The moment Zhang Lian’s message appeared, Zhou Mi’s heart skipped a beat.
She blinked rapidly, feeling too awkward to know what to do. Just as she was about to reply with something like “Boss, you don’t need to,” Jenny had already responded to Zhang Lian in the group: You’re free? Then, thank you for your help.
Zhang Lian didn’t say anything more.
Zhou Mi’s gaze remained fixed on the screen, and she could only follow with a response: Thank you, Boss.
She exited the group chat and found that the dark profile picture and name that had just briefly appeared in the group had jumped to the top of her list, sending her a private message: I’m coming down. Where are you?
Zhou Mi looked around, finding a landmark: To the left of the bus stop.
After sending the message, she quickly rubbed her palms, then stuffed both hands, along with her phone, back into her pockets, standing motionless, like a coagulated milk can in the night.
Shortly after, a black Cayenne stopped in front of her.
The passenger window was lowered completely, and the man’s face turned slightly toward her, his gaze indifferent, gesturing for her to get in.
Zhou Mi’s gaze bounced like a marble between the back door and the passenger door, but in the end, she took a light breath and got into the passenger seat.
—Out of courtesy.
The car had just turned on the heating, so the temperature difference from outside wasn’t significant.
As she fastened her seatbelt, Zhou Mi glanced sideways at Zhang Lian, who was already facing forward, his nose prominent. He still wasn’t wearing an outer coat, only a smoke-gray turtleneck sweater with thick knitting that looked very gentle.
Zhou Mi pressed her lips together and still addressed him respectfully: “Boss.”
“Mm,” he responded neutrally.
Then he asked: “Where should we go first? Buy now, Plaza or Pacific Mall?”
Zhou Mi took out her phone to check the map: “Buynow Plaza.”
As the car drove onto the road, Zhang Lian didn’t turn on any music or radio, making the car exceptionally quiet. Zhou Mi was wearing fitted jeans today and could feel the seat heating up.
Her scalp tingled slightly, and she handled her phone with extreme caution as she checked PR replies on WeChat.
The front space was quite large, but she just couldn’t relax, keeping her elbows tightly against her sides, her limbs stiff and pressed together as if her joints were malfunctioning.
It wasn’t just awkwardness; there were other emotions, faint but impossible to ignore, mixed and difficult to separate distinctly.
Some PR contacts sent her business cards of digital bloggers, and Zhou Mi busily composed detailed friend requests explaining her situation.
Some were accepted quickly, while others were met with silence.
Zhou Mi typed away with both hands, gradually becoming so busy that she forgot about the subtle emotional state that had emerged since she got into the car.
After sending photos of the limited-edition keyboard and sincere requests to everyone, Zhou Mi could finally take a brief breather.
She placed her hand holding the phone back on her thigh and leaned back slightly, no longer sitting with a straight back, constrained in her movements.
Points of light silently slid across the two people in the car.
Zhou Mi raised her arm, about to look at a new message, when suddenly the man’s voice came from the side: “How have you been lately?”
Zhou Mi froze, a brief but surging ache spreading from her chest, causing her back to begin sweating.
She swallowed and responded faintly: “Pretty good.”
Zhang Lian said nothing more.
Zhou Mi quickly lit up her phone screen, as if wanting to lock herself inside this bright, completely enclosed flat little box, without having any further interaction with the outside world.
The KOLs who responded all said they didn’t have it.
Zhou Mi sighed anxiously and sent a message to Jenny reporting the latest progress. After doing all this, she felt she should also politely ask about her “ex’s” recent situation, so she glanced at him sideways: “How about you?”
There was a moment of silence in the car before Zhang Lian said, “Same as before.”
Zhou Mi paused, gave a small “mm,” and turned her head in the opposite direction to focus on the lights along the road. She stared out the window for nearly a minute before remembering she needed to check Jenny’s message, shifting her gaze back to her phone.
They didn’t speak again until the car stopped at the entrance of the electronics mall.
