Chapter 23 Zhou Tian
Shenjiang was prone to thunderstorms in summer.
The weather forecast failed to predict the sudden changes in the sky.
Muffled thunder rumbled in from afar, white lightning was less conspicuous against the grey weather, heavy rain drenching every window of the house.
Soon, the rain stopped and the sun gleamed through the crevices in the layered rain clouds.
The temperature rose again.
Wen Bairan had been dead asleep all day.
By the time she woke up, it was already afternoon.
There wasn’t much in the kitchen fridge, so Song Xu simply made fried egg sandwiches.
He was serving them on the table just as she came downstairs.
It wasn’t even five yet.
The setting sun cast a soft golden glow throughout the house.
Wen Bairan stood there, staring blankly at the man downstairs.
Song Xu hadn’t changed out of the same clothes from last night.
A white shirt and black dress pants. His collar was undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. For practicality, he had taken off his wristwatch, and the faint, fine, nearly invisible hairs on his slender wrists were just visible.
His hands were undeniably exquisite. The prominence of his knuckles and the distribution of veins on the back of his hands were perfectly proportioned—refined and austere when holding a Montblanc pen at the company, yet both sensual and gentlemanly when gripping a wine bottle at night.
And now, he was holding two plates.
Cartoon Pompompurin designs, with two perky black ears serving as handles.
Wen Bairan had bought them online on a whim a long time ago; she had no idea where he’d found them.
The staircase wasn’t high and connected to the corner near the dining table. Hearing her footsteps, Song Xu didn’t even look up, holding a dog ear in each hand as he set the plates on the table. His eyes shifted slightly to the upper right, his indifferent expression somehow giving off a subtly deviant aura.
“You’re awake?”
“Come have a bite.”
Wen Bairan: “......”
Yesterday had been such a mess.
So chaotic that it slipped her mind he was still around.
She instinctively glanced toward the living room, where they had been drinking last night.
The bottle of red wine he brought clearly hadn’t been enough for the situation, and later, somehow, more had appeared. Wen Bairan didn’t remember having so much alcohol stocked at home, only realizing afterward that he must have had a delivery service fetch it from his hotel room.
Wen Bairan was completely drunk, truly passed-out drunk.
Before he carried her upstairs, she vaguely cracked her eyes open.
The coffee table was in disarray, and so was she.
Compared to his slightly pale, clean face above her, she was filled with shame.
She turned and buried her face in his chest, rubbing her face against him, accidentally leaving streak after streak of stains on his white shirt.
Wen Bairan knew she had done wrong, slurring out an apology, asking if his shirt was expensive, saying she hadn’t meant to dirty it, pleading for his mercy not to dock her pay. She had just gone through a breakup, was buried under a mortgage and a pile of bills—she couldn’t afford to lose money.
In her imagination, Song Xu would grow impatient with her babbling, dump her on the bed, sneer down at her condescendingly, and say, “These are separate matters. You think you can just say ‘don’t dock my pay’ and I won’t?”
But after a long wait, he didn’t leave or utter a word.
The pillow beneath her head lulled her into unconsciousness, her breathing and heartbeat gradually growing fuzzy.
She felt him lie down behind her, his long arm reaching over her shoulder, holding her. The slightly elevated temperature of his arm after drinking made her lean into him instinctively, arching her back to press closer against him.
Song Xu kissed her forehead, soothing her and saying, “Just sleep. Things will seem better in the morning.”
……
“Vivi?”
Wen Bairan stood rooted in place on the stairs as Song Xu called her to eat. “Come sit.”
She jolted back to reality and turned, noticing his white shirt was immaculate.
Pristine, as if brand new.
……
Could it actually be new?
What if it was expensive and she couldn’t cover it...
She moved slowly toward the table, her brain perhaps still foggy from the hangover. Song Xu poured milk and set it in front of her as she gradually took a seat.
The chair was cold; the milk was warm.
A little fishy.
She didn’t like milk, but she only realized after she’d already taken a sip.
Song Xu was methodically spreading jam on his bread, a glass of water beside him.
Wen Bairan asked him, “You’re not drinking milk?”
Song Xu: “Not a fan.”
Talk about putting on airs.
Just whose house was this, anyway?
Why was she being so timid and compliant, like a guest?
She pushed the plate in front of her forward. “I’m not fond of bread either.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, Wen Bairan immediately felt she had crossed a line.
He was her big boss. Him making breakfast for her and having to cater to her preferences would be completely backwards.
Song Xu glanced at her.
It was bone-chilling.
She couldn't help but press her hand to her forehead, pretending to have a headache, hoping to prove she wasn't fully sober and hadn't meant to talk back to him.
"Ugh."
Unfortunately, her acting was clumsy, and when she stole a glance, she met his eyes.
"......"
Crap, she'd been found out.
The corners of Song Xu's lips quirked, forming a faint dimple. He placed the jam-covered slice of bread onto the plate in front of him, picked it up, and exchanged it with hers.
