Zhu Yun had nearly forgotten they even had this project. From the moment she had taken over “Invincible Warlord,” she had never heard anyone mention it again, and had at one point assumed the project had fallen through.

Now that it was suddenly being started up, the anxious spirit repossessed Zhu Yun, and she couldn’t help but start worrying. She carefully asked Li Xun whether he needed any help, or whether she could reassign Zhao Teng to his team.

“My, my — Team Leader Zhu has grown quite some backbone, hasn’t she?” Li Xun said mockingly. “Free enough to go sticking her nose into other people’s projects.”

The corner of Zhu Yun’s eye twitched.

Li Xun didn’t bother giving her a proper look. “You just worry about your own work.”

Even so, this was Li Xun’s first project since getting out of prison, and Zhu Yun wasn’t sure whether he would be able to adapt. She quietly pulled Zhang Fang aside and suggested that as the company’s “second-in-command,” he should take greater responsibility for monitoring the project. Zhang Fang was successfully reeled in by Zhu Yun’s persuasion after a few attempts — his sense of responsibility swelled to overflowing, and he bounded around full of enthusiasm, insisting that a planning discussion meeting be called and that Li Xun present his proposal for everyone to review together.

Li Xun agreed without any objection.

The meeting was scheduled before the holiday break. Dong Siyang rounded everyone up into the “conference room” — that is, the little windowless box of a room.

The cramped little room was just as packed as it had ever been, though nowhere near as stuffy as that very first interview. It was in that moment that Zhu Yun abruptly realized — time had flown by. Without her noticing, the first snowfall had long since come and gone, and now it was the depths of winter.

Zhu Yun marveled at how quickly the days had passed.

Li Xun had gone to print the proposal and was the last one to enter the room. The moment Zhang Fang saw what he was carrying, his jaw dropped. “What is this? Are you writing a novel?!”

Zhu Yun was equally astonished — Li Xun’s proposal was extremely thick. He distributed a copy to each person, and Zhu Yun received hers and immediately began flipping through it.

She had assumed Li Xun would handle it casually, but the proposal turned out to be extraordinarily thorough and detailed. Beginning with an overview on the first page — covering the game’s content, target users, and core mechanics — it moved into comprehensive rules and art assets, followed by descriptions of the engine and tool requirements based on the system, then a presentation deck and a breakdown of milestones, and at the very end, a change log used to track the revision history of all preceding documents.

Dong Siyang and Zhang Fang stared at it in blank confusion. Guo Shijie only read the pages on art requirements. Zhao Teng, brow creased, struggled his way through it. Only Zhu Yun read it with genuine attention.

This was less a proposal than a flowchart for helping a programmer organize their thinking.

She had never seen Li Xun write a proposal before. Back in their university days, when he led them through projects, he always commanded the whole operation directly, with the entire plan stored in his head — he would never have had the patience to write things out for others to follow.

That he had written it all out now was probably his way of helping himself adjust better.

“Speak up if you have any issues.” Li Xun said coolly.

Zhu Yun stole a glance at him. Li Xun’s proposal was just like the man himself — not a single wasted word, logic clear, reasoning orderly. At times it was so orderly it tipped over into something cold, like a deity delivering a declaration of truth: those close enough could pay their reverence, while those too far away couldn’t even find an opening to speak.

At the moment, the “close enough” devotees were only Zhu Yun and Zhao Teng, with Guo Shijie keeping one foot inside the circle — the remaining two were entirely outside, holding the proposal the way you’d hold a book written in a foreign tongue.

Li Xun said to Dong Siyang and Zhang Fang, “You two can just flip straight to the last section — it’s all illustrated with captions.”

Zhang Fang still tried to put up a bit of resistance. “Are you looking down on us?”

Li Xun swiveled his neck around, stretching on his own terms. Zhang Fang, getting nowhere, obediently turned to the last page, and then found himself increasingly absorbed.

“Oh! Oh, oh, oh!” Zhang Fang exclaimed with excitement. “Now this is interesting!”

