Chapter 26: There Was Once a Beautiful Love

By the next night, Shang Zhitao didn’t dare sleep indoors, nor did she want to disturb others. She decided to step outside and gaze at the stars.

The stars on the mountain were breathtaking—a vast expanse of glittering sky. Gazing up, Shang Zhitao recalled the time when she and Xin Zhaozhou had traveled to the countryside to stargaze during their romance. Back then, they had no money, taking bus after bus and staying in the shabbiest guesthouse—conditions even worse than where she was staying now.

Yet, back then, Shang Zhitao had relished every moment.

She remembered how Xin Zhaozhou had tucked her cold feet into his arms, saying with a hint of pity, “No one else in love has endured such hardships.”

“No one else in love gets to see stars this beautiful,” Shang Zhitao had replied innocently. She didn’t realize that many couples could enjoy such beauty without enduring hardship.

After sitting for a while and feeling the chill, she went back inside, boiled water, and soaked her feet, feeling much better. She mentally encouraged herself: there were mousetraps by the bed and poison in the corners—tonight would surely be fine. Wrapping herself in blankets, she prepared to sleep. Just as she closed her eyes, her phone rang—it was Alex. She quickly answered.

“Hi, Alex.”

“Flora, we’re still in the management meeting. Other bosses just asked about the progress of the shoot. I’m going to put you on speakerphone so you can update everyone.”

This sudden request caught her off guard. It was late at night, and the bosses were still holding a management meeting. Shang Zhitao, unprepared, sat bolt upright and said, “Okay.”

“I’m putting you on speaker now. The attendees are Luke, Tracy, Jason, Zack—are you ready?”

“Yes.” Shang Zhitao quickly gathered her thoughts. When Alex gave the go-ahead, she began her report: “Hello, everyone. So far, we’ve filmed three simple scenes with an additional expense of 2,100 yuan. We haven’t encountered any major issues.”

“Good, good. Stay safe, bye,” Alex concluded. He understood Shang Zhitao—her reports were concise, but her work was always thorough. He didn’t want to pressure her unnecessarily.

Luan Nian frowned slightly.

What kind of report was that?

After the meeting ended, he picked up his phone and messaged Shang Zhitao: “What was that report you just gave?”

“The progress…”

“Are you sure?”

“I…”

Luan Nian felt a twinge of frustration. He thought Shang Zhitao was utterly clueless—how could she give such a cursory report in such an important setting? He called her directly: “Report again, properly.” His tone was icy.

That single sentence terrified Shang Zhitao. Clearing her throat, she said, “I just reported the key points.”

“Are you being evasive?”

“No, no.” Shang Zhitao waved her hands frantically, forgetting Luan Nian couldn’t see her gestures.

“Report again,” he repeated.

“We filmed…”

“No. Who is ‘we’? How many scenes have been shot in the past two days? What were they? Where are we in terms of overall progress? How much money has been spent? Where did it go? What’s the estimated budget? What results do we expect?” Luan Nian fired off questions in rapid succession. Normally, his speeches were brief, but tonight he spoke extensively, all at once.

Luan Nian simply couldn’t tolerate stupidity in his team. Shang Zhitao was an employee of Lingmei, and as its leader, she was part of his team.

Shang Zhitao reorganized her thoughts based on Luan Nian’s questions and timidly said, “Should I report again?”

“Go ahead.”

Following Luan Nian’s prompts, she gave a revised response: “This project involves seventeen people, including the crew, creative team, and marketing department. So far, we’ve filmed three scenes: ‘Misty Morning,’ ‘Mountain Path,’ and ‘Moonlit Heart.’ The ad consists of sixteen scenes in total, and we plan to complete the remaining scenes within ten days. As of today, miscellaneous expenses amount to 2,100 yuan. I haven’t finalized the subsequent budget yet, but it won’t exceed the limit.”

“Hmm.” Luan Nian grunted. “What role are you playing in all this?”

“I… manage the funds and… handle miscellaneous tasks…” Her voice grew softer and softer. Predictably, Luan Nian interrupted her upon hearing “miscellaneous tasks”: “Is your value in handling trivial chores? Can’t I hire anyone off the street to do that? If you continue to focus only on menial tasks, you might as well come back right now and stop wasting the company’s travel expenses. You should leave soon.”

He hung up and tossed the phone aside.

It had been a long day; he hadn’t even eaten dinner. Now, Shang Zhitao had irritated him enough. What was wrong with her? Trivial tasks? Did she really think her value lay in doing menial labor?

After being scolded by Luan Nian, Shang Zhitao was wide awake.

Surprisingly, she wasn’t disheartened. After all, Luan Nian often scolded her—it wasn’t anything unusual. But he was right. She lacked experience in reporting. She thought she had highlighted the key points, but perhaps to others, it came across as perfunctory.

She decided to open her laptop, create a document, and summarize methods for effective reporting. What constituted a good report? Probably the critical questions Luan Nian had asked. She recalled his tone—he was teaching her, but his manner was harsh.

Shang Zhitao huffed. That strange man, Luan Nian.

She spent half an hour writing a document outlining reporting methods and sent it to Luan Nian’s email. Then she messaged him: “I’ve learned a lot from your guidance earlier. I’ve compiled a summary of reporting methods and sent it to your email. Could you please review it?”

