Although Linjiang was also located in the north, due to the abundance of industrial parks nearby, hazy days occurred with high frequency.
Adding to that, this small room faced away from the sun, and the heating wasn't very sufficient either. By nightfall, it had a damp, chilly feeling similar to a southern winter.
An Yao had just applied an ice pack to her wound, and now had her pant legs rolled up while waiting for the medicine to dry, feeling waves of chill creeping in.
From downstairs came the sounds of children laughing and playing.
Yan Muzhou looked at her, then after a moment said, "Why do you ask?"
His voice was low and deep, without much inflection—still that usual calm, unruffled tone that made it impossible for An Yao to read his emotions.
An Yao pressed her lips together tightly and said somewhat awkwardly, "Just… curious, I guess."
She had originally wanted to say that she didn't know how to respond to his kindness, but the words reached her lips and she found them too sentimental to say out loud.
"You don't need to have any psychological burden."
Yan Muzhou turned to look out the window. Behind the building was a stretch of wild grassland, with icy raindrops striking the glass, making a pattering sound.
He still hadn't answered her question. After a brief silence, he instead asked her, "Before I moved out in my senior year of high school, what did Grandpa say to you?"
An Yao was taken aback, not expecting him to bring up that matter.
She recalled, speaking slowly, "Grandpa Yan probably said that after you took over the group, you could stand on your own in your career, and that in the future you'd start a family and have your own life. He introduced you to the daughter of an old friend—a family with similar standing to the Yans, and he thought her personality would probably be compatible with yours…"
"Anyway, it was just casual conversation. Besides talking about you, he also asked about my future plans and things like that."
An Yao realized belatedly that Yan Muzhou asking about this meant he had already guessed the reason behind her earlier question.
Even though she had mentally prepared herself, she still couldn't help feeling uneasy.
She looked down at her bruised and purple knee, her fingers absently touching it from time to time.
Back then, Elder Yan had said those things to her—perhaps because he had sensed her little feelings, or perhaps as a way of hinting that she shouldn't harbor such thoughts, putting the warning out in advance.
Yan Muzhou seemed to know what she was thinking. He said calmly, "You don't need to take his words to heart."
An Yao looked at him.
The man's eyes were dark and deep, seemingly bottomless. Even outside of any formal occasion, they seemed to carry that unyielding authority of someone in a position of power.
An Yao didn't quite grasp his meaning. Though time had passed, her heartbeat still quickened involuntarily as she asked, "…Which words specifically?"
Yan Muzhou paused for a moment. "All of them."
"He was overthinking things. The reason I take care of you is at least not what he was worried about. You were only a teenager back then—I wouldn't have had such thoughts."
An Yao closed her eyes briefly.
He seemed to have said nothing, yet also everything.
The atmosphere grew awkward, and even the sound of rain outside seemed to quicken.
An Yao tried to lighten the mood, letting out a hollow laugh and teasing, "Is it because you've sat in the top position of the group for so long that you had to go around in such a big circle for something this simple?"
Yan Muzhou seemed to give a faint smile as well. "Isn't it because I was afraid you'd be too thin-skinned to hear things said too directly?"
He stood up, not intending to stay longer in her guest room. "Get some rest."
An Yao hummed in acknowledgment, watching the man's retreating figure with a smile as he walked out the door.
Yan Muzhou gently closed the door behind him, and her smile faded.
So that was the answer she wouldn't have wanted to hear back then.
Whatever the reason, it wasn't the kind she had once hoped for.
An Yao took a deep breath and stared into space for a long while. Surprisingly, she felt lighter—whether from letting go or from a different kind of finality settling in.
It was still early. She rolled her pant leg back down and was about to just head to bed when a knock came at the door. It was Huzi's voice.
"An Yao-jiejie, can I come in?"
An Yao said, "Come in."
Huzi poked his head through the door and said, "I have a handwritten poster assignment this weekend. Every time I do one, the teacher criticizes it. Chen Sijie said you're really good at drawing—could you take a look at mine?"
As he spoke, Chen Sijie came running over. "You actually came to ask? So inconsiderate. An Yao-jiejie just hurt herself playing badminton with you, and now you want her to help with your poster?"
