Feiyang acquired Jili in the year Li Xun turned thirty-seven.

The driving force behind the acquisition plan, however, had been neither Li Xun nor Zhu Yun — it was Feiyang’s CEO at the time, Huang Zhifei.

Speaking of Huang Zhifei: back in the days before Huajiang’s investment, when Dong Siyang was still overseeing Feiyang’s renovations, he had slipped Zhu Yun a flash drive with resumes inside — and Huang Zhifei’s name was on it. He was among the very first batch of people hired after Feiyang got back on its feet; Zhang Fang had conducted his interview.

The interview lasted very little time, and Zhang Fang made his decision almost immediately. His reason was simple: this person radiated the same energy as Zhu Yun and Li Xun.

Huang Zhifei started out as a programmer and gradually shifted toward business and administration. He was careful and far-sighted, though his temperament was somewhat reserved — which made him a natural complement to Dong Siyang. Together, they allowed Zhu Yun and Li Xun to channel all their energy into research and development without worry. With Feiyang developing steadily, the company successfully listed five years after its relaunch.

The year Li Siqi turned six, Li Xun and Zhu Yun were out of town every day negotiating with the government over the rollout of interconnected medical data across mid-sized cities. They were so busy they didn’t even make it back for Li Siqi’s first day of school. Fu Yizhuo ended up taking a very sullen Li Siqi to school.

After reaching a preliminary agreement with the relevant government departments, Zhu Yun and Li Xun set off on the journey home. Zhu Yun had been planning to stop at a shopping mall first and buy Li Siqi a present as an apology — but Dong Siyang and Huang Zhifei called her in for a meeting.

Dong Siyang made a point of telling Zhu Yun not to let Li Xun know about the meeting yet.

Zhu Yun found this very strange.

They didn’t hold the meeting at the office. Dong Siyang gathered everyone at a teahouse — ornamental rocks, a quiet pond, a serene atmosphere. Zhu Yun saw that alongside Dong Siyang and Huang Zhifei, Hou Ning was also present, which made her instinctively more alert.

Hou Ning had always been responsible for information security at the company. Because medical data was unlike other types of data, Feiyang needed airtight protections for user information. Zhu Yun assumed something must have gone wrong in that area.

“What’s happened?” she asked, getting straight to the point.

Dong Siyang sat comfortably in the redwood chair, sipping his tea, and said: “Nothing has happened to us.” He gestured to Huang Zhifei. Huang Zhifei said directly to Zhu Yun: “Here’s the situation: Hou Ning has discovered that someone at Jili Company has been selling user data.”

Zhu Yun hadn’t heard the name “Jili” in quite some time. After Huajiang invested in Feiyang, they and Jili had gone down entirely different paths. Fang Zhijing hadn’t dared cause them further trouble after that, and had focused all his attention back on gaming.

From the occasional bit of news that filtered through, Zhu Yun knew that Jili’s operations hadn’t been going well. Though they had successfully listed, Huajiang had declined to invest in them, citing “lack of independent innovation.” Jili’s most profitable project at the time, the game “Perfect Girlfriend,” had quickly been banned under government restrictions. Jili had undergone two major restructurings and had barely scraped by, selling off most of its shares to bring in new investors.

“What kind of data are they selling?” Zhu Yun asked.

Hou Ning: “All their games are deeply embedded into users’ phones.”

Zhu Yun nodded.

This was extremely common practice among domestic companies at the time. Every company tried to harvest as much user data as possible, and would go to any length to ensure installation rates.

She looked at Hou Ning, who was scribbling busily in his notebook. “How did you find out they were selling data?”

Hou Ning: “I have my methods.”

Zhu Yun raised an eyebrow. “You’ve still been keeping an eye on that company?”

Hou Ning glared at her. “Of course I have, since you clearly haven’t!”

Huang Zhifei, seated beside him, pushed up his glasses and said: “The data selling is verified. But given how widespread game-based data harvesting is right now, that alone isn’t a major issue. What matters is something that’s just happened — an opportunity.” His long, narrow eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence as he looked at Zhu Yun. “If you still have any unfinished business with that company, we can use this to take them down completely.”

