“You must have been going half-mad missing me,” he said.
Zhu Yun made a sound of agreement.
Li Xun laughed with utter, unabashed triumph.
At some point, his cigarette had gone out. He freed one hand, cupped her chin, and tipped her face up.
“Did you think you’d been doing a pretty good job at playing the composed, professional colleague?” The nearness gave him an even greater hold on the moment. Zhu Yun had just come out of the shower — her face was soft and flushed, small and delicate. Li Xun said evenly, “Too bad for you — one look and you gave yourself away. If you hadn’t come to me to reconcile, it’s because you were afraid that if I turned you down, you’d lose even the colleague part.”
The light came from behind him, casting a faint gold along the edges of his silhouette. She could see each fine, small hair along his cheek; he could see each thread of devoted feeling in her eyes. He leaned closer and closer, and at last his voice dissolved somewhere in the press of lips —
“You never had to be afraid. The moment you said the word, I would have said yes.”
They were on the verge of kissing in the early morning light — “on the verge” because they stopped at the very last moment. Zhu Yun pulled back from him and said, “Go take a shower first.”
The vision was tempting enough, but the other senses were harder to ignore.
Li Xun gave her a languid sideways glance, took the towel from her hands, and went into the bathroom.
The door closed. Zhu Yun heard the sound of the shower. She fell back onto the bed, rolled herself up in the covers, and rolled back and forth several times — as giddy and ridiculous as a middle school student.
Her phone rang. It was an email notification. Zhu Yun picked it up and looked — it was a message sent by Wu Zhen under her own name, with several hospital test reports attached.
Li Xun showered quickly. He had no change of clothes, so he came out wrapped in the bath towel around his waist.
Honestly, the view of him was considerably more compelling than the email, but in a moment like this Zhu Yun felt she ought to demonstrate at least a token showing of professional dedication.
“This is from Wu Zhen. Gao Jianhong’s surgery date has been confirmed — she’s pressing us.”
Li Xun wrapped the towel around his waist and picked up Zhu Yun’s hand towel to dry his hair.
“Let her press. The decision to settle has already been made — there’s no point in dragging out grievances over every small thing. The sooner we wrap it up, the better.”
Zhu Yun said, “Then I’ll go negotiate with them today.”
Li Xun gave a sound of agreement. “Director Dong is planning a renovation, and then we’ll be bringing in a new round of hires.” He put the towel down and ran his fingers casually through his damp hair. “Once Director Dong gets through this stretch of upheaval, I’m thinking of pulling in a round of investment. Any thoughts?”
Zhu Yun said in surprise, “You’re finally going after investment?”
Li Xun glanced at her and crooked a finger. Zhu Yun went over and sat down beside him. Li Xun pressed a hand to her forehead — just a light push of his arm — and Zhu Yun rocked back onto the bed like a tumbling toy and bounced back upright again.
Zhu Yun held her forehead. “Finding investors for a team like ours wouldn’t be hard. It depends on what kind of investor you’re looking for.”
“Oh?” Li Xun said playfully. “It’s been an investment winter for internet startup companies since the end of last year, and Miss Zhu is still this confident?”
Zhu Yun said, “My confidence will never match yours.”
Li Xun crooked his finger at her again, but this time Zhu Yun didn’t take the bait.
“When Flirtation launched, a lot of investors came looking for us, but they were all pushing for development in the gaming direction — you turned them all down,” Zhu Yun said.
Li Xun said, “Quality over quantity. The industry we want to build requires investors with substantial capabilities — not just financial, but access to other resources as well. Ideally a deeply established major group with reach across multiple sectors.”
Zhu Yun said, “You already have someone in mind, don’t you?”
Li Xun gave her a look. “What do you think of the venue that hosted the internet summit?”
Zhu Yun paused.
“Huajiang Group?”
Huajiang Group had been founded in the mid-1980s and over the course of several decades had grown into a vast conglomerate spanning commerce, culture, and finance. In the most recent rankings of China’s top five hundred private enterprises, Huajiang Group placed fifth. Its founder, Yao Naixian — now 64 years old — had been named China’s Entrepreneur of the Year four separate times.
Zhu Yun said, “Has Huajiang Group invested in any internet companies recently?”
“Not yet, but it should be coming soon — it’s the direction of the whole tide. Otherwise, why would they take on an internet summit and a government awards ceremony?” He gave her hand a small squeeze. “How do you not have even this basic level of instinct?”
Zhu Yun felt a wave of warmth from the squeeze spread through her entire body.
Li Xun said plainly, “The path we’ve chosen isn’t an easy one. Small investors won’t do. Whoever backs us must have vision, trust, and patience.”
As he spoke, he drew Zhu Yun onto his lap. Their hands were clasped together. He was quiet, looking at her for a moment, and then said in a low voice, “We need all of those things too.”