Because of Luan Nian’s actions at the budget meeting, all departments suddenly became tense. Each department occupied a meeting room and began working on budget proposals. The marketing department couldn’t leave either, standing by at all times, because any department might ask them during their meetings: “Can you help check if this is reasonable?” Even Shang Zhitao felt her status had risen a little along with the marketing department. It was quite a nice feeling.

She worked overtime with them for more than thirty grueling hours, only sleeping a few hours at her desk. During these thirty-plus hours, she thoroughly understood the logic behind marketing budgets. It wasn’t as simple as saying how much money to spend, receiving that amount, and then reporting what was recovered. Rather, every step had its technique, and every step could be tracked and traced. This made it very interesting.

Learning new knowledge made her happy. By Wednesday’s meeting, Shang Zhitao saw first-class proposals. Lingmei’s people were all elite talents, outstanding in any situation. This version of the proposals was so good that Shang Zhitao felt the previous version had been mere busywork.

The objectives were clear, the action plans solid, and every penny was estimated precisely. Lu Mi said to Shang Zhitao: “See that? This is the damn charm of a stubborn mule. I think I understand why the board insisted on appointing him. Who else could it be but him?” Lu Mi now particularly liked Luan Nian; she even forgave his usual arrogance, feeling it would be abnormal if he weren’t arrogant.

When Lu Mi called Luan Nian a stubborn mule, Shang Zhitao couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What are you laughing at? Isn’t he?”

“Yes, yes, yes. He is quite mule-like,” Shang Zhitao quickly agreed.

Luan Nian wasn’t as sharp with this version of the budget proposals as he had been the last time, but he still suggested improvements, scheduling another review for Friday. At the end, he suddenly asked: “Am I being too strict?”

Everyone was momentarily stunned, saying nothing.

He simply smiled: “See you Friday,” and ended the meeting.

Shang Zhitao returned home to find Sun Yuanzhu and Zhang Lei discussing a technical problem about autonomous driving technology. In 2010, autonomous driving was just a concept. But Sun Yuanzhu’s company had invested in this area, and as a high-tech talent, he had been assigned to the project team.

“The main issue is that it’s difficult to conduct tests in Beijing; our model has nowhere to run. We can only go to remote areas with few people.”

“The technology isn’t mature yet, so there are risks. Going elsewhere is probably better.”

Upon seeing Shang Zhitao with dark circles under her eyes, they stopped: “Did you pull an all-nighter?”

Shang Zhitao nodded: “The company was working on the budget. Where are you going?” she asked Sun Yuanzhu.

“Northwest.”

“Will that take a long time?” Shang Zhitao was a bit reluctant to see Sun Yuanzhu go; she had grown accustomed to him sharing various kinds of knowledge with her and Sun Yu on weekends or evenings. His mind contained an entire universe. Sometimes when Shang Zhitao looked at him, she wondered if he had read every book in the world.

Sun Yuanzhu and Luan Nian were completely different people. Luan Nian was angular, hard, cold, and brilliant; Sun Yuanzhu was gentle, reserved, with an aura of scholarly refinement. Shang Zhitao would fear Luan Nian, but not Sun Yuanzhu.

“Yes,” Sun Yuanzhu smiled at her, “I’ll send you some delicious snacks.”

“Are you only sending them to Shang Zhitao?” Zhang Lei interjected from the side.

“I’ll send them to everyone,” Sun Yuanzhu’s face reddened slightly as he said to Shang Zhitao: “Go to sleep quickly, you look too exhausted.”

“Okay.” Shang Zhitao walked toward her room, then turned back to say to Sun Yuanzhu: “Please be careful!”

“Don’t worry.”

This was life in Beijing—even living under the same roof, it was hard to see each other. Everyone was working overtime, traveling for business, or attending gatherings, with every day fully scheduled. Shang Zhitao indeed felt very tired. After showering, she lay down on her bed and caught up on sleep.

By Friday, she followed her colleagues carrying their laptops to the meeting room. As soon as she pushed open the door, she saw Luan Nian sitting there flipping through a magazine featuring a print advertisement their company had designed for a major personal care brand.