Zhu Yun: “What’s happened?”

Huang Zhifei placed a newspaper on the tea table. Zhu Yun picked it up. It was an article about a home invasion robbery and assault that had taken place in the city. The details were disturbing enough that Zhu Yun’s brow furrowed deeply as she read.

She asked: “This is connected to Jili selling data?”

Huang Zhifei: “Whether it’s connected or not — we decide.”

Zhu Yun looked at him.

Huang Zhifei wasn’t like Dong Siyang, who was always relaxed and grinning. He rarely smiled; his presence ran deep and still. “I know someone involved in this case — I asked him to examine the victim’s phone, and Jili’s game was on it. The suspect has already been caught. He’s confessed that he purchased the personal information online.”

Zhu Yun: “Who was the seller?”

Huang Zhifei: “The seller can’t be traced right now.” He leaned forward slightly and added: “So anyone could be the seller.”

Zhu Yun understood what he meant.

Huang Zhifei continued: “Director Zhu, we’ve recently been preparing to acquire a browser company focused on protecting user privacy. People nowadays take themselves very seriously — the demand for privacy protection is growing, but most people don’t know where to start. The public’s patience with internet companies extracting user data without limits has run out. All that’s missing is a spark.”

Zhu Yun held her tea and thought carefully.

Huang Zhifei: “The time is right. We make Jili an example — we pin this tragedy squarely on their data selling. Then we launch our own privacy-protecting browser. Even if it’s not a hundred percent effective, it signals our company’s values. We’re in healthcare. We need the trust of our users.”

Zhu Yun thought it over for roughly ten minutes, then set down her teacup.

“All right. Do it — but carefully.”

Fang Zhijing hadn’t come looking for trouble with Feiyang in a long time. Feiyang’s strength was now on an entirely different level, and he was too busy trying to keep his own head above water.

Huang Zhifei and his team spent three days preparing, then unleashed everything at once: a wave of news stories swept the country, all centered on Jili’s gaming company secretly selling user data and enabling a criminal to locate his victim.

Jili was caught completely off guard.

Fang Zhijing made countless public appearances to explain and reassure, stating that the employee who had sold the data without authorization had been handed over to police, offering a public apology, and pledging strict internal management going forward.

Watching Fang Zhijing on television, Zhu Yun actually believed that selling the data hadn’t been his idea. Data like that sold for maybe a few tens of thousands — barely pocket change for someone like Fang Zhijing.

But the public didn’t see it that way.

Under Huang Zhifei’s careful amplification, everyone felt as though this had happened right next door to them. After the initial panic, a wave of enormous fury broke through — directed at the criminal, the company, and the government agencies that had failed to provide oversight.

Public outrage mounted; the government scrambled to crack down on the most visible offender.

When the wall falls, all hands push to bring it down. Old copyright infringement lawsuits against Jili were dug up, and even the grievances between Fang Zhijing and Li Xun from more than a decade ago were excavated and brought back to the surface.

There was no suppressing it this time.

The first time Li Xun saw this news, he was at home. It was a rare day off; Li Siqi was bouncing off the walls wanting to watch cartoons. He and Zhu Yun sat on the sofa with him. Fang Zhijing appeared in the news segment that followed the cartoon.

As he watched, Zhu Yun told him about Huang Zhifei and the others’ plan beside him.

“They didn’t want me to tell you before. They were afraid it would interfere with your work.”

Li Xun’s current research project was at a critical stage — not a single misstep could be tolerated.

Li Xun watched the rolling news feed and said nothing for a long time. When the next episode of the cartoon started, he finally laughed quietly: “You lot really do know how to stir things up…”

Fang Zhijing knew it was Feiyang’s doing. With no other options, he sent Gao Jianhong to appeal to Li Xun again.

But Gao Jianhong declined to cooperate this time.

