After the semester began, Huan’er became very busy.

On one hand, there was the unavoidable pressure of doctoral thesis work. On another, there were the demanding tasks assigned by her advisor. Additionally, she had already prepared to apply for the CSC joint training program to achieve a more impressive English score. The more one wants, the more one must invest. With irregular meals and lack of sleep, she began experiencing frequent stomach pains. The worst episode left her collapsing back into her chair after trying to stand. In late November, as the southern winter chill swept in, her pain-induced cold sweat soaked through the T-shirt under her sweater.

That day, she was alone in the laboratory. She first lay on the desk for a while, then suddenly remembered she might not have saved the training plan she had just written. Struggling to brighten the screen, her mouse wavered several times before finally clicking the save button. She wanted to drink some hot water to ease the pain, but her thermos was empty. The water dispenser was just a few steps away by the window, yet she lacked even the strength to walk there. The pain was too intense as if a fist had spontaneously formed inside her body and was violently pummeling her fragile stomach from within. She pressed one hand hard against the painful spot, and with her other hand, Huan’er noticed she was trembling.

Uncontrollably trembling, despite doing nothing at all.

She lay on the desk with closed eyes, thinking for a moment that she probably wouldn’t make it back to the dormitory today.

There wasn’t a single sound around her.

Huan’er fumbled for her phone on the desk, moved it closer, and called Jing Qichi.

Of course, she knew he could do nothing, and she didn’t intend to complain to him. She just wanted to hear his voice on such a night.

“Huan’er,” he quickly answered, “Are you back yet?”

It was very noisy on his end, so noisy that Jing Qichi’s voice was almost buried in the background noise. Huan’er frowned and asked, “Working overtime?”

“Yes, we have the platform launch press conference the day after tomorrow. The final testing tonight revealed some issues,” Jing Qichi said, holding his phone with his shoulder while typing with both hands. “Everyone’s still at the company.”

“Engineer Jing, five minutes, let’s meet in the main conference room,” someone called from the corridor.

Jing Qichi nodded, making way for Jiang Sen who was approaching his desk, pointing at the screen, “Boss, take a look at this.” Then he adjusted his phone, “Huan’er, are you still there?”

“Yes,” Huan’er’s voice was barely a whisper, “I won’t disturb you then, go ahead with your work.”

“Wait,” he detected the weakness in her voice and asked, “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

“No,” Huan’er could barely hold the phone due to pain, so she simply put it on the desk and switched to speakerphone, pressing both fists against her stomach. “Just wanted to ask what you were doing.”

Jiang Sen stood up at this point, and seeing him on the phone, made a gesture indicating he was heading to the conference room.

Jing Qichi held him back, covering the receiver, “Is it this part that’s the problem?”

Jiang Sen replied “We’ll discuss it in the meeting” and hurried away.

The heavyweight medical AI platform project, three years in the making, was about to launch. Despite countless successful test runs, problems emerged just 48 hours before its official release.

From Lab Director Gong Nailiang down to the newest company interns, even colleagues not from the medical team were all staying behind. Amid the chaos and commotion around the workstations was an invisible high-pressure line – everyone was extremely tense.

Jing Qichi, worried about Huan’er, asked again, “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

Before hearing an answer, Qiu Yang came over carrying a laptop, urging, “Stop calling, the meeting’s starting.”

“Just a moment.”

“What moment?” Qiu Yang impatiently unplugged various cables from his computer, finally simply grabbing both laptops and jogging towards the conference room. “Hurry up!”

Hearing Qiu Yang’s voice, Huan’er urged through the phone, “Go quickly, I’m fine.”

“Later,” Jing Qichi felt helpless, “Let’s video chat later.”

“Okay.” Huan’er bit her lower lip and hung up.

She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, tell him about her condition right now.

Because that would only add to his troubles, only add another layer to his anxiety.

Since parting in summer vacation, Jing Qichi had only come south once during the National Day holiday. He hadn’t even stayed for the entire break – as a key project member who had begun mentoring newcomers, he had to be at the forefront during this crucial phase. Overtime had become routine; with no family or children, it seemed all his spare time should be devoted to his flourishing career. Jing Qichi rarely complained about this, not because he was used to it – Huan’er knew it was something he genuinely wanted to accomplish.

So she supported him with all her might, even if that support could only manifest spiritually.

But… perhaps because the pain was too severe – on this night as winter approached, Huan’er felt helpless for the first time.

