Rather than feeling like she had experienced an unusually long menstrual period, Zhou Mi felt more like she had endured a plum-colored rainy season—dark, sticky, damp, and faintly painful.

For the first three days, He Miaoyan made time to visit her in the hospital room every day. Whenever the two friends met, after a few caring words, they would inevitably hug each other and cry, as if they were kindred spirits sharing in this ordeal together.

Professor Xun also came twice, but was ruthlessly turned away by Zhang Lian each time, even though she was extremely anxious and worried—this was Zhou Mi’s request, as she didn’t want to see anyone except her best friend.

Including Zhang Lian.

Yes, after the most intense reaction had passed and Zhou Mi could walk independently, she never looked him in the eye again, barely speaking to him during this period.

But he still spent many hours in the hospital room every day and stayed there at night, too.

One night around eleven o’clock, he came out after washing up and saw a faint glow from Zhou Mi’s bedcovers. He couldn’t help saying, “Can’t you rest earlier and spend less time on your phone?”

“I’ll play if I want to!” she snapped, like an extremely upset child throwing a tantrum in front of a parent.

“Fine, play all you want…” He was also a first-time experiencer and felt equally helpless, so he could only let her mood dictate.

And typically, after he completely left her to her own devices, Zhou Mi would start crying.

She often cried after the lights were turned off, suppressing heavy nasal sounds at first, then gradually getting louder, like rain falling from the eaves, sobbing intermittently.

When Zhang Lian came over to comfort her, she would quickly wrap herself tightly in the blanket like a silkworm cocoon, shutting him out.

“Should I hold you while you sleep?” Once, Zhang Lian guessed she might need some physical comfort.

“Do you want to get hit?” she responded fiercely, her tone threatening.

He lowered his gaze, staring at the large white bundle on the bed: “Didn’t we agree to get along?”

“I changed my mind,” Zhou Mi’s voice was muffled. “We’re no longer on speaking terms.”

Zhang Lian disliked her being this way. He would have preferred her to accuse him and then sit up abruptly to argue with him, cursing loudly.

Her behavior contradicted his initial intention of “parting on good terms,” and consequently prolonged his feelings of guilt.

They occasionally spread out, interfering with him, blurring his life and work. When he wasn’t by Zhou Mi’s side, he couldn’t forget her crying that day. That crying wasn’t just helpless pain flowing from her vocal cords—it seemed to have substance and imagery, and was dripping with blood.

He had considered “compensation,” whether emotional or material, but once these thoughts emerged, Zhang Lian would immediately suppress them.

He felt this would be even more detrimental to the proud girl’s physical and mental recovery.

Fortunately, after a week, Zhou Mi’s condition improved, and she regained much of her vitality. During meals, she could joke with nurses close to her age, sharing interesting stories from school.

Friday afternoon, He Miaoyan visited the hospital room again. She hadn’t seen Zhou Mi for two days, and immediately rushed to her bedside upon entering, sobbing: “Mimi, you’ve lost so much weight.”

During her visits, she completely ignored Zhang Lian, who opened the door for her, treating him as invisible.

Zhang Lian was well accustomed to this.

But hearing these words, he also looked over to observe Zhou Mi on the hospital bed. They had been together day and night for days, yet he hadn’t noticed any difference.

The young girl sat there, her face pale, with a faint smile like the clearing sky after a long rain: “Consider it weight loss.”

He Miaoyan grabbed her hand, her eyes brimming with tears of concern: “How can you lose weight this way?”

Strong emotions are easily contagious, and Zhou Mi also rubbed her eyes: “I don’t feel any pain anymore, it’s just like having my period.”

He Miaoyan said, “You should tell me when you’re feeling unwell. I’ll come to see you more often.”

Zhou Mi said: “It’s fine, there are still nurses and that guy…” She rolled her eyes, using her peripheral vision to indicate Zhang Lian not far away.

He Miaoyan let out a cold snort: “He’s nothing.”

After pouring their hearts out, the sister-like friends would inevitably start insulting him as if he weren’t there.

He Miaoyan lived up to her name, coming up with creative ways to mock him, comparable to a stand-up comedian.

Zhang Lian would typically sit calmly in place, not saying a word, nor going elsewhere, nor putting on headphones.

He Miaoyan, stayed with Zhou Mi until the afternoon. She ordered Hunan cuisine takeout, deliberately feasting in front of her friend.

The spicy aroma filled the entire hospital room. Zhou Mi emerged from her occasional low spirits, instead gritting her teeth and accusing her best friend of being heartless.

Then the two would burst into laughter, like little ducks quacking playfully in a lake.

At times like these, Zhang Lian would leave the hospital room, returning phone calls in the corridor or going downstairs to clear his mind.

His phone was filled with complicated work matters, interpersonal issues, and his mother’s caring messages at least ten times a day. Only after dealing with all of this would Zhang Lian return.

After her friend left, the white space would fall completely silent, reverting to an awkward four-eyes confrontation.

Whenever they made eye contact, Zhou Mi would immediately raise her phone to cover half her face.

When she discovered that holding her phone vertically couldn’t completely block her view, she would switch to horizontal mode, then promptly lower her head and start a game of Honor of Kings or PUBG.

Giving the man no opportunity to have a heart-to-heart conversation with her.

Zhang Lian would always be amused, but he still decided to talk with her. He pulled up a chair to her bedside: “Really not going to talk to me anymore?”

Zhou Mi immediately pretended to be deaf and mute, not raising her head amid the flashing swords and blades of her game.

Zhang Lian’s expression remained calm: “Do you want to tell your parents? Let them come see you.”