He said flatly, "This is all you have."
The implication was that conditions were limited—he couldn't perform miracles, so she’d have to make do.
Wen Bairan took the out he offered, quickly accepted it, muttering a thanks.
Obediently picking up the bread, she took a bite. Out of the corner of her eye, Song Xu seemed to be smiling.
Was she seeing things?
She felt like he seemed... a little fond.
No, no, no—she must be out of her mind.
He was clearly so cold.
As she withdrew her gaze, her eyes landed on the dry-cleaning bag by the door and realized he'd gotten the clothes cleaned.
But if he was already wearing his clothes, what was in that bag?
"They're yours," Song Xu said.
Wen Bairan was a fairly decent drunk.
She knew enough to find the bathroom before she threw up, but she'd still gotten some on her clothes, three times.
According to Song Xu, they were a lost cause.
But they were her clothes, so what she said went.
The dry cleaner had charged double but hadn't said a word when he dropped them off.
"I’ve checked; they came out fairly clean. But I suggest you change into something else." Song Xu had refined table manners—even with just two slices of bread, he used a knife and fork, as if he were at a steakhouse.
While Wen Bairan was still zoning out, he had already finished eating.
He dabbed the corners of his mouth leisurely with a napkin, then picked up his glass to drink water.
Plain water wasn't a cure on a hangover afternoon, but it was necessary.
Song Xu drank slowly.
Noticing she was still picking at the same corner, not making progress, he suggested, "Tomorrow is Monday. If needed, I can give you a couple of days off."
Wen Bairan snapped back to attention and met his intense gaze. After a pause, she began chewing. "No need, I can go to work."
She lowered her head and finished everything on her plate in a few bites. Compared to his elegant way of eating, hers was downright crude by comparison.
Song Xu raised an eyebrow slightly.
After last night's earth-shattering events.
Even though she had slept all day, she still didn't look well.
Dark circles under her eyes, puffy eyes, pale complexion, and her voice was nasal when she spoke.
There were signs she might be catching a cold.
Resting his chin in one hand, his tone was lazy and tolerant: "Don't push yourself. It’s fine to rest for a couple of days."
Wen Bairan was taken aback. She looked up at him, suddenly put down her half-finished glass of milk, got up, and ran upstairs.
She came back down a moment later with her laptop.
She said solemnly, "President Song, please believe that I am a responsible person."
It was an unfounded accusation—he had only suggested she take some time off.
"Did I say you weren’t responsible?" Song Xu replied. His attention was quickly captured by the title on the laptop screen: "Analysis of the Domestic Application and Development of Proton and Heavy Ion Therapy Technology."
Surprised, he asked, "When did you put this together?"
Wen Bairan sat down. "Friday."
During the dynamic analysis meeting of the research team that day, Song Xu had suddenly brought up proton therapy. She immediately recalled some information she had come across while conducting background research on Dayun about their plans to further develop proton and heavy ion therapy.
That Friday night, home alone and bored, she looked up some materials and compiled them into this report.
After skimming through the content, Song Xu’s gaze shifted into the cool, detached demeanor of "President Song" when he looked at her again.
Leaning back, he crossed his arms. "Walk me through it."
"Actually, during that earlier information-sharing session on proton therapy, Dayun had already hinted at their intention to establish a new proton therapy center in South China. Those ten private hospitals are likely just one part of their current projects. Compared to proton therapy, the scale is much smaller. Currently, the world’s most expensive proton therapy equipment costs 700 million, and with additional supporting facilities, personnel training, and management investments, building a treatment center would conservatively require at least a billion. Based on Dayun’s style, I suspect they not only want to build their own proton therapy center but also aim to independently develop a proton therapy system.
"I know the headquarters has relevant technology and components production. If we can participate in Dayun’s project and provide them with technical support, it could create a synergy where one plus one equals more than two for both our company and Dayun. But the challenge is that Dayun wants independent development—100% domestic production."
Wen Bairan said, "Actually, I meant to bring this up in the meeting. More important than the contributions new technology can make are the words 'new technology' themselves."
"People in China started paying attention to proton and heavy ion therapy and making investments as early as the 2000s, but those ventures eventually fizzled out for various reasons. Now, with the domestic economy stable, technological innovation and breakthroughs have become the focus. If we can develop it ourselves, it would undoubtedly help us break free from certain technological constraints. In this regard, I support Dayun."
She paused here, hesitating.
Glancing at Song Xu’s expression, she noticed the look in his eyes had grown increasingly intense at some point.
He shifted his posture, leaning toward her, clasping his hands together on the table. His narrow eyes slightly narrowed, signaling her to continue.
"But if they insist on full domestic production, they might choose other companies with more domestic roots. You know, there are quite a few tech companies in China working on this now." Her voice softened. She pursed her lips and added, "But it’s not like we have no chance at all. After all, we’re backed by the headquarters, and our technical knowledge is more advanced."
