As soon as Li Wu left, Cen Jin’s body went limp, and she leaned back against the brick wall.

Her wrist burned fiercely, and her head was in chaos. After taking deep breaths for a moment, she finally raised her phone to eye level and unlocked the screen.

The transfer interface had closed during their intense physical confrontation.

Cen Jin glanced once more at the end of the hallway, turned off her phone, and walked out.

Back under the bright lights and in her colleagues’ view, Cen Jin’s lips immediately curved into a perfectly appropriate smile. She unhurriedly returned to her seat, skillfully blending into everyone’s conversation.

Li Wu stood silently at the sink, scrubbing cups and plates with loud scratching sounds.

Seeing how he had been clear skies moments ago but returned from the bathroom surrounded by dark clouds and unapproachable, Cheng Rui hurried over to ask quietly: “What’s wrong with you?”

Li Wu didn’t answer, just neatly stacked the dishes on the counter.

Cheng Rui probed in a low voice: “Did you run into Sister Cen Jin in the bathroom?”

Li Wu’s thin lips remained tightly sealed as he began rinsing each dish a second time, refusing to let even half a word escape.

Cheng Rui was at a loss and could only return to the front counter.

Standing behind the cash register, Cheng Rui gazed from afar at Cen Jin, who was animatedly chatting and laughing with her colleagues and felt a slight tremor in his heart: Too scary—these older sisters should just be admired from a distance, never get involved with them, or you’ll end up as miserable as Li Wu.

The Aoxing company people didn’t stay long, leaving together after about an hour.

After ten, Li Wu and Cheng Rui changed back into their casual clothes and rode their electric scooter home.

The first few days, Cheng Rui had given Li Wu rides to and from work, but lately, he’d become extremely lazy, so Li Wu became the driver instead.

The summer night wind tousled the youth’s hair and billowed his black T-shirt as neon lights flickered on both sides of the road.

As they rode along, Cheng Rui got bored and started humming songs from the back. Though not particularly melodious, the tune was gentle. Li Wu listened silently, and his intense emotions finally began to settle.

Before bed, Li Wu opened WeChat again to look at his pinned contact, staring for a long time at the message Cen Jin had sent today as if trying to see through these two characters. But the more he looked, the worse he felt, his heart beginning to ache like being stabbed with an awl down to the bone.

He missed her so much.

And regretted so much too.

He’d messed up—shouldn’t have said those things, but at the time his brain had exploded, emotions like magma. Why did she have to view him that way? What had he done to make her hate him so much that she would repeatedly attack and humiliate him in the way that hurt him most?

Li Wu’s gaze grew dejected as he turned off the screen and rolled over, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

Cheng Rui was still wearing headphones and playing mobile games when he caught Li Wu’s movement in his peripheral vision and couldn’t help but glance over.

The youth was hidden in the darkness, his shoulders trembling with extreme suppression.

Cheng Rui was startled and pulled off his headphones to ask: “Li Wu, are you okay?”

Li Wu’s movements suddenly stopped as he clenched his jaw, not making a sound.

“You’re not crying, are you?” Cheng Rui was about to cry too: “It’s just a woman! I’m begging you, brother, don’t be like this. In a couple of months when you go to university, there’ll be lots of female upperclassmen.”

…

The next day, Li Wu went to work at Meet as usual, though his smiles were not as frequent as in the previous half month. Most of the time, his expression was thin and empty, as if wrapped in a dark haze.

Cen Jin also went about her business as normal. She passed by Meet every day on her way to and from work but rarely looked inside, even controlling her peripheral vision. Sometimes she found it strange—why was she dodging and avoiding like this when the youth working inside was already someone who had no connection to her at all? But after that day, a faint sense of guilt would often drift into her thoughts. She would repeatedly replay that confrontation in the hallway and consider better ways she could have handled it. Because that night, at that moment, she absolutely couldn’t stand seeing Li Wu being sexually harassed in that roundabout way by her colleagues. She had been burning with anger, her mind in tangles, so she hadn’t acted reasonably or appropriately, even to the point of hurting him.

She also felt that she was the one who had made him this way.

Cen Jin’s mind wandered during the meeting until Teddy called her name, and she came back with a smile.

Teddy’s gaze was concerned: “What’s wrong, didn’t sleep well, our Gin?”

Cen Jin raised an eyebrow: “It’s nothing.”

…

Life and work continued, busy yet peaceful.

But a few days later, when Cen Jin went out with colleagues to supervise filming, an accident occurred on set. At the time, she was backing up to confirm if the camera angle matched her ideal storyboard when she lost her footing and fell from the platform.

