Chapter 72: “You picked up my shattered pieces, smiling and saying, ‘This piece is mine, and so is this one.’“

“Believe me, none of this has anything to do with you.”

“I don’t want you to be dragged into dangerous missions anymore. What do they want from me? To make me afraid, to hurt me, to make me fall for you, or to take my life?”

Her body fell into Bai Jingchuan’s arms, the wind piercing through both their souls. Jiang Huan murmured, “I’m just an ordinary person, a worker, repeatedly being rescued. This kind of drama isn’t normal, nor is it pretty. If there’s something I need to do, I can try anything. If it’s my life they want, we can discuss it—but involving others in danger, what does that make me…?”

Bai Jingchuan held her face solemnly: “Nothing will happen. Promise me, no matter what happens, don’t feel troubled. Work with peace of mind and create what you want to create.”

“There’s someone else connected to me—you know who, right?”

Bai Jingchuan, silent as ever, shook his head, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Being enigmatic was something male leads loved to do—quietly plotting and scheming while the female lead could only guess, probing and working hard but never getting answers. Outside the window, the sky was dim; it was impossible to tell it was a spring afternoon. Even oppressive clouds would have been more normal. The abnormal weather made everyone tense. Jiang Huan nervously returned to her desk, instinctively connecting the printer to print out content from her computer—she’d experienced data rewrites and disappearances before. There were manuscripts blown into lakes, only to be retrieved later, their text rotting away. It seemed like some cruel force wanted her to collapse again and again.

Night fell in the blink of an eye.

“The celestial phenomena recently have been far from normal. I’ve never seen three consecutive days of dark skies without clearing up—it’s not even a thunderstorm. All we hear on TV and online is about the geomagnetic storm. Aren’t you scared?”

“What’s there to be afraid of? Are you afraid of a planet colliding with Earth? This isn’t a sci-fi movie.” Duanmu Xuan showed no fear or worry on his face. He didn’t seem concerned about these things at all. Instead, he used the floor-to-ceiling window as a mirror. They had just come out of a small concert by an independent singer-songwriter. Duanmu Xuan had been called a “cherished colleague” by Wen Li and teased with gossip. Duanmu Xuan wasn’t used to such lively gatherings, but Wen Li had pulled him along, avoiding mention of his expulsion and fears from the snowy mountain, pretending to be drunk: “You’re all mine now, don’t leave!”

Duanmu Xuan wore blue jeans, a loose red work jacket, and black handmade leather shoes, which accentuated his figure—he was naturally suited for clothes. After carefully examining himself, he remarked, “This seems to be the most suitable outfit for me—comfortable and good-looking. I don’t quite understand your fashion sense. Maybe it expresses a style, individuality, or attitude. But an attitude that requires contorting oneself to walk uncomfortably doesn’t suit me. From my observations of this city, it also doesn’t suit people rushing to catch buses or ride bicycles.”

“Do you think our target audience is like that? They can’t afford it.”

“I think so. You’re targeting young people, but how many young people are so obsessed with attitude that they can’t walk properly and still need to clutch their corsets pretending to have headaches?” Duanmu Xuan picked up an old clothesline pole from the roadside and spun it around. “People with dreams and things to do need clothes that won’t distract them. Clothes shouldn’t be the focus at all.”

Wen Li felt somewhat indignant that her professional field was being critiqued by Duanmu Xuan, who had nothing to do with clothing. She walked ahead, stomping her heavy shoes loudly. The shoes she was wearing were indeed cumbersome, and scraping the tips would immediately devalue them. But after Duanmu Xuan’s comments, she felt defeated. Who knew how many times she had cursed these shoes today—they slowed her down and made it difficult to go up and down stairs. Waiting for the elevator, she distracted herself with her phone, feeling like an outsider under others’ stares. Yet Duanmu Xuan caught up with her, smoothing his hair twice as he climbed the stairs, unable to push back the bangs obscuring the contract, which irritated her.

Duanmu Xuan reached out and tied Wen Li’s hair into a short bun at the back of her head. His grip was slightly too firm—likely due to years of fighting without mastering control—but his movements were as gentle as possible. His fingers brushed against the fine hairs on her neck, ensuring the elastic band wouldn’t pinch her. He carefully parted her hair before tying it up, then proudly remarked, “Your previous style of fixing your hair with pomade at the back was nice too, but this is convenient as well.”

The intimate touch reminded Wen Li of the flowers she ordered weekly when working in an office. Every day, she looked forward to trimming the stems and dripping two drops of water onto the petals. When work stress became overwhelming, she would caress the petals to release tension, anxiously waiting for them to wilt and decay, severing their attachment to her. Her clean hair now lay flat against her scalp, highlighting her full skull and “refined” facial features, enhanced by eyebrow dye. With her size-zero figure and a short ponytail, she exuded professionalism. Jiang Huan continued to sulk: “But now I have no distinctiveness—I’m just like any ordinary salesperson.”

