In the autumn of their junior year, the peculiarly named “L&P Fortune and Strength Technology Co., Ltd.” completed all its registration procedures.

Their project required detailed, ongoing communication with hospitals, but the initial contact proved laborious — hospitals were not particularly willing to cooperate with university students still enrolled in school.

Gao Jianhong was busy at the time handling the company’s bank account setup, and Li Xun was hardly going to go around smiling and flattering people, so the burden of negotiation fell entirely on Zhu Yun. She fought on the front lines for several consecutive weeks, deploying every tactic she had — reasoned argument, emotional appeals — and finally, taking a roundabout approach, quietly passed along gifts to a group of nurses, until at last she had persuaded the head of the medical affairs department and secured a cooperation agreement.

Even so, it was only a small portion of access.

No matter how persuasively Zhu Yun presented their case, the hospital administrators saw it as nothing more than an impulsive whim from a group of college students. Nobody paid much attention to how far-reaching the ambitions of these computer science students actually were.

A doctor surnamed Lin, who had become somewhat familiar with Zhu Yun, even joked with her about it: “If you want to do a school project, you should pick something manageable. Why on earth did you choose cancer — the deepest pit in the entire medical field? Odds are you’ll come out of this with nothing to show for it.”

Zhu Yun said: “Do you know what our goal is?”

Dr. Lin: “I don’t.”

Zhu Yun held up one finger. Dr. Lin raised an eyebrow.

“One percent,” Zhu Yun said. “Our goal is to raise the cancer survival rate by one percent.”

Dr. Lin was quiet for a moment, then smiled mildly. “Well. That’s quite a magnificent ambition.”

Li Xun had begun his experiments early. He hoped to capture the interaction data between patients and medical staff at every stage of treatment, then integrate and categorize it.

Extracting electronic data from a case record database should, in theory, have been straightforward for them — but once they actually set to work, they discovered the reality was far more complicated. Due to years of accumulated problems with non-standardized data practices, the program frequently threw errors when reading records, and the misread rate was extremely high.

They tried many different approaches and eventually came to understand that manually monitoring errors through human effort alone was impossible. While their current scale was still manageable, the moment the database expanded, the error rate would climb at a speed no one could keep up with.

In the end, Li Xun decided to use a self-upgrading method — manually inputting large volumes of precisely verified data to serve as baseline reference material for checking new entries, detecting problems and feeding corrections back in real time, automatically adjusting the intake process so that the entire system continuously refined itself in a dynamic, self-correcting loop.

The initial problems were finally resolved.

They worked at this for the better part of a year, all the way through the winter of their junior year.

It was a winter none of them would ever forget.

One day, Zhu Yun was hurrying back to campus from her lodgings when she noticed a security guard at the entrance hanging a banner. She glanced at it a second time and was startled to find the content strangely familiar — it was for the information security competition.

The competition was being held here this year?

She stood there for a moment, feeling as though she had stepped back in time.

By this point, Li Xun was rarely attending classes. A pharmaceutical company had recognized the value of what they were building and had approached them about a potential partnership.

This was one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the country, with oncology drugs at the very core of their business. Being noticed by a company of this stature was the strongest possible affirmation of the project’s commercial potential.

Unlike many other startup founders, Li Xun had no anxiety about funding, thanks to Fu Yizhuo’s support. As a result, his requirements for any partner were extremely high — so high that it often became difficult to tell which side was actually doing the investing.

But this time, Li Xun had relaxed his conditions.

He explained to Zhu Yun and Gao Jianhong that this pharmaceutical company had enormous reach within the domestic market, particularly in oncology drugs — its network penetrated hospitals across the country. If they could secure a successful partnership, it would provide significant advantages for their experimental data collection.

Since Li Xun’s main energy was still devoted to the technical side, all the finer details that remained after the foundational terms were settled fell to Zhu Yun. She spent each day being ground down by the company’s legal team until her head throbbed.

Seeing that she was exhausted, Li Xun offered her something new to think about.

“The information security competition is being held at our school this year.”

Zhu Yun nodded. “I already saw.”

Li Xun smiled. “Professor Lin is one of the judging panel from our side, but he has a prior commitment and wants to send me in his place.”

Zhu Yun gave him a look of surprise. “That’s not really allowed, is it.”

“Of course it isn’t.” Li Xun was lying on the bed, watching Zhu Yun with an amused expression. “But when he came to talk to me about it, he showed me the finalist roster for this year. I noticed something rather entertaining.”

