Impulse is the devil.

That was the first thought that surfaced in Zhu Yun’s mind when she opened her eyes at five o’clock.

She turned her head gently and saw someone lying face-down on the other side of the bed, covered by the blanket, only a shoulder and a sliver of his profile visible. The blanket rose and fell evenly with his breathing.

The sheets were in a state of disarray. The air in the room was stale, thick with the smell of a night that had carried them both under. Zhu Yun’s face burned. She carefully lifted the blanket, slipped out of bed, quietly took a bath towel, and slipped into the bathroom, pulling the door firmly shut.

If he woke up right now, she genuinely had no idea what she would say.

What exactly had they been last night…

Loose threads still attached?

Li Xun wasn’t that kind of lingering person.

A reconciliation?

The process had been far from conventional.

Or had they simply been two people in a modern city who shared a sleepless night on a whim?

Zhu Yun’s head throbbed.

Hot water poured from the shower, streaming down over her. She washed herself, yet felt that no matter how thoroughly she washed, it was impossible to wash away the trace of him.

Water dripped from the floor in soft streams. Steam rose and curled in the air above.

She thought of how his sleeping face had looked just before she stepped into the bathroom — the way he lay sprawled on the bed, disheveled and unguarded, a sight that could soften anyone’s heart.

For Zhu Yun, Li Xun was a singular presence. Or perhaps every person’s life held someone like this — someone unlike all others, someone no theory in the world could explain and no moral framework could contain. In her world, he stood at the apex of everything, the fixed point by which she measured all else.

The water slid down her body as she recalled the conjecture Plato had once proposed —

“Originally, all people were dual-natured. Ever since the gods divided them in two, every half has wandered the world searching for the other half. Love is our longing for that lost half of ourselves.”

He possessed everything she lacked.

Confidence. Courage. Strength. Freedom.

He didn’t lose himself as easily as she did. He always had a clear direction; he never doubted himself.

Zhu Yun was drawn to the feeling of being near him — it made her feel as though she too could summon the courage to face anything difficult.

As she stood there washing, the steam rising around her, Zhu Yun’s eyes suddenly stung.

From the day Li Xun was released until the night before, Zhu Yun had kept herself carefully reined in, doing her best not to let herself dwell on things like feelings and romance. She had placed helping his career at the very top of her list of priorities. Just as Gao Jianhong had once said — they were no longer university students. Every battle now was fought with real steel.

And after fighting for so long, Zhu Yun had sometimes felt as though she and Li Xun were truly nothing more than colleagues now — as though she had become mature enough that even if Li Xun ended up with some other woman one day, she wouldn’t so much as blink.

She had thought too highly of herself.

A woman never truly knows the depths of her own vulnerability — not until she meets the one person who can reach them.

Zhu Yun shut off the shower and brought both hands up to cover her face, the towel pressed between them.

She didn’t want last night to be nothing more than a footnote. She didn’t want it to have been merely Li Xun seeking release in a drunken stupor, reaching for whoever was closest. She hoped it had been a decision he made in full clarity, and she hoped he had treated her with the tenderness of someone who genuinely cherished her.

She hoped they could have something that continued beyond last night.

Zhu Yun rubbed her face hard, changed into fresh clothes.

She pushed open the bathroom door. Li Xun was leaning against the writing desk, smoking a cigarette.

Zhu Yun stopped. She didn’t know when he had woken up. The cigarette in his hand was already half finished. The early morning light came in from behind him, softly tracing the lines of his back. He had just woken and was still slightly dazed, eyes fixed absently on the small bedside lamp. Hearing movement, he turned to look.

His voice was still rough with sleep as he said, “When I drink, my mind is slow the next morning.”

Zhu Yun stood five meters away and looked at him.

“I’ve never confessed to a woman. In the past, if I liked someone, I’d always find a way to make her come to me on her own.”

His tone matched the morning light — calm, and carrying just a hint of weariness.

“But I don’t have that kind of energy anymore.” He set down his cigarette and looked at her. “We’ve known each other long enough. I’m going to be direct about it. Zhu Yun, forget whatever came before. Do you want to try again with me?”

When Zhu Yun heard those words, she felt as though she had walked to the far shore of her own life.

He never played by the expected rules. You could never predict what he would do next — only when he actually did it did you realize how perfectly chosen the moment was, how precise, how complete, how utterly impossible to refuse.

“If—” Just as Li Xun was about to say something further, Zhu Yun suddenly erupted — a shout so swift and forceful it could have outrun thunder —

“Yes!”

Li Xun: “…”

The shout was so sudden that the ash at the end of Li Xun’s cigarette broke off and fell.

Zhu Yun’s knuckles were white where she gripped the towel. She had absolutely no control over her own emotions. All thoughts of being subtle or mature or composed — none of it mattered now. What mattered was seizing the moment. She couldn’t give him the chance to reconsider.

“Yes! I want to!” The words tumbled out with a rush that left Zhu Yun’s heart surging. She fought to hold herself together. “I want to be with you. Li Xun, let’s make up!”

Li Xun, caught off guard, felt his expression ease into something lighter. He drifted back toward the desk, brought the last small stub of cigarette to his lips, and said slowly, “So this is what a confession feels like…”

She stared at him, hanging on every word, listening to him say with that infuriating self-satisfaction of his, “That simple.”

Zhu Yun looked at the complacency in his expression, and her heart pounded furiously — she still couldn’t be entirely certain whether this was real or a dream. Summoning her courage, she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him. She was wearing flat slippers, so her ear pressed just at the level of his collarbone. She could hear his heartbeat — steady and strong, far steadier than her own.

Li Xun gave a light laugh. His throat trembled faintly. He didn’t return the embrace — he simply accepted her offering of warmth with complete ease.

“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.”