After getting out, Zhang Lian went to the back seat to get his coat and put it on efficiently. As Zhou Mi was rushing toward the building, racing against time, he called after her.
Zhou Mi turned back, her eyes questioning.
Zhang Lian walked to her side: “Send me a photo, we’ll split up to search. It’ll be more efficient.”
Zhou Mi nodded and did as he said, telling him the details: “It’s the keyboard.”
Zhang Lian nodded and followed her into the elevator.
After half an hour of running from shop to shop, they found nothing.
Leaving Buynow Plaza, the two got back in the car and headed toward their next destination. Along the way, Zhang Lian connected his Bluetooth earpiece and began calling friends.
His manner of speaking was as consistent as ever. Even in this urgent situation, his way of explaining things remained orderly—that rhythmic voice that seemed to rub back and forth against one’s eardrum with unwavering intensity.
Zhou Mi was equally focused, silently typing to contact her colleagues.
After hanging up, Zhang Lian suddenly called her name: “Zhou Mi.”
Zhou Mi raised her eyes to look at him: “Hmm?”
With both hands on the steering wheel, he said, “Help me find someone in my WeChat contacts called Chen Jing. Chen as in East, Jing as in banner. Send him the keyboard photo. He might have one.”
Zhou Mi paused: “In your phone?”
Zhang Lian: “Mm.”
Zhou Mi hesitated for a moment, then carefully removed his phone from the mount on the center console with both hands.
Zhang Lian’s lock screen wallpaper showed a stone-yellow beach and dark blue tides, separated by pure white foam. The image was spacious with strong color contrast, and a small black figure walked along the shore.
Zhou Mi said softly: “There’s a password.”
Zhang Lian calmly recited the numbers: “061233.”
Zhou Mi froze for two seconds, then entered them.
The phone unlocked successfully.
The man’s WeChat list was clean, with nothing pinned to the top.
Zhou Mi clicked into his chat with her. In his WeChat, she was simply saved as “Zhou Mi.”
She planned to save the image first for ease of use, but discovered that, besides tonight’s brief two messages, their last chat from several months ago was still there.
Zhang Lian hadn’t deleted anything.
Zhou Mi’s breath caught, and suddenly she was afraid to stay on that page for even one more second. Heart pounding, she long-pressed the image and selected forward.
She could feel the skin on her face gradually tightening, and her temples faintly throbbing.
She tried hard to keep any tremor out of her voice: “Chen Jing, right?”
Zhang Lian again replied: “Mm.”
Zhou Mi found this person, hurriedly sent the message, and as if holding a hot iron, hastily put the phone back in its mount.
Zhang Lian called Chen Jing again, his tone still as calm as still water.
Zhou Mi tried hard to focus single-mindedly on his conversation with Chen Jing, praying that the final result would be favorable.
Finally, she heard Zhang Lian say: “You have it? Good. We’ll come find you now.”
Zhou Mi’s suspended heart finally settled.
—
Zhang Lian’s friend lived quite far away, in a villa in Jingkang District. By the time they arrived at his house, it was already past midnight. Upon entering, Zhou Mi widened her eyes in surprise, thinking she had stepped onto a sci-fi movie set.
The host had the typical appearance of a tech geek—very thin, pale skin, wearing thin-rimmed black glasses.
After briefly greeting Zhang Lian in the living room, he led them to a separate room to check the item.
They were lucky. The original keyboard was part of Chen Jing’s collection, kept in a cabinet, brand new in appearance with undamaged functionality. They tested the lighting effects on several of his computers, then without staying long, rushed back to the company.
Before leaving, Zhang Lian had Zhou Mi and Chen Jing add each other on WeChat.
Zhou Mi raised her eyebrows slightly, momentarily confused by his intention.
Chen Jing smirked: “What, you’re introducing a pretty girl to me?”
Zhang Lian didn’t even glance at him, only instructing Zhou Mi: “If you have any questions about digital products in the future, contact him directly.”
Zhou Mi suddenly understood and nodded in thanks.
Chen Jing: “Damn, so I’m just a tool, huh?”