Huzi said matter-of-factly, "I didn't ask her to make it for me—just to look at it and give me ideas."
An Yao stood up and smiled. "It's fine, I'll take a look. It was just a fall, nothing serious."
Huzi was considerate enough that, mindful of her knee, he didn't make her go downstairs. He ran down to the study room, hauled his backpack up to the second floor, and commandeered Dean Liu's office.
Chen Sijie pulled up a chair for An Yao, and the three of them sat around the office desk.
Huzi pulled out his previous weeks' poster assignments from his bag. "See, every time I get a 'C minus.' The teacher says I don't put in effort, but this is the assignment I spend the most time on."
An Yao looked down at it.
It couldn't really be called careless—it was packed wall-to-wall with text. The drawing parts were a complete mess, you couldn't even tell what they were supposed to be, and there was no layout sense whatsoever.
Combined with the boy's already untidy handwriting, it looked sloppy and half-hearted.
An Yao had studied art herself, and she knew this kind of thing really came down to talent. Without talent and without professional training, it was hard to improve quickly.
But at the end of the day, it was just an elementary school poster.
She picked up a pencil and divided a blank sheet of paper into several sections. "Here's what you do—split your text into these sections, and for the empty spaces, I'll find you some simple line-drawing examples and divider designs. Just copy them directly."
Huzi nodded vigorously.
Once she found the images on her phone, the boy started carefully copying them in pencil.
Just like Dean Liu's office, her phone was now commandeered too.
Chen Sijie watched Huzi work on his assignment. An Yao had nothing to do, so she looked out the window.
This office faced the same direction as her guest room—the back of the building.
Through the window, she vaguely made out a figure downstairs. She stood up and leaned in to look.
Yan Muzhou was standing under the eaves in a black trench coat, a cigarette burning between his fingers, one hand raised as if he was on the phone with someone.
He didn't smoke often, and he'd basically never smoked in front of her. But she'd caught a faint smell of tobacco on him before and asked about it.
He'd said he smoked when he was at social engagements or under stress.
An Yao had teased him back then, saying he actually felt stress.
Yan Muzhou had replied, something like, everyone feels stress.
The sleet hadn't stopped, and the window glass was fogged with water streaks. Not far from him stood a streetlamp that seemed due for repair, flickering on and off, making him appear as if he too were flickering in and out of the rain.
"An Yao, what are you looking at?" Behind her, Chen Sijie noticed her craning her neck to peer outside and asked.
An Yao snapped back to reality and sat back down in her chair. "Nothing, I was just seeing if the sleet would turn into snow."
"It's November, so it should snow soon."
Chen Sijie muttered, and before long, she grew bored herself and looked at An Yao. "By the way, back when I was about Huzi's age, you also taught me how to draw. I still have the picture you drew for me back then. And I've kept the ones I drew later too—let me go grab them so you can check the results of your teaching!"
An Yao smiled. "Sure."
That must have been about five years ago, when Chen Sijie was only in second or third grade.
An Yao couldn't even remember what she had taught her to draw.
Chen Sijie ran out and then back in, apparently having gone to her dormitory. Before long, she returned carrying a storage box made from a repurposed cardboard shipping box.
The items inside were arranged neatly. She pulled out a few sheets of paper from the bottom layer and smiled. "I knew I'd kept them—here they are, the Four Panels of Life."
The moment An Yao saw the drawing, she remembered.
This was Chen Sijie's art homework at the time. She was far more talented at drawing than Huzi. Four small pictures were drawn on a vertical A4 sheet, and the style was quite adorable.
The Four Panels of Life was a four-panel mini comic, depicting from birth to the point where one imagined their life would end.
In Chen Sijie's drawing, for example, the first panel showed her being brought to Linjiang Orphanage, the second showed her playing with the other kids at the orphanage, the third showed her getting into university, and the last showed her working at a computer.
Chen Sijie smiled as she explained, "These are the ones I drew after you left. The first few attempts were too embarrassing to look at, so I didn't keep them."
"But I kept the example you drew for me."
