Staring at this text message, Zhou Mi’s face broke into a subtle smile.

She found Zhang Lian quite amazing, actually providing such an opportunity to take advantage of him. The embarrassing situation where she had been outmaneuvered at the hospital was now reversed, and she hastily typed: Is this a special privilege?

She added an emoji with blushing cheeks and a smile, then sent it.

It was as sarcastic as it could be.

Zhang Lian’s reply was bland: This is consideration.

His choice of words was cunning, precisely maintaining that sense of superiority. Zhou Mi silently gritted her teeth and said: Thanks then, boss is so nice, Aoxing really has such a human touch.

The subtle emotions in her words made Zhang Lian smile at his desk.

He rested his head on one hand and decided to clarify the matter: You seem to have a misunderstanding about me?

He added: Care to share?

But Zhou Mi didn’t reply again.

Zhang Lian wasn’t annoyed, though he couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason—perhaps he didn’t care that much, or maybe he found her behavior interesting, crying one moment and being feisty the next. Teasing her occasionally wasn’t a bad form of entertainment.

He turned away from his chair and went to the floor-to-ceiling window to make a call to a client. When he hung up, another text message came through on his phone. He thought it was some indignant essay from Zhou Mi, but when he opened it, it was from another name he hadn’t contacted in a long time.

The message wasn’t long, just a dinner invitation. Zhang Lian read it and deleted it.

Back at his desk, he pondered for a moment, then found that name in his contacts and replied: Where?

—

At noon, Zhang Lian left the company and drove to the outskirts of the city.

The meeting place was a small Japanese-style club with ornate eaves and surrounding corridors, enclosing ingeniously arranged trees, stones, flowers, and birds. A pond reflected the sky like a bright mirror.

After removing his leather shoes, a server dressed in a kimono bowed to collect them from Zhang Lian. Once he changed into wooden sandals, the server led him to a private room.

As soon as he entered, Zhang Lian’s eyes met those of the woman behind the low table. She wore her hair in a low bun, adorned with a pure white deep-sea pearl ornament, and dressed in an off-shoulder vintage black dress, resembling a high-class young lady from the Showa era, perfectly blending with the environment.

She smiled at him.

Zhang Lian walked to sit cross-legged on the floor opposite her and got straight to the point: “What’s this about?”

His tone was cold and impolite, but the woman seemed prepared for this and showed no change in her expression, simply saying: “I want to start over.”

Zhang Lian paused slightly: “You called me here just to say that?”

“Yes.” The woman lifted the tea vessel with both hands.

Zhang Lian looked at her silently, his eyes deep and dark, more like an assessment than a gaze: “My thoughts on not wanting to get married haven’t changed.”

“I know,” the woman took a casual sip: “But I’ve come to terms with that.”

Zhang Lian’s lips curled slightly: “It took you over a year to figure that out?”

The woman’s small, delicate face lifted: “You haven’t been with anyone else this past year either, have you?”

Zhang Lian leaned back slightly, making him appear somewhat casual and inattentive: “Being alone doesn’t mean I was waiting for you to say these things.”

The woman’s curled, slender eyelashes lifted as she smiled sweetly: “Was it to keep holding onto VET?”

Zhang Lian smiled and finally called her by name: “Lin Sui, during the time we’ve been apart, have you been practicing self-deprecation?”

The composure and elegance vanished from Lin Sui’s face like a startled swan.

“Aoxing can survive without VET,” Zhang Lian’s tone remained cold throughout: “You’re the one who can’t survive without your father.”

Lin Sui resisted the urge to throw the tea in her hand at him: “You came to see me just to speak to me like this?”

Zhang Lian shook his head: “No, to confirm in person that we’ve long reached a consensus.”

He smiled without emotion: “Miss Lin, being clingy isn’t your style.”

The porcelain cup was slammed hard against the floor, bounced, and rolled far across the bamboo mat. Lin Sui’s face and ears turned red with uncontrollable anger.

