Chapter 2 Day One
Zhou Lin hadn’t replied to that message.
Still nothing.
Like Ke Shumin, he took it as just another one of Wen Bairan’s mood swings. She always liked to pull these stunts, like she was testing his love. Every time, as long as he was willing to coax her, she would come crawling back to his side, never getting sick of the game.
But Wen Bairan knew very well in her heart that this time was different.
That day when Xiao Zimei came to see her, she had hit her with this line: "You’ve been with Zhou Lin for eight years, and there’s still no ring on your finger—isn’t that the outcome itself?"
She still remembered back in the honeymoon phase of their passionate love, when Zhou Lin, under the scorching sun of nearly 40 degrees Celsius, the rich kid who was chauffeured everywhere, walked with her all the way from her part-time job back to the dormitory. Halfway, it was too hot, so they bought a box of ice cream. Wen Bairan took a bite, stood on her tiptoes, and fed him a bite. Back then, you could still see stars at night. He kissed her in the shade of an old locust tree, the sweetness of the ice cream intoxicating, cicadas cranking overhead. His sweat-drenched eyes fixed on her, smoldering in the dark.
He said, "Don’t go back to the dorm tonight."
Wen Bairan had a girl-next-door vibe—delicate features, an oval face, a chin that wasn’t sharp but softly rounded, giving her a sweet, kissable quality that made people want to kiss her.
She wasn’t conservative, but she had no experience and couldn’t hide the deer-in-headlights shyness on her face. Hearing his words, she lowered her eyes, her long eyelashes fluttering in the air. She didn’t agree, but she didn’t refuse either.
Zhou Lin’s chest ached with want, and his kisses grew more intense.
That was her first time.
Whether it was his, she didn’t know.
Back then, there were many rumors about him at school—that he was wild, that he was a playboy, that he changed girlfriends faster than he changed clothes.
But Zhou Lin told her, "I’ve never felt this strongly about anyone before. So what if others like me? There are so many who like me, but there’s only one I like."
Wen Bairan was an ordinary person, just a bit more hardworking in her studies than others, and with a little luck, she managed to get into the best university in Shenjiang. At that time, her classmates envied her, her teachers praised her, and her parents threw a big acceptance party with sixteen full tables. She thought that at this point in her life, she had the right to pat herself on the back.
Because of that pride, when faced with Zhou Lin’s sweet talk, she truly believed she was different from everyone else.
She had always been more mature, rational, and level-headed than her peers. Before the college entrance exam, her deskmate entrusted her with a treasured romance novel, asking Wen Bairan to keep it safe until after the exam. The day she returned it, bored at home, she flipped through a few pages and couldn’t help but feel regret and disdain for the immature, irrational, and unclear thoughts and actions of the female protagonist.
Back then, she didn’t understand why liking someone would make a person incompetent. If she ever fell for someone, she would never let herself get tunnel vision.
But it wasn’t until the wool over her eyes was blown away by the wind that she realized with a start—dopamine really is something that can create illusions.
Over these eight years, it wasn’t just Xiao Zimei.
Wen Bairan had seen many others—some gentle, some cold and glamorous, some arrogant. But no matter how beautiful their faces were, in her eyes, they all had the same face—losers.
She had once gloated about it, even felt proud. Look, no matter how many people came before her, Zhou Lin’s side only had eyes for her.
Then one day, she suddenly woke up. That absurd confidence crumbled, and she was forced to learn that people have to face the music for their naivety and ignorance.
The feeling was like swallowing needles. The needle tips pierced her throat, lodged there, blood flowing more and more, and yet an endless stream of needles kept stabbing in. The pain was unbearable.
She had asked Zhou Lin, argued with him, even hurled accusations and insults in moments of anger. When they cooled down, Zhou Lin assured her that he had never touched any woman other than her.
Snapping back to the present, Wen Bairan looked at Xiao Zimei and suddenly remembered that forgotten box of ice cream. The weather had been too hot; the cream melted into liquid, dripping onto her hand—white, sticky, and greasy, baked by their rising body heat. After drying, it clung to her skin, the artificial fragrance sickly sweet.
She asked, "Did you sleep together?"
Xiao Zimei didn’t answer directly. She leaned back into the sofa, crossing her slender legs. The rhinestones on the toe of her left shoe flickered dazzlingly under Wen Bairan’s eyes as she lifted her foot. Smiling, she said, "You really don’t know? And it’s not just me."
After she finished speaking, Wen Bairan was silent for a long time.
Xiao Zimei had seen her a few times before, always by Zhou Lin's side. No matter the occasion, her face never showed too much color—so plain it was dull, utterly silent. The quiet, bookish demeanor around her was like a windless lake, only stirring with ripples when she looked at Zhou Lin.
She never would've imagined that the rumored inseparable, devoted girlfriend of Zhou Lin would be someone like this. What was the word for it? Stupid, or...
Oh, naivete.
Naivete was something she had only read about in books.
Xiao Zimei was dying to see some different expression on Wen Bairan's face—pain, jealousy, or perhaps even something sharper, more twisted. Everyone said she and Zhou Lin had a great relationship; she wanted to see just how great it was.