With that, Chen Sijie pulled out another sheet from underneath.
The moment An Yao saw that paper, her ears grew hot.
She had no idea what she had been thinking back then. The first two panels were normal, but the third was a comic-style wedding photo of two people, and the fourth showed her smiling happily as she brought her husband to see her sculpture exhibition.
The drawings followed her heart—the man in the last two panels had been drawn in the likeness of Yan Muzhou.
Although they were just chibi-style comic drawings with limited detail, since An Yao had drawn them herself, she could recognize the male lead at a glance.
An Yao quickly snatched the drawing back, so swiftly that it startled Chen Sijie.
Chen Sijie said in confusion, "It's drawn really well, just like something from a comic book… If you're embarrassed by that, then I'd be even more embarrassed to show you mine."
An Yao's action had been instinctive. Hearing her say that, she withdrew her hand and awkwardly smoothed her hair, forcing an explanation: "No, no, it's just… maybe I think it's a bit childish."
Chen Sijie looked at it more carefully and said, "Isn't it normal for comics to be a bit childish? And the guy in it is drawn really handsome—is he your ideal type, An Yao?"
"…"
An Yao let out a soft sigh. "How should I put it… I guess he was my ideal type back then?"
Kids these days mature early, and Chen Sijie was already in middle school—exactly the age when she'd be interested in topics of romance between boys and girls.
It wasn't just her—even Huzi was distracted, ears perked up.
Chen Sijie smiled. "Actually, I thought it looked a bit like President Yan before. The black clothes, and the hair is a little similar too."
Huzi leaned over and chimed in, "I think so too."
"…How could it possibly be him."
This time An Yao really felt a bit creeped out, frowning slightly. "There are plenty of men who wear black clothes and have this hairstyle. I just drew it casually—don't go making wild guesses."
Chen Sijie: "It's mainly because the person in the drawing is handsome. Among the handsome guys we've seen who fit the style and age, it really does seem like President Yan is the only one."
An Yao fell silent for a moment, not planning to dwell on this topic.
She was guilty in the first place, and the more she said, the more likely she was to slip up.
An Yao changed the subject instead. "How about this—I'll draw you a new one, and I'll take the original with me, okay? Looking at something I drew several years ago now, I really do feel it's a bit lacking in skill…"
Chen Sijie readily agreed: "Of course, it's yours to begin with."
An Yao breathed a sigh of relief, successfully defusing the crisis of this "timed drawing bomb."
She folded the original drawing a few times and tucked it away, then picked up a gel pen from the desk and buried herself in creating anew.
About half an hour later, Huzi's handwritten poster was taking shape, with Chen Sijie guiding him on the side, and An Yao's new version of the four-panel life comic was nearly complete—when the bell before lights-out rang through the building.
An Yao put down her pen and turned around, only to see Yan Muzhou standing at the doorway, who knew when he'd arrived. He was wearing a black trench coat, about to walk into the office.
"Lights out soon. You should head back to your dorms," the man said in a calm voice.
Chen Sijie: "We're going right away. Huzi's handwritten poster only has the last two lines left, and Sister An Yao's four-panel comic is almost done too."
The art supplies here were incomplete, so An Yao was currently holding Huzi's oil pastels, painstakingly coloring in this little comic strip.
Yan Muzhou walked slowly to the office desk, asking in a light tone, "What four-panel comic? Did you give her an assignment too?"
Chen Sijie paused.
There was a reason she didn't dare speak much with this man—even an ordinary question like this, coming from his mouth, sounded like he was calling someone to account.
An Yao lowered her head back down, inwardly glad that the original drawing was already safely tucked in her pocket. She said first, while coloring, "No, I'm just drawing for fun. Might as well, since I've got nothing better to do."
Then Chen Sijie explained in a muffled voice what a four-panel life comic was.
Back when she'd done that assignment five years ago, Yan Muzhou seemed to have been discussing serious matters about the welfare home's facilities with Dean Liu the whole time, never participating in their drawing activity.
After she finished explaining, An Yao also set down the oil pastels and announced, "Done. What do you think?"
