Chapter 124: “Long Time No See”

As a senior director at the TV station, how could Mi Lan not know people in the social news media?

She knew too many—traditional print media, TV stations, new media, various platforms, individuals, or groups. As long as you could name it, she could use her extensive network to connect you.

Such an outstanding resource background earned her an invitation into the three-person group chat that same day. However, upon joining, she exploded, frantically @-ing Zhou Leqi and unleashing a barrage of messages:

“Oh my goodness, you guys actually have a secret group chat behind my back? Am I no longer your little darling?”

“Damn, damn, you guys actually didn’t include me!”

“Am I not smart enough or reliable enough? How can you leave me out when you’re pursuing careers?”

“You all want to drive me crazy!”

A relentless bombardment of messages.

Zhou Leqi’s phone vibrated nonstop, nearly crashing from being @-ed so much. She felt a headache coming on and was about to figure out how to calm Mi Lan down when Hou Zihao suddenly came online, typing two lines:

“Long time no see.”

“The group was created by Yan Lin.”

Ah...

...Clever.

Mi Lan’s attention indeed shifted. However, she didn’t continue posting in the group but disappeared for fifteen minutes. It was likely that she and Yan Lin were together offline; she probably went to confront him in person.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Yan Lin appeared in the group and @-ed Hou Zihao, saying, “You’re good, you’re impressive.”

Hou Zihao responded with a shrugging emoji.

Zhou Leqi silently observed the screen and couldn’t help but laugh at this point. The feeling of being with friends was so wonderful that it largely dispelled the awkwardness and melancholy of her last day at SWD.

—Yes, today she was leaving.

It was the final time returning to the office to pack up her things.

The resignation process was very low-key, certainly not as lively as the onboarding experience. Colleagues wouldn’t say much more to you since everyone was busy. At most, they might gossip about you while making coffee in the break room. Other than that, there were no ripples.

However, when she walked out of the office building holding a cardboard box, she unexpectedly ran into Pei Qiming—though perhaps it wasn’t entirely unexpected; he had been waiting for her deliberately.

Their eyes met, inevitably causing some awkwardness, especially for Pei Qiming. He was probably regretting his loss of composure during their last argument, wanting to retract that dispute but finding no way to do so.

“Do you really have to resign?” he finally asked her, slightly hesitating before proposing another assumption, “If I said I’m willing to take the blame for the whistleblowing… would you still insist on leaving?”

That was a sincere and difficult statement. Zhou Leqi knew he was serious and understood how hard it was for him to make that decision.

“Thank you,” she was grateful but chose to politely decline. “I still want to take some time off.”

She was indeed quite tired.

Starting from her second year of graduate school, interning at SWD, she had already worked at this company for over two years. Before that, throughout her undergraduate years, she had been moving between various investment banks and brokerages. Each semester, besides maintaining a top GPA, she had to prepare for countless interviews. Once she received offers, her vacations were filled with intense work, spinning like a top without stopping.

She used to think such a life was fulfilling and meaningful, allowing her to earn money, secure a respectable career, and help herself achieve upward mobility. However, she gradually realized that such days also left one feeling drained—not just physically, but mentally.

In fact, after the incident where Zeng Ruihong was forced to resign, she had already faintly sensed the cruelty of the capital world. When competition among people became fierce enough, it always seemed somewhat brutal and ugly. Although she hadn’t faced the harshest deprivation, the subtle speculations of her colleagues about her relationship with her male superior were enough to make her uncomfortable. Thinking about it this way, perhaps Hou Zihao’s matter was just a catalyst, helping her make a decision she had wanted to make for a long time.

She didn’t seem to like her current life that much... She wanted to search for some harder-to-find answers.

Pei Qiming wasn’t too surprised by her decision. Perhaps he couldn’t become her lover in this lifetime, but he was already enough of a friend. They had a lot in common, so they could understand each other particularly well at certain times.

“Well then,” he finally stopped trying to persuade her, offering her a final kindness after understanding, “If one day you want to come back... remember to let me know.”

She smiled, deeply appreciating his goodwill, which made her feel that the cardboard box in her arms had become much lighter.

Words always seemed so thin and powerless at such times. There were no words to express the complex emotions in her heart at that moment, so she didn’t say anything else. She only gave Pei Qiming a final smile before finally walking out of the SWD office building.

Outside, the sun was shining brightly. Pei Qiming watched Zhou Leqi’s gradually receding figure. For some reason, he suddenly recalled her appearance from many years ago, standing confidently and calmly on a high podium at a brilliant sunset, accepting the scrutiny of the entire world with beautiful eyes sparkling with dazzling light, making him firmly believe she was the brightest star in the world.