Zhu Yun went through the document carefully a second time.

Once the initial shock and admiration had passed, her attention shifted to the substance of the proposal itself. The more closely she looked, the more stunned she became — her face gradually flushed, her heart began to pound, and when she reached the illustration on the final page, she slapped the proposal flat on the table.

The men on the other side had been deep in animated conversation and were jolted to a stop. Zhu Yun stared at Li Xun, barely containing her agitation, and pointed at the proposal on the table.

“What is this thing?”

Li Xun glanced sidelong. “The title is on the first page.”

Zhu Yun: “Of course I saw the first page — I’m asking about the content!”

Dong Siyang and the other men burst out laughing, and finally Li Xun laughed too. When he cracked a smile, the rest of the group roared even more freely — arrogant yet jovial, jovial yet slightly lewd. The one woman in the room flushed scarlet under the onslaught of grins from all sides.

Zhu Yun couldn’t help but say, “This game of yours is absolutely obscene!”

Li Xun looked genuinely surprised. “Is it?”

Zhu Yun flipped forcefully through the proposal. “Look at your content descriptions! And the mechanics — ‘diving into the bushes,’ ‘night raid,’ and this one, ‘shadowing the target’… what is all this?”

Li Xun’s proposal was filled with all manner of “imaginative” components: for instance, there was a competitive element where players raced to be the first to bring a target character to climax. It featured different maps and character archetypes — such as “a teacher getting off work,” “a strict superior,” or “an artsy young woman on a journey” — with gameplay varying wildly depending on the archetype and scenario, along with a host of different scoring mechanisms.

In the face of Zhu Yun’s questioning, Zhang Fang was the first to speak.

“Team Leader Zhu, there’s a real problem with what you’re saying there. You have your own project to take care of. ‘Playboy’ belongs to Team Leader Li — it’s not your place to raise objections to it. Though come to think of it, Director Dong really does have a sharp eye for assigning roles. Everyone’s playing to their strengths.” With a single speech he had aggressively taken Li Xun’s side while simultaneously managing to flatter Dong Siyang, and Zhu Yun’s face burned like it was on fire.

She said furiously, “This is a pornographic game. It’s going to get reported, without a doubt!”

Li Xun lit a cigarette and tossed a few more sheets of paper onto the table. Zhu Yun picked them up — they were news articles, all of them brief, phrased in vague and bureaucratic language, but the gist was that a leader from the State Administration of Radio, Film and Television had criticized the low-grade content currently prevalent in mobile and browser games.

Zhu Yun looked at Li Xun. “So you’re deliberately walking into the line of fire?”

“They’re sending out feelers,” Li Xun said. “The government is probably preparing to introduce restrictions.”

Zhu Yun: “And you’re still going ahead with it?”

Li Xun glanced at her lightly. “Why do you think they’re introducing restrictions?”

Zhu Yun: “Obviously because it’s obscene.”

Li Xun: “Because it makes money.”

“……”

Li Xun gave her a sideways look and continued, “Mobile games are generating revenue too fast — some kind of review system is inevitable. But we still have time.” Li Xun’s long fingers tapped twice on the two sheets of paper on the table. “Right now they’re only sending feelers. It’ll be at least another year before actual regulations come out. That’s enough time. As for the content, I’ll know where to draw the line.”

Zhang Fang sat beside them, rubbing his thighs with barely contained excitement.

“Hurry up and make it! I am dying to play this! Now this is what a game should be!”

“Absolutely not!” Zhu Yun still could not accept that they were making this kind of game. She fixed her gaze firmly on Li Xun and forced her words out through clenched teeth. “How can you make something like this? Have a little dignity, will you?”

Back in the day, even if you were driven by money, at least everything you thought about was on the cutting edge of technology. And now you’ve sunk to plotting out step by step how to bring women to climax.

Dong Siyang spoke from the side in a low rumble, “Add a character to the roster for me — ‘a disobedient female subordinate.'” He pointed at Zhu Yun and said to Guo Shijie, “Base her on her.”