Chen Sijie gave an enthusiastic "Wow!" "This is way too professional. It looks amazing."
Yan Muzhou's gaze swept over as well.
The four panels beside An Yao's hand went from her birth, to learning carving with her grandfather, to now being in university, and the last one was presumably a vision of the future—a girl standing in front of a small shop, smiling brightly, with a sign beside her reading "Yao Yao Wu Qi Studio" in four characters.
Setting aside the content, the drawing was extremely refined. Using nothing but a child's most ordinary oil pastels, it presented a unique style somewhere between realism and doodling.
However, the three years of high school never appeared at all, nor did any other figure besides An Mingshan.
To avoid them bringing up the previous drawing again, An Yao handed the new one to Chen Sijie. "This is for you. In twenty years, I'll come back and report whether my dream came true. I'm going to bed too—staying up any later would disturb your rest."
Night fell, and the wind and snow outside showed no sign of stopping. The early winter gusts rattled the windows from time to time.
An Yao was somewhat unused to sleeping in a strange bed, and with the heating in the room insufficient, she had wrapped herself in the blanket for a long while, yet her hands and feet remained icy cold. The three places where she had fallen also throbbed with a dull ache.
It took her a long time to finally fall asleep, and even then, her sleep was shallow, broken by a series of fragmented dreams.
Strangely, all of them were related to Yan Muzhou.
Perhaps it was only after he had given her his answer today that everything could truly come to an end.
Not like before, when An Yao had still harbored some awkwardness in her heart and had done her best to avoid him.
Just as many films end with a montage of clips playing during the credits, her dreams that night were like a fragmented sequence of scenes.
She dreamed of her high school days, when Yan Muzhou tutored her late at night in his study, patiently explaining a geometry problem over and over again;
She dreamed of the times she was sick, when he called the school to request leave for her and set reminders to come to her room and check her temperature.
And on weekends and holidays, despite his busy work schedule, he always found time to fulfill his promise of taking her out to play. Sometimes, while he played cards or discussed business with a few friends from his circle, she would sit nearby, reading comics on her tablet or carving random patterns into a small piece of stone with a carving knife.
When she woke up in the middle of the night, An Yao stared at the pitch-black ceiling, listening to the howling wind outside, feeling a sense of helplessness as if she had fallen into a vacuum.
She took out her phone, and the bright screen made her squint.
She casually opened a social media app she often used and scrolled through a few posts, trying to pull herself back from the chaotic dreams to reality.
The app's algorithm seemed to read her mind—the homepage surfaced a post with a striking title, discussing what it felt like to see someone you once had a crush on years later.
The comments were varied.
Most said the rose-tinted glasses had shattered completely—their old crush had gone bald, greasy, and overweight, becoming the most ordinary person in the crowd.
Some still harbored lingering feelings, hesitating over whether to take a bold chance.
An Yao scrolled further and came across a long comment with relatively few likes.
"By a twist of fate, he's now my client… I still feel my heart race when I see him, but I've actually already let go. Back then, I liked him simply because, at the moment I needed it most, I met the person who matched my wildest fantasies. That's all."
An Yao pressed her lips together lightly and silently gave that comment a like.
Returning from Linjiang to Beiyang, her life fell back into the familiar rhythm she knew.
Although she worked at the company Yan Muzhou managed, she had no opportunity at all to see this boss of hers.
What did make things difficult for An Yao was the cold snap that arrived earlier than usual this year.
She had always been sensitive to the cold, and with years of little exercise, her constitution was relatively weak. Whenever she stepped out of the heated building, she would wrap herself up like a rice dumpling.
By December, the advisor assigned by An Yao's school began urging her to submit the first draft of her thesis proposal.
At the same time, two topics were generating a lot of discussion within the group.
One was the annual meeting at Yaowei headquarters at the end of December, and the other was the recent changes in the group's board of directors.
An Yao had no interest in the former. These kinds of events were always a paradise for social butterflies and a nightmare for introverts. Even with the generous prize draws, it all came down to luck—the big-ticket prizes couldn't be won by wishing for them.