In truth, Gao Jianhong had distanced himself from Jili’s affairs for years. Having once passed through death’s door, his perspective on everything had shifted considerably. He and Wu Mengxing had divorced two years prior; he had not remarried, kept his name on the company roster, and spent his time traveling.

Fang Zhijing, pushed into a corner with no way out, eventually came to Zhu Yun’s home himself.

He had the haggard look of a man coming apart. At the doorstep, he knelt before Li Xun.

“I give up. I admit defeat — will you let me go? Please!”

Li Xun said nothing. Past the age of thirty-five, he had even grown too tired for his habitual cold contempt. He was glacial — the kind of cold that made it nearly impossible for anyone outside of his close circle to approach him.

Fang Zhijing, meeting that detached, imperious gaze, felt his bitterness surge up again.

“Even a cornered rabbit will bite. Aren’t you afraid that if you push me too far, we’ll both go down together?”

That remark succeeded in doing what very little else could — it broke through the long-dormant nerves in Li Xun’s face. He looked at Fang Zhijing with scorn.

Fang Zhijing’s whole body trembled. He clenched his fists, then gave a sharp nod. “Fine. Fine! After all these years, it’s about time we had a proper end to this!”

Fang Zhijing left.

Soon, Feiyang began the process of acquiring Jili. And just as the process was nearly complete, Li Siqi was kidnapped on his way home from school.

During that period, Li Xun was nearly out of his mind.

Zhu Yun knew he must have been thinking of his sister.

Zhu Yun was terrified too — but she held it together.

Li Siqi was missing for three days. Li Xun could not sleep. In the end, Zhu Yun had a doctor give him an injection, and he finally managed a few hours of rest.

On the fourth day, Dong Siyang took a team and found Fang Zhijing — at an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city.

Fang Zhijing seemed to be in some kind of confused state by then. He had no weapon. Dong Siyang and his people subdued him without difficulty.

Li Siqi was unharmed. Dong Siyang was worried the ordeal might leave some kind of mark on him, and went to offer comfort — only to find the boy staring back at him with shining eyes and saying excitedly: “Uncle Dong, you were so cool!”

Dong Siyang, at a complete loss for words, bundled this absurd little character into the car, then came back to stand over Fang Zhijing. He looked at him for a long moment, then said what was in his heart:

“Your whole life, you’ve only ever been able to stir around in the gutter. There isn’t a single thing you’ve ever done that took real courage.”

When Li Xun arrived, the first thing he did was pull the knife from the sheath of one of Dong Siyang’s subordinates. He moved so fast that no one noticed until he was already too far away to reach.

He swung the blade down toward Fang Zhijing. Dong Siyang bellowed: “Stop!” — but it was already too late. Just as the blade came within a few centimeters of Fang Zhijing’s neck, Zhu Yun came sprinting up from behind and tackled Li Xun to the ground.

She held him. In just a few days, he had wasted away to skin and bones. Her hands were shaking too — but she kept saying: “It’s over. It’s over, Li Xun.”

Fang Zhijing was convicted of kidnapping and sentenced to eleven years in prison. Zhu Yun didn’t dare let her mother know about Li Siqi’s abduction, so she had Dong Siyang and Huang Zhifei spend a considerable sum to suppress the story.

Afterward, Jili was fully acquired by Feiyang.

In the wake of this ordeal, Dong Siyang decided to give the management team a week’s holiday and took everyone up the mountain to visit a temple.

Li Siqi, remarkably unbothered, recovered faster than his father. Seeing that his parents didn’t want his grandmother to know he’d been taken, he used this as leverage against Zhu Yun — demanding a vacation, freedom, and no school.

Zhu Yun gave him everything he asked for.

The mountain Dong Siyang had chosen was relatively unspoiled by tourism — quiet and unhurried. There was no hotel on the mountain; only a temple. Dong Siyang had booked the entire place, and the management team, a dozen or more people, stayed together inside.

During the day they watched the monks tend the tea garden. At night they listened to the sound of wind sweeping through the whole mountain.