Guo Shijie nodded. He was sitting right next to Zhu Yun. Zhu Yun glared at him. “You dare!”

Li Xun said to the room, “Let’s vote. Everyone who thinks the proposal is fine, raise your hand.”

Five hands shot up.

Five to one.

“You are all absolutely——” Zhu Yun pointed around at every person in the room, and ended up pointing hardest at Li Xun, straining with the effort, pointing and pointing until finally she still couldn’t think of the right word to describe them.

Dong Siyang cackled.

“We’ll need to keep meeting about this project. When it comes to how to bring women to a climax, I have the most to say. Especially the ones who like to be in the spotlight — let me tell you, that kind of woman is the emptiest on the inside, and the most intense to deal with.”

Zhang Fang immediately fell into toadying mode: “Absolutely! Director Dong’s experience speaks for itself — vigorous, powerful, and enduring. One word: formidable!”

Zhu Yun narrowed her eyes at him. “Shameless, how would you know — have you tried it yourself?”

Zhao Teng burst out laughing.

Zhang Fang flew into a fit of mortified outrage and slapped the table. “The vote passed — the proposal is approved! Your objections don’t count! Team Leader Li, you can rest easy. In all my years, you’re the first person I’ve ever seen put this much genuine effort into making an adult game. You have my full and unwavering support!”

Li Xun: “Thank you.”

Zhang Fang: “By the way, are you good at pursuing women?”

Li Xun said sincerely, “Not really.”

Zhu Yun: “……”

Zhang Fang enthusiastically recommended, “Then for chasing after girls, you can ask Old Teng — he’s an expert, never without a girlfriend. And for getting somewhere with them, Director Dong is your man.”

The conversation drifted further and further off course, and what had been a planning meeting rapidly transformed into the in-person edition of a certain kind of online forum.

Halfway through, Zhu Yun walked out. She simply lacked the heart to sit through any more of it. How could men be so lewd — even Guo Shijie, ordinarily the most mild-mannered of the group, had been visibly stirred by this kind of conversation.

The moment she stepped out, Li Xun followed her. Zhu Yun looked at him coldly. Li Xun seemed to find her expression entertaining, his shoulders shaking slightly.

Zhu Yun: “Your debut work has truly opened my eyes.”

Li Xun smiled, pulling the corner of his mouth up.

She was clearly sulking, and yet his smile at this particular angle still made her heart catch — the feeling it stirred was far too familiar. It made you want to tear your hair out and stamp your feet, and yet there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

He was becoming more and more like his former self.

Confident and decisive, composed and assured, and that insufferable, shameless edge to him.

He was gradually settling into the environment and the times, reclaiming what had always been his.

“I won’t be helping with this project.” Zhu Yun crossed her arms and made her position clear. “I’m only doing mine.”

Li Xun: “I came out here to tell you exactly that.”

“What?”

Li Xun leaned against Zhao Teng’s desk, both hands in his pockets.

Zhu Yun’s gaze, entirely beyond her control, kept drifting toward that pair of long legs so close by. His legs were noticeably more solid than they had been six years ago, though not to the degree of Dong Siyang’s — which seemed to have hardened into stone. Li Xun’s legs were long and lean, easy and unrestrained, especially in those black trousers: an absolute masterpiece.

“……so just keep at it,” Li Xun was saying.

“?”

Zhu Yun had been admiring Li Xun’s legs with her full attention and had not caught a word of what he said. Li Xun’s brow furrowed slightly, as though he were displeased at not being listened to.

“I’m telling you to keep doing your own game steadily,” he said plainly. “For a company to establish itself, it needs more than just the ability to turn a profit — it also needs something that demonstrates its values. Your project is the face of this company. You’ll understand what I mean in time.” He paused, then tilted his gaze upward, leaning in close to say quietly, “The only issue is this face is a little thin on pride.”

The fire from the meeting still hadn’t quite died out, and now fresh fuel had been added. Her cheeks went red from the warmth of his breath, as if she were specifically helping him prove his words right.