and reassuring, as if it could shield me from all the grievances in the world.

Back at the mansion, Qiu Yingying remained depressed.

Meng Yanchen brewed her some hot ginger tea and sat with her on the sofa, asking nothing and simply keeping her company. He reached out and pulled her onto his lap, letting her lean against his chest, gently stroking her back as if soothing a wronged kitten.

Qiu Yingying wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, and gradually calmed down by inhaling his reassuring scent.

But that thought in my heart is becoming clearer and clearer.

If only these treasures could go home.

Late at night, Meng Yanchen went to his study to handle some work.

Qiu Yingying returned to her bedroom alone and, as usual, opened the learning system to check in.

This is a habit she has maintained for many years, urging herself to read books, learn recipes, improve her management knowledge, and study traditional Chinese medicine.

She gently tapped the check-in button.

The screen suddenly flickered silently.

A line of extremely faint gold text quietly appeared:

[Host's patriotism detected; artifact replacement procedure initiated.]

[The replacement of the two national treasures with fakes has been completed. The one in the museum is a replica, and the genuine item has been delivered to the host.]

This operation was undetectable, untraceable, and unknown to anyone.

The writing disappeared in an instant.

It's as if nothing ever happened.

Qiu Yingying lay frozen on the bed, her heart pounding.

She tiptoed out of bed and walked to the small cabinet by the window.

Two dark blue velvet boxes had appeared on top of it at some point.

She held her breath the moment she opened it.

A warm and elegant white jade pendant.

A delicate and exquisite openwork silver incense ball.

It was the two pieces she had stared at for a long time in the museum during the day.

It's really been switched back.

No one knew, there was no trace, and no one made a fuss.

Only she knew.

Qiu Yingying covered her mouth to keep herself from making a sound.

This is a heavy, extremely solemn sense of responsibility.

She hugged the box, leaned against the wall, and her eyes reddened again.

This is a national treasure, not hers.

When she returns to China, she will definitely hand them over to the most reliable person who can protect them.

She carefully hid the box in a hidden compartment of her carry-on suitcase, moving so gently as if afraid of disturbing something.

Deep in my heart lies a huge secret, and also a hidden courage.

Meng Yanchen knew nothing about any of this.

When he pushed the door open, he saw her sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes somewhat dazed.

"What's wrong?" He walked over and touched her forehead. "Are you still feeling unwell?"

Qiu Yingying looked up and met his gentle gaze, her heart skipped a beat again.

She shook her head, reached out and hugged his waist, burying her face in his chest: "No, I just feel like going home."

Meng Yanchen gently hugged her back, resting his chin on the top of her head: "Okay, let's go home."

He paused, then said in a low, earnest voice, "Go back to our home."

His palm rested on her back, gently stroking it, warm and strong.

Qiu Yingying closed her eyes, listening to his steady heartbeat and feeling his real warmth.

On one side are the people they deeply love, and on the other side are the heavy burdens of family and country.

She suddenly felt braver than ever before.

For the next few days, they continued their romantic trip in London.

Take a walk hand in hand, take photos at sunset, cuddle by the river, and share a dessert in a restaurant.

Meng Yanchen would secretly take a picture of her profile when she wasn't paying attention; he would hold her hand tightly when crossing the street; and he would warm her cold feet in his arms before going to sleep.

Every physical contact was filled with an irrepressible flutter of excitement and ambiguity.

Qiu Yingying harbored a secret, and the way she looked at him had a softer quality that only she understood.

She knew that after returning to China, there was a very important and glorious thing waiting for her to do.

As the plane took off, Qiu Yingying looked at Meng Yanchen, who was resting with his eyes closed beside her, and quietly clenched her hand.

Outside the window, clouds churned and sunlight streamed in.

She whispered to herself:

Baby, let's go home.

Meng Yanchen, let's go home.