I miss you so much, which is why I wonder why you’re not by my side right now.

The press conference went smoothly, with the lab narrowly averting the crisis.

The public only ever sees the glamour. When the project encountered problems at the last moment, Jiang Sen, as team leader, couldn’t escape responsibility.

It was a closed-door meeting of senior management, with Venetian blinds drawn tight – not even a mosquito could get in.

Two hours later, the CEO, over fifty years old, emerged with a stern face. But in the next moment, facing numerous employees, he resumed his genial demeanor, calling out in the corridor, “The platform will launch as scheduled. Everyone has worked hard during this period – you are Huandao’s pride.”

Gong Nailiang, following behind him, saw the tense atmosphere and tried to lighten the mood, “All exhausted? The long march has just begun.”

Just then, Jing Qichi was carrying a cup of coffee out of the break room. Gong Nailiang, as if grabbing a lifeline, quickly introduced him, “President Li, this is Little Jing, he was featured in one section of the promotional video.”

“Ah, I know,” President Li walked over and patted Jing Qichi’s shoulder, smiling, “All the young ladies in the marketing department have their eyes on you like wolves and tigers.”

Someone chimed in, “President Li, our Engineer Jing has a girlfriend.”

The atmosphere finally lightened. Jing Qichi had only seen the CEO once from afar during the lab’s opening ceremony, and not knowing what to say, just smiled broadly.

“Young and promising,” President Li nodded, then faced everyone again, “I’ve always believed in one principle: talent is the primary productive force. The company’s achievements today are inseparable from everyone’s efforts. I hope you all can both contribute to and benefit from Huandao.”

“Thank you, President Li,” someone called out, followed by applause.

“Back to work,” Gong Nailiang gave the dismissal signal.

Only then did Jing Qichi notice that everyone had been standing. It was also then that he realized Jiang Sen hadn’t smiled once throughout.

After this closed-door meeting, rumors began circulating about Jiang Sen’s departure. The source couldn’t be traced – wherever there are people, there are politics. The rumors persisted until Spring Festival, but after returning to work, no one mentioned it again. Perhaps everyone forgot after the long holiday, or perhaps it was because Jiang Sen acted too normally – he still replied to emails at dawn, occasionally lost his temper when scolding people, and diligently proposed constructive plans at every monthly meeting.

Rumors rise and fall, like winter departing and spring arriving.

In June, Huan’er received a delightful confirmation from CSC. All preparations had been completed – her advisor was an old acquaintance of Ding Heping, a prestigious professor named David at Imperial College London, making her trip to England certain. She didn’t know if she was lucky enough or if her past hard work had finally paid off. Of course, from a results-oriented perspective, the process is always insignificant.

As for the duration, her senior colleagues had suggested two years, while Ding Heping, reluctant to lose a capable assistant, naturally preferred it to be as short as possible. Huan’er chose the middle ground of 18 months.

She went to Beijing once quietly, telling no one. After flying, taking a bus, and then the subway, she finally arrived outside Jing Qichi’s company building at six in the evening. She messaged to ask where he was, and Jing Qichi replied he hadn’t finished work yet. Huan’er probed, “Overtime on Friday too?” He responded, “Not today, can leave in half an hour.”

Half an hour, Huan’er murmured to herself, then noticed the coffee shop on the first floor of the office building and walked in.

As luck would have it, just as she had taken a couple of sips of coffee while concentrating on observing the crowd leaving the building, a young man in casual clothes came over to greet her, “Hey, it is you. Chen… Chen…”

Huan’er found his face familiar, but just as he was struggling to remember her name, she couldn’t recall where or when she had met him.

“Chen Huan’er, right?” The man found the answer. “Long… long time no see.”

That stutter finally helped Huan’er place the memory – the man before her was Liao Xinyan’s professional athlete boyfriend, oh no, ex-boyfriend.

They had eaten together twice, not close but acquainted nonetheless.

So Huan’er smiled at him, “It has been a long time.”

The man held a takeaway coffee cup, showing no intention of sitting down, making small talk, “Are you… are you working in Beijing now?”

“No,” Huan’er jerked her chin toward the window outside, “I’m waiting for someone.”

“This building?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What a coincidence.” He pointed to another building nearby, “I… I work in there.”

Huan’er was somewhat surprised, “You’re not playing football anymore?”

During his time dating Liao Xinyan, he had been a key player for a local second-tier club, young and vigorous in his prime, aiming to advance to the Super League and become the next Li Ming or Fan Zhiyi.

