Zhu Yun stumbled and scrambled her way back to the dormitory.

She opened the door, closed it, and leaned against it, catching her breath in ragged gasps.

Fang Shumiao turned her head and asked, “Why is your face so red?”

Zhu Yun was slow to respond. “From climbing the stairs…”

Zhu Yun didn’t read any more that night. She took a shower and went to bed early. In truth, Li Xun hadn’t done all that much — he had simply said that meaningful remark, and afterward carried on as if nothing had happened, opening his laptop and going about his business.

Of course, Zhu Yun couldn’t very well voluntarily “come clean” on her own initiative either. What if it was a trap he’d laid out, waiting for her to walk right into it? After all, the top scholar Li had a nimble mind and never liked to play by the rules.

But the excitement of tonight had been far too much. That night, Zhu Yun had a dream.

In the dream, they were in the same position as before — only this time, vertical had become horizontal. Zhu Yun lay on a narrow bed, and Li Xun was draped over her, his head turned to the side, his ear pressed against her chest, listening to her heartbeat.

The dream was very quiet. She lowered her head, unable to see his face — only his golden hair, gleaming brightly. She looked around and recognized the place: the tiny single room of Lihua Hotel where Li Xun had stayed when he came to find her during the New Year.

She quickly realized it was a dream and forced her eyes open. Sure enough, there was the pitch-black ceiling above her. In the deep stillness of the night, Zhu Yun covered her burning face with her hands, unable to fall back asleep.

The next day, Zhu Yun showed up to her meeting with Gao Jianhong with heavy dark circles under her eyes.

“I discussed it again with Professor Lin yesterday, and we’ve settled on this direction,” said Gao Jianhong, placing a pre-prepared document on the table. “‘A Host Defense System Based on Chip Virtualization Technology’ — take a look at the contents first.”

Zhu Yun and Wu Mengxing each picked up a copy and bent their heads to read.

“Hey, Li Xun, help us take a look too.” Gao Jianhong turned and called out to the top scholar. “Li Xun! Hey!”

Zhu Yun quietly glanced sideways toward the back-left corner of the room. Li Xun was facing his computer screen but not typing. His expression was distant, as though he were lost in thought.

Gao Jianhong called out several times in a row before Li Xun finally came back to his senses. He cast a brief glance over, and Zhu Yun quickly turned her head away.

Li Xun said nothing — he simply crooked a finger. Gao Jianhong tossed the document over to him.

Today was already Friday. The concert was the day after tomorrow.

Those tickets were definitely bought for Li Lan. And then what — was he planning to take her?

They got through the day quietly.

On Saturday, Zhu Yun and Gao Jianhong brought Wu Mengxing along to Professor Lin’s office to work on the competition project, spending the entire morning cooped up there.

Although Wu Mengxing was extremely excited to be participating in the competition and showed tremendous enthusiasm, his abilities still fell considerably short compared to Gao Jianhong’s and Zhu Yun’s. He spent a very long time trying to make sense of the system monitoring logs.

Gao Jianhong and Professor Lin walked him through the material while Zhu Yun stood to one side. She appeared to be listening, but her mind had already wandered far away.

Once Wu Mengxing finally grasped the content, they all returned to the base. Li Xun was in his seat, writing code.

Zhu Yun glanced toward his feet. The bag with the concert tickets was still sitting there.

Had Li Lan left already, or was she still waiting nearby for him?

At last, Sunday arrived. Zhu Yun came to the base early in the morning to find Li Xun still hunched in his chair, tapping away at the keyboard. His eyes were streaked with red — he had clearly been at it all night — yet his expression was fairly relaxed.

It was still early. The entire classroom held only the two of them.

Zhu Yun walked over and asked, “You didn’t go back last night?”

Li Xun ignored her.

Zhu Yun looked at him. “Have you grown into that chair?”

Li Xun remained as if he hadn’t heard a word.

Zhu Yun looked at the screen. Lines of code appeared in a steady, rhythmic stream — no corrections, not even a pause for thought, as precise as if they were being generated automatically by a machine.

He had focused every bit of his attention here.

This way, he didn’t have to think about anything else.