In those fraction of seconds when she was light as a feather, Cen Jin’s mind went blank. The set erupted into chaos. Cen Jin lay on her back, her left calf becoming numb after the sharp pain, but she was extraordinarily grateful that her brain could still promptly assess and report her limbs’ condition.

Shadowy figures crowded around, many faces squeezing into view, concerned about her condition.

Cen Jin responded hazily until the ambulance sirens filtered into her ears, and then she passed out.

Fortunately, it was more frightening than dangerous—Cen Jin had only broken her left calf, with no head trauma.

After surgery, lying in the hospital bed, Cen Jin stared at the empty ceiling, confirming she was still alive in this world, and her organs for eating were still strong.

Her father was so worried he cried, not even wanting his daughter to continue in this line of work. During her hospital stay, whenever he came to visit, he would endlessly nag by her bedside that she should have stayed home running social media for the family company—at least that would have been safe.

Cen Jin’s mouth twitched as she spat out the rib bones her mother had fed her: “I can’t stay indoors my whole life.”

Mother Cen was annoyed with her husband: “Say less, let her rest her spirit.”

Father Cen immediately shut up, and stayed quiet for a while before asking: “Does it hurt?”

Cen Jin glanced at the pain pump beside her, expression flat: “Do I look like I’m in pain?”

But every night, after her mother fell asleep watching over her bedside, Cen Jin would secretly wipe away tears. Who said it didn’t hurt—it hurt terribly, especially during dressing changes when she wished she could just die. The pain was secondary; being restricted in movement made her suffer more, especially in such hot weather. Her mother insisted she use a bedpan, but she refused, determined to go to the bathroom even though each trip left her drenched in sweat.

Even though colleagues, friends, and relatives came to visit her in endless streams, bringing piles of gifts, flowers, and condolences, it couldn’t ease half the misery in Cen Jin’s heart.

After staying like this—disheveled and utterly humiliated—for about ten days, Cen Jin’s recovery was going well, and she was approved to be discharged home to continue her bedridden convalescence.

She hadn’t mentioned the injury at all on social media, but the day after returning home, Cen Jin still received greetings from her ex-husband.

The words seemed quite sincere.

With her freshly washed and dried hair still carrying a hint of fragrance, Cen Jin finally had some spirit and dignity back. She replied like someone completely unharmed: I’m fine, thank you.

Mother Cen’s personal build and strength were limited, so she hired an expensive caregiver to attend to her daughter’s daily needs around the clock, but Cen Jin found her clumsy and rejected all her touches. She became extremely irritable and drove the woman away after just two days.

From the accident until now, Cen Jin had held on for exactly half a month, but now she finally couldn’t keep it together anymore. All her work had stopped and transferred to others to handle. Looking at her calf wrapped in heavy plaster, and then thinking of her worthless self, she broke down completely and began crying in her room.

In the following days, except for sleeping, Cen Jin would intermittently sob to release her emotions. Her parents took turns trying various ways to comfort and cajole her, but with little effect—she had never suffered like this before.

Her parents were out of ideas and could only seek help from Cen Jin’s best friend. After learning of her condition, Chun Chang would come to Cen Jin’s home almost every day after work to keep her company—watching dramas, reading books, and playing two-player games.

But once she left, Cen Jin would become sad again. She had become a useless person with nowhere to exert herself, and the bed at home was like a dark, sunless swamp. Every second alone, she was slowly and depressingly sinking deeper.

Worse still, from taking care of her daughter day and night without rest, Mother Cen caught a cold that quickly developed into pneumonia, landing her in the hospital as well, making everything a complete mess. At home, besides the housekeeper, only Cen Jin was left. The housekeeper was busy with various tasks and sometimes couldn’t attend to her promptly, so she could only complain to her friends, passing her days in disorder and vexation.

It was at this crucial moment that Li Wu received a call from Chun Chang.

That day he had just arrived at the café and was still grinding beans, preparing for the day’s work.

Chun Chang’s tone was floating: “So you don’t care about your Jin Jin sister anymore? She’s almost at her limit.”

Li Wu was startled: “What happened to her?”

“You don’t know?” Chun Chang laughed mysteriously: “No wonder your sister called you an ungrateful wolf—she nearly died from a fall and you don’t know anything about it?”

Li Wu’s heart pounded like a drum. He really hadn’t seen Cen Jin for a while; he thought she was avoiding him and trying to stay away as much as possible, eliminating any chance of running into him.

Li Wu asked: “Where is she now?”

Chun Chang replied: “At her parents’.”

After hanging up, Li Wu rushed back to the changing room to change clothes, tugging at his hem while hurriedly giving Cheng Rui some instructions before dashing out the door.

Cheng Rui watched in a daze, only able to nod stupidly in response.

