Chapter 41

Until you no longer feel embarrassed.

Yu Dule’s laughter had already spread over, infecting Lu Ming and Guan Xingxin, who also began to laugh—loud enough for the whole street to hear. Gu Yi felt more deflated than ever, despite all the awkward moments she had endured before. While other people’s romantic journeys seemed to be paved with flowers, hers was riddled with stumbling blocks, as abundant as a reflexology path.

She wanted to climb down from Liang Daiwen, but the fact that she was pinned against the wall served as a stark reminder: this wasn’t some moment of deep passion from him—it was all about removing the nipple cover stuck to her butt.

The embarrassment stung so deeply it hurt her heart. Clearly, she wasn’t cut out for any idol drama scenarios. Being this careless, and considering Liang Daiwen had encountered similar things with her before, he would definitely seize this opportunity to mock her and enjoy her humiliation. This man had derived far too much joy at her expense—so much that she felt like charging him for it.

“Did you do this on purpose?”

With a sigh, Gu Yi reached out to take the nipple cover: “Don’t say it. Whatever it is, it’s all my fault.”

Just as Liang Daiwen was about to speak, she covered his mouth with her hand. Deprived of his chance to retort, he playfully slapped the cover onto his own chest. The silicone pad now stuck to the black fabric of his shirt. As he helped Gu Yi down to the ground, he sighed, “Are you that afraid I’ll mock you?”

As for the three people laughing uncontrollably behind them, they were even more unable to deal with his “who can tell whether I’m male or female” demeanor. Yu Dule said, “I’m done! I can’t laugh anymore. Does emotional insensitivity mean you don’t have a sense of humor either?”

Ignoring the commotion, Liang Daiwen handed two bags of specialty snacks to Guan Xingxin: “You guys divide these up. I’m heading home to edit some pictures. These were a gift from a teacher at the Disabled Persons’ Federation; I don’t usually eat this stuff.”

After finishing, he nonchalantly patted his chest, pressing the nipple cover even more firmly in place, and turned to leave. When he glanced at Gu Yi, his face remained expressionless, but he gave her a deliberate wink. It wasn’t cheeky or flirtatious, nor was it anything like the fake smiles from old Korean dramas. It was just a harmless, half-hearted gesture.

From behind, Guan Xingxin called out, “Liang Daiwen, the little rabbit is drunk! Take her home. We’re leaving!”

They gave Liang Daiwen no chance to make a suave exit. He turned around and shouted, “She won’t let me take her.”

It must have been a grudge from the last time she read scripts with Xu Guanrui. The nipple cover made Gu Yi unsure where to direct her gaze. She wouldn’t even dare to dream of such a scenario. Ever since meeting Liang Daiwen, whether in life or concerning this man, it felt like God was always cheating at cards.

The early summer breeze brushed past them. Liang Daiwen never once removed the nipple cover. Gu Yi felt increasingly like she was being punished. “So, are you deliberately humiliating me...?”

“I’ll keep it on until you no longer feel embarrassed.”

Gu Yi’s face instantly turned red. This wasn’t about overcoming embarrassment—it was because she liked him. Yet, once again, her romantic moment had been interrupted by a nipple cover. Now, just looking at it made her want to sigh in regret. Liang Daiwen’s ability to empathize was deeply flawed. He didn’t react when it was appropriate to laugh, but when laughter was entirely unwarranted, he kept throwing her cues and cracking jokes, as if his signals were entirely on a different wavelength. However, the way he shifted the embarrassment onto himself—his single-mindedness—was oddly… touching.

Come to think of it, he also refrained from joking during her low moments.

“Why are you staring at me like that? Am I your guide dog?”

And there it was. Gu Yi shut her eyes in despair—it really was too much to expect anything more.

Liang Daiwen didn’t walk quickly, and his backpack seemed heavy. The two of them walked close together as if he were lost in thought. The scheming type of guy always seemed to get closer as they walked, brushing her arm accidentally before pulling away, flirting with an air of nonchalance. His steps were like precision instruments—leaning ten centimeters to the left, then veering five centimeters back to the right, brushing against Gu Yi only to bounce away…

Gu Yi pretended not to notice and chatted idly with him: “Running back and forth like this—why not just stay the night?”