Zhu Yun: “What?”

Li Xun said with a sardonic smile: “Our matchmaker has come calling again.”

Zhu Yun: “…”

Fang Zhijing.

That man’s presence in her life was truly remarkable — every time Zhu Yun felt she was on the verge of forgetting him entirely, he would reappear to make himself known.

This year’s finals were scheduled during the winter break.

Everything was colliding at once.

On one side, Zhu Yun was tangled up in the fine print of the pharmaceutical company’s contract. On the other, the time her family had given her had reached its absolute limit — she couldn’t put it off any longer.

For an entire academic year, the atmosphere at home had been one of persistent unease. Zhu Yun had attempted to talk things through with her parents many times. Zhu Guangyi was more or less reasonable; her mother, however, was impervious to persuasion.

In some respects, Zhu Yun recognized her own character in her mother’s — which was precisely why she understood, better than anyone, how deeply stubborn her mother could be.

Before exam season, her mother called and told her to come home immediately after finishing her tests. Zhu Yun had been meaning to have a proper conversation with her parents anyway. She asked Li Xun for two days off.

“Fine.” Li Xun agreed without fuss. After a moment, he added, “When are you coming back? Li Lan arrives in a few days.”

Zhu Yun paused — this was the first time Li Xun had ever brought up anything like this with her.

Watching her blank expression, Li Xun smiled and said: “She’s getting married after the New Year. You two should meet properly — she’s the only family I have.”

Zhu Yun nodded slowly, a little dazed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”

Li Xun: “No need to rush. Stay home with your parents for a couple of days. Li Lan will be here until the semester starts.”

That time around, Li Xun was the one who packed Zhu Yun’s bag. When the moment came, Zhu Yun found she didn’t want to leave — she stood in the doorway in a listless, sulking silence. Seeing her, Li Xun teased: “What’s this? Can’t bear to part with me?”

Zhu Yun looked away. Li Xun stubbed out his cigarette, then crooked a finger. “Come here.”

Zhu Yun took two steps forward. Li Xun reached out and gently tilted her chin up with one finger.

“Princess.”

The touch made her skin tingle. She couldn’t help pulling her neck back slightly, and looked up at him.

“What.”

Li Xun pressed a light kiss to her lips.

“I love you.”

Zhu Yun had always had a good memory, and Li Xun was, in any case, a presence in her life utterly unlike any other — countless expressions, countless words, countless fragments of moments, all etched deep into her mind.

And yet…

None of it could compare to this.

Perhaps it was the particular quality of the moment. This image lodged itself in Zhu Yun like a nail — it had no room left in her mind, so it drove itself into her heart instead, and beat there alongside everything else that was to come.

Zhu Yun arrived home to find the atmosphere exactly as it had been.

A full academic year, and still neither side had managed to persuade the other.

Her mother was a proud woman who valued appearances above all. She had never breathed a word of Zhu Yun’s situation to anyone outside the family. Zhu Yun had always been her greatest source of pride — the most accomplished of all the children in their generation. In earlier years, her mother would frequently tell Zhu Yun how much trouble her younger cousins and siblings were giving their parents.

For the entire past year, her mother had been steadily working to clear a path for Zhu Yun to study abroad. Even when Zhu Yun held firm and refused to sit the required exams, her mother kept on doing whatever needed to be done, composed and assured, as though she had already seen how it would all end.

Zhu Yun had hoped to use this visit as an opportunity to have a genuine conversation with her mother about her plans for the future. But before she could open her mouth, her mother placed a thick stack of documents in front of her.

Zhu Yun stared at them in silence. Her mother said: “All the arrangements are complete. Whether or not you’re willing to take the exams, you are going abroad next year. That is not a discussion.”

Zhu Yun: “That’s impossible. I have things I need to do here.”

“That so-called company of yours?” Her mother’s voice was flat with dismissal. “You can forget it. Zhu Yun, I’ve let you have your way with small things, but on decisions that matter, you will listen to me. These next few years are the most precious you will ever have. You’ve learned a little bit of something and you want to go off and start a company with someone — you truly have no idea how vast the world is or how little you know.”

Zhu Yun: “We’re not as hopeless as you think. At the very least, let me show you what we’ve been doing before you—”

“What is there to show me?” Her mother’s voice sharpened as she cut her off. “The only thing I understand right now is that you’ve thrown away your studies, closed off every decent path in front of you, and let that worthless person trap you in one small place so you can’t get out!”