Those lights had once dimmed, but now it seemed they had found the strength to shine again.

Even though outsiders couldn’t yet see those touching lights, he could already determine that she would embark on a more beautiful journey.

It was just a pity... He wouldn’t have the honor to witness it again.

Zhou Leqi didn’t tell anyone about her resignation, including Yu Qing, Hou Zihao, Mi Lan, and Yan Lin.

She quietly returned home, telling Yu Qing that she would be taking a vacation recently and encountered no suspicion. In fact, it even made Yu Qing happy. Then she began to enjoy a rare period of leisure and freedom.

The three-person group chat became a four-person group chat. With Mi Lan’s addition, it became very lively every day. She often threw news planning proposals into the group, systematically planning to explode the seven-year-old case on multiple media platforms. Yan Lin had said that public opinion should never sway the judiciary; otherwise, the world would face the tyranny of the majority. But sometimes, it was an indispensable force on the path to justice. Without it, some truths might forever be buried.

They all thought he was right.

Regarding media matters, Zhou Leqi was an outsider, and legal issues were beyond her reach. Moreover, since she resigned, she naturally became the most idle person in the group. Watching the other three busy themselves, working late nights and through the night, she often felt a unique sense of happiness akin to watching a fire from the opposite shore. Every day, she would go to bed before ten o’clock and wouldn’t get up until nine the next morning, as if trying to catch up on all the sleep she missed while working at the investment bank.

Occasional late nights were always because of Hou Zihao.

Since returning from A City, he frequently called her, averaging three or four calls a day. Even during the busiest and most stressful times of the case, he often sent her WeChat messages. Besides flattering her and making her happy, what he talked about most was “afterward.”

“After this case is over, shall we go traveling?”

“In the future, where would you prefer to live? A City or Beijing?”

“This speaker is newly released. Shall we buy one for home afterward?”

“What does Auntie like the most? Tell me first, so I can handle things better afterward.”

“This chair? It looks nice. If you like it... Should we buy it now? Sure, or we can buy it when we renovate later.”

…

One sentence after another about “afterward.”

Behind every word lay his desire to share an infinite future with her.

Her responses to him were somewhat erratic, entirely depending on her mood. Sometimes she would agree with him, other times she would tease him.

“Alright, I’ve been wanting to visit Xi’an.”

“It doesn’t matter, both A City and Beijing are fine.”

“Buy it yourself. My home isn’t the same as yours.”

“I won’t tell you.”

“What renovation? You’re dreaming.”

…

And so on.

He was good-natured, able to consistently coax her regardless of her response. At the same time, he never forgot to regularly update her on the progress of the case—for example, he had formally requested a retrial from the prosecution, Yan Lin had provided relevant evidence to the police, the news pushed by Mi Lan had garnered significant attention on media platforms, and Luo Siyu involved in the case had been detained by the police.

He spoke, she listened, and the conception of the future thus slowly became vivid, almost within reach.

He also said, “In a few days, I’ll return to A City to meet with the prosecution, and I also need to check on my mother…”

“Perhaps when she’s released… can you accompany me to pick her up?”

He didn’t invite her to join him this time. She understood—it was because he was fundamentally unwilling to involve her in any trouble, even though the situation was fairly clear and the environment very safe. He was still trying his best to avoid letting her see his vulnerable side.

This made her a bit angry but also inexplicably tender.

She didn’t argue with him and let him return to A City alone. Coincidentally, a few days later, she received a call from her former high school—it was already the end of August, and the new batch of Grade 12 students would be starting school. As a former provincial top scorer and now a distinguished alumna, she was invited back to give a motivational speech to the new Grade 12 students.

This wasn’t a new task. Before this, she had received invitations from her alma mater for several consecutive years and never refused. That campus always held rich significance for her, bringing her both glory and shame, sweetness and pain—a unique landscape that nothing else in life could replace.

She had no reason to refuse, so she quickly accepted the teachers’ invitation. On a sunny summer day at the end of August, she boarded a train, traveled hundreds of kilometers, and returned to her hometown, stepping once again onto the campus of her high school.

It was still so familiar and peaceful.

Time had left almost no traces on it. The small store downstairs still sold chocolate ice cream and various flavors of spicy gluten. The Grade 12 classes were still unreasonably placed on the fifth floor. The incandescent lights in the underground garage still flickered, some bright, some dim. The honor roll posted at the main gate still had overly saturated red colors.

Even the wind blowing through the campus was exactly the same as seven years ago—somewhat hot, somewhat gentle, stirring the leaves slightly, making the green shade ripple like small waves, projecting onto the classroom windows, easily evoking memories of those mornings, afternoons, evenings, and nights from her youth.