“Not at all. I’m not saying others are bad, but your unique qualities define you, regardless of what you wear or how you style yourself.”

“Flattery.”

“I’m serious.” Duanmu Xuan touched the little braid at the back of her head. “You don’t have to be perfect.”

If he knew she had a mother who constantly schemed to drain her resources, if he knew everything she had now felt like a dream, love would quickly fade. Wen Li didn’t fully believe virtual characters could love unconditionally. Now that they were in the real world, they naturally became pragmatic, secretly weighing their options, fickle and opportunistic. A darker part of her urged her to ask, “Do you know there might be others like you—special people?”

“Perhaps, but I’m not interested.”

“Why?”

“My version is newer.”

His words were cryptic, but Wen Li understood immediately—beta testers, public testing dates undecided, who could trust Duanmu Xuan? He had an air of sharpness and fighting spirit, distant from crowds yet preserving an untainted aura of youthful ambition, like a piece of amber encasing the spirit of a young general. No matter how much the outside world wore him down, his inner core remained unaffected, crystal clear. A wicked thought rose in her mind—to find a reason to push Duanmu Xuan away. After all, feelings weren’t meant to last forever; sooner or later, they would be exposed, and he would leave. She asked, “What if I insist on making impractical clothes?”

“Then you must have your own ideas and aspirations that I’m unaware of. I’ll respect you and follow in your footsteps because you’re so special and fresh. My observations may still have gaps.”

The rain turned the ground into a blurry mirror, wet and reflecting a woman dressed entirely in black and a tall, lean boy. Wen Li opened a transparent umbrella, deliberately keeping Duanmu Xuan at bay, letting him get soaked—deep down, she harbored restless malice, always wanting to provoke him. When those close to her were “scared,” they would become wary or distance themselves. But now, after hearing Duanmu Xuan’s words, she felt somewhat disheartened. After all, this person couldn’t be driven away. She asked, “Aren’t you afraid? I’m not a very nice person. How come you’re not scared off?”

“People who say such things are paper tigers.”

She looked at Duanmu Xuan through the umbrella. The boy, dressed comfortably, didn’t care about his pants getting dirty or his hair getting wet—he appeared natural and relaxed. She shifted half a step to the right, recalling the classic advice from her favorite dramas: a woman should maintain the distance of a water glass from the person she’s attracted to. She shouldn’t think about kissing—if she did, she’d never get the chance in this lifetime.

But Wen Li’s thoughts were simple—getting just a little closer would satisfy her. Her shoes were difficult to walk in, each step awkward. Suddenly, Duanmu Xuan let out a hiss: “Why are you poking me?”

The tip of the transparent umbrella had jabbed Duanmu Xuan’s ear. She realized her proximity was impolite: “Sorry.”

She took a large step back, startled by the honking sound behind her—an electric scooter whizzed past. Behind her, Duanmu Xuan caught her in time, their overlapping shadows stretching long on the ground, shifting angles as car headlights passed by. Holding the umbrella motionless, she felt like she had performed a spinning dance. She blurted out, “Can you teleport? How did you suddenly move behind me?”

“Who uses such outdated abilities? I’m just agile. Wearing uncomfortable shoes and restrictive skirts makes it hard to move freely.”

This critique brought out Wen Li’s insecurities. Duanmu Xuan returned to the other side of the umbrella. Wen Li looked at him through the transparent plastic cover, her voice muffled by the umbrella: “If I didn’t have WL PRESS and was just an ordinary employee, bitter and self-destructive, would you still be by my side?”

“Why are you saying this? Did someone say something bad about you?”

Unable to reveal the secret of her sudden wealth, Wen Li sidestepped the issue: “These are all external things, fragile. My temper is terrible, full of thorns, and not very likable.”

“But have you acknowledged the shining points within you? Full of charm, possessing an aura others can’t reach. Though covered in thorns, when you fight and inflict damage, you unleash strength others can’t imagine. You’re considerate, actually quite delicate… Have you thought about these things?”

Wen Li stood in the rain, half her body soaked, the other half shielded by the umbrella. The transparent umbrella shed tears for her, droplets falling to the ground, leaving her stunned. She felt moved: “Can you say that again?”

She stood at one end of the umbrella, forgetting to lower it. Duanmu Xuan’s blurred face approached the umbrella surface, his movement resembling leaning in for a kiss: “Nice try. When you’re willing to sign contracts for comfortable clothes that truly make people happy, you’ll start appreciating yourself, and I won’t need to compliment you.”

“That won’t happen—I have my principles.” Wen Li smiled happily. Through the transparent umbrella, she could see Duanmu Xuan blush. She realized there was no need to lower the umbrella for a kiss at such close range.

After saying goodbye to Duanmu Xuan, Wen Li took a detour back to the company, trying to find lightweight yet stunning clothing designers to collaborate with. Opening the office door, she saw her mother, with jet-black dyed hair, trying on sample clothes. Wen Li’s face turned pale. Seeing her at home was already absurd enough, but now here? Her blood ran cold, anger and fear gripping her tightly. Her mother needed money to support her boyfriend, and coming here could only mean one thing—the money was gone. After selling off purchased items multiple times, naturally, she would come to cause trouble.