“I have to meet Zhang Qingya tomorrow. I don’t want to work on their furniture designs anymore, so I’ll terminate the contract early. It’s better to do it politely.”

So it wasn’t because of me...

She felt a little jealous. “Won’t Zhang Qingya be upset?”

“Work is a two-way choice. I have no grievances with her. I just want to spend my time on more meaningful things. She should understand.”

“What about us? Are we considered close?”

“I wouldn’t stick nipple covers on anyone else.”

Gu Yi thought to herself—it’s time.

“You’ve always been such a workaholic. Is that why you don’t have friends?”

“I give up on things I can’t control and spend my time where it’s needed most. ‘Making the best use of resources’ applies to people as well.”

“Can I ask why you’re so passionate about barrier-free design and products?”

“My mom had polio. From the time I could remember, she rarely went out. For special occasions, she used a wheelchair or crutches, which always drew too many sympathetic looks. She and my dad were childhood sweethearts, but my dad wasn’t good at socializing, so apart from work, she handled everything at home, and it was hard on her. When I was in sixth grade, she got cancer. My dad was stationed overseas, and my grandparents took care of her. Later, she couldn’t walk and dropped to just over sixty pounds—I carried her everywhere. It wasn’t until much later that I learned about this industry. Even small changes to improve accessibility benefit everyone.”

As he spoke, Liang Daiwen’s eyes glimmered with a youthful determination. While other men his age had already learned the superficial airs of sophistication and cunning, he remained steadfast and unmoving.

“Then... how did you end up with alexithymia?” 

“I was a mischievous kid, quick-tempered, and disobedient. My mom made me take up painting to keep me quiet. During my rebellious phase, I skipped classes, challenged teachers, filled an entire test sheet with only ‘C’ answers, and fought with street gangs armed with bricks. My dad was the one who attended all the parent-teacher meetings. He thought I was uncommunicative, but I just couldn’t be bothered to talk to him much. Our relationship was always strained. Later, he changed jobs and traveled less, hoping it would improve things. Once, I skipped school with classmates to play video games outside campus. He caught me and slapped me in the face. It was humiliating. I went to a cemetery, sat in front of my mom’s grave, and asked her a lot of questions, but there were no answers. It got cold as night fell, and back then, we didn’t have cell phones. All the parents and relatives of my classmates were out looking for me. By the time my dad climbed the mountain, he was completely distraught... Honestly, it’s a dull ending. A bunch of parents surrounded us, crying, but I felt absolutely nothing.” 

Gu Yi had heard Guan Xingxin mention this before, but it was the first time hearing it directly from him. She listened carefully, the moon hanging in the sky, the sole audience to their conversation. 

“In middle school, I didn’t understand what alexithymia really meant. I even had a girlfriend who was a top student. Because I couldn’t feel emotions like joy, anger, or sadness, I didn’t want to hold her back. I told her I wouldn’t get into a top high school and planned to enroll in an ordinary one, urging her to focus on her studies. She changed her application for me. When my dad found out, he changed my application back that very night and even paid a school choice fee. My grades improved at the top high school… Looking back now, it wasn’t just letting her down. I may have ruined a girl’s life. So... when you’re unsure, don’t give people hope.” 

The sensation of the drying line returned—perhaps it was the alcohol—making her feel like she was dangling in the air. The moonlight was clear, its sunny warmth fading into the chill of night, mingling with the lake-like stillness. When they reached her building, she feigned drunkenness and started dialing numbers on Liang Daiwen’s chest, her finger gently poking his chest padding. “Hello? Is this Liang Daiwen at 14 years old?” 

Her hand mimicked a phone receiver. Liang Daiwen played along, pretending to take the call without saying anything. 

