The nurse came over with the test results and asked, “Who is the family member?”

Zhu Yun spoke up before Fu Yizhuo could, saying, “I am.”

The nurse waved her over. “Come in.”

The room had a desk, an examination bed, a computer, green plants, and a small tank of goldfish — an ordinary doctor’s office, yet in Zhu Yun’s eyes it felt almost sacred. She sat respectfully on the stool, waiting for the doctor to speak.

The doctor was in his fifties, dressed in a white coat, his glasses slightly lowered as he studied the test results in his hand. After a long moment, he asked unhurriedly, “What does he do for work?”

Zhu Yun answered promptly, “IT…” Worried the doctor might not be familiar with the term, she added, “The computer industry.”

The doctor nodded knowingly. “That explains it.”

His calm, unhurried tone made Zhu Yun suspect the situation might not be serious. Sure enough, the next moment the doctor said, “Don’t worry — there’s nothing majorly wrong.”

Zhu Yun finally exhaled, sinking back into the chair as though completely drained.

“Nervous, were you?” The doctor looked at her. “You’re all the same — anxious after the fact. What were you thinking when you were running him into the ground before?”

Zhu Yun said, “I was too careless.”

The doctor said, “He has cervical spondylosis — the common name is a cervical spine condition. The symptoms are already quite pronounced. Judging by the degree of muscle stiffness, this has been a chronic, long-standing problem. If you ask me, people in your industry have absolutely no regard for their own lives — every year there are people who drop dead from overwork.”

Out in the corridor, Fu Yizhuo stared at the doctor’s office door and suddenly said, “Give up.”

Tian Xiuzhu stood beside him, also looking at that tightly shut door.

Fu Yizhuo said, “She doesn’t even know how much she loves my little brother. Being by Li Xun’s side is different for her than being by anyone else’s.”

Tian Xiuzhu curved the corners of his mouth slightly.

Inside the room.

The doctor pushed his glasses up and said to Zhu Yun, “This patient must certainly be feeling dizzy and a heavy pressure in his head. He’s been working at an extremely high load for too long — his brain gets absolutely no chance to relax. His sleep quality must be poor too. No one should be working like that.”

Zhu Yun said, “He frequently has back pain.”

The doctor said, “Of course he does! If you stayed in the same sitting position all day, your back would hurt too!”

Startled by his sharpness, Zhu Yun gave a slight flinch, then said, “So the primary cause of his collapse today was…”

The doctor gestured as he explained, “The muscle pain is only a surface symptom — the spine is the root issue. His back is stiff, so blood can’t be properly delivered to the shoulders, but his brain is operating at high speed and requires high oxygen and blood flow over long periods. When those two demands collide, it would be strange if he didn’t pass out.”

Zhu Yun asked, “So what should we do?”

Under the doctor’s repeated recommendations, Zhu Yun ended up purchasing a large quantity of medications and nutritional supplements, and also signed up for a physical therapy package at the hospital.

When she came out of the doctor’s office, Zhu Yun immediately spotted Tian Xiuzhu standing in the corridor.

It was just noon.

With Li Xun’s condition now confirmed, Zhu Yun’s emotions had settled. Standing in the sunlight, she felt as though she had just been pulled from the water — her back was soaked through with sweat.

She looked at him and said softly, “You were right.”

Tian Xiuzhu smiled. “About which part?”

Zhu Yun said, “About all of it.”

— His health is not good. He’s running on sheer willpower.

— No one has an inexhaustible supply of energy.

— Living out one’s life calmly and in good health is the rarest thing of all.

People always achieve their deepest realizations after moments of great joy or great grief. Zhu Yun had not yet reached full enlightenment, but she had let go of a great deal.

Tian Xiuzhu suddenly asked her, “Do you remember the first time we met?”

Zhu Yun nodded, and Tian Xiuzhu continued, “At the time you seemed to look right past every painting in the exhibition, and yet you stood staring at my name for such a long time. I felt we had a certain connection.”

Looking back on that time now, it felt to Zhu Yun like something from a dream.

