With Dong Siyang’s decree in hand, Zhu Yun officially went on leave before the New Year.

And at the same time, Feiyang Company’s first round of financing since its relaunch had begun.

It was an exhausting New Year.

Everyone in the company was working toward the financing. Dong Siyang and Li Xun, at the helm, were run so ragged they barely touched the ground.

While he was buried in work, Zhu Yun reached out to her family. Her mother’s attitude remained cold. Zhu Yun hadn’t yet told her about the pregnancy — she didn’t know whether the news of a new life would come as more of a surprise or more of an outrage to a mother who was still in the grip of her anger.

It was an exhausting New Year.

But Zhu Yun told herself: things would slowly get better.

They moved into the villa in December. Li Xun hired a housekeeper to look after Zhu Yun. On New Year’s Eve, the housekeeper went home for the holiday, leaving just Li Xun, Zhu Yun, and the little person of unknown sex inside her belly, the three of them together.

New Year’s Eve didn’t feel particularly special to them — after all, Li Xun had still been working overtime at the office the day before. They ate dinner together and settled into the sofa to watch television. Li Xun lounged with his feet propped up on the coffee table, chewing gum. Since Zhu Yun became pregnant, he had rarely smoked in front of her.

Unfortunately, his addiction was too deep for gum alone to satisfy. Before long he gave up, spit out the gum, and went outside to smoke. He went in a thin shirt, exhaling plumes of white vapor in the freezing cold. When he came back in, he dropped onto the sofa beside Zhu Yun and brought a wave of cold air with him.

He lazily flipped through the television channels while pulling Zhu Yun’s hand over and placing it on his stomach.

The Spring Festival Gala hadn’t started yet when Hou Ning called. Li Xun chatted with him for about ten minutes, then hung up and called Dong Siyang.

Zhu Yun muted the television and waited for Li Xun to finish his calls.

“What is it?” she asked.

Li Xun: “The investment liaison from Huajiang might be coming over on the seventh day of the New Year.”

Zhu Yun frowned. “The seventh? Why so urgent?”

Li Xun: “Jili extended the invitation.”

Zhu Yun: “If they’re going through Jili, will that affect us?”

Li Xun laughed coldly. “Possibly. Fang Zhijing has been so preoccupied with us — now that he’s sorted out his own affairs, of course he’d take the opportunity to send us a little gift while he’s at it.”

Zhu Yun: “So what do we do?”

Li Xun patted her belly — the way you’d thump a watermelon to check if it’s ripe — and said: “Don’t overthink it. Focus on taking care of him. I’ll handle this.”

Zhu Yun: “He’s not even born yet — what’s to take care of?”

The due date was still roughly three months away, but Zhu Yun’s belly was already quite large. Fu Yizhuo had come by to join in the excitement recently, wanting to bring his family’s private doctor over to check whether the baby was a boy or girl, but Zhu Yun had refused.

“Don’t check. Once you know, the surprise is gone.”

She told Fu Yizhuo afterward: “Your brother says it’s a boy. I’m not checking. I’ll wait and see — I’m determined to have a girl just to prove him wrong.”

Fu Yizhuo looked as though he had no interest in dealing with either of these two insufferable people.

Li Xun set aside the matter of Jili and asked Zhu Yun: “Have you called home?”

Zhu Yun: “I have.”

Li Xun: “Did you tell them about the baby?”

Zhu Yun: “……Not yet.”

Li Xun was quiet for a moment. Zhu Yun reached up to touch his cheek, and he said softly: “Try not to let things stay at odds with your family. And don’t worry about me — I’ve got thick skin. They can’t do anything to me.”

Zhu Yun acted aloof: “Who said I was worried about you?”

Li Xun pulled her closer. “When is that mouth of yours going to say what it means?” He dragged his tongue in a decidedly shameless fashion along the curve of her lips. “What if my son picks up your habit of saying the opposite of what you feel?” She pushed him away. “You’re disgusting. Get back.”

That half-hearted resistance only spurred him on. He pulled her close and buried his face in her neck, kissing and nipping. Zhu Yun pushed at him a few more times, then gave up and let him be.

She heard his muffled voice: “Find a moment to sit down and really talk with your parents. I owe them my thanks — for raising you so well, so soft and so sheltered, without having gone through any real hardship.”

Zhu Yun wrapped her arms around his back, shifting into a better, more comfortable position for him.

Outside the window, wind and snow raged.