She fixed her eyes on Zhu Yun, her gaze as sharp as a blade.

“You tell me what kind of spell he’s cast on you. Did you think that because I let you go for a few days, I’d agreed to all this?! You want me to understand what you’re doing?! Do you believe I would—”

“All right, that’s enough.” Zhu Guangyi came in from the living room and cut them both off. “Everyone calm down. Let’s talk like reasonable people.”

Her mother’s face was drained of color; she was visibly working to control her breathing.

Zhu Guangyi turned to Zhu Yun. “You really have been thoughtless about this. Do you have any idea how many connections your mother and I have had to call in to arrange a school for you? And for the sake of an outsider, you’ve been at odds with your own parents for an entire year — isn’t that enough?”

Yet another conversation that went nowhere. By the end, Zhu Yun couldn’t get a word in.

She turned her head and saw that snow had begun to fall outside the window.

This year had brought a rare and severe winter — the news outlets had been reporting on it for days already. But it hardly made a difference in the Zhu family’s home. The entire villa was fitted with imported radiant floor heating, and the subject under discussion was sharp enough that everyone felt like they were burning from the inside out.

Snow was falling on the campus, too.

The competing teams had been arriving one by one. The host university had three teams of their own in this year’s competition, and as the organizing institution, the student participants and volunteers were out in full force, welcoming their guests warmly.

The groups gathered here and there between preparations, complaining that the competition had been scheduled far too late in the year — the cold was brutal — and someone joked that by the time the actual competition began, the machines might be too frozen to start.

In a shopping center near campus, inside a beverage shop, Li Xun and Li Lan sat across from each other.

Li Lan was always nervous and guarded around her younger brother. She sneezed several times in succession. Li Xun frowned. She quickly explained: “Just a bit of a cold. Nothing serious.”

Li Xun told her to order whatever she liked. Li Lan didn’t quite dare to be indulgent, and chose the cheapest thing on the menu — a glass of lemon water.

“By the way…” Li Lan spoke up suddenly. “That — our oldest brother passed away last month.”

Li Xun made a quiet sound of acknowledgment.

Li Lan pressed her lips together and murmured: “That’s… good, I suppose…”

Li Xun raised an eyebrow. Li Lan immediately waved her hands, flustered. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Li Xun said nothing. Li Lan stumbled over her words, trying to explain. “I just mean — I just mean that now you won’t have to keep splitting your attention to send money to us anymore.”

Li Xun smiled slightly. Li Lan felt as though she had said something indecent, and kept her head bowed. Li Xun asked in an even tone: “So your mother found you someone to marry?”

Li Lan said: “I found him myself.”

Li Xun let out a short, amused laugh. “Oh?”

Li Lan went a little red from his amusement. “Zhang Qing. Do you remember him? We used to play together as children.”

Li Xun looked at her. “That chubby kid.”

Even from a beloved younger brother, having one’s fiancé mocked was too much. Li Lan couldn’t help defending him: “He’s not that chubby anymore…”

Li Xun: “Has he dropped below two hundred pounds?”

Li Lan’s face flushed scarlet. Li Xun gave a short laugh, and she glanced at him without meaning to — then went still.

Li Xun said lazily: “What are you staring at?”

Li Lan shook her head, then said quietly: “I think right now, you…”

“What.”

She struggled to put it into words and couldn’t. Li Xun knew she had always been slow with language and didn’t wait for her to find them. “Stay a few more days,” he said. “I want you to meet someone.”

Li Lan: “Who?”

Li Xun said, in a tone of mild intrigue: “Someone who should feel familiar to you.”

Li Lan found this even more puzzling — she didn’t know a soul here. Before she could ask further, Li Xun added: “You’ll understand once you meet them.”

Li Lan nodded obediently.

Li Xun looked at her for a long moment, then said: “When you have children, send them here to study.”

Li Lan looked up in surprise. Li Xun gave a dry laugh. “What your family would raise — I can guess without even trying.”

Li Xun’s speech had always run toward the cutting, but Li Lan was his older sister, and she understood, better than anyone, the meaning beneath every word he said. Her eyes went red. Her fingertips trembled with emotion. She had been nervous coming to find Li Xun today — but the Li Xun she had found was nothing like what she had braced herself for. She couldn’t quite describe how he seemed different; her body had been feeling terrible all day from the fever, yet somehow now she felt a rush of happiness so intense it almost hurt.

On his side, Li Xun was also quietly marveling at the strange workings of human feeling.