Seeing them enter, he stopped, put the magazine aside, and said to his secretary: “Please distribute these to everyone.” He had brought back exquisite pastries from Lian Xiang Lou in Hong Kong, a small portion for each person. Shang Zhitao sat in the second row, received the pastry and placed it on the small table attached to her chair, then looked up to meet Luan Nian’s gaze. He glanced at her, no different from how he looked at others. Shang Zhitao recalled her recent summary of dignity: sit up straight, act as if nothing happened, as though nothing had occurred. It was as if she were telling Luan Nian: “Luke, don’t worry, I won’t say anything.” So she sat up straight, looking fearless. I didn’t do anything wrong anyway, she encouraged herself.

The applause-seeking mentality Shang Zhitao had developed since childhood made her someone who didn’t easily take things to heart. People like her wouldn’t feel sharp pain, but she didn’t realize that dull pain could also hurt.

The meeting proceeded quickly. Once the projects were approved, they were filed with the marketing department for project entry. Since it was Friday and many colleagues had plans, this task was assigned to Shang Zhitao. The entry system was complex, with numerous details required for each project. Shang Zhitao immersed herself completely, not even taking a sip of water, afraid of entering critical information incorrectly. After several hours, she finally finished. Shutting down her computer and standing up, she noticed the light was still on in Luan Nian’s office—he was still working.

He was hardworking. I should learn from him to be someone who works hard despite having talent.

She slung her backpack over her shoulders and left the company.

The leaves had all fallen, and the weather had grown colder. There were still drunkards on the street, along with a few people like her who couldn’t hail a taxi. She didn’t understand why people liked to drink until late at night and then wander the streets; this city truly had too many late-night drunks. She thought, if only I could have my own house in this city before I turn thirty. That way, no matter how late it was, even if I were standing on the street like now, I wouldn’t be afraid. Because I would have my place!

Putting on her headphones, listening to music, wondering which way to go, a car stopped in front of her.

Not the one she had damaged—that one probably needed a long time to repair.

Shang Zhitao didn’t know how to face him, but then remembered her four-word mantra: act as if nothing happened. So she got into the car and said to him: “Thank you, Luke, for troubling you again.”

Luan Nian glanced at her, reached to the back seat to retrieve a package, and placed it on Shang Zhitao’s lap: “This is for you.” He said it casually. Shang Zhitao recognized the brand—an expensive gift. She felt as if her hand had been scalded, losing her composed pretense of normality, and handed the box back to Luan Nian: “No, I don’t need this.”

“If you don’t want this, are you trying to discuss feelings with me?” Luan Nian started the car; driving didn’t affect his ability to speak.

…

Shang Zhitao felt as if she were selling herself. Only her price was a bit higher. The higher price wasn’t because of her outstanding performance, but simply because she had encountered a wealthy man.

She pressed her lips tightly together without speaking, the package box just sitting in her hands. She looked out the window, wondering how others would handle this gift. She had no answer. So she texted Sun Yu: “My boss gave me a bag, how should I handle it?”

“Accept it,” Sun Yu replied with just these two words.

In this city, almost all goods had been labeled with prices, and people too. Sun Yu had experienced a heartbreaking breakup and suddenly understood the meaning of money. To hell with love—without money, you’d starve to death, and how could you pursue love while starving? This same Sun Yu later went into the business of love. And this same Sun Yu later recklessly plunged into love. Every woman has said things against her true feelings; they all complete their growth in their ways. Years later, when they look back on this time, they’ll realize that many things had no right or wrong at the time—they were just choices.

Not everyone is born strong.

You should know that the strong people you see today have all, at some point, been ground down to the bone, reshaping themselves.

Sun Yu was like this, Shang Zhitao was like this.

Luan Nian was like this too.

“Is it that if I don’t accept this gift, you’ll worry that I might tell others about what happened between us?” Shang Zhitao finally spoke.

Luan Nian frowned, parked the car by the roadside, and, unusually, lit a cigarette, smoked it, then lit another. Shang Zhitao didn’t know what he was thinking; the silence was hard to bear. But she still sat there without speaking, looking out the window, keeping Luan Nian company as he smoked.