Tian Xiuzhu said, “Do you know when it was that you moved me the most?”

Zhu Yun shook her head.

Tian Xiuzhu said, “It was when I asked for help upgrading the art gallery’s system.” Seeing that Zhu Yun didn’t quite follow, he explained, “You were crying in front of the painting called Rugged Peaks.”

She was taken aback. Tian Xiuzhu smiled and said, “Did you think no one saw you?”

That day they had originally arranged to meet at the gallery at seven in the evening to discuss the details of the system design, but Tian Xiuzhu had run into something unexpected and arrived late. By the time he got there, he found Zhu Yun standing in front of that painting with tears on her face.

She had been wearing a somewhat masculine-style button-up shirt and dark jeans. Because of the heat, she had undone two buttons, and her long black hair was casually tied up with a few loose strands falling across the white fabric, giving her an air of languid summer warmth.

Her hands were tucked into her pockets as she stood quietly before the painting, quietly weeping, completely lost in her own world.

Tian Xiuzhu knew every painting in that gallery by heart, just as he knew every detail of the story he had heard about Zhu Yun.

“It was so beautiful,” Tian Xiuzhu said gently. “That was the moment I was most moved — and most heartbroken.” He looked at her. “Zhu Yun, I’ve decided to step back.” He looked at her with a smile. “Now that I’ve said I’m stepping back, do you feel even a little relieved?”

Zhu Yun lowered her head. She still had the billing receipt from the pharmacy in her hand. Tian Xiuzhu pulled her into an embrace, intending to say a few more words, but he was taken aback by what he felt through the hug.

“You’ve lost more weight.”

Zhu Yun hadn’t noticed. She didn’t know what she weighed now.

Tian Xiuzhu said, “Throwing yourself into love is a beautiful thing, but collapsing on the job is hardly romantic. Take care of yourself.”

She gave a small nod. Tian Xiuzhu felt a sudden pang of reluctance. The world had no shortage of devoted women, but women who could hold together love, ideals, ambition, and fate — all at once, and still remain standing — were exceedingly rare. Or perhaps she couldn’t hold it all together at all; she was simply trying with everything she had. Li Xun served as the source that replenished her energy — when he was present, she had boundless courage; when he was absent, she fell apart at the slightest blow.

Zhu Yun had always been a contradictory person — fragile yet proud, with extremely strong defenses. She was accustomed to retreating, deflecting, and deferring to others — until Li Xun appeared. He fit her needs completely and from every angle, as though aligned from some strange and perfect direction, and only then could she settle and spread her wings, borrowing the tailwind he brought her to soar.

Fu Yizhuo was right. With him and without him, she was two entirely different people.

Tian Xiuzhu pressed a light kiss to Zhu Yun’s cheek.

“I’m going now.”

Zhu Yun walked Tian Xiuzhu to the hospital entrance and watched his figure disappear at the far end of the road.

She thought to herself: this was the right kind of thing for a day like today. A frightening medical scare with a fortunate outcome, and a quiet, beautiful goodbye.

Zhu Yun returned to the ward. Fu Yizhuo was sitting at the bedside keeping Li Xun company, and when he saw Zhu Yun come in, he said, “The nurse gave him an injection. She said he’ll probably wake up in about ten hours.”

“Alright.”

Zhang Fang was also there at Li Xun’s side. Zhu Yun said to him, “You head back first — the company can’t be left without someone in charge. I’ll stay here.”

Zhang Fang gathered his things and prepared to leave. Zhu Yun reminded him, “Go and say something to Director Dong and the others. Tell them it’s nothing serious — he just didn’t get enough sleep and fainted from exhaustion.”

After Zhang Fang left, only Zhu Yun and Fu Yizhuo remained. Zhu Yun pulled a chair over and sat beside Fu Yizhuo, and the two of them stared straight at Li Xun lying on the bed.

After a while, Fu Yizhuo said, “Doesn’t this look like a funeral viewing?”