But the reality was that Wen Bairan's expression remained cloud-like—pure, dignified, without any fluctuations. The attempted blow Xiao Zimei thought she had delivered landed on empty air, without even a stir.
Xiao Zimei didn't know that the decision to break up had already been made long before she arrived.
Wen Bairan gently slung her bag over her shoulder and rose gracefully. "Thank you for telling me all this, but it's no longer my concern. I have to get to work, so I’ll be going now."
Looking back on the eight years she had spent with Zhou Lin, Wen Bairan was certain that Zhou Lin had liked her and had loved her, and so had she.
But that was all.
In the office, Wen Bairan typed a line of text into her phone, then deleted it.
She tried four words instead.
[Happy birthday...]
Her index finger hovered over the send button for a full two seconds, but she deleted it all again.
She blocked him again, deleted all posts related to him from her social media, even the ones she had posted long ago on QQ Space. She blocked his number, messages, emails—every possible way he could contact her.
After doing all this, Wen Bairan let out a long sigh, as if she had just finished a marathon. Her body was extremely tired, but her spirit felt strangely liberated.
Should've done this ages ago.
It was almost ten o’clock.
She powered down her computer and headed home.
Passing by the director's office, she saw Song Xu was still on a video call.
"Song, the domestic market environment will see some changes in the second half of the year. The government's medical reform plan has been released, which will put pressure on our sales numbers."
"I’ve already received some general strategic guidance. In the short term, the impact on us isn’t too deep. The domestic population is huge, and the aging population's healthcare needs still dominate. But we can’t let our guard down. At the same time, compared to the volume sales of existing products, I believe the R&D department’s time is more valuable."
"Indeed. Adam, what’s your take?"
Wen Bairan’s current company was in the medical equipment business. It was formerly an agent of this brand but, due to the expansion of the domestic market in recent years, the highly successful agency was acquired and became the parent company’s branch in South China.
All of this happened less than a month after she joined.
She had thought she had just found an average company, but unexpectedly, it turned into a foreign enterprise, and Wen Bairan felt unexpectedly fortunate.
Song Xu, like her, had just been transferred last quarter, so he was still relatively new. The difference was, he seemed to be being groomed to take over the entire Greater China region eventually and was just here to familiarize himself with the situation. His authority in the company was even higher than the general manager’s.
In less than two months, there were enough rumors about him in the company to fill a basket. It was said he was a star graduate from UCLA, young but with an already dazzling resume.
Aside from that, Song Xu looked like he could be a male lead in a Korean drama—small face, high nose bridge, thin double eyelids. When he looked at people, his expression was unreadable, his gaze somewhat sharp. On his right wrist, he wore a Vacheron Constantin, a low-key classic model. He had great taste.
Many women in the company have a crush on him, but everyone understands that the people and matters here are merely a brief stopover for him; no matter how much they like him, they can only admire from afar without daring to get close. Of course, there are also those daring enough to make a move, but the male lead doesn’t seem to react at all.
Perhaps the person on the other end was droning on. Song Xu, facing the computer, looked completely bored. With a deft movement of his well-defined thumb and index finger, his pen spun into the air and landed on the back of his hand, spinning steadily. He was using his left hand.
The office door opened.
The pen abruptly stopped spinning.
Song Xu looked up, his gaze lingering slightly.
His speaker was on, and the microphone wasn’t muted. Wen Bairan didn’t say a word, just set the coffee down.
Qiao Yi had complained during the day that working with Song Xu lately meant almost daily all-nighters. Even as an assistant, she was exhausted, let alone Song Xu. He was directly liaising with the overseas headquarters, attending cross-border meetings, video calls, and phone conferences without a moment’s pause.
She hadn’t meant to disturb him, just delivering a cup of coffee. Her bag was still on her shoulder, and she planned to leave right after.
"Wait."
But Song Xu stopped her.
She halted and turned back.
"Director Song?"
He pressed the mute button with his right hand and asked casually, "Where’s Qiao Yi?"
Qiao Yi was the project manager of the first team, temporarily doubling as Song Xu’s secretary.
Wen Bairan said, "She’s left for the day."
In fact, the entire company had left for the day. At this hour, only the two of them were still there.
Song Xu’s gaze briefly swept over the dark office outside before returning to settle on Wen Bairan’s face. "You’re from the second team?"
Wen Bairan said yes.
Song Xu tilted his chin slightly outward. "Were you just working on the Dayun Medical project?"
Wen Bairan blinked and said yes.
Song Xu grunted in acknowledgment. "You’re coming with me on a business trip tomorrow."
"Eight o’clock, meet downstairs at the company."
When a superior assigns work, they don’t ask if you’re willing. After specifying the time and place, he released the mute button. The sound from the computer spilled out, a barrage of rapid English words that gave Wen Bairan a headache.
She stood there for a moment longer. Song Xu looked up at her again, his expression seeming to ask, "Still here?"
Taking the hint, she quietly exited the office. Through the glass, the brightly lit interior framed Song Xu’s focused profile, which blended sharply with the image of someone else in her mind.
Wen Bairan chided herself for overthinking.
The moment she averted her gaze, a notification sound chimed from the computer.
"Song?"
Song Xu withdrew his gaze, his expression unchanged, and signaled to the other side. "Continue."