Luan Nian didn’t have a smoking habit. That day he smoked one cigarette after another, fascinated by the vague smoke rings in front of him.

“Do you think you’re selling yourself?” After a long time, Luan Nian asked her.

Shang Zhitao made an affirmative sound. Her mood was very low, though she couldn’t explain why.

“Then I should be giving you money.” Luan Nian extinguished his cigarette: “Keep it.” He refused to say another word. He dropped Shang Zhitao off at her apartment complex gate. Shang Zhitao carried the expensive gift out of the car, without even receiving a thank you from Luan Nian. She walked away without looking back.

She felt as if something had collapsed within her that night.

Because she had accepted Luan Nian’s gift.

The gift was too hot to handle—neither accepting nor rejecting felt right. She wasn’t like Lu Mi, who would say “go to hell” when encountering people or things she didn’t like; nor was she like Sun Yu, who could accept things righteously and without guilt. She was stuck in the middle, neither here nor there.

Carrying the bag into her home, she found Sun Yu washing her face. Seeing that something was wrong with Shang Zhitao’s expression, Sun Yu wiped her face and walked over to her.

Shang Zhitao shrugged at Sun Yu, pursed her lips, and walked into the bedroom. Sun Yu followed behind her: “Why aren’t you happy?”

“I can’t explain.”

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything.”

“I know what he wanted to say.” Sun Yu sat on the edge of her bed: “Shang Zhitao, you know I used to work in sales, right? Back then, we had to maintain client relationships every day. When we gave gifts to clients and they didn’t accept them, we would conclude that we probably couldn’t win over that client, and would be extra careful in our future interactions; if they accepted, we would feel reassured. This client was ours.”

“Yes, I accepted it, I’ll keep his secret.”

“Then why are you upset?”

“I don’t know.”

“I know.” Sun Yu pulled Shang Zhitao to sit beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder: “Although you’re not certain now, and may not want to admit it, you like him.”

Shang Zhitao bit her lip, and suddenly a tear fell, without warning.

“See, you’re even crying.” Sun Yu helped wipe her tears: “I’ve known you for a few months, and you’re not the kind of person who has one-night stands with others. Although you jokingly told me you only like his body. But Shang Zhitao, you’re not the type to sleep with someone you don’t like.”

“I don’t like him. I just feel awkward.” Shang Zhitao wiped away her tears: “I wish I were very rich, so that after sleeping with him, I could leave a stack of money by his bedside. Instead of allowing him to give me a bag first.” This was what angered Shang Zhitao the most.

“Alright, alright!” Sun Yu applauded: “You have backbone! But don’t you want to open it and see what it is?”

Shang Zhitao shook her head: “Let’s not open it, I don’t like it.”

“Then just leave it there!”

“Hmm!”

Shang Zhitao had her first luxury item in life, but she didn’t open it to look; she wasn’t even curious about which model Luan Nian had given her. Anyway, in her heart, this wasn’t important. What was important was that she knew: she could never do such a thing again. Never have anything happen with Luan Nian again.

That night she couldn’t sleep and watched movies on her computer while browsing forums. She saw a post about forming a group to see the red leaves at Labagou. This was perfect! She sent the link to Sun Yu: “Want to go see the red leaves? Autumn is almost over!”

“Sure!”

They quickly signed up online. The next day, they woke up early to reach the bus station, where they saw a group of men and women wearing windbreakers and hiking shoes. Many had cameras; Shang Zhitao didn’t have a proper camera, just a point-and-shoot that Xin Zhaozhou had given her. Shang Zhitao suddenly felt that her weekends shouldn’t only consist of work and study; they should also include many other fun activities.

Just as Sun Yu said: “We should live, not just be alive.”

Shang Zhitao was young then, and in her heart, being alive was equivalent to living. Later, she gradually understood the difference between the two. Being alive meant subsistence; living meant pursuing ideals. She later became someone who understood how to live, because living brings joy, while merely being alive can bring endless suffering.

While merely being alive, taking a little time to truly live is a reward to oneself.

As she walked along the mountain path, she looked down at the red leaves spread throughout the forest—the final autumn scenery in this world.