She only prayed that they wouldn't ask a lowly intern like her to perform some kind of act, because then she'd seriously consider quitting early and going back to school to write her thesis and finish her graduation project.
As for the personnel changes among the board members, An Yao had actually come across them in the news.
It wasn't just internal to their group—because Yaowei was such a massive entity, its products were practically known to people across the entire country, and even on social media you could occasionally spot related discussions.
Roughly speaking, one of the old directors who had helped Elder Yan build the company from the ground up during its founding days had undergone a change in position—he'd been dismissed from his role as CTO and had also stepped down from his director positions across multiple Yaowei subsidiaries and affiliated companies.
Most netizens speculated that if this person was leaving Yaowei, it must have been the handiwork of the current president, Yan Muzhou. Ever since he took office, the group had already been undergoing major changes.
Her colleagues in the department seemed to agree with that assessment.
As ordinary low-level employees with little interaction with the technical departments, Yara had also come across the news online. At the time, she'd commented, "Times are innovating, and technology needs to innovate even more. For an established company like Yaowei that's survived from the era of reform and opening up to now, staying prosperous for the long haul definitely requires new ideas and new blood."
Sister Zhang had been nearby at the time. Unlike them, she was a veteran from the group's publicity department, and she nodded in agreement. "Anyway, I can feel it clearly. Before President Yan took office, the group was especially lifeless—people were just going through the motions, there was no innovation in the products, and they were just coasting on the old reputation."
"It's only been getting better gradually since President Yan came these past few years, and at least now we finally have a few new hit beverages on the market that are our own."
But at the end of the day, changes among the company's top brass didn't directly affect them much.
Even if there were an impact, it should be the technical department's people worrying about it.
After a few more exchanges, Sister Zhang lowered her voice and asked, "When is that intern surnamed Sheng from your group leaving?"
Yara spread her hands. "No idea. From what they say, she's been on board for almost three months now, and everyone thought she wouldn't last long before leaving."
Sister Zhang put it even more bluntly: "…Right? Isn't she just here to coast and pad her resume? Usually those types leave after two months at most. But she's been here three months, doesn't even show up to work, and still takes up a spot in your group."
Yara glanced at the mountain of reimbursement paperwork piled on An Yao's desk and gave her a light pat. "Yao Yao, next time Sheng Xintong comes in, why don't you ask her?"
An Yao looked up, momentarily stunned, then said, "I've barely exchanged a few words with her. It wouldn't really be appropriate."
Aside from that one time at the elevator door leading upstairs, she truly hadn't crossed paths with her since.
Sister Zhang said, "You asking is the right call. You're both interns—there's nothing wrong with a little exchange between you. If we asked, it'd seem like we were trying to rush her out. Who knows what her deal really is anyway."
An Yao thought for a moment. "I'll see how it goes."
Privately, she did want Sheng Xintong to leave sooner, so the group could at least hire another intern to share the workload.
Otherwise, the way things were now—with year-end approaching and all sorts of miscellaneous tasks piling up—she was juggling work with one hand, her illustrations with another, and her thesis and graduation project with a third. It was getting genuinely overwhelming.
Ever since her last trip to Linjiang, An Yao hadn't had a single weekend off.
After about a week, Sheng Xintong finally reappeared at her workstation. She took the initiative to ask her which floor the administrative department was on, seemingly needing to get some stamp or seal done.
An Yao considered for a moment, then said to her, "For stamping, you need to go through the OA process. Different stamps are managed by different departments—not all of them are under administration. What kind do you need?"
Sheng Xintong pulled out her documents. "Internship report."
An Yao had been there for two months by now and was familiar with these procedures. "Oh, you can just apply directly in the system—there's a dedicated option for that. You need to wait for the approval to go through before going, or they won't stamp it."
Sheng Xintong's tone shifted to one of sudden realization. "I see. Good thing you told me, or I'd have made a wasted trip."
An Yao took the opportunity to ask, "Are you getting your internship report done now? I was planning to do mine right before I leave."
Sheng Xintong opened her computer and fumbled through the office system, saying, "My school's been pushing me on it. I won't be leaving anytime soon though—definitely not until next year."