A small portion of the hot tea splashed onto Zhang Lian’s clothes, but he remained unmoved. He picked up a gray warm towel from the bamboo mat beside him, unhurriedly wiped it away, said “Thanks for the hospitality,” and left.

—

That afternoon, Zhang Lian went on a business trip to Jing City.

At the same time, Zhou Mi received a WeChat friend request, with just two words: Zhang Lian.

Zhou Mi couldn’t figure out this person’s style of conduct, which was too unpredictable—a million times harder to understand than when he was naked.

With curiosity to investigate and the difficulty of refusing as an employee, Zhou Mi pressed accept.

Zhang Lian’s WeChat name was his English name, Fabian. His Moments feed was also very… how to put it… impersonal? Self-righteous? Like an intentionally displayed official image, a meticulously arranged reception room, without any trace of everyday life.

Zhou Mi suspected he had another private account, just that she wasn’t qualified enough to occupy a place in his private garden.

But when she returned home that night, Zhou Mi felt her judgment was wrong. He probably only had this WeChat.

Because he shared a contact card with her, along with two very private instructions:

“I’ll be on a business trip for two days.”

“Everything has been arranged for you. This is Deputy Director Cheng from Chenghe Medical. Contact him.”

Zhou Mi was eating at the time, heard the notification, casually glanced at it, and nearly sprayed rice out of her nose.

Seeing her coughing badly, her mother patted her back to help her breathe: “What’s wrong?”

Zhou Mi drank a few spoonfuls of soup to soothe her throat, waving her hand: “It’s nothing.”

She hurriedly finished the last bit of rice at the bottom of her bowl, firmly gripped her phone, and retreated to her bedroom.

Sprawled on the bed, Zhou Mi stared blankly at these two instructions, unable to figure out how to respond for a while.

After a while, she decided to ignore them and add Zhang Lian’s friend.

The other side accepted very quickly, with an attitude as if they had been waiting for her arrival: Finally got to you.

Zhou Mi was speechless for a few seconds, then sent a cartoon greeting sticker.

The other party didn’t beat around the bush: Can you come over tomorrow when you have time?

Zhou Mi said: Can everything be done in one day?

He asked: What do you mean by everything?

Zhou Mi said: All the examinations and the abortion.

The other side replied with a laugh: You need to come over first.

Zhou Mi remembered the morning’s checkup report and blinked, asking: Are you a doctor?

He said: What else would I be if not a doctor?

Zhou Mi replied: Please wait a moment.

She planned to take a photo of the results to show him and ask about the next arrangements, to have some mental preparation.

After rummaging through her bag for a while, she couldn’t find the report.

Zhou Mi suddenly remembered it had been taken by Zhang Lian along with the umbrella.

Everything from the morning seemed to be setting her up for failure—the umbrella was returned to its owner, but the crucial evidence was still in his hands, as if she had pawned some treasure there, and he was just waiting leisurely for her to come redeem it.

Ah— Zhou Mi clutched her head in frustration and fell back onto the pillow.

She flexed her fingers, her thoughts twisted into a thousand knots, but ultimately compromised and asked Zhang Lian: Is my report with you?

Zhang Lian was probably busy, as there was no response after several minutes.

Zhou Mi didn’t want to leave the doctor hanging, so she switched back and said: Never mind.

The other side seemed afraid: Are you coming or not? Give me a straight answer.

Zhou Mi couldn’t help feeling annoyed. She had just asked for leave from Ye Yan last night, and although she had worked diligently all day, bothering her superior two days in a row for the same reason didn’t sit well with her conscience.

She stammered: Well, I just asked my supervisor for leave last night.

The other side was very understanding: Sister, I’ve never seen someone as conflicted as you. What’s your relationship with Zhang Lian? Taking ten days or half a month off isn’t a big deal, right? He won’t fire you, don’t worry.

Zhou Mi was speechless.

