Zhu Yun nearly fled.
On the way back, she kept turning over a single question: when she’d left, had she shown weakness in front of Fang Zhijing? Had he been able to tell she was running away?
It was a pointless thing to fixate on, and she knew it — but she couldn’t stop herself, which only made her more agitated.
It had been so many years. And still she couldn’t overcome herself. She didn’t even need to see him — just hearing his voice was enough to send a chill radiating outward from somewhere deep inside her.
Like some kind of curse.
The more she thought about it, the more she felt she should have said something cutting before she left. Not just walked away like that. The realization drove her in circles — her head full of Fang Zhijing’s words, his self-satisfied expression, the articles defaming Zhao Guowei, the banner hanging in the mall.
Zhu Yun got out of the car and ducked into a convenience store, bought five cans of hard lemonade, went to the stairwell of the office building, and sat down to drink. Somewhere into the third can, tears fell without warning.
She had a dim recollection of the competition from years ago. The situation now was nearly identical to that one.
Fang Zhijing disgusted her. But she disgusted herself more for being so useless.
The alcohol made her emotions raw and jagged. The last thread of clarity still functioning told her she had to go back to work soon. She pressed a hand to her forehead and took more than ten slow deep breaths. The only result was that she felt light-headed from lack of oxygen, and her mood was completely unchanged.
Just then, as if the universe had a poor sense of timing, Li Xun, Zhao Teng, and Zhang Fang came trooping into the stairwell together for a smoke.
Zhang Fang led the way, swaggering. He nearly collided with someone sitting on the stairs and startled badly.
“Whoa, what the—” He clutched his chest, then recognized the back of Zhu Yun’s head. “Team leader, what are you doing here?”
Zhang Fang quickly registered the smell of alcohol and wrinkled his nose.
“Have you been drinking?”
Say what you would about Zhang Fang on a normal day — he was about as useful as a wet noodle, all flattery and no substance. But in a genuine moment, he turned out to have a decent heart. He set his cigarette down, moved toward Zhu Yun with concern, saw her wet face, and went rigid. He whipped around at the two men behind him and mouthed silently:
She’s. Crying.
Zhao Teng glanced at Li Xun. Li Xun stood very still, looking at the figure on the stairs.
The woman who was normally unflappable and formidable was sitting alone in a stairwell crying. Zhang Fang was rattled by the sight, and instinctively softened his voice.
“Was it the pressure at work? Or did Director Dong yell at you?”
He was already inching forward, clearly trying to assume the role of supportive friend — but Zhao Teng grabbed him by the back of the collar.
“We’re leaving,” Zhao Teng said quietly.
“What?”
No explanation. Zhao Teng dragged Zhang Fang toward the exit, pulled the door shut behind them, and left Li Xun alone inside.
The silence didn’t last long. Li Xun asked calmly: “What’s wrong?”
His voice had a quality that cut through every barrier and reached somewhere far back in time with perfect clarity. For a moment, Zhu Yun felt as though she were standing at the edge of that stone bridge from years ago — dark water swaying below, willows whispering in the night breeze, and behind her, the figure who had once pulled her out of the depths.
“Why are you crying?” Li Xun asked.
Zhu Yun came back to herself a little. She wiped her eyes and said quietly: “I ran into Fang Zhijing at the mall just now.”
“And?” Li Xun said.
“They made a new game…”
He made a low sound of acknowledgement.
Talking to Li Xun was always simple. You said one thing, and he understood everything else.
Zhu Yun sat on the step with her back to him, speaking in a low voice. Perhaps because she was a little drunk, her tone wasn’t bitter or full of resentment — it was more like the kind of complaint you’d make to a close friend.
“Gao Jianhong’s wife was there too — she was doing promotional appearances for their game. The whole thing is ripped straight from ours, even the promotional artwork looks the same. And the thing about Professor Zhao… Fang Zhijing said that whole campaign was Gao Jianhong’s doing — he said our game has reputation but no revenue, and all they have to do is put in a little effort on reputation and they’ll completely surpass us. Damn them all.” She buried her head in her arms at the end. “And I didn’t even say a single thing to him. I just walked away.”
A brief silence. Then Li Xun said: “You’re afraid of him.”
Zhu Yun’s fingers trembled slightly. She admitted it with difficulty. “You’re right. I am. I’m useless.”
Li Xun gave a quiet laugh. “Your definition of ‘useless’ is truly unique.”
“I’ve hated him for over a decade and I can’t do anything about it. Back then, when he went after Xiaobei, I could only watch. Later, when he went after you — I still could only watch…”
She stopped mid-sentence.
“No, wait — it wasn’t him. It was me.” The realization surfaced, and her head came up. “It was because of me that you ever had anything to do with him. If I hadn’t insisted on dragging you into that competition, you never would have crossed paths with someone like that. And then your sister wouldn’t have… and you wouldn’t have gone to prison, and we wouldn’t be here now—”
“Zhu Yun.”
He cut off her spiraling words.
“Come here.”
Zhu Yun sat stiffly where she was.
Li Xun said it again.
“Come here.”
His voice dropped slightly, and almost without deciding to, she moved.
Li Xun was leaning against the wall by the window. Zhu Yun came to stand before him. Against the sound of her quiet, uneven breathing, she looked like a child who had done something wrong and was waiting to be scolded. Li Xun looked at her without speaking. The late afternoon light fell across her tear-stained face, making her look achingly beautiful, and achingly fragile.
He understood her fear of Fang Zhijing. She was afraid of losing. And afraid that he might blame her for it.
She didn’t need to carry that.