“If time could rewind, don’t skip school to visit internet cafés, don’t rebel so much, and don’t blame yourself for your mom. Otherwise, you’ll turn into a person with a healthy body but a sleeping soul. It’s just not worth it.” 

“Why not?” 

“You’ll miss out on so much in the world, and that’s why you’ll decide that ‘wasting time’ is less worthwhile than ‘making full use of it.’ Life’s most dazzling moments come with ups and downs; what’s precious is the twists and turns. You’ll feel like life is falling apart, only to miss it in the blandness that follows.” 

“Is it really that serious?” 

“Of course. There are plenty of moths, but if your eyes lack color, you won’t see the butterflies.” 

At that moment, her phone rang. Xu Guanrui seemed to know she wasn’t asleep. “The budget airline ANA is amazing. The flight to Osaka arrived at 6 a.m., and now I’ve landed in Shanghai. Let me tell you all about Namie Amuro’s concert—you’ve always wanted to know, haven’t you…” 

Gu Yi walked backward up the stairs, Xu Guanrui chatting away on the other end. When she reached the sixth floor, the surveillance camera suddenly let out a cough—it was Liang Daiwen initiating a voice call. Startled, Gu Yi sobered up instantly. Xu Guanrui asked, “Is someone with you?” 

“A ghost.” Gu Yi opened the door to her home but tripped over a pair of white sneakers at the entrance. 

The unexpected fall jolted Gu Yi awake from her dream. Unprepared, she opened her eyes. The sunlight slashed across her vision like a blade, making her head spin. Jacqueline, sitting in the back row in Alaska, cast her a cold glance. Her features seemed even sharper as she reassigned Gu Yi to handle the public account, leaving print media entirely in Pony’s hands. 

Gu Yi was dismayed. How was she supposed to explain this to Xu Guanrui? She had already sent over the draft, which was just waiting to fill the issue. After much debate in the office, Gu Yi managed to salvage Xu Guanrui’s article for one edition. Pony agreed on the surface but slapped the file onto the desk afterward. “Don’t use work as an excuse for personal gain. This kind of article—clearly paid for—won’t fool readers, and it won’t fool me either.” 

“No, I wrote it myself. Making music in China is really tough. In an era where entertainment outweighs content, this kind of persistence is necessary. We’re One Weekly, after all, representing the purest of local new culture.” 

“You’re good at packaging things.” Pony’s compliment wasn’t exactly pleasant. 

Jacqueline coldly called out to Pony, “What about that film company interview? The director is about to appear on another variety show. Can’t you arrange the exclusive interview yet?” 

Pony reluctantly replied, “I really don’t have time right now, but I’ll have Gu Yi follow up.”

“Isn’t this your former company? Why are you assigning it to Gu Yi? She can probably get the interview in no time. Or are you harboring grudges against your previous employer and didn’t fully disclose that during your job background check?”

“I’m genuinely just busy.”

Gu Yi was eventually tasked with interviewing the director. The director, wearing a face mask, came down to the first floor, completed the interview in twenty minutes, replaced her mask, and climbed into a nanny van to head to the set. Gu Yi stood in the European-style mansion with its spiral staircase and antique-filled meeting rooms, marveling at the monetary foundation of such luxury. This director, famous in the industry, reportedly survived on just three hours of sleep a day, relying on medical-grade face masks and organic produce to maintain herself. Gu Yi couldn’t understand why Pony would resign from such an environment. Compared to the warmth and humanity of this villa, the high-rise office at 8th Bridge, though embodying the efficiency of new media, felt entirely devoid of soul.

Caught in the evening rush hour after the interview, Gu Yi suddenly received a message and thought she must be mistaken. She had mentioned to Xu Guanrui a long time ago about a concert by a domestic band she loved. The band had disbanded in 2009, with each member pursuing individual paths since. She had always been especially fond of the lead singer, whose song lyrics, particularly the repeated line “Can you feel my love,” had once moved her to tears. Now, fresh off a flight, Xu Guanrui called to tell her the lead singer was holding a solo performance that evening at Modernsky Lab. It was last minute, but if she was interested, he’d be waiting there.

