Li Xun thought for a long time.

He was wearing a black shirt, his shoulders curved at a sharp, uncompromising angle — stubborn and tired-looking, yet his expression gave nothing away.

He had always been like that, Fu Yizhuo thought. He seemed cold and unapproachable at first, but in truth he gave people a deep sense of security. He was reliable — as long as he was the one standing in front, everyone behind him had nothing to worry about.

He never minded hardship. He never complained. Not even when fate was genuinely unkind.

Fu Yizhuo felt a pang in his chest.

“Xun.”

Fu Yizhuo had fine eyes — when he wasn’t joking around, they were deep and resolute. He looked at Li Xun and said: “You still have people around you.”

Li Xun watched him in silence. Fu Yizhuo’s voice was steady and firm. “Not many — but they’re all capable people. You really don’t have to do everything on your own.”

Li Xun’s expression flickered for a moment. Fu Yizhuo leaned in, his tone brooking no argument.

“You’re my younger brother. You have to listen to what I say.”

Younger brother…

The word pulled at something. Li Xun lowered his head.

A few meters away, the children chased each other, shoving and laughing.

They were at the most carefree age, their voices high and bright, brimming with hope — as though snatching a piece of the teacher’s foreign chocolate was the greatest joy in the entire world.

He had a photograph in his trouser pocket, crumpled beyond recognition.

Someone had kept it safe for seven or eight years without a wrinkle. In his hands, it hadn’t lasted seven or eight days. He was not good at preserving fragile things — just as he was not good at handling tender emotions.

The floor grew wet.

Fu Yizhuo quietly picked up the baseball cap and placed it over Li Xun’s head.

Li Xun had a high tolerance for pain, which was why — when he cried — it broke your heart all the more.

Li Xun pressed the cap down, lowering his head further and further. It wasn’t only tears he was trying to hold back — it was also the flashes that kept surfacing in his mind, images of a golden era that was gone and would never return.

“I was always so focused on my own things…” Li Xun’s voice came out low and rough. “I thought I was moving fast. Turns out I was always one step too late. By the time I realized, everything was already over. My mother — same thing. Li Lan — same. And others too. I always end up with nothing but a way to comfort myself.”

Li Xun raised his head. His eyes were red. He clenched his jaw. “You know what? When I saw Gao Jianhong and Fang Zhijing at that company, all I could think about was how to finish them both off — especially Gao Jianhong.”

“Xun…”

“But I can never figure out the right way to do it.” Li Xun shook his head. “And I know he has his reasons to hate me.”

In the corner of that crumpled photograph, Gao Jianhong’s figure was partly visible.

“He used to trust me a great deal,” Li Xun said, his tone flat. “They all did. Gao Jianhong wasn’t interested in working with me at the beginning — it was Zhu Yun who put in enormous effort to bring him on board. But I never paid attention to how they communicated or what went on between them. Honestly, I didn’t care.” He smiled at that. “Ren Di was right. I’m a bastard.”

“I disagree,” Fu Yizhuo said, frowning. “Yes, you went your own way, and yes, you made mistakes — but things happened for reasons. It’s not fair to lay all the blame on one person.”

“None of that matters anymore.” Li Xun got to his feet. His tall frame gave off a quiet, invisible weight. He stared straight ahead, his voice cold and cutting. “I don’t care how much they hate me. What’s mine, I will take back — every last bit of it. That company cannot have someone with the surname Fang in it.”

“What are you planning to do?” Fu Yizhuo asked.

“Make him leave.”

“Will he leave?”

“If he won’t, that’s fine.” Li Xun gave Fu Yizhuo a sideways glance. “I can teach him how.”

In that one look, everything came rushing back.

Fu Yizhuo sat on his little stool, holding the pose of a primary school student looking up at the teacher.

Yesterday, Ren Di had called him and unleashed a torrent of furious words that lasted over an hour — extraordinary, given how rarely she called anyone. Fu Yizhuo had been the picture of gentlemanly patience, soothing her no matter how fierce the tirade got. He had told her, again and again, that Li Xun couldn’t possibly have changed.