Zhu Yun quietly returned to her own seat and waited for Gao Jianhong and Wu Mengxing to arrive.

When Wu Mengxing came in, he looked deflated. “I’m sorry… I didn’t finish it.” When they had parted ways the evening before, Gao Jianhong had assigned him some tasks.

“It’s fine — show me what you’ve done, and we’ll take a look.” Gao Jianhong said. Wu Mengxing pulled up his program, and Zhu Yun went over for a glance. The code was an absolute mess.

It was clear Wu Mengxing had done a great deal of work, but he had bitten off more than he could chew. He had tried to incorporate numerous advanced algorithms, yet lacked the ability to integrate them cohesively. By the end, the entire program was scattered and disjointed, each function operating independently as though each were a separate faction — fragmented beyond repair.

Gao Jianhong studied it with a furrowed brow. Wu Mengxing stood beside him, his face flushed red. “I’ll… I’ll fix it again.”

“It’s not easy to fix this,” Gao Jianhong said. “Better to rewrite it.”

Wu Mengxing clenched his teeth and bowed his head without a word.

Gao Jianhong looked up from the screen, and when he saw Wu Mengxing’s expression, he smiled. “Don’t be nervous — it’s all right.”

“I’m afraid I’ll drag you all down…” Wu Mengxing said quietly.

Gao Jianhong spoke in an easy tone: “This isn’t a question of ability — you just got too caught up in trying to use flashy techniques. A program doesn’t need to be complicated. Code exists to serve the function. In fact, most of the time, simpler means more robust. Keep that in mind. You have the ability — just don’t lose sight of what matters most.”

Zhu Yun looked over at Gao Jianhong.

Unlike Li Xun, who was a prodigiously gifted genius, Gao Jianhong was more grounded. He didn’t have Li Xun’s sharp edges, and he was far more willing to accommodate others.

In truth, she didn’t think she had ever met anyone more stubbornly single-minded than Li Xun.

Gao Jianhong noticed Zhu Yun’s gaze. “What is it?”

Zhu Yun shook her head. “Nothing.”

Time passed minute by minute, and before long it was noon. Gao Jianhong called out to Zhu Yun and Wu Mengxing to go eat, but Zhu Yun didn’t go.

“I’m not hungry — you two go ahead.”

She stayed behind at the base, together with Li Xun — though she herself couldn’t quite say what the point of that was.

Li Xun remained just as he always was: silent and calm.

Programming was mentally exhausting.

It had been nearly a full day and night already.

Zhu Yun sat wordlessly at her seat, organizing the morning’s discussion notes. The content was fewer than five hundred characters, yet she read it six or seven times without absorbing a single thing.

Finally, she set the document down, looked up, and asked Li Xun, “Aren’t you going to eat?”

No response.

She tried again: “Would you like to… go get something to eat together?”

Still nothing. It was like talking to empty air.

After a while, Gao Jianhong and Wu Mengxing returned. Wu Mengxing had eaten so much his belly was round and full. Whatever Gao Jianhong had said to him, he came back brimming with confidence, radiating energy.

“Alright! Let’s keep going with the meeting!”

Zhu Yun turned away from Li Xun and did not look at him again.

The clock flew.

One o’clock, two o’clock, five o’clock, six o’clock…

The concert started at eight in the evening, with doors opening two hours before.

And he still wasn’t leaving?

His composure is completely unfounded.

The sky gradually darkened as the sun sank in the west, and the sound of Gao Jianhong and Wu Mengxing’s discussion drifted through the room like the last rays of light filtering through a bamboo grove, flickering on the verge of fading away.

At last, Zhu Yun packed her things into her bag. Gao Jianhong looked over at her. “What’s going on?”

Zhu Yun said quietly, “Let’s continue tomorrow.”

“Tired?”

Zhu Yun nodded. Gao Jianhong put away his papers and pens, and told Wu Mengxing, “Let’s leave it here for now then.”

Wu Mengxing quickly replied, “I’m not tired — I’ll keep going a while longer.”

Zhu Yun turned around, walked straight to Li Xun, said nothing and did not linger — she simply bent down, picked up the bag from the Central Stadium, and walked out.