Zhou Mi’s fingers paused slightly, and she was silent for a few seconds: “No.”

“Are you afraid of causing trouble?” Parents—just these two words made her eyes moist: “You can’t wait for them to take me back, can you?”

Zhang Lian was exasperated. When it came to imagining his intentions, why could she always extend them infinitely toward the most malicious possibilities?

He sighed lightly: “That day, you said you wanted your mother by your side. I’ve been thinking these past few days, you still need someone you trust to accompany you. After all, your friend has to attend school and can’t be here all the time.”

Zhou Mi let out an “ah,” her eyes red and wet: “Really? I said that?”

Zhang Lian just smiled without speaking.

She suddenly realized and shouted: “Of course I called for my mom, who else would I call for? You?”

“I’m warning you,” she looked at Zhang Lian, her pupils displaying two bright black prohibitions: “If you dare tell my parents, I will never forgive you. I’ll jump off the building, hang myself, end my life at Chenghe Medical Center.”

Then she coldly curled her lips, like a malicious little witch: “You want to tell my parents? If they found out, they would come after you, like a mixed doubles attack. I’m considering your safety, too.”

Zhang Lian leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms: “Then what should we do? You don’t want to see me either.”

Zhou Mi lowered her head, sliding her phone screen: “You can just sit in the partition, do whatever you want. As long as I don’t have to see you, it’s fine.”

Zhang Lian said, “But I want to see you.”

Her chest inexplicably tightened, and Zhou Mi’s game character went off course: “What’s there to see? How miserable I am?”

“Seeing you makes me feel a bit better.” His voice was unusually serious, the kind of tone used only in promises.

As if warm fingers were stroking down her spine, Zhou Mi shrank her neck and mocked: “Oh~ Are you trying to play the good guy again?”

Zhang Lian didn’t mind and continued to seek her opinion: “What way do you think would be best for you?”

Zhou Mi carefully avoided his clear eyes: “The current situation is fine. After resting for another seven to ten days, I’ll go straight home, and then we’ll part ways completely.”

Zhang Lian suddenly called her name, somewhat formally: “Zhou Mi, why did you choose to intern at Aoxing back then?”

Zhou Mi’s skin crawled: “Are you conducting an impromptu interview?”

“No,” Zhang Lian’s lips slightly curved. “As far as I know, teaching and civil service are the career plans for most Chinese literature students. How did you decide to come to a gaming company?”

Zhou Mi grew quiet, her thoughts drifting a bit. After a moment, she coldly snorted: “Because I didn’t know you were the damn boss of Aoxing.”

“Answer properly,” Zhang Lian chuckled. “Or should I guess?”

“Don’t guess, thanks.” She hated his probing gaze the most, like a hovering black feather, wandering over her from inside out.

“Because I wanted to challenge myself,” Zhou Mi sighed. “I’m not very good at communicating with people, and I don’t want to lock myself into a life framework where I can see the end from the beginning. Last year, I saw a video for headphones your company made while browsing Weibo. It was very moving. I watched it many times, and later specifically checked which company produced it, only then realizing it was our local Aoxing.”

Zhang Lian nodded: “Hmm, so why didn’t you go to Creative? According to your major, that department would be more suitable for you.”

Zhou Mi said, “I felt that would be my comfort zone.”

Her arrogance made Zhang Lian raise an eyebrow slightly: “Creativity is the soul of gaming.”

Zhou Mi thought for a moment: “My social circle has always been very narrow, just family, parents, school, classmates. After entering university, it was just me, my friend, and my ex-boyfriend. Both of them were very considerate of my feelings… always shielding me. I think I became a bit spoiled, lacking in interpersonal skills. Don’t be fooled by how I dare to say anything to you—it’s all a facade. I’m very shy, rather introverted, and have communication anxiety, especially in formal settings. I just want to keep myself as far away from crowds as possible.”

“I had researched that AE could interact with various clients, so I wanted to give it a try, see if I could improve myself through this job.”

As she spoke, she showed signs of disappointment, crossing her fingers: “The result… well, there was a bit of a gap.”

Zhang Lian said, “How long have you been there?”

Zhou Mi glanced at him: “I know, such a short internship period. I set my expectations too high.”

Zhang Lian asked: “What expectations? The internship salary?”

“Of course not,” Zhou Mi quickly denied. “I don’t care much about that for now. I just didn’t expect to be greeted with a bunch of tedious data work. Booking meeting rooms and such…”

Towards the end, Zhou Mi’s voice lost confidence, becoming as faint as a mosquito’s hum.

But Zhang Lian didn’t tell her she was being unrealistic, as she had expected. Instead, he asked: “Haven’t you learned anything in these two months?”

“Of course I have, how could I not?” Zhou Mi sniffled, her nose somehow congested, and said bitterly: “I could have tried doing the monthly report myself this week. Last year in the second half, I had already decided to intern at Aoxing and spent several months preparing for it. I wanted to be formally hired afterward. Now it’s all ruined.”

Zhang Lian didn’t speak further, looking at her thoughtfully for a while. Then he left his seat, took his laptop from the coffee table, found something, and turned it toward Zhou Mi: “Take another look?”

Seeing the screen, Zhou Mi immediately locked eyes with her ID photo. Her face instantly turned red as she questioned: “Why do you have my resume?!”

Zhang Lian seemed quite comfortable with peering into her personal information: “Of course, to look at it.”

How was this different from public humiliation? Zhou Mi’s heart itched with anxiety as she muttered: “So?”

“Recall how you felt when making your resume, determine what you want, and don’t let anything easily divert you,” Zhang Lian said calmly. “Whether you stay at Aoxing in the future or not, these experiences will add credibility to your career.”