Without a second thought, Gu Yi hailed a cab to Ruihong Tiandi. She entered the venue with her e-ticket to find it packed. Though it was a rock show, the audience remained unusually restrained, almost like… attending a wake. Gu Yi snapped a photo, and Xu Guanrui replied almost instantly: “Go upstairs. If anyone stops you, just mention my name. I’m your all-access pass here.”

At the mention of “Xu Guanrui,” the VIP second-floor staff courteously escorted her upstairs. Gu Yi was taken aback to find herself surrounded by band members she had only ever seen as dots in a sea of music festival crowds, now casually drinking beer. They had all shown up to support an old friend. Xu Guanrui, as the organizer, arrived last and was immediately met with demands to drink as a penalty. Someone teased, “You old rascal, suddenly organizing a tour for Master Bian—what’s gotten into you?”

Spotting Gu Yi, Xu Guanrui bent down to grab a bottle of beer and greeted her, “You made it?”

The sound system was so loud that conversation was nearly impossible. Gu Yi stood by the second-floor railing, mesmerized by the lead singer’s poetic lyrics. Almost a decade had passed, and this older man was as romantic as ever, like a true poet. But after a while, she suddenly turned to Xu Guanrui, annoyed. “Why does listening to rock music feel like attending a funeral? Everyone’s just holding up their phones. Look, the way they’re recording is steadier than the camera crew from The Voice of China!”

Xu Guanrui laughed. “You’re not watching the performance properly. Are you here to do stand-up?”

“The performance is great, but my mood right now doesn’t match it. It’s irritating.”

Venting to an old friend, Gu Yi felt an unprecedented sense of ease. With the music drowning out their voices, no one else could hear her. Patiently listening, Xu Guanrui suddenly seemed to recall something. “Oh, are you talking about the Pony who used to be at Pengbo Media? I’ve heard of her. Back when we were promoting a movie, the theme song’s marketing package was pitched to us by her team. She’s pretty well-known.”

“Oh?”

“She was the director’s personal assistant, specifically in charge of helping the boss purchase luxury goods and real estate. Later, she was quietly fired by the director. Apparently, there was an incident involving a house worth 5 million yuan—she and the agent privately set the price at 5.6 million yuan and split the difference. The director was also enthusiastic about branded items, and she would buy counterfeit goods (A-grade fakes) to pocket the price difference, which surely wasn’t a small amount. When the director found out, she was ordered to leave or face ruin. The director’s words were extremely harsh. Eventually, she returned part of the money as restitution, essentially coughing up the ill-gotten gains. She also begged the urban planning office for help, seemingly going all out to marry a Shanghainese man. Since she had no money, she tried every possible way to scam people because her in-laws looked down on her as an outsider.”

Gu Yi was completely caught off guard by the direction of this story. “So that’s why the interview got delayed until now?”

“She’d be driven out of the company if she went back—how could she possibly face anyone?”

Hearing this, Gu Yi felt a pang of sadness. In order to establish a foothold in Shanghai, legitimate means had become unattainable. Gu Yi could understand how poverty could lead to such extreme measures. After all, compared to being labeled weak in the workplace, it might be more palatable to openly embrace wrongdoing. At least one could gain a sense of achievement in their career, a way to push back against the unresolvable disdain within the family.

She realized she wasn’t as driven as Pony.

As for Xu Guanrui, ever since he returned from Japan, he seemed like a new person. His symptoms of melancholy and distraction had lessened, and even his posture appeared straighter. When Gu Yi brought up the infamous chest sticker incident, Xu couldn’t stop laughing, shielding his face with his hand as he peeked at her through his fingers. Each glance made him laugh even harder. Gu Yi thought that this was how a normal man should react—laughing uncontrollably at funny things and grieving deeply at sad moments. It was all within expectations, without any additional awkwardness. Xu Guanrui didn’t even show jealousy toward Liang Daiwen. Instead, he proudly showed Gu Yi the farewell concert flyers he’d found at a record shop and taught her how to use them for promotional leverage.