Behind her, Gao Jianhong saw this and found it strange. He was just about to ask something when Wu Mengxing’s stream of questions cut him off.

At the moment Zhu Yun stepped out of the classroom, those hands that had been typing code for dozens of hours finally came to a slow stop. His fingertips lightly scratched at his chin.

Zhu Yun sprinted all the way to the entrance of the residential district.

She ran along the street by the entrance from south to north, then north to south, checking every bubble tea shop, coffee shop, and dessert stall along the way — she searched every single one of them.

But that god-awful outfit was nowhere to be found.

Half an hour later, Zhu Yun gave up and dropped onto the curb with a thud, drenched in sweat.

It was like looking for a needle in a haystack — where on earth was she supposed to search?

Exhausted and panting hard, Zhu Yun raised her arm to check the time. It was already past seven.

It was hopeless. There was no catching up now. Two tickets, gone to waste.

Zhu Yun opened the bag with reckless resignation and shook the tickets out.

Two in total. One thousand, eight hundred and eighty yuan apiece.

Zhu Yun sat in silence for two seconds, then quickly started rummaging through the bag for any ticketing contact information.

Was there any way to get a refund…?

She rummaged through the bag but didn’t find any ticketing contact information. What she did find, however, was a different slip of paper. Zhu Yun took it out and unfolded it. The message on it was very simple:

“Taifu Hotel, Room 408. Come find me for reimbursement of cab fare.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake…

The world spun around her. Zhu Yun’s head throbbed with pain, and she felt she finally understood the suffering of the Monkey King when he was completely subdued by the Buddha.

She stood up.

Reimbursement…

Reimburse your ancestors…

Each stroke of the handwriting on the note was neat and deliberate. Zhu Yun could easily picture Li Xun writing it with that unhurried, utterly composed look of his.

It was clear he went to great lengths to avoid being entangled with his former family, yet he couldn’t bring himself to abandon the one sister who had ever cared for him. Zhu Yun’s turning up just happened to make her a convenient errand runner for him.

Running errands wasn’t something she necessarily minded — but would it have killed him to just open his mouth and say something? Why did he always have to be so…

Zhu Yun couldn’t help stomping her foot. A passing parent with a small child shot her a glance.

Zhu Yun checked the time. Twenty minutes left. Making it on the dot was definitely out of the question, but if things went smoothly, she wouldn’t be too late.

Zhu Yun flagged down a car.

“Taifu Hotel.”

The driver blinked. “Taifu? It’s just five minutes down the road.”

“I need to go somewhere else afterward — please wait for me downstairs!”

The driver stepped on the gas and got her there in no time. Zhu Yun bolted out of the car and didn’t forget to call back, “Please wait for me — I mean it!”

The elevator was stuck up on the fifth floor. Zhu Yun took the stairs, ran up to the fourth floor, and pounded on the door of Room 408.

“Li Lan! Li Lan, are you still in there?”

A few seconds passed. The door cracked open just a sliver, and Li Lan peered out warily from inside.

“…You don’t need to clean — I’ll clean it myself.”

Who said anything about cleaning? Zhu Yun pushed the door open and grabbed her by the arm, pointing at herself with one hand. “It’s me — it’s me. Do you still recognize me?”

Li Lan said, “You’re…”

Zhu Yun had already witnessed her slow and hesitant nature firsthand. Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed her and headed for the door.

“Come on, come with me!”

Li Lan pulled back hard. “What? Where are you taking me? What are you doing?”

“Just come with me!”

“No — no, don’t drag me…”

It was a testament to all that physical labor she did — Li Lan was thin, but she was shockingly strong. No matter how hard Zhu Yun pulled, she couldn’t budge her. In the end, Zhu Yun took a deep breath, turned around, and said with a smile, “Li Lan — a few days ago you mentioned you like bands, right?”

She had no idea just how frightening her smile looked right now. Li Lan stared at her with fear in her eyes and said nothing.

Zhu Yun kept her smile in place. “I’m taking you to a concert.”

Li Lan was taken aback, then immediately shook her head. “It’s fine… concerts are too expensive.”

“No,” Zhu Yun waved her hand. “Not expensive at all — the tickets just fell into my lap. If we don’t go, they’ll go to waste.”