Li Wu’s heart was extremely anxious, almost unable to think. After getting in the taxi, he forced himself to calm down, pondering for a good while before he could tell the driver the address of Cen Jin’s parents’ home.

Rushing to their front gate, he pressed the bell several times until the housekeeper came to open the door.

Seeing it was a familiar face from Spring Festival, the woman quickly let him in.

Li Wu had run from the compound entrance, out of breath with a red face: “Auntie Tang, where’s my sister?”

Auntie Tang followed behind: “In her room.”

Li Wu hesitated: “How is she?”

Auntie Tang found it strange: “Not too good, why are you only now coming to see her?”

Hearing this, Li Wu’s head buzzed. After entering the house, he rushed toward the stairs, but the housekeeper quickly called out to stop him: “She’s staying on the first floor now, can’t easily go up and down stairs.”

Li Wu turned back around, anxiously covered in sweat: “Where is she?”

The housekeeper was quite bewildered by his intensity but pointed to a door.

It was a guest room, the same one Li Wu had stayed in during New Year’s.

Li Wu hurried over but stopped at the door, his hand hovering near the panel before dropping back down. After clenching his fist several times, he still couldn’t bring himself to knock.

Seeing this, the housekeeper said: “Just knock, I don’t think she’s resting right now.”

Li Wu moved aside: “Auntie Tang, can you knock for me?”

Though confused, Auntie Tang went over and knocked twice, first gently, then with more force when there was no response from inside. Finally, the person inside spoke: “Who is it?”

Cen Jin’s voice was listless, making Li Wu’s heart clench tight.

Auntie Tang said: “Jin Jin, that student you sponsored is here to see you.”

There was no sound from inside the door for a while, then eventually a response came, notably stronger than before: “I want to sleep, tell him to leave.”

Auntie Tang saw how Li Wu had rushed over dripping with sweat, his expression anxious, and was about to ask again, but the youth beside her had already turned the handle and stepped into the room.

Auntie Tang made a surprised sound, but the door closed again, blocking her inquiry, so she could only return to the kitchen to continue preparing food.

How could Cen Jin have expected Li Wu’s courage to have grown so much that he would force his way in without permission? She was completely stunned in place.

The curtains in the room were half-drawn, and the woman was sitting up in bed wearing only a nightgown. She was bathed in light, her face bare, paler, and more frail than usual.

She had a light gray-covered book resting on her leg, pages splayed open, and below the hem of her dress, one calf wrapped entirely in plaster was completely exposed.

Li Wu stood motionless, and couldn’t move. He stared at that spot, his heart contracting painfully until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t step forward.

The next moment, the woman noticed where he was looking and her face instantly burned red. She threw the book to the floor with a crash: “Did I say you could come in?”

Li Wu didn’t speak, his gaze returning to her agitated face, brows pressed down over his eyes, his gaze like a sharp instrument.

Cen Jin was restricted in movement, and being stared at so intently by him made her like a frightened rabbit caught in a trap by its hind legs, at her wit’s end. She could only stiffen her upper body defensively and point at the door: “Get out.”

Li Wu acted as if he hadn’t heard, walking toward her step by step.

Cen Jin’s heart beat wildly: “Can’t you hear me speaking?”

But Li Wu had already stopped beside her bed. With Cen Jin sitting, the youth’s figure seemed even taller, closing in on her impenetrably like a net, seeming to have weight.

He still didn’t speak, just bent down to pick up the book from the floor, smoothed the pages, closed it, and placed it back beside her pillow.

Cen Jin was helpless and threw it at him again. Li Wu seemed to feel no pain and just picked it up again. After three times, Cen Jin’s emotions crumbled, her eyes rimmed red: “What do you want?”

“Come to laugh at me?”

Since she was already wretched enough, Cen Jin didn’t mind making herself look worse: “Seeing that I can’t control you anymore in this state, right? Finally, found your opportunity? Is it because I’ll never recover or because there’s no one else at home? You’re so arrogant, coming to show off in front of me?”

Li Wu silently endured her scolding. Her false bravado cut his heart like a knife, and he could only turn to pull out tissues from the bedside table to give her.

Cen Jin paused slightly, reaching out to take them and dabbing away the tears at the corners of her eyes.

She suddenly seemed to remember something, as if catching hold of a handle, narrowing her reddened eyes and lifting her head to examine him: “This time I didn’t say a single word, yet you came running over, impossible to drive away. Doesn’t your face hurt?”

Li Wu finally opened his lips, faintly: “It hurts.”

But what was this little pain compared to? In the days without seeing her, his chest felt like it was being twisted to death. He resignedly crouched down beside her bed, as if in submission, as if begging for mercy, as if coercing, as if coaxing: “Sister, I won’t leave anymore, let me stay by your side.”