When discussing Namie Amuro, Xu Guanrui praised her journey: a peak in her career followed by marriage and motherhood, a long period of obscurity before a spectacular comeback, and finally a perfect retirement at 40. He described her life as an exquisite story, full of ups and downs that made it captivating. Gu Yi thought, Xu Guanrui’s views are exactly like mine. Even on such life perspectives, they were entirely aligned—true soulmates.

Unable to resist, she tested him with a question. “Who do you think Guan Xingxin would choose, Yu Dule or Lu Ming?”

“Neither.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve only met them a few times, but here’s my take. Lu Ming and Guan Xingxin share some unpleasant memories, but they genuinely value each other. On paper, they’re well-matched—Lu Ming’s status is like a skinny camel still larger than a horse. But Guan Xingxin probably knows there’s no chance for them to be together. Yu Dule, on the other hand, is undoubtedly younger and more fun, and she clearly likes him more. But he probably doesn’t meet her expectations. The more you like someone, the pickier you become. A relationship that’s both contemptuous yet magnetic is far more compelling than one based on mutual respect. Emotional life often sees bad currency driving out the good. Most importantly, Guan Xingxin is under pressure from her family to get married. Her hesitation now just means neither option is good enough.”

“You’re always thinking the same as me.” Gu Yi shook her head in amazement. She had made similar speculations about Yu Dule and Lu Ming but found them too harsh to share—yet Xu Guanrui had arrived at the exact same conclusions. She leaned in closer to him and hooked her pinky finger around his. “This conversation stays between us. Guan Xingxin would be heartbroken if she knew we said these things.”

Xu Guanrui blinked playfully. “Of course—I don’t open up like this to just anyone. By the way, I brought back a bunch of DVDs and albums from Japan for you. But considering your work hasn’t been going so well… here’s an idea. Every time you achieve a small goal, I’ll give you one. I’ll keep going until the end.”

“What’s the ultimate grand prize?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Leaning lazily against his chair, Xu Guanrui replied with a nonchalant air. “You gave me a wake-up call last time, so now I’ve decided to slow down and only do the things I want to do.”

“And what about the person you like? Have you given up?”

“Even if I give up, someone new will come along—like…”

Xu Guanrui leaned closer to Gu Yi, his gaze fixed on her, his hair soft and neatly styled, his smile tender and affectionate. From afar, it looked like they were about to kiss. A few seconds later, he burst out laughing, prompting nearby musicians to tease him.

“Xu Guanrui, already onto a new love? You’re irresistible!”

Gu Yi instinctively smoothed her hair and stepped back slightly. Xu Guanrui, now a bit shy, placed a hand on her shoulder. “What? Do we look like a couple?”

One of the musicians leaned in conspiratorially but shouted loud enough to nearly burst Gu Yi’s eardrums. “You should really claim this one! The purest guy in the room—he’s probably slept with fewer women than anyone in China’s music scene!”

Before he could finish, he burst out laughing and bolted. Xu Guanrui pretended to kick him, wiped his face, and stuffed his hands in his pockets, standing under the lights with a sheepish grin. In that moment, Gu Yi felt a warm flutter in her heart. For someone as seemingly flamboyant as Xu Guanrui, it seemed that wasting too much time on the wrong emotions had left him looking adorably clumsy now.

Smart people only reveal their awkwardness in front of those they truly like. Suddenly, the familiar melody of a song Gu Yi had obsessed over for ten years began to play from the stage below—it was a rare treat, a song the lead singer hadn’t performed in ages. It was undoubtedly a surprise Xu Guanrui had orchestrated. Feigning ignorance, he simply held his beer and looked down at the stage, where countless longtime fans were in tears.

Gu Yi’s heart softened. “You even got off a plane just to keep me company. You should’ve taken a nap instead…”

“How is spending time with you considered a waste? Besides, who says people need to function like machines, using everything to its fullest? What’s the point of that—doesn’t it sound depressing?”

On stage, the lead singer sang with deep emotion: 

“Can you feel my love?”