Chapter 72: Seeking

What a foolish choice.

Anyone who heard it would mock her for being naive. Sun Jianbin even felt a twinge of pity, his gaze both disdainful and cold.

“Little Yin,” his voice turned icy. “Don’t make me force you into something unpleasant.”

Pleasant?

Unpleasant?

“What unpleasantness does Director have in mind for me?” Yin Mengxi smiled, her expression as cold as anyone else’s. “Is there a colder bench in the station than documentary programming?”

“And what is this so-called pleasantness? Transferring me back to the Program Center?”

“I know Zheng Ze and Liu Xiaoting all too well. They wouldn’t give up a single bite of the meat they’ve already swallowed. Do you really think I don’t know why you’re bringing me back now?”

Her sharp retort was like a blade slicing through the air. Even a cornered rabbit would bite when desperate—how much more so she, who had transformed into a porcupine bristling with armor after a decade of navigating the professional world. Her refusal to tear down facades was merely to preserve a shred of dignity, not because she could tolerate being treated like a fool.

“What nonsense are you spouting?” Sun Jianbin’s expression flickered momentarily, a mix of caution and probing. “Bringing you back is a sign of trust in your abilities...”

“Is that so?” Yin Mengxi’s smile grew more sardonic. In that moment, she was fearless. “Isn’t the program itself the issue?”

Sun Jianbin’s brows furrowed deeply.

“I’ve heard some rumors recently, from third-party cooperation companies,” she continued calmly, unafraid. “The budget for location filming is insufficient; the compensation isn’t even enough for equipment reinforcement. That’s quite a hole, isn’t it? Where did Zheng Ze divert the money?”

“Oh, of course, it might not be Zheng Ze,” she added with a faint smile, watching Sun Jianbin’s face grow increasingly dark. “Now it seems Liu Xiaoting is being pushed out to take the fall. You and Zheng Ze are heartless indeed. After all these years, even if she hasn’t earned merit, she’s certainly put in the effort…”

Her tone was light, almost teasing, yet her words cut deep. Sun Jianbin hated this style—it reminded him too much of He Yarong, that cunning old fox.

“Little Yin, one must take responsibility for their words!” His voice suddenly rose, attempting to intimidate her with his authority. “What exactly are you insinuating?”

Insinuate?

Did she need to insinuate anything?

When she, Yin Mengxi, had been kicked out for refusing sexual harassment, how had Never Stop —such a lucrative project—ended up in Zheng Ze’s hands? There were countless producers vying for scraps. Why did Sun Jianbin favor Zheng Ze specifically? Who would believe there wasn’t some illicit financial transaction between them?

The same applied now, didn’t it?

A significant portion of the funds raised through sponsorships had likely been pocketed by Zheng Ze, though he surely wouldn’t dare keep it all for himself. Most of it probably went straight to Sun Jianbin. What were the consequences of an insufficient budget? Cutting costs and falsifying accounts, naturally. The third-party collaborators were the biggest victims, exploited under unwritten industry rules. For instance, freelance scriptwriters might receive only 20% of their fee upfront, while the rest remained unpaid indefinitely. With the industry struggling, they had no choice but to swallow their losses to maintain relationships with the station. These unpaid balances turned into bad debts, creating gaping holes in the budget.

Now Zheng Ze was panicking—or perhaps Sun Jianbin feared the project might unravel—and hastily sought someone to shoulder the blame. What kind of people were they? Had they ever worked diligently on any show? Liu Xiaoting barely managed directing for two or three years. Meanwhile, Yin Mengxi had climbed step by step from intern to producer under Director He. Now Sun Jianbin wanted to exploit her ability to patch up the mess caused by insufficient funding. To ease her suspicions, he casually brought up the seedy side of the business again—a double-edged bargain, shamelessly dirty.

“I’m not insinuating anything,” Yin Mengxi’s face hardened. The same fangs that once made her appear ugly and aggressive in front of her first love now protected her. “You can take what’s mine if you wish—I lost it because I wasn’t strong enough back then. But don’t expect me to clean up the mess you’ve created. I’ve worked in this industry for ten years. I’m no pushover who won’t fight back or speak up.”

…An unprecedented display of strength.

She hadn’t always been like this. Once, she was a soft-spoken intern, obedient and yielding, enduring mistreatment quietly. Now, she refused to tolerate any more. Her impressive credentials gave her the confidence to challenge them. She was unafraid to escalate matters to the station director if necessary. Moreover, memories that had haunted her throughout the day stubbornly urged her to vent all her pain and grievances. If she didn’t, she felt as though she’d suffocate under their weight.

“Little Yin, you’re overthinking this…”

Sun Jianbin’s tone softened, perhaps realizing she was a tough nut to crack. Pushing too hard would only result in mutual destruction.

