During those days without any contact, Zhou Mi believed her fate with Zhang Lian had come to an end.

The entire 10th floor was exclusively occupied by Ao Xing. Zhang Lian’s private office was far from her workstation, and the probability of running into each other in the pantry was negligible.

The closest she came to Zhang Lian was when he came to instruct her director, who happened to be giving instructions to her leader at that time.

Zhou Mi’s workstation was right next to them.

In that moment, Zhou Mi held her breath, her mindset approaching that of a student sitting at a desk right under the watchful eyes of the discipline director who had come to find the homeroom teacher.

Her heart was racing, but not in the fluttering-like-a-deer way. There were no romantic notions, much less flights of fancy.

Besides his naturally good voice, Zhang Lian’s speech had a strong sense of structure, like a wooden instrument knocking inside her skull.

He wasn’t a stern superior; on the contrary, he would make appropriate jokes, making the atmosphere of giving orders feel like casual conversation.

The slight swaying of her director’s body in her peripheral vision was the best proof of this.

Damn it.

Why did she only notice Zhang Lian?

After he walked away, Zhou Mi’s first reaction was to pick up her cup and gulp down a large mouthful, then edit the content on her screen.

She had been pretending to be deeply immersed and focused, her fingers tapping on the keyboard, typing a lot of things she didn’t even know what they were.

Zhou Mi carefully examined the document; not a single sentence was coherent or valuable.

As if thoroughly analyzed by these incoherent words, Zhou Mi’s face began to burn strangely, and she immediately deleted them all.

An indescribable feeling.

Perhaps it was related to her major; she had a somewhat sentimental, artistic illness in her bones.

She admitted that Zhang Lian’s way of handling things was realistic and reasonable, but it was somewhat heartless. At least when the aftereffect hit, her self-esteem was bruised, and her girlish sentiments were pinched with pain.

She thought… he should have had some nostalgia or reluctance, but he was more “upright and incorruptible” than she had imagined, even lacking in grace.

During those first few late nights at the company, she always pondered whether to text Zhang Lian, to inquire about his attitude, to continue where they left off, or to wipe the slate clean—either would be better than being in the dark.

Then, she would turn off her phone and tuck it away along with her dignity back under the blanket.

Once work fell into a routine, these fluctuating thoughts faded. She found colleagues she got along with and could have meals with. Her days were filled with tasks and schedules, and after work, she was organizing materials, so she had no extra time for idle thoughts.

Just when she thought this romantic encounter had closed its chapter, the chance meeting at the team building event reversed the situation, pushing the story toward an unpredictable climax.

Recalling this, Zhou Mi sat on the company toilet, supporting her head with one hand, finding it difficult to distinguish who was truly the instigator.

Indeed, that night, it was Zhang Lian who first asked her to come over.

But he only asked some official, polite questions like “have you adapted to the company” and so on. His attitude was neither warm nor cold, gentle and ordinary, like an older brother or a teacher.

Zhou Mi answered each question, but her gaze gradually shifted to his lips as he spoke.

Zhang Lian’s mouth was very attractive, with a slightly thin upper lip and a slightly thick lower lip, the edge lines clearly defined. He must have had quite disciplined personal management; his lip color was a natural and healthy light red.

Red lips and white teeth, no wonder she initially thought he was only twenty-seven or twenty-eight.

So, when the man noticed her distraction and raised his voice to ask “what are you looking at,” her mind went blank, and the words in her heart slipped out: “Can you kiss me goodbye one last time?”

Zhang Lian went quiet, his face showing other emotions, similar to that analytical look before they started their game.

Zhou Mi likewise didn’t retreat at the crucial moment. At that time, she had a purpose; her look toward Zhang Lian was somewhat cunning and somewhat fearless.

Of course, there was also a lot of seduction.

The lake light rippled, but Zhang Lian remained motionless, still just looking at her. His eyes seemed capable of synesthesia, as if touching and moving across her face.

Silence spoke louder than words, and Zhou Mi’s thoughts began to boil. She felt a sudden palpitation, afraid that without some development, it would be difficult to recover.

She swallowed and grew bolder: “If you won’t take the initiative, then I will.”

The next second, she saw the man’s eyes darken rapidly like the sea after sunset. He directly grasped her lower back, pulling her entire body back to him.

Zhou Mi closed her eyelids, her hands clutching his collar tightly.

The familiar warmth easily overwhelmed her; Zhang Lian seemed to envelop her like the night.

