Why did the system take my request to take photos with a cosplayer seriously?

Then she slumped onto the sofa and let out a long sigh: "I'm exhausted... I'll rest for a bit and clean up later."

Ding Heng sat down next to Hua Qing and asked curiously, "Senior, why did you suddenly start renting a place?"

Hua Qing closed her eyes and leaned back on the sofa, her voice weak and listless.

"I just wanted to make things more convenient."

"What's convenient about it?"

Hua Qing opened her eyes, glanced at Ding Heng, then turned her face away without saying a word.

After resting for half an hour, Hua Qing stood up again and began unpacking her suitcase.

Ding Heng stepped forward to help, and the two began to check their luggage.

Hua Qing had more belongings than I had imagined, and the categories were extremely clear—clothes were clothes, books were books, and dance-related props and materials were kept in a separate box.

"Senior, where do I put this?"

Ding Heng asked, holding a cardboard box.

“Study… oh no, dance studio.”

"Dance studio?"

"Correct!"

Hua Qing was squatting on the ground disassembling another box, pointing to the left without looking up.

Ding Heng carried the boxes inside and discovered that Hua Qing had already turned the small bedroom into a dance studio.

There was a large mirror against the wall, dance floor mats on the floor, and a barre in the corner.

Ding Heng put down the box, stood in front of the mirror and pondered, when some impure thoughts suddenly popped into his mind.

Just like nurses have to be in hospitals, and teachers have to be in schools... dance students really need to be in the dance studio to have fun!

No, no, there's plenty of time. The emotional connection isn't maxed out yet.

Ding Heng shook his head to dispel his distracting thoughts and turned back to the living room.

Hua Qing had already opened several boxes, and the contents were scattered all over the floor.

clothes.

Lots of clothes.

Hanfu, everyday clothes, practice clothes, and some performance costumes were neatly folded or hung up.

Ding Heng exclaimed, "Senior, you have way too many clothes."

Hua Qing pouted: "It's not normal for girls to have a lot of clothes. Does that mean Yan Xi has fewer clothes than me?"

Is he...jealous?

Ding Heng walked over, squatted down to help Hua Qing tidy up her clothes, and then hung them in the closet one by one.

The bedroom wardrobe wasn't very big; it could only fit about half of Hua Qing's clothes. The rest had to be piled on the sofa for the time being, until the simple wardrobe Hua Qing ordered online arrived tomorrow.

The two worked together quite well, one handing the item to the other and the other hanging it up.

Where should I put this?

"Just hang it up."

"What about this one?"

Fold them neatly and put them in the drawer.

"This one……"

"I'll do that myself."

Unbeknownst to them, the distance between them grew closer and closer.

After tidying up the clothes, I started organizing the books.

Hua Qing doesn't have many books; most are professional books related to dance, and some are literary works.

Ding Heng helped her put the books on the shelf and found a copy of "One Hundred Years of Solitude" among them.

"Senior, you're watching this?"

Hua Qing glanced at it, her expression slightly hesitant, and replied indifferently.

"A gift from a friend, I look at it occasionally."

Is it pretty?

"good."

"Years later, as Colonel Aureliano Buendía stands before the firing squad, he will surely remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to see the ice..."

What are you reading?

"nothing."

Ding Heng placed the brand-new copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude on the bookshelf, forcing himself not to laugh.

Just browsing occasionally?

I haven't even turned the first page!

It's no wonder, since dancing has already taken up a lot of Hua Qing's time, she basically has no time to read miscellaneous books.

Suddenly, a bookmark fell out of "One Hundred Years of Solitude." Ding Heng bent down to pick it up—it was a ticket to a dance competition, dated three years ago.

"what is this?"

Hua Qing reached out to grab it.

"Give it back to me."

Ding Heng raised his hand high so that Hua Qing couldn't reach it.

"Senior, it's just a ticket, don't get excited."

"I just kept those old game tickets as souvenirs."

Hua Qing knew she couldn't win against a man, so she glared at him angrily and gave up.

Ding Heng tucked the ticket back into the book, guessing that it must be quite important to Hua Qing.

The top shelf of the bookshelf was a bit high, and when he stood on tiptoe to put it down, the hem of his T-shirt lifted up, revealing a section of his waist.

Hua Qing stood to the side, her gaze involuntarily drifting over.

Abdominal muscles.

Each piece is clearly visible.

Although Hua Qing had seen it before, her face still started to burn, and she quickly looked away.

After tidying up the books, I started organizing the dance-related props.

This box was the heaviest, and it was full of strange things—fans, ribbons, swords, and some props whose names I couldn't recall.

"Senior, do you use all of these?"

"Some are for performances, and some are for teaching."

Hua Qing squatted down and took things out one by one: "This fan is for the 'Fan Dance of Painting,' this sword is for the 'Sword Dance,' and these ribbons are for practicing martial arts..."

Unlike the book One Hundred Years of Solitude that she occasionally flips through, Hua Qing can tell the origin and story behind every single item.

Ding Heng listened quietly without saying a word.

When Hua Qing gets serious, her eyes light up, completely different from her usual aloof and distant demeanor.

"My senior really loves dancing."

Hua Qing paused for a moment.

She looked up, met Ding Heng's gaze, and then lowered her head again.

"nonsense."

Her voice was soft, with a hint of secret delight in her tone.

After the props were organized, the last items were some odds and ends of daily necessities.

Kitchen utensils, toiletries, and some small decorative items.

Hua Qing placed the small ornaments one by one on the TV cabinet.

A small wooden carving, a ceramic dancer, a crystal ball, and a picture frame.

The photo frame contained a group photo, and Ding Heng leaned over to take a peek.

A young girl in a workout outfit stood next to a middle-aged woman.

"Is this our mom?"

"What do you mean, 'our mom'? Don't talk nonsense..."

Hua Qing blushed with embarrassment and reached out to punch Ding Heng.

"Did you used to dance, Auntie?"

Ding Heng dodged away, then pulled Hua Qing into his arms and looked at the photo again.

"I am the lead dancer at the Phoenix Scenic Area."

Hua Qing nestled quietly in Ding Heng's arms without struggling.

"now what?"

"Retired at home, I occasionally teach children."

Ding Heng didn't ask any more questions. Instead, he picked up the crystal ball and shook it. Snowflakes floated up and landed on the dancing figures.

"This looks pretty good."

"What kind of taste do you have?"

"what happened?"

"That was a prize I won in a competition when I was in elementary school. It's so tacky."