Li Xun was right. Compared with so many people, Zhu Yun really had never suffered much — comfortable, provided for, everything following its proper course. Her health was strong too; the discomforts of pregnancy had barely touched her. She never lost her appetite and rarely suffered from dizziness or nausea.

In the thirty mild, unhurried years of her life, he was the sole exception.

The purest, most innocent romance she had ever known, and the most agonizing pain she had ever endured — he was the source of both.

Her emotional life had been so simple. And yet so unshakeable.

Zhu Yun held Li Xun close and kissed the top of his head, her touch light and tender. His kisses, by contrast, were industrious — his breathing grew heavier, his breath quickening.

Zhu Yun lifted her head to think about practical matters.

“…Think about how to deal with the Jili situation. When we meet with the Huajiang people, we’re scheduled after Jili — what do we do if Fang Zhijing interferes?”

If she was being honest, it wasn’t easy to concentrate right now. Mainly because his breath was too heavy, too close — his skin brushing her cheek. He had come in from the cold just moments ago, and yet now he felt like a furnace.

He was absorbed entirely in pressing his lips to her neck, as if nothing in the world mattered more than that.

“You don’t need to worry about it. He can’t stop us.” Li Xun murmured in the midst of all this tenderness. “…The path we chose is the right one. Just like you choosing me — that was also the right thing.” His palm settled gently over her belly. “The right things are protected.” His hand lay steady and still, like a guardian deity. And then — as if by miracle — the little one inside her suddenly stretched out a leg and gave a kick, as if he had understood his father’s words.

Li Xun raised an eyebrow and flashed a smug grin.

“See?”

She was lost in that smile.

Li Xun pressed his forehead to hers, eyes softly closed, and said quietly: “Don’t be afraid. There’s nothing to be afraid of… A pebble cannot trip an elephant, nor can it dam a flood.”

His words proved as exact as ever. Four days later, Feiyang received an invitation from Huajiang VC expressing their interest in investing — and this was before the seventh day of the New Year had even arrived.

Dong Siyang came over with Zhang Fang and Zhao Teng — partly to discuss business, partly to gather and celebrate. The moment Zhang Fang stepped inside, his eyes didn’t know where to look.

“Oh my — oh my — oh my! What a mansion!” He tiptoed around the room in wonder. While Li Xun was talking with Dong Siyang, he whispered to Zhao Teng: “Li-sir is really something. We’re barely back on track, and in one year he’s spent more than I could earn in a lifetime.”

Zhao Teng squinted at him. “Is that seriously the limit of your ambition?”

Dong Siyang sat in the living room with the air of a sage, drinking tea and remarking that the tea the housekeeper brewed was far better than anything Zhu Yun could manage.

Zhu Yun sat nearby reading, not rising to the bait. Dong Siyang laughed and added: “You should just quit already. Stay home, support your husband, raise your children.”

Zhu Yun said evenly: “Quit? I’m thinking about asking for a raise over the New Year.”

Dong Siyang’s thick brows shot together, and he sat bolt upright.

“A raise?!”

Li Xun brought his laptop out from the bedroom and set it on the coffee table. Zhu Yun stopped teasing Dong Siyang and went back to her book.

After Dong Siyang and Li Xun discussed the project for a while, Dong Siyang cut straight to the point: “I’ve made arrangements to meet with the Huajiang people tomorrow. Does that work?”

Li Xun: “Fine by me.”

Dong Siyang: “Can we close it?”

Li Xun: “Of course.”

Zhu Yun listened from the side, the corners of her mouth lifting without her noticing. She held up her book to hide it and turned toward the window.

Beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass, snow blanketed the sky.

Everything around her felt strangely quiet.

Zhang Fang and Zhao Teng were making a racket in the kitchen; Dong Siyang and Li Xun were deep in conversation right beside her — and yet she felt perfectly still, as if she could hear every individual snowflake falling outside.

Those landing on the rooftop, those settling in the trees, those drifting to the ground… she felt she could distinguish between each one, just as she could read every glance, every expression, every word of Li Xun’s and understand the full truth behind them.

Li Xun needed to go back to the office with Dong Siyang to retrieve some documents. Zhu Yun walked them to the door. Li Xun headed out first; Dong Siyang paused in the doorway to put on his shoes. Zhu Yun said: “Drive carefully in the snow.”

Dong Siyang glanced up, smiled, and said: “You’ve come a long way from when you first arrived.”

Zhu Yun: “What do you mean?”

Dong Siyang waved it off. “You wouldn’t understand even if I told you.” He turned to leave — and Zhu Yun caught a sharp glimpse of the bandage wrapped around his wrist. She immediately asked: “What happened to your hand?”