What he described was exactly the “privilege” Zhang Lian had criticized her for earlier that day. If she used it casually, it would become a burden, a chip that Zhang Lian could use to pressure her in the future.

Zhou Mi glanced at the calendar and chose the nearest holiday: How about Sunday?

There was no further response from the other side.

About ten seconds later, Zhou Mi was unexpectedly pulled into a temporary three-person group chat, where both she and Zhang Lian were mentioned:

@fabian @MimiziAfterSchool, keep her company, she wants to wait for you to return before coming to see me.

Zhou Mi was completely confused.

Countless jumbled thoughts rushed through her mind as she typed in desperation: No…

By this time, Zhang Lian had already replied with a single:?

Unconsciously, waves of heat rushed to Zhou Mi’s face. During this interval of embarrassment, Zhang Lian had already answered her question about the report in their private chat: Not with me right now.

Then he asked: What’s going on?

Zhou Mi sat up, leaning against the headboard, as if this would provide support to help her combat the current awkward situation. She honestly said: I don’t want to ask Yan for leave two days in a row.

Zhang Lian replied: You mean you don’t want to go to the hospital tomorrow?

Zhou Mi: Yes.

Zhang Lian asked: When do you want to go?

Zhou Mi wasn’t very confident: Sunday it’s a day off anyway.

Zhang Lian seemed to be in a good mood: Fine, I’ll accompany you.

Zhou Mi didn’t respond, unsure whether to refuse or accept. In the end, she didn’t say a word, tacitly agreeing to this arrangement. With the morning’s cowardice still fresh in her mind, she had to learn to accept this side of herself and find allies.

Perhaps because the chat atmosphere had improved, Zhang Lian suddenly brought up the unanswered message from the morning: Why didn’t you answer my question earlier today?

Zhou Mi replied: Didn’t know how to say it.

At this moment, the screen suddenly darkened—it was a call from Zhang Lian. Zhou Mi’s heart skipped a beat as she quickly connected her earphones.

The man might have been standing on a balcony or by a lake, his voice mixed with the wind, naturally picking up where her WeChat message left off: “Let’s talk on the phone.”

Zhou Mi’s heart fluttered. She pursed her lips for a moment, muttering a few words, as if expelling a spicy medium from her vocal tract: “You lied to me before.”

Zhang Lian laughed in confusion: “What did I lie to you about?”

Zhou Mi said: “The day we first met, I asked if you had a girlfriend, your attitude was that you didn’t, but people at the company said you did.”

Zhang Lian asked: “Who said that?”

“Many people said so.” Zhou Mi took a deep breath.

Zhang Lian said, “I said I don’t.”

Zhou Mi raised her voice unconsciously, as if returning to a state of honest confrontation with him: “So just because you say you don’t, that means you don’t?”

Zhang Lian seemed unyielding: “If I say I don’t, then I don’t.”

Zhou Mi began to incoherently find loopholes: “Then when did you not have one? Maybe you only became single last month, or maybe just yesterday.”

Through the receiver, Zhang Lian’s laughter seemed like a unique kind of gentleness, exclusively for her: “So you just don’t believe what I say, right?”

Zhou Mi looked up at the ceiling: “Who would dare to presume about the boss?”

Zhang Lian was still smiling, but no longer continued this tongue-twister-like topic: “There’s a MasterClass at the company tomorrow morning, remember to attend.”

Zhou Mi responded with an “Oh”: “I know.”

He added, “Also, take care of your situation soon, don’t drag it out.”

Zhou Mi dragged out the final syllable, like an impatient child listening to an elder’s nagging: “I know—”

The frustration that had entangled her all day sharply diminished, and Zhou Mi’s heart began to float, like a light seagull.

Worried that she would start to fantasize and lose clarity like before, she stopped herself promptly: “Nothing else to say?”

But Zhang Lian wasn’t in a hurry to say goodbye: “Do you understand what I mean by taking care of it soon?”

“What?”

“I don’t want to end things yet.”