They didn’t dare to be intimate for too long at the dock. Like adulterers, they returned to the hotel room one after another. Zhang Lian went first, leaving the door half-open for her, his slender fingers resting on the edge. Zhou Mi grasped them and was pulled in by him.

She had slipped back into the pages of the fairy tale.

Zhou Mi’s thoughts soared amid the intertwined hot breaths and intimate collisions. She even thought somewhat smugly that she only wanted a ceremonial ending, but hadn’t thought about repeating the same mistake…

—

Repeating the same mistake.

Zhou Mi coldly curled her lips, lowering her eyes to look at the pregnancy test strip she was holding. The two red lines on it were comparable to a monster’s blood-colored vertical pupils, making her heart jump.

What should she do?

She wanted to cry but had no tears, had no one to confide in, and could only anxiously stare at the four white walls.

Several options flashed through her mind—parents, best friend, colleagues—but she dismissed them one by one.

After realizing she didn’t have anyone she could talk to without reservation, Zhou Mi’s nose was gradually immersed in a kind of sourness. She forcefully held her mouth, desperately holding back the panic and regret that were about to burst out.

What the hell?

Didn’t they use protection?

Zhou Mi couldn’t understand at all. Amid her confusion, a second urge to urinate struck. She quickly pulled out a second test strip and tested again, betting that heaven wouldn’t be so ruthless.

As the thin test strip was gradually soaked, Zhou Mi was also invaded by a cold and nauseating sensation, as if a snake had slithered into her spine. Her whole body shuddered.

No miracle occurred.

Zhou Mi desperately stared at the two identical results, her brain buzzing, almost causing tinnitus.

She sniffled, hearing someone coming in.

She hurriedly stuffed the pregnancy test and packaging box back into her pocket and pulled out a long strip of toilet paper to conceal her momentarily uncontrollable, rough breathing.

Crying or screaming—she had to choose one way to vent.

In reality, neither was allowed.

After flushing, Zhou Mi walked out. The slight moisture around her eyes quickly dried up, and she returned to an “okay, I’m fine” state.

The person outside was the cleaning lady. Seeing it was Zhou Mi, she greeted her familiarly: “You’re the new intern, right?”

Zhou Mi nodded and smiled back: “Yes.”

“You’re very pretty.”

She politely complimented Zhou Mi in the local dialect. Zhou Mi stopped at the white washbasin, thanking her while rubbing her hands. The auntie still looked at her through the mirror, switching back to accented Mandarin: “Good job too. If my daughter were half as good as you, that would be great.”

She then turned back and bent down to clean the waste basket.

Zhou Mi sighed inwardly, weakly curving her lips at the woman’s back.

Suddenly, the auntie stopped her movements, turned her head toward Zhou Mi, her face showing the surprise and concern that only someone with experience would have: “Are you okay?”

Zhou Mi met her gaze, somewhat at a loss.

The auntie stepped aside, revealing the waste basket, and pointed inside.

Zhou Mi looked where she was indicating and realized she was pointing at the urine cup that Zhou Mi had casually thrown away after the pregnancy test.

Her eyes widened dramatically, almost unable to stand as she leaned against the quartz countertop behind her—this crucial detail had been overlooked by her. She stiffly froze for two seconds, then pretended to be calm and replied: “That wasn’t mine.”

She didn’t know if her poor acting could fool the auntie, but at least the woman seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Zhou Mi said goodbye to her and hurriedly left.

The moment she walked out of the bathroom, panic and helplessness grew from the soles of her feet again, completely enveloping her.

Zhou Mi couldn’t breathe, and two streaks of tears uncontrollably flowed down. She raised her hand and wiped them forcefully, stopped by the wall, and breathed deeply to calm herself.

The more she thought about it, the more reluctant she felt.

She was about to be offered a permanent position and receive her master’s degree. A new stage of life was right before her eyes.

But she had also received the most malicious gift of her twenty-four years. Her smooth and meticulous life began to show frequent loopholes. She had no idea how to solve it; the entire procedure was in disarray, surrounded by the sound of system crashes.

Zhou Mi urgently needed someone to share the burden; she couldn’t drown alone.

A name suddenly emerged.

Like finding the target’s bullseye, Zhou Mi looked around, then took out the pregnancy test and her phone from her pants pocket, focusing on taking a photo.

She didn’t edit any smoothing text, instead rudely pushing it through directly.

Zhou Mi instantly calmed down.

The bad news had been delivered, and the unfortunate person chosen by fate was no longer just herself.