“…Those are just your own wild speculations. No one else thinks this way—I’ve always said I admire you greatly, and the station’s leadership trusts your abilities. Let’s do this—you come back to the Program Center first. We can discuss Never Stop later…”

Discuss later?

Ha.

More “discussions.”

Hadn’t he initially intended to snatch everything from her without hesitation?

What changed now?

Trouble arose, and suddenly they thought of her?

Finally acknowledging she was the best, the only one capable of cleaning up their mess?

She recalled what Director He had once told her: “Leaders only care about results; the process never matters.” “The only way to make life comfortable is to quietly excel at your work.” “Once you become indispensable, everything else will fall into place.”

—Which of those wasn’t true?

They were all pearls of wisdom.

But…

“Thank you for your kindness, Director,” the chill in her eyes hadn’t faded; if anything, it grew sharper. “But I currently have no plans to return.”

What did he think she was?

A lapdog to summon and dismiss at will?

When they didn’t need her, they kicked her aside. Now that they did, she was supposed to rush back and clean up their mess?

“Let Zheng Ze take responsibility for his actions. It’s rare for him to grab such a big piece of cake—let’s see if he can swallow it.”

“I’m not particularly attached to the current Program Center either. Perhaps you were right earlier—I am tired and need a break.”

She spoke calmly, letting a potentially staggering fortune slip through her fingers in mere seconds. The sense of loss was overwhelming, yet inexplicably, she also felt a surge of cathartic relief. Destruction led to ruin, childishness occasionally granted freedom. An invisible chain seemed to crack open slightly, offering her a sliver of escape.

She no longer wished to talk and turned to leave the office. Behind her, Sun Jianbin seemed to lose his composure entirely, unable to accept being defied by a subordinate. Jumping up, he shouted, “Yin Mengxi, I warn you! If you walk out that door today, don’t ever think of returning to the Program Center! I’ll make sure you rot in documentary programming for the rest of your life!”

—For the rest of her life?

It sounded terrifying, but honestly, it didn’t matter anymore.

What else did she have left to lose?

Perhaps… she could finally breathe for herself.

As she stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor, the rain outside continued to pour.

Heavier than a few hours ago at Little Red Roof, the glass walls of the sightseeing elevator framed a small window to the vast world beyond, now submerged in an endless downpour. Spring’s lingering ailments seemed stubborn; prolonged dampness inevitably strained the bones.

She already felt a twinge of pain. The descent from the 25th floor mimicked the faithful simulation of falling raindrops. The difference was that she had no companion—alone in condensation, alone in descent, and ultimately alone in evaporation upon hitting the ground.

Ding—

The elevator reached the first floor.

She walked out expressionlessly. At six in the evening, the TV station lobby was still brightly lit and bustling with activity. No one knew how much effort it took for her to get here, just as no one realized how many easily attainable benefits she had abandoned minutes ago. For a moment, she didn’t know where to go. The weightlessness between victory and defeat threatened to tear her apart. She had to work hard to maintain a composed exterior, hiding her wavering and numbness from passing colleagues.

For now, she decided to head home.

Her mind was blank, the exhausting day having drained all her energy. She lacked the strength to retrieve her car from the underground garage. After much deliberation, she opened an app to call a ride, heading toward the exit while operating her phone. By chance, she looked up and saw a familiar figure through the continuous curtain of rain.

He stood under an umbrella amidst the rain, the world’s light and shadow reduced to mere backdrop. The noisy rain seemed to soften in an instant, imbuing the mundane scene with narrative depth. Time itself held little meaning compared to the mesmerizing allure of his deep-set eyes. A tranquil lake nestled in a secluded valley—his presence filled the sound of cascading rain, the distant mountains, and the entirety of the world’s sorrow and joy.

She froze, staring blankly. For a moment, he seemed utterly unfamiliar, out of place here. Seconds later, he felt familiar, as if he belonged. The ambiguity swirled, reminiscent of their ambivalent first love. Perhaps she was still the same inept person, destined to remain entangled in the lingering warmth of his affection, no matter how much time passed.

He approached her, raindrops cascading along the edge of his umbrella with each step, every movement a confirmation of fate—no matter how many detours, it was still him; no matter how many missed years, it was still him. When he pulled her tightly into his embrace, she finally cried. A millionfold comfort and relaxation washed over her, accompanied by a millionfold sorrow and grievance.

—Why have you come?

I’ve already walked alone for so long.

I’ve already accepted the reality of losing you forever.

—Yet, I’m so overjoyed to see you now.

Like a lost rabbit finally finding the only lit lamppost in a vast maze.

Like a derailed train discovering the sole guiding milestone on a frozen wasteland.

That’s how it was.

…Loving you absurdly.