Almost immediately, she received a reply from Luan Nian: “What time is it?”

Shang Zhitao checked the time and responded: “It’s 1 a.m.” Clearly, she missed the implication behind Luan Nian’s question: What time is it? Are you not sleeping while others rest? Are you out of your mind?

Seeing her response, Luan Nian narrowed his eyes. She truly didn’t understand social cues. With someone like her, it was impossible to stay angry. Even if you died of anger, she’d probably squat beside your corpse, utterly confused: “Why did you die?”... Such a brainless person.

Sitting on the edge of his bed with damp hair, Luan Nian opened his laptop and checked his email. He saw Shang Zhitao’s summarized reporting points. They were detailed, albeit verbose, but showed significant improvement.

He called her again: “Have you turned off your computer?”

“You’re still awake?” Shang Zhitao asked.

Luan Nian suddenly felt the urge to strangle her. He paused for two seconds to calm himself before saying, “I’ll talk, and you make corrections.”

“Okay, thank you, Luke.”

“When preparing future reports, first consider what others care about, then focus on the project itself.” Luan Nian explained carefully, and Shang Zhitao listened attentively. This late-night tutoring session felt oddly reminiscent of being kept after class for extra help. Perhaps it was because the teacher feared the student would drag the class down—or maybe it was genuine concern.

“Did you write it down?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Since you’ve written it down, proactively ask Alex for a project update meeting. When you return, thoroughly report on the progress of this project.”

“...Okay.”

“Unwilling?”

“No, no. I just think it’s a bit abrupt.”

“If you find upward management abrupt, then prepare to never advance in your career.” Luan Nian spoke bluntly about workplace reality. Without upward management, one couldn’t go far in the corporate world.

“Okay, I’ll contact Alex tomorrow to schedule a time.”

An awkward silence fell between them. Shang Zhitao racked her brain for something to say, but Luan Nian abruptly hung up without even saying goodbye.

Luan Nian had spoken too much already. He was too lazy to utter another word. Hanging up, he dried his hair and lay back on the bed.

His phone rang again. It was an unfamiliar number. He answered and heard muffled sobs on the other end: “Luan Nian, do you believe I’ll kill myself right in front of you?”

Luan Nian hung up, but the call came through again: “Do you think I wouldn’t dare?”

“Don’t threaten me with suicide. You know it won’t work.” Hearing the sobbing on the other end, Luan Nian surprisingly didn’t hang up. After the crying subsided somewhat, he said, “We agreed to part ways amicably. There’s no need for such drama.” He hung up again.

When he woke up the next morning, his phone showed dozens of missed calls.

Zhang Xin had gone mad.

Then he noticed several unread messages in his inbox:

“Luan Nian? This is Zhang Xin’s friend. She slit her wrists.”

“Can you come to the hospital? She’s in critical condition.”

“What kind of monster are you? To treat your ex-girlfriend like this?”

Luan Nian called back. The person on the other end picked up and started cursing him: “If you don’t want to live, just say so. We’ll kill you!” Luan Nian listened to their venting with a furrowed brow, then asked, “Which hospital?”

The caller hesitated, then quickly provided the hospital address.

After finishing his grooming routine, Luan Nian grabbed his car keys and left. Traffic delayed him briefly, but he arrived at the emergency center by nine o’clock. He found the ward where Zhang Xin was lying in bed, a girl feeding her fruit.

Seeing Luan Nian, Zhang Xin pushed away the fruit and started crying again.

Luan Nian thought to himself: Not bad. Last night she was in critical condition, and now she’s eating fruit. Her emotional control is impressive, just like Zhang Xin.

Approaching her bedside, he addressed her friend: “Were you the one who cursed me on the phone this morning?”

The girl froze, then retorted, “So what if I did? I’ll find someone to kill you!”

Luan Nian pulled out his phone, pressed stop on the recording app, and held it up. “Fine. I’ve recorded the evidence. I’ll send it to my lawyer later.”

The girl, stubborn as ever, leaped to her feet and swung her hand toward Luan Nian’s face. Anticipating her move, he stepped back and grabbed her wrist. “Don’t act out. It’ll only end badly for you.”

Luan Nian despised tantrums, whether from men or women. Anyone throwing a fit in front of him irked him. If you had a valid point, speak up; otherwise, shut up. Letting go of her wrist, he coldly turned to Zhang Xin: “Is this really necessary?”

“Do you feel even a shred of regret?” Zhang Xin looked at him, convinced his heart was irredeemably cold. During their relationship, he had occasionally bought her bags, gone on weekend dates, and made a call or two during the week. But that was all. He always kept his distance—even during intimacy, she never felt loved.

“If I’m not mistaken, we broke up nearly six months ago. How long do you expect my post-breakup services to last? Three years? Five? Ten?” Luan Nian knew how people in the emergency center viewed him—they likely saw him as a complete jerk.

He didn’t care about their opinions, nor did he want to waste more words on Zhang Xin.

“Next time you want to attempt suicide, don’t call me. Your life is yours to take. You don’t need to notify me.”

“And remember—you were the one who initiated the breakup.”

Zhang Xin remained silent, consumed by hatred for Luan Nian.