“The money you gave me last time was like throwing scraps to a dog, and you didn’t answer my calls. Who else could I turn to?”

“What about your boyfriend? Didn’t he promise to take care of you for life? Did he run off after realizing you’re a jinx, knowing you kill husbands?”

Her mother grabbed Wen Li’s hair: “I’ll deal with you first. Give me money! Look at this fancy office—everything here is valuable. If not, I’ll take a sackful of these nice clothes and sell them…”

Wen Li screamed as she grabbed her mother’s collar, but her mother dodged backward: “What are you doing? Trying to grab me? You broke into my piano and stole it—I’ll get it back eventually. Always thinking about that piano—you really are my daughter, greedy for money!”

Lying that she had passively become the legal representative, she certainly couldn’t reveal this was her company, nor could she let her mother know she was the boss.

The sound of a locksmith downstairs came as a reminder—it was now or never. Taking advantage of the chaos, Wen Li bit her mother’s wrist, causing her to scream: “You wretch! Are you trying to bite my bones off?”

She clung on tightly, enduring several hits to her forehead with a folder until her scalp bled, her messy hair mirroring her mother’s appearance. Anyone seeing them would recognize them as mother and daughter. A subordinate returning from buying coffee witnessed the scene, taking a moment to process before stepping forward: “Ma’am, this is an office. Please don’t resort to violence! Your daughter is bleeding. If you continue like this, I’ll have to call the police…”

Mother and daughter, holding each other’s hair and biting wrists, growled like handcuffs. Colleagues failed to separate them and could only dial the police: “Hello, this is Yanqingli. We need your assistance…”

Turning around, a red figure rushed over, separating the two and firmly embracing Wen Li. The golden-haired, formidable woman, never disappointing, held Wen Li tightly: “I’m sorry, ma’am. No matter how angry you are, treating your daughter violently is wrong. At least let her live her own life and give her dignity.”

“Who do you think you are? I see—you have a sugar daddy backing you up, right? So this is what goes on in such companies. Where is your superior?”

“She’s working. Please leave. I’ll escort you home. Let your daughter have some peace.” Duanmu Xuan looked at Wen Li: “Will you wait for me here? I’ll be back soon.”

Colleagues stayed in the lit office, quietly cleaning up the mess. Wen Li’s hair was still messy, but she covered her head with a blanket, silently fiddling with her phone. It was too embarrassing to cry—it would expose her collapse. She lacked the strength to stand up and work, not resilient enough to continue after being hit in the face by her mother. She hadn’t gone to the hospital either—as a daughter caught in her parents’ fights, minor injuries were nothing new. Iodine on scrapes would heal in a week; they weren’t considered serious wounds.

Someone gently knocked three times on the blanket: “Are you okay?”

It was Duanmu Xuan. Wen Li didn’t speak, but tears instantly fell. Was this what it felt like to let go of emotions and rely on someone completely? It felt like having a home.

But she didn’t lift the blanket—it was too embarrassing to depend on a fictional young man. Trembling, she curled up, secretly wiping her tears. Her hand was gently caught: “I sent her home as fast as I could. I lied earlier—I can teleport, but at a higher level, called ‘spatial folding.’ She didn’t notice, since I hurried back. You don’t have to show me your face; you can cry your heart out. But don’t sleep right away—according to snowy mountain legends, sleeping after crying turns you cross-eyed, and curing that would cost a fortune…”

“Please leave. It’s embarrassing.”

“Why leave? It’s a small matter. Such things happen often on the snowy mountains.” Duanmu Xuan reached for her hand through the blanket, his large palm warm, conveying a sense of certainty and acceptance: “Didn’t you tell me that if the people on the snowy mountain rejected me, you’d unconditionally accept me because I’m the person you’ve chosen? Even if I worked for you, I’d stay by your side. How can you ask me to leave now?”

“…”

The office was empty, colleagues had left, leaving only a dim standing lamp.

“For now, I belong to you—I can’t leave.” Duanmu Xuan sat on the floor, lightly wrapping his arm around Wen Li’s head and back: “Let me stay a little longer.”

I thought I was broken, inheriting my mother’s madness and irrationality. But I’m inherently resilient—I don’t need a studio apartment in a housing complex; a parking space suffices. Cheap, livable, allowing me to save money for freedom, to independently own branding opportunities. Even though dampness and filth once caused eczema on my hands, life always shatters me whenever I dare to hope. It reminds me that as long as my mother draws breath, she’ll cling to me like a loving vengeful ghost. But I never imagined someone would pick up the fragments of my shattered soul and joyfully exclaim, “This piece is mine, and so is this one,” proudly believing they’ve found priceless treasure. I even began to believe what Jiang Huan said—that the love of paper-thin characters is pure, seeing through adversity to love your soul no matter how dire your circumstances.

Could you… stay by my side forever?