It seemed that no matter what the past had held, once a person had somewhere to belong, many things could be let go — and what had come before could be held with greater gentleness.

Li Lan picked up her lemon water. Before she could take a sip, she sneezed again, several times in a row.

Li Xun looked her over with a frown. “You’re not dressed warmly enough.”

Li Lan rubbed her nose. “I didn’t expect it to be this cold.” She had been running a low fever for the past few days, but had said nothing to Li Xun, not wanting him to worry.

Li Xun removed the lemon water from her hands, went to the counter, and asked for a hot red bean and ginger drink instead.

As he was paying, the sound of “Welcome” rang out from the entrance. Li Xun instinctively glanced back and saw three young men coming in from outside, who settled into the seats directly behind him and Li Lan.

“God, I’m freezing!” said the one in front. Another chimed in: “I know, and this school is so far from everything — there’s nothing near the front gate.”

The last one said coldly: “Did you think this was back home? I feel sick the moment I set foot in this place. A garbage school can only produce garbage.”

“Your hot red bean and ginger drink.” Li Xun accepted the cup from the server and walked back with an easy smile.

The ordering counter was in a visual blind spot. The moment he stepped out from behind it, his height and appearance immediately drew the attention of the nearby tables.

Fang Zhijing spotted him almost instantly. The color drained from his face.

Li Xun, for his part, reacted as though he had run into an old acquaintance — eyebrow raised, smiling: “Well, well. Who do we have here?”

Fang Zhijing’s two companions turned to look at him. Li Xun didn’t recognize them, but they had seen Li Xun before — at the competition two years ago. His presence was the kind that was difficult to forget once encountered.

Fang Zhijing’s lips pressed into a tight line. Li Xun, drink in one hand, other hand in his pocket, walked over to their table without the slightest hesitation.

“What are you all talking about?”

Fang Zhijing said nothing.

Li Xun: “Come on. If there’s something on your mind, let’s hear it directly.”

Fang Zhijing finally spoke, his tone one of someone trying to defuse the situation: “There’s nothing. You’ve misunderstood.”

But Li Xun showed no sign of letting it drop. He stood at the edge of their table, towering over them, and said: “It really has been a while. Two years, if I’m counting right.” His expression was perfectly relaxed. “What brings you to our garbage dump of a school?”

Fang Zhijing’s expression darkened. He said nothing.

Li Xun let the pause breathe, then adopted an expression of dawning realization. “You must be here for the competition. Why come back this year?”

He studied Fang Zhijing with what seemed like genuine curiosity — then slowly, a smile curved at the corner of his mouth.

“So — Team Leader Fang lost again last year?”

A nerve fired painfully somewhere in Fang Zhijing’s head. His fists were clenched so hard they trembled.

Li Xun’s expression was completely unguarded, as though he were about to peel back his own face and let Fang Zhijing see, right down to the bone, every last particle of contempt he held for him.

Fang Zhijing’s two teammates shot to their feet in fury. “What is that supposed to mean?!”

“You can’t follow?” Li Xun smiled, just at the corners of his mouth. “Have your team leader explain it to you.”

One of the young men stepped forward. Fang Zhijing stopped him: “Wang Yujun — come back.” He looked at Li Xun. “What’s past is past. There’s nothing to gain from dragging it out. I shouldn’t have said what I said about your school, and if that bothered you, then I apologize.”

Li Xun gave him a pale, unhurried glance, then turned with a cold smile and walked back to his own seat.

Li Lan, who had watched all of this unfold, had gone white with fright. Seeing how shaken she was, Li Xun placed the hot drink directly into her hands. “Let’s go,” he said. “We’ll find somewhere else.”

Outside, Li Lan said to him: “That terrified me just now. I really thought you were going to fight them — three of them, just you.”

Li Xun bent his head to light a cigarette. In the freezing, snow-bright air, he glanced across at her with a level calm.

“And if I had?”

Li Lan said quietly: “Your temper really is something. That man apologized to you.”

“Apologized?” Li Xun gave a short, scornful laugh, and said with a weight behind the words: “I’ve always had a particular talent for reading what’s actually going on in someone’s head.”

Li Lan didn’t follow what he meant by that and was just about to ask when a cold gust swept through, and she sneezed again, several times in a row.

Li Xun looked at her with a frown, then shrugged off his coat.

Li Lan waved her hands repeatedly. “Don’t, don’t — I’m perfectly fine.”

Li Xun paid no attention and simply draped the coat over her shoulders.

“Come on.”