Dong Siyang raised his arm and glanced at it. “It’s nothing. I knocked it a couple of days ago.”

Zhang Fang called out from behind: “Nothing?! Director Dong was working overtime on New Year’s Eve talking business! He drove in the ice and snow and hit a guardrail! His wrist was fractured and he still wouldn’t leave the front lines! He’s practically a model for his generation!”

Dong Siyang turned to look at him without expression; Zhang Fang immediately fell silent.

Zhu Yun couldn’t help saying: “Take care of yourself. Your life matters more than anything — if something’s too much, let it go for now.”

“Let it go?” Dong Siyang let out a short, dismissive sound, a puff of white breath shooting from his nose. “I’ve already let things go for far too long. And besides —” He looked at Zhu Yun, his rugged face radiating fierce confidence. “Don’t ever say ‘too much’ to me again. I hate hearing that phrase. And let me warn you — don’t go thinking that just because you’re having a son you can get cocky with me. I’m still your boss! There’s a hierarchy here!”

Zhu Yun: “Why are you also calling it a son?”

Dong Siyang straightened his coat, gave her one final glare, and declared with absolute certainty —

“It’s a son!”

Then he turned and walked away.

Zhu Yun leaned against the door frame, watching as the two men stepped one after the other into the ice and snow.

What was that old saying?

A dragon doesn’t cross shallow rivers.

Zhu Yun closed her eyes and listened to the distant sound of the wind. It felt, somehow, as if the heavens were speaking — telling all those who had endured hardship in the first half of their lives and never given up on themselves: the suffering you have borne has now given rise to dragons.

She opened her eyes, laughed coolly into the wind and snow, and said to herself: “I’m going to have a daughter just to spite every last one of you insufferable people.”

Zhu Yun went into labor on a day Li Xun wasn’t there.

The timing could not have been worse.

The baby arrived three days before the due date. Li Xun was in Beijing attending Huajiang Investment’s press conference. Huajiang’s first round of investment in Feiyang had reached four hundred million — the loudest shot fired in that year’s internet financing race.

The press conference was held at Huajiang’s Beijing headquarters, personally hosted by their president, Yao Naixin. Li Xun had originally wanted to stay home with Zhu Yun, but she had sent him away.

“You have to be there. This isn’t something you can skip — how important do you think you are?”

“But then I won’t see my son being born.”

“The press conference is still a little before the due date. You might be able to make it back in time.”

Li Xun leaned lazily against the headboard. “That’s impossible. My son can’t wait — he wants to come early.”

Zhu Yun scoffed.

Li Xun was quiet for a moment, then said softly: “Well. There’s always going to be something we miss.”

Zhu Yun found it strange that he seemed so certain.

That day, Zhu Yun was watching the press conference live in the living room. Li Xun appeared on screen in a suit, so devastatingly handsome that Zhu Yun sat there utterly dazzled, her mind going blank.

Even the celebrity guests brought in to add glamour to the event paled beside him by comparison.

She was deep in her infatuated watching when suddenly a sharp pain tore through her lower body — as if something had split open — and the fabric of her trousers was soaked through in an instant. Zhu Yun clutched her belly, her back breaking into a sweat, her voice unsteady. She summoned what breath she had and bellowed: “Fu Yizhuo——!”

Fu Yizhuo had been lying on the carpet in the back room practicing yoga poses. Hearing Zhu Yun’s shout, he scrambled to his feet, took one look at the puddle beneath her, and immediately called for a car.

While waiting for the car, Zhu Yun still didn’t miss the chance to steal a few more glances at the handsome man on the television screen.

A reporter had approached Yao Naixin for his comments on this round of investment.

Yao Naixin said: “In this round, Huajiang invested in quite a range of companies across different categories. E-commerce came first, of course, along with the search engines essential to e-commerce. Then social and mobile internet, as well as lifestyle sectors — mostly food, entertainment, and property transactions. We also touched on finance, logistics, and culture.”

The reporter continued: “But the centerpiece of this round is undoubtedly Feiyang Technology Limited — a newly emerging internet medical company.”

Yao Naixin said: “That’s right. Chinese internet companies have made enormous profits, but a close look at the internal structure reveals very little cutting-edge technology. I don’t want to see, ten or twenty years from now, Chinese internet companies still copying others — still growing rich off entertainment, services, and cheap goods.”

Reporter: “There are many research-focused internet companies out there. Why did you single out this one?”