“Retired last year.” The man smiled self-deprecatingly, “The path… path wasn’t smooth, and I was getting older.”

Huan’er didn’t know how to comment, instead asking, “What about now?”

“Sports management. Helping teams arrange training… training venues and such.” He rotated his coffee cup. “How’s… how’s Xinyan?”

Come to think of it, it was truly remarkable. Though Liao Xinyan’s track record couldn’t compare to Huang Lu’s, none of her ex-boyfriends had ever said anything negative about her. Each time they asked about her, each time they had parted amicably to pursue their paths. Huan’er even wondered if one day at their old monitor’s wedding, there might be a special table just for ex-boyfriends.

“She’s doing well,” Huan’er smiled. “In a few years, we’ll be calling her Director Liao.”

“Director Liao,” the man also smiled, “Xinyan is indeed… indeed very outstanding.”

Huan’er glanced out the window again, but oh no – she met Jing Qichi’s intense gaze.

“I’ll go first.” She hurriedly grabbed her backpack, rushing out of the coffee shop without even saying goodbye.

Jing Qichi stood at the building exit with an ashen face and asked, “Who was that?”

He had only seen the man’s back, and… Huan’er smiling at him.

Qiu Yang nearby quickly tried to smooth things over, “So our Huan’er’s started making surprise visits too, when did you arrive?”

“Just now.” Huan’er hadn’t yet noticed the approaching storm, joking with Qiu Yang, “You seem to have gotten paler, changed your essence?”

Qiu Yang patted his face, “Can you tell? You get what you pay for.”

Jing Qichi’s expression remained grave as he watched the man leave the coffee shop from the corner of his eye. What the hell, why did it look like he wanted to follow them?

He changed position to shield Huan’er, standing with his back to the man. When he looked back again, the other person had left.

Doesn’t he know whose person she is?

Meanwhile, Qiu Yang was still discussing skincare with Huan’er, “I’m thinking of getting something for night hydration, help me check the ingredients when we get back, look how dry this part of my face is.”

Huan’er had just leaned in to take a closer look when Jing Qichi forcefully pulled her away, “If you’re dehydrated just drink more water, I don’t believe you’d still be dry after ten liters a day.”

“Ignore him.” Qiu Yang rolled his eyes, “He ate a missile or something.”

“What’s wrong?” Huan’er tugged at Jing Qichi’s sleeve, “Work not going well?”

“No.” Jing Qichi waved his hand irritably, wanting to ask but unwilling to show his current anxiety – Huan’er drew second looks even while walking down the street, he needed to be broad-minded, to get used to it.

Seeing the situation at a standstill, Qiu Yang couldn’t bear it anymore and tried another assist, “Huan’er, did you know that guy who was talking to you earlier?”

“Yes, I did.” Huan’er nodded, not thinking anything of it.

Some assist that was – it just made Jing Qichi more annoyed.

“Let’s go home.” He grabbed her hand, angrily swinging his laptop bag onto his back.

Huan’er hadn’t given the coffee shop encounter a second thought, talking happily with him, “What should we eat tonight?”

“Ah, whatever.”

Too happy to see him, Huan’er swung his arm and suggested, “How about Peking duck? I want Peking duck.”

“Okay.” Jing Qichi asked Qiu Yang while holding back his irritation, “Should we go to that place from the last team dinner? Can we take the bus directly there?”

“What Peking duck.” Seeing his awkward behavior, Qiu Yang couldn’t help but get annoyed, “You’re already full of vinegar, what duck do you need to eat?”

“I’m not!”

Only then did Huan’er realize what was happening, laughing while ruffling Jing Qichi’s hair, “Silly, that was Xinyan’s ex-boyfriend. I thought you had seen him.”

“Xinyan? Ex…” Jing Qichi’s brows furrowed, “Liao Xinyan?”

“Yeah, we ate together before, remember?”

Jing Qichi remained silent.

He had misunderstood, been narrow-minded, petty.

Why hadn’t he taken another look at that person, creating an imaginary rival for no reason?

Huan’er swung his hand again, “I’m quite happy right now.”

“Happy?” Jing Qichi, both angry and pleased, pinched her face, “Try being in my shoes.”

“Well, that’s it for dinner.” Qiu Yang, who had understood everything, shouted to the sky, “Police uncle, come quick, someone’s abusing dogs!”