Racing back to her workstation with the keyboard, her team members all sighed with relief, thanking heaven and earth. Cici especially hugged Zhou Mi, repeatedly apologizing and choking with gratitude.
Zhou Mi glanced in the direction of Zhang Lian’s office: “Don’t thank me, thank the boss. He’s the one who found the person.”
Jenny said in the group chat: It’s almost two o’clock. Everyone, go home. We have a shoot tomorrow. Thanks to everyone’s hard work today.
She also specifically praised Zhou Mi: @Aostar-minnie, you did great today.
Zhou Mi was too embarrassed to take undue credit and continued to emphasize that she just ran an errand; it was Fabian who helped.
Returning to the apartment, the interior was dark. Jijie hadn’t returned yet. Zhou Mi’s entire body ached. She removed all her jewelry, hastily showered, and went straight to bed.
After tossing and turning for a while, she checked the time on her phone. It was almost three o’clock.
She opened WeChat and sent a message to Jijie, who was pinned at the top: Are you coming over today?
After waiting a while, there was no reply in the chat box.
Worried that Jijie had already gone to sleep in Huajun and not wanting to wake him, she didn’t call him rashly, only sending another message: Then I’ll rest first. I have a shoot early tomorrow. Good night.
Zhou Mi let out a small sigh, exited the chat, and suddenly remembered she hadn’t properly thanked Zhang Lian yet.
As soon as they entered the company, he had gone his separate way without stopping, returning to his own office.
He probably also felt awkward and suffocated being with her.
Zhou Mi’s gaze casually scrolled down the chat list, then fixed on Zhang Lian’s entry. The events in the car earlier that evening suddenly surged forward, brewing a lukewarm, bitter water in her heart. It was probably more than just bitterness; she lay flat, experiencing a mix of complex emotions, quietly digesting them for a while, and finally took a deep breath, bringing her emotions back to stability.
She clicked in and stared at the blinking cursor, beginning to formulate wording in her mind that was formal enough, serious enough, and wouldn’t cause any misunderstanding.
During this time, Zhou Mi’s gaze had nowhere to rest, so it temporarily stopped on his profile picture.
It had been a long time since she’d looked at Zhang Lian’s Moments.
Zhou Mi casually tapped in, and in a moment of distraction, her finger accidentally tapped one too many times.
A gray line of text immediately appeared at the bottom of the screen—
“I nudged ‘Fabian'”
Zhou Mi froze for a moment, then curled her fingers tightly, frantically rubbing her hair in dismay, wishing she could immediately jump off the bed and roll under it, never to show her face in the world again.
She stared at the screen with a flushed face. The carefully composed thank-you draft in her mind instantly cleared, all replaced by black bold text reading “Oh my God, this is terrible, how am I going to explain this accident?”
Amid her distress, a message suddenly came from the other side—three words, very natural, very composed, completely unconcerned: Home safe?
Zhou Mi’s face froze, completely unsure what to do next or how to explain.
She could only quickly and simply compose an emotionless reply: Yes, I’m home. Thank you very much for today, Boss.
After sending it, she turned off her phone without looking back.
Fortunately, the screen didn’t light up again, otherwise she really wouldn’t have known how to continue dealing with the situation.
Zhou Mi forced herself to calm down, regulating her breathing and heart rate before stuffing the phone back under her pillow. She closed her eyes tightly, concentrating on counting sheep to help her fall asleep and reassuring herself, “One, two, three, four, five, I have a shoot tomorrow, sleep, sleep, don’t think about it, forget it, it’s fine, life is full of awkward moments, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…”
—
At the same time, Zhang Lian sat against the headboard, his gaze fixed on the gray text that read “‘Zhou Mi’ nudged you.”
He casually ruffled his fluffy hair, curled his lips into a smile, and put the phone back on the nightstand.
After turning off the lights and lying down, he picked up his phone again, clicked back into Zhou Mi’s WeChat, and looked at the same six-character prompt.
Later, when he got up the next day, in his involuntary action, he silently vowed and admonished himself: This is the last time.