Yao Naixin said: “First and foremost, capability. They have exceptional capability. The person overseeing the company’s technology has an extraordinarily thorough and rigorous approach to data collection and analysis. And this company has resilience — that’s another reason I chose them. I believe they will succeed. In this industry, some people provide convenience and entertainment. But someone has to be the one to change the era.”

Zhu Yun was rushed to the hospital, where the head nurse was waiting at the entrance. Fu Yizhuo had arranged everything months in advance. In no time at all, Zhu Yun was wheeled into the delivery room.

Everything that had been quiet before seemed to pile up all at once in the time just before the birth. By the time Zhu Yun was wheeled in, the pain was already unbearable. She remembered a similar feeling from the first time she’d had her period — though this was many times worse.

The head nurse stood by her side: “Come on. Breathe deeply — long inhale, short exhale, push your belly down as you breathe out.” Zhu Yun followed the instructions. The head nurse, gloved, conducted an internal examination and exclaimed: “Sweetheart, you are in incredible shape! Fully dilated!”

And then amid much surrounding bustle, Zhu Yun was wheeled into the delivery room. The head nurse reassured her: “Don’t be nervous, and don’t cry — crying wastes energy. Save your strength!”

Zhu Yun was strapped to various monitoring devices. Her belly felt as though it might explode. After the midwife had finished all preparations, she told Zhu Yun: “Don’t be nervous — when the contraction comes, push!” Before she’d even finished speaking, another wave of pain hit. Zhu Yun pushed for the first time — unsuccessfully, like having to pull back at the last moment.

This happened several more times with no result. Zhu Yun was growing impatient. Another contraction came. Zhu Yun gripped the bed frame, clenched her teeth, and snarled:

“Get out!”

Her sudden outburst startled everyone in the room. Zhu Yun bore down with everything she had. This time, a rush of heat surged through her, and she felt something tumultuous leave her body all at once — and then everything went still.

The doctor remarked: “Good heavens — what strength.”

Zhu Yun collapsed, drenched in sweat, lying back against the bed.

The doctor held the baby up and patted its bottom. Through her daze, Zhu Yun heard a thin, loud cry.

The doctor administered an injection and began suturing the wound. Zhu Yun couldn’t see what was happening below, and felt lightheaded, as if she might float away.

She asked softly: “Boy or girl?”

The nurse smiled: “A boy! A strong, healthy one!” She held the baby up for Zhu Yun to see. The little one was entirely red, his skin so tender it looked like it might break at a touch.

So ugly…

Zhu Yun frowned at him, murmuring: “How could you possibly be mine and Li Xun’s child?”

At those words, the baby’s crying grew louder, his legs kicking — the nurse almost lost her grip.

“Oh goodness! He’s got some spirit!”

Zhu Yun watched him quietly, then said: “I wanted a daughter. What did you come out here for? Just like your father — here specifically to annoy me?”

The baby wailed and wailed.

Zhu Yun reached out. Her hands were still trembling slightly from the birth. She poked the baby’s little belly. The moment she touched him, something softened completely inside her.

The nurse carried the baby away for examination; the doctor continued suturing. Zhu Yun had lost all sense of pain and fatigue. She lay back, staring out the window.

It was the season when grass grew tall and orioles flew, when all the world stirred back to life.

She gazed far into the sky and said, almost inaudibly: “All right. You win again.”

The nurse didn’t catch her words and assumed she was asking for something. She came closer to ask; Zhu Yun said: “Could you bring me my phone, please?”

At home.

In the empty living room, the television — forgotten in the rush — was still on. The press conference had ended.

Everyone surrounded Yao Naixin; reporters scrambled for every opportunity to gather material.

Suddenly, someone called out to Yao Naixin loudly: “A few months ago, someone exposed that the head of Feiyang once served six years in prison for assault! And I hear his background is extremely poor — does this have absolutely no impact on your investment in Feiyang?” Before Yao Naixin could respond, the crowd had already begun scanning the room for the head of Feiyang — but they couldn’t find him.

The man at the center of it all had left the moment the press conference ended. He had many things still to do and had no interest in fielding reporters.

He stepped out of the hotel into the deep of night.

He lit a cigarette and walked slowly against the current of the crowd along the glittering streets of the capital, his posture solitary and cold, unapproachable by anyone.

He seemed to be thinking about something. He walked in silence for a long while — and then, suddenly, his pocket vibrated.

He took out his phone and looked.

And in an instant, all the cold dissolved from around him.

—End of main story—