Zhu Yun clicked her tongue. “Can you, as his older brother, say something with a little better omen?”

Fu Yizhuo said, “When he was little I told him he was born to be a dancer. He refused to listen and insisted on becoming someone who works with his brain instead. Look at him now — he’s not even thirty and already has white hairs. And you—” Fu Yizhuo turned to look at Zhu Yun, “—look how thin you’ve gotten. Your selling point was that fair, soft, delicately smooth figure. A little on the fuller side suits you best — if you get thin as a skewer, that’s just too ordinary.”

Zhu Yun turned to look at him. “Who exactly are you calling fat?”

Fu Yizhuo said, “Look, my little brother is lying here in a hospital bed and you’re still bickering with me over this.”

Zhu Yun said nothing.

Fu Yizhuo let out a sigh and said, “I really don’t know what you two are working yourselves so hard for — throwing your lives away. Money shouldn’t be that hard for people like you to earn.”

The doctor had originally told them Li Xun would probably regain consciousness in about ten hours, but unexpectedly, he opened his eyes after only seven.

Fu Yizhuo had gone outside to buy food, and Zhu Yun, drained from a day of emotional highs and lows, had dozed off with her head resting on the side of the bed.

When she opened her eyes, Li Xun was already sitting up against the headboard, lost in thought about something.

Zhu Yun’s face felt a little numb from sleeping in that position. She rubbed it and sat up straight.

The room was very quiet. The light was a harsh, pale white, and the air carried the distinctive smell of hospital disinfectant. Zhu Yun had just woken up and her mind was slow to turn over. She sat for a moment to collect herself, then reached for the test report beside her. Just then, Li Xun said in a low voice, “I warned him.”

Zhu Yun’s hand paused for a second, then she held the report out to him.

Li Xun took it and said again, “So I won’t stop. I won’t let him off. Don’t try to talk me out of it — I don’t want to argue with you.”

Zhu Yun said, “Alright.”

Li Xun looked at her. Zhu Yun said, “Whether you stop or not is your decision to make. But you have to change the way you work.”

Li Xun frowned. Zhu Yun said, “The doctor said your cervical spondylosis is already quite serious. You can’t keep working day and night like this. I signed you up for a physical therapy package — you need to come in regularly for traction treatment.”

Li Xun said, “I’m not doing that.”

Zhu Yun said, “Fine.”

Li Xun stared at her blankly again. Zhu Yun said, “You don’t have to do physical therapy. Then I’ll get you a membership at the gym near the company, and you’ll go at least three times a week. Two options — your choice.”

Li Xun looked at Zhu Yun again, feeling as though she had become a completely different person in these short seven or eight hours.

Zhu Yun said, “Choose.”

Li Xun gazed at her for a moment, then said indifferently, “The gym, then.”

Zhu Yun cursed inwardly. The money she’d spent on the physical therapy package was wasted.

As it turned out, reshaping Li Xun’s lifestyle habits was extraordinarily difficult. Li Xun paid no attention to anything outside of work, made promises casually, and would go back on what he’d agreed to today by tomorrow.

When his expression darkened, he was particularly intimidating, and ordinary people simply didn’t dare defy him. Only Zhu Yun ignored his volatile temper, dragging him to the gym on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays for running and exercise. When Li Xun refused to go, she would shut off his computer directly.

This was an extremely dangerous move, easily enough to enrage him. No one in the entire company, besides Zhu Yun, would ever dare touch Li Xun’s computer.

At his worst, Li Xun nearly hurled a monitor across the room in fury — but it was still no use. He would still get dragged to the gym by Zhu Yun. Later, Zhu Yun even made a special request to Director Dong to purchase a few spare monitors to keep on hand, and Director Dong, breaking from his usual habits, actually agreed.

At first, Zhang Fang and the others grew quite tense whenever Li Xun and Zhu Yun clashed, but over time they all grew accustomed to it. No matter how much Li Xun bellowed, no one reacted anymore. They all knew perfectly well — once Li Xun was done shouting himself hoarse, he would go to the gym anyway.