Time wears down some people’s sharp edges. For others, it sharpens the soul.

Fu Yizhuo leaned back contentedly against the large mirror behind him, gazing up at the ceiling. “Six years — gone in a flash. Hey, tell me honestly — do I look like I’ve aged even a day? Still as handsome as ever, right?”

Li Xun ignored him, bowed his head, and lit a cigarette. Fu Yizhuo promptly kicked him.

“No smoking in the studio!”

There were still two or three children in the room. Li Xun put it away impatiently.

Fu Yizhuo offered some well-meaning advice. “You should smoke less — it’s not good for you. You know, even your sister-in-law has quit. People really should listen when they’re given good advice.”

A peculiar silence followed.

Fu Yizhuo caught Li Xun’s expression, and felt the atmosphere shift in a way he couldn’t quite place.

“Right, so, Xun — about your sister-in-law —”

“I’m heading back.” Li Xun cut in before Fu Yizhuo could finish.

Fu Yizhuo was startled. “This early?”

“I have things to do.”

“You’ve only been out a few days,” Fu Yizhuo said, frowning. “How do you already have things to do?”

Li Xun was already heading for the door without looking back. Fu Yizhuo hurried after him. Li Xun pushed the door open; outside, the night had deepened.

“It’s already this late,” Fu Yizhuo said. “You really should go see your sister-in-law sometime.”

“…”

“Want me to drive you? I’ll take you.”

“Don’t bring her up around me,” Li Xun said flatly. “I don’t have the bandwidth to think about her.”

“By the time you do, it’ll be too late.”

Fu Yizhuo took deliberate advantage of the cover of darkness and just as deliberately ignored the warning in Li Xun’s eyes. He said, with the gravity of a man delivering hard-won wisdom: “Xun, see, here you go being stubborn again.”

Li Xun’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Fu Yizhuo pressed on: “Don’t you want to know who that man with your sister-in-law is?”

“No.”

“Want to or not, I’m going to tell you.”

Li Xun turned and walked away at a sharp, deliberate pace. Fu Yizhuo fell into step behind him without missing a beat. With Li Xun’s height and stride, another man might have struggled to keep up — but Fu Yizhuo was taller with longer legs, and matched the pace effortlessly, with enough breath left over to keep talking.

“He’s a painter. His name is Tian Xiuzhu.”

Li Xun’s footsteps came to an abrupt halt. Fu Yizhuo nearly walked into him.

Li Xun’s voice dropped low.

“Say that again?”

“Tian Xiuzhu — at least I’m pretty sure that’s it. Let me think…”

Li Xun was not someone who liked to dwell on the past. It was a habit formed from childhood. His early memories held very little that could be called “happiness” — and so he had learned to look only forward, to make clean cuts, to cast off everything he deemed unnecessary.

Because of this, his life was often full of disconnections.

When he left that home as a child, he had wanted to let go of Li Lan. When the university entrance examinations ended, he had wanted to let go of Fu Yizhuo. Now, walking out of prison, he had been prepared to let go of that Lighter and Princess 2 – Chapter of school life as well —

Until he saw the photograph.

At the time, his mind was consumed with the business of Ji Li Company, with no room to spare for anything else. But the photograph was too powerful. It tied him irrevocably to the past.

From that moment, the memories began.

He was startled to discover how little control he actually had over his own recollections. His mind had stored all those seemingly forgotten details with perfect clarity — he could even recall what answer he had written on the last question of the mathematics exam the first time he took a test in Fu Yizhuo’s place.

So of course he remembered who Tian Xiuzhu was.

He remembered the first English homework Zhu Yun had helped Liu Sisi write. He remembered their chance encounter at the traditional medicine shop. He remembered the painting they had seen together in Exhibition Hall Seven on the third floor of the art museum, and the look on her face when she spoke of “that genius painter.”

That damned photograph.