"…"
An Yao's "spy" mission was complete, and with it, her expectations for the new intern faded.
By next year, she would most likely have already left Beiyang herself.
Sheng Xintong fiddled with the system for a while before finally submitting the application, then called An Yao over to check it. "Is this right?"
An Yao went over to her computer, leaned down, and checked it for her. "Yeah. Once this node reaches the end, you can take your documents over."
Sheng Xintong muttered, "Such a hassle… I thought I could just come in and get it stamped. Well, I'll come back in a couple of days. Thanks—I'll treat you to a meal sometime."
An Yao said, "…It's fine, no need to be polite."
Sheng Xintong didn't seem bound by the usual clock-in, clock-out rules either, and she slung her bag over her shoulder and left again.
An Yao let out a soft sigh and went back to pasting the pile of receipts.
At lunch break, Yan Xuexin sent her a voice call.
An Yao picked up, assuming she was inviting her out again.
But she really didn't have the time lately.
Before An Yao could even say anything, Yan Xuexin asked on the phone, "Yao Yao, have you seen my brother these past few days?"
An Yao replied, "No, I don't think I've seen him in a while."
Yan Xuexin said, "I just asked Assistant Fang for a lawyer's number, and he mentioned my brother's been hospitalized these past few days. I'm in Australia right now and can't get back anytime soon."
An Yao was startled. "Hospitalized? What happened to him?"
Yan Xuexin's tone turned unusually serious. "Assistant Fang said it's appendicitis—he had surgery yesterday. If you have time, could you go visit him? His friends and other family probably don't know. It's just a few assistants, but after all, it's a work relationship between superior and subordinate."
An Yao asked, "Do you know which hospital he's in?"
"You have time? Great, I'll send it to your phone."
Yan Xuexin complained, "He's always saying we don't know how to take care of ourselves, but honestly, that workaholic is even worse. A few years ago, he got the flu and didn't take it seriously, and it dragged on until it turned into pneumonia."
It was noisy on the other end of the call, and Yan Xuexin probably had things to do, so she didn't say much more.
Before long, An Yao received the hospital address on her phone.
The location wasn't unfamiliar—it was likely run by someone Yan Muzhou knew. Back in high school, she'd gone with him on weekends to visit patients there.
Now that she and Yan Muzhou had no romantic intentions toward each other, many things became simpler.
Whether she treated him as a friend, an older brother figure, or as repayment for his care, she had every reason to go.
An Yao clocked out right on time, bought a fruit basket nearby, and worked on her thesis proposal on her laptop during the subway ride all the way to the hospital.
It was a private hospital—whether in the lobby or the corridors, it was very quiet. In the air, besides the smell of disinfectant, there was also a faint hint of aromatherapy.
Yan Xuexin had also sent her the room number, probably having gotten it from Assistant Fang.
When An Yao arrived at the hospital room door, she saw it was half-open, and the side light panel didn't show a "Do Not Disturb" sign, so she went straight in.
She still had a rough impression that the VIP ward in this hospital was more like a hotel suite—spacious, fully equipped, and even had a foyer area at the entrance.
An Yao had only taken a few steps when she heard Yan Muzhou's cold, weary voice from inside.
"Go handle the discharge procedures. I'm checking out tomorrow morning—the afternoon business trip can't be postponed."
An Yao walked through the foyer and stopped at a distance.
Yan Muzhou was lying on the pristine white hospital bed, the blanket covering him halfway, and she could vaguely see the hospital gown he was wearing.
The bedside table beside him was empty—no flowers or fruit that should be there. Instead, a small tray table was set up on the bed, and he was leaning against the headboard looking at his computer, his brows slightly furrowed.
An Yao, holding the fruit basket, spoke up slowly: "Who gets discharged right after surgery? Is the business trip that important?"
Only then did Yan Muzhou look up. His gaze paused for two seconds, and he gave a faint smile as he asked, "Why is it you?"
An Yao walked in, set the fruit basket on his bedside table, and threw his own rhetorical question from their card game at the club back at him.
She mimicked his earlier indifferent tone: "Who else should it be?"