After she finished, the dining room fell into a prolonged silence.
Her hungover system couldn’t handle much more stimulation. Wen Bairan held the glass of milk, sipping it slowly. She'd gotten used to the milky taste, and the warm heat passing through her esophagus and into her stomach felt pretty comforting.
After she finished her milk, Song Xu spoke.
"I've been meaning to ask you something."
Wen Bairan set down her cup and licked her lips. "What is it?"
"With your capabilities, don't you find it a pity to still be stuck in a supporting role in the project team?" Song Xu said.
He had seen her resume—graduated from a prestigious university, her major was a perfect match, her past work experience was impressive, and the projects she had participated in were well-regarded in the industry. Yet, her position was not as senior as Qiao Yi's.
Six months into the company, she hadn't been assigned any major projects. Even when she did participate, she never got close to the core work.
If he hadn't brought her onto the Dayun project this time, she might have worked until resignation without ever leading a case of this caliber.
It was strange.
If her abilities were lacking, the company wouldn't have hired her in the first place. But having hired her and not utilizing her capabilities to the fullest didn’t align with the company’s standard hiring practices.
She had been sidelined.
Song Xu said frankly, "I asked HR, but they couldn't give a clear explanation. But I guess it has something to do with your ex-boyfriend?"
The question wasn’t particularly sharp, but given what had happened the night before, it felt a little invasive.
Wen Bairan’s expression changed slightly. Her eyelashes lowered, and the sunset behind her gradually lost its warmth. The vivid mix of orange-red and pink-purple was dazzlingly beautiful. Knowing it marked the end of the day, the more splendid the clouds bloomed, the more bittersweet they seemed.
She remained silent for a long time before saying, "It has nothing to do with anyone."
"If I have to blame anyone, it’s myself."
"I was young and foolish."
A few light words.
Using "foolish" to sum it all up.
Song Xu’s gaze darkened as he watched her self-mocking smile. After a long moment, he said with forced casualness, "It’s all in the past. I’ll have other opportunities in the future."
Silence fell again.
Wen Bairan was different from other women he had met.
She seemed soft and fragile, and her beauty was unmistakably feminine. But inwardly, she possessed a core entirely unlike others—rational, firm, and tenacious—perhaps even cold.
She knew what she needed, but subtle emotions were tangled in her flesh and blood, holding her back, keeping her from turning into a machine.
Human nature is complex; a black-and-white world does not exist.
Hints of resentment or self-pity—emotions people never evolved past—could be found in her to some extent, but this made her all the more real.
She was human—warm and real.
Not all cold.
Last night, she had seemed so fragile, he couldn’t help but feel sympathy.
Today, her composure made him genuinely respect her.
Night had not yet fallen.
Her small apartment, even if taken apart and laid flat, wouldn’t be as large as his suite.
Yet, in such a compact space, he felt this close to another person for the first time.
He began to respect every time their eyes met, rethinking their relationship.
Wen Bairan, uncomfortable under his gaze, looked away. "It's late. You should head back."
Sensing danger instinctively, she stood up.
"Your car..." She dug through her bag on the sofa for his car keys. When she turned around, she bumped into his chest.
His high-quality white shirt, the glimpse of collarbone beneath his open collar, was strikingly attractive.
His scent, as always, was clean and subtle, like a fine thread coiling through her airways, tightening around her lungs.
Her heart stuttered.
She held her breath.
"Yesterday, you asked me to stay. Now you regret it?" Song Xu’s shoe touched hers, closing the space between them.
The living room was small. After two steps, her knees hit the edge of the coffee table and went numb.
She didn’t dare move.
The man pressed tightly against her waist and abdomen.
Wen Bairan could feel his firmness.
There was nowhere left to retreat.
Her head lowered, her voice grew faint. "Yesterday was yesterday... Today..."
Song Xu cupped her chin, lifting it, forcing her to look at him.
"And today?"
His stare was too overwhelming. Wen Bairan didn’t dare meet his eyes.
Her eyes darted nervously around before finally settling just below his.
His eyelashes were long, like a baby’s, and looked soft.
She tried to count them one by one but soon lost count.
Song Xu’s kiss was expected.
But inescapable.
The hand holding her face suddenly tightened.
The soft flesh of her cheek caught on her teeth, the pain made her wince. "Mmm..."
He easily parted her lips.
The bedroom on the second floor was small, with only a single platform bed.
It had just enough space for two people to roll around.
This was Wen Bairan's room, her private domain.
Song Xu's invasion felt more like an occupation.
"A new week's starting," he asked her, "Are you ready?"
Wen Bairan, dazed and not quite understanding his meaning, she murmured, "Mm."
"This time, distractions will be punished."
She didn’t know what he was talking about.
She simply closed her eyes, her lashes trembling pitifully, wondering why he wasn't holding her tighter. "Song Xu..."
So Song Xu, taking it as her agreement, he chuckled softly, lifted her legs, and left his mark deep within her.
…