“…Xun? Xun?”

Li Xun came back to himself and fixed Fu Yizhuo with a cold stare. “Don’t ever bring her up around me again,” he said quietly.

Fu Yizhuo regarded him for a moment, then something shifted in his expression. He looked at Li Xun with uncharacteristic seriousness. “When it comes to business, you’re untouchable — I know better than to get in the way. But when it comes to matters of the heart, honestly? You’re completely out of your depth.”

Li Xun made to leave again. This time Fu Yizhuo stepped directly in his path.

“You suspect that your sister-in-law is with that painter — have you actually asked her?”

“Asked her?” Li Xun let out a laugh — a real one. “You want me to go and ask her something like that?”

“…”

Perhaps that laugh was genuinely unsettling, because Fu Yizhuo shifted tactics.

“You’re far too rigid when it comes to feelings.”

“This conversation is over.”

The night was still. From somewhere in the dark, insects chirped in soft, restless pulses.

Fu Yizhuo took a half-step back, hands on his hips, and adopted the air of an older brother in a way he almost never did with Li Xun.

“Xun, if there is one thing I have never and will never take from your playbook — it’s the way you treat women.”

Li Xun turned his head away. Fu Yizhuo continued: “You have absolutely no grace.”

Li Xun gave a cold laugh.

“Women,” Fu Yizhuo said with complete conviction, “are the most precious flowers in this world. Even the slightest gust of wind can affect their brilliance. Their hearts wear out far faster than a man’s.”

Li Xun stood with his hands in his pockets, gaze drifting to the side — completely unreachable.

Fu Yizhuo pressed on, his tone grave. “You need to understand: back then, you didn’t give anyone a choice. You made your decision alone, for yourself. So you have no idea how others lived through that time.”

Li Xun’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line.

“If everyone had spent the last six years drowning in your situation,” Fu Yizhuo said, “they’d have burned out long ago.”

Li Xun’s jaw was locked tight, as unbending as a steel rod that couldn’t be forced to bend.

His mind drifted to the scene inside the café.

The moment Zhu Yun had walked in, she had drawn his attention — not because she was “Zhu Yun,” but because, before he had even recognized her, he had already determined she was the most beautiful woman in the room.

She was in the finest years of her life. Her smile was radiant, her confidence easy and warm, her manner elegant. Her skin was smooth and luminous — glowing like the first tender shoot of spring, catching the light.

Fu Yizhuo said, with a weary half-smile: “I remember when you were young, math was always your strongest subject. You were best at working with machines — and eventually, you became as precise and unyielding as one yourself. But people aren’t machines. The human heart isn’t arithmetic. You can’t reduce it to simple addition and subtraction.”

He looked at Li Xun. “Zhu Yun could have stayed abroad, but she came back right after graduating. She came back to this city, rented a flat near your old university, and has been working independently for a year without joining any company. She’s never said anything directly — but from where I’ve been standing, watching from the outside, I’ve always had the feeling that subconsciously she’s been waiting for something. What do you think?”

Li Xun stood with his head slightly lowered, the brim of his cap hiding his face completely.

Fu Yizhuo said: “I don’t know if she still loves you. But there’s one thing I do know…” He paused, then said finally: “If you have any kind of goal right now — she would be the most capable person in the world to help you, and the most willing, without counting the cost.” He was quiet for a moment. “So if she does end up helping you, don’t make things difficult for her. Don’t be so rigid. Feelings aren’t like a computer — they don’t operate in absolutes. It’s time to grow up a little.”

Another silence.

Li Xun turned to look at Fu Yizhuo.

“Computers don’t work in absolutes.”

“What?”

“The reason they only accept those two inputs is because digital circuits can only process those two states.”

“…”

“The reason digital circuits can only process those two states is because non-linear electronic components only have two non-linear operating regions.”

“…”

Fu Yizhuo stared at Li Xun for a long moment, then patted him on the shoulder.

“That’s enough for tonight. You should head home. Come by again sometime.”