Cheng Yinan, a programmer who believes that codes are more reliable than men, has a clear logic in life: write code, make money, and live. As for love? That's a bug that doesn't compile.
Until she met a face that looked exactly like Dawn on the subway during the morning rush hour. From then on, Line 2 on Monday morning became her only "abnormal heartbeat" once a week.
His name is Kang Jingyu, an investment banking elite from another world. And she is an ordinary girl wearing peony cotton pants, holding soy milk and fried dough sticks, and secretly taking photos of his blurry profile in the subway.
When the "Code Goddess" decided to send a request for a long-planned encounter, she didn't expect that the other party would reply with an agreement that was willing to run for a long time.
At the same time——
In the endless cycle of "breakup-reconciliation-marriage", best friend Wang Jing changed the judgment question of "whether he treats me well" into a proof question of "can I marry?".
My friend Shi Shizi is traveling alone between urging marriage and herself, writing life into an open question with no standard answer.
Three lines, three choices.
Between code and starlight, between soy milk and keys, between "fit" and "heartbeat" -
Cheng Yinan chose to adjust his own warm and solid love with his own hands.
Intention: In the cross-compilation of program and emotion, explore the independent proposition of "love" among contemporary urban women - it can be a safe variable in Wang Jing's make-or-break cycle, a silent return value in Zizi's independent path, and a stable structure for a two-way connection with another soul in Cheng Yi's brave debugging.