After this incident, Li Xun found more white hairs on his head. Everyone wanted him to rest and ease his mind; no one brought up anything heavy, and they all tried to keep things light and cheerful.

Li Siqi came along as well. Zhu Yun took him roaming all over the mountain every day. She happened upon a fortune-telling monk in the back hills and, with nothing better to do, had her fortune read.

The monk asked what she wanted to know about. Zhu Yun didn’t ask about herself or her son — she asked about Li Xun.

The monk asked for Li Xun’s name and date of birth, considered thoughtfully for a moment, and said: “This person has an unusual destiny.”

Zhu Yun: “What do you mean?”

The monk: “He carries the seven-killings formation in his chart. By ancient methods, this is an extremely inauspicious sign — people with this destiny tend to wander through life, with dramatic rises and falls. But they also possess the capability to achieve great renown. His noble star sits in the destiny palace, which means he is self-reliant — he is his own greatest benefactor in this life. Such people live hard lives. He has a good chance of great achievement, but he also has a good chance of not living long.”

Zhu Yun stood up and looked at him coldly.

The monk coughed. “Well — I do need to tell you the truth.”

Zhu Yun cursed the man internally as a fraud, turned to leave — then walked back.

“Is there anything that can make things better for him?”

In the temple, several groups were playing cards. Dong Siyang and Li Xun sat in chairs, smoking. The main hall doors were open, facing out toward the mountain path.

Li Xun said quietly: “The Jili matter — you all worked hard on that.”

Dong Siyang: “Hard? Not really.”

Li Xun said lightly: “That you still remembered all that old business.”

Dong Siyang looked at him. Li Xun gazed steadily toward the distance.

The story about acquiring a browser company, about running advertisements — to those who knew the history, everything about it had reeked of revenge.

Dong Siyang looked at him for a while, then looked away. “It was nothing.”

A moment of quiet settled. After a while, Dong Siyang said: “At least that little one is all right. Otherwise it really would have been too costly.”

Li Xun said nothing.

Dong Siyang: “It was a close call this time. If that blade had actually come down, things would have gotten complicated.”

Li Xun still didn’t speak. At the far end of the mountain path, two figures were slowly approaching.

Zhu Yun was bringing Li Siqi back — he had spent the entire afternoon running wild all over the mountain.

Above the horizon, rosy clouds hung soft and vivid — like the alluring face that turned toward Li Xun with deep, tender eyes.

It really was over now.

All the grudges, all the debts, walked to their end.

Zhu Yun passed by the temple entrance and asked a young novice monk about the fortune teller from the back hill. The young monk blinked wide-eyed and said: “He’s come back again?! He’s a con man!”

Zhu Yun: “……”

Wonderful. Excellent. Perfect.

Two thousand yuan in ritual fees already paid.

She let out a long sigh. Li Siqi asked: “What’s wrong?”

Zhu Yun shook her head, touched Li Siqi’s round little head gently, and said softly: “Nothing. Mom feels at peace now.”

Dong Siyang had also spotted Zhu Yun coming back with the child. He smiled and said: “She really saved the day this time — moved fast when it mattered. An absolute tiger’s pounce.”

Li Xun gave a quiet sound of agreement.

Dong Siyang laughed. “Watching your family makes me actually want to get married. Is marriage good?”

Li Xun: “Yes.”

Dong Siyang: “Isn’t there a saying that marriage is love’s grave?”

Li Xun said nothing. Dong Siyang looked at him, deliberately needling: “Is Zhu Yun good?”

Li Xun leaned back in his chair with the cigarette at the corner of his mouth, his expression as calm and distant as it always was. He was quiet for a very long time, watching Zhu Yun at the temple entrance, locked in a struggle with Li Siqi to keep him from climbing the rocks.

After a silence long enough that Dong Siyang had given up expecting an answer, Li Xun said softly: “If there’s truly a final vision at the moment of death — she’ll probably be the last person I see in this life.”

His voice was barely a whisper, faint as smoke, as if spoken only to himself.