Sui Yu rarely called Zhong Nian.
They were long past the age of clinging to one another. He understood the meaning of knowing when to stop. Now he was measured, polite—always advancing or retreating with proper distance.
This call was because of something specific.
Nanda Affiliated High School was holding its centennial celebration. A batch of outstanding alumni had been invited. Sui Yu was on the list.
So was Zhong Nian.
Back then, the school had a so-called “Crown Prince Class,” filled with heirs of wealthy families—families so rich they could have bought the university across the street. Zhong Nian had spent half a year there under the care of the Liang family.
Sui Yu said over the phone, “It’s next Wednesday. If you’re free, I’ll take you.”
Zhong Nian smiled faintly. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to go.”
She had only studied there for half a year. And she wasn’t sentimental about alma maters.
If anything, UCL was the school she considered her own—undergraduate and master’s, so many years there. That was harder to forget.
Sui Yu felt a trace of disappointment.
He had expected this answer, yet hearing it still stung. After all, there weren’t many reasons left to see her. Finding a legitimate excuse was difficult.
“Really not going?” he asked again.
“No.”
She heard the disappointment in his voice. She genuinely regarded him as a friend, so she softened her tone.
“I just started at the newspaper. Taking leave wouldn’t look good.”
He didn’t press further. Asking twice was already enough. When an answer wasn’t what you hoped for, you changed the subject.
They exchanged a few updates. Then the call ended.
When Zhong Nian turned around, Liang Yifeng was standing in the living room.
He had clearly heard the call.
He took a slow sip of water. Even the motion seemed to require effort.
“Next week is the anniversary already,” he said.
“Mm.”
“You’re not going?”
“No.”
He set down the glass. His voice was low and hoarse.
“Shen Group is the biggest sponsor.”
The remark came out of nowhere. After saying it, he looked at her meaningfully.
She hesitated. “Mm.”
She truly didn’t understand what he meant.
He adjusted his collar. “Nothing.”
After that day, they didn’t meet again.
The newsroom was busy. She was new. The team leader handed her piles of trivial work and didn’t bother hiding her unfriendly attitude. The team members were the same—mocking her openly or subtly.
She’d overheard fragments.
“Is this even hiring season?”
“Must have strong backing.”
“Her outfit probably costs half your yearly salary.”
“I once saw her get out of a Maybach. Know who was driving?”
“Who?”
“Sui family’s fourth young master—Sui Yu.”
The name drew gasps.
Zhong Nian pushed open the restroom door and walked calmly through the crowd, as though she hadn’t been the subject of discussion. She even gave them a polite smile.
Caught gossiping red-handed, they were awkward.
Her smile, however, seemed to confirm their suspicions.
—Zhong Nian had backing. And it was Sui Yu.
The girl seated beside her was Xu Jiajia, a recent graduate—fresh-faced, enthusiastic, quick on her feet during assignments.
She leaned close and whispered, “They just like gossiping. They’re not bad people. Don’t take it to heart.”
Zhong Nian’s lips curved faintly. “I know.”
They weren’t bad.
Just not her kind of people.
Xu Jiajia was about to say more when the team leader called her away.
Zhong Nian glanced at the calendar. The editor-in-chief would return in half a month. When that happened, everything would be repositioned.
When she first arrived, she’d planned to start from scratch.
But this environment was nothing like The Times in London. Starting over here didn’t mean much.
A journalist should write with integrity—go to the scene, uncover truth, present meaning to the public.
If you have one measure of heat, give one measure of light.
She had no interest in entertainment sections. No desire to be a paparazzi. Fast money was rarely good money.
If one lived only once, one should contribute something to the world.
Her previous interview with Shen Fang had gone well.
This time, the team leader assigned her a new task: coverage of a fire drill.
The City First Hospital was conducting a joint fire drill with the fire department. They wanted a reporter to photograph, document, and publish a short piece.
Honestly, it was easy. A formality.
Normally it wouldn’t go to someone with her limited tenure, but the newsroom was short-staffed.
That afternoon, she headed to the hospital.
Hospitals were crowded every day, weekday or not.
After layers of internal coordination, the person assigned to communicate with her was an orthopedic doctor named Liang Zhaozhao.
Unexpectedly, Liang Zhaozhao was busy too. She rushed Zhong Nian toward an office.
“Let Doctor Liang handle it. I’ve got clinic hours.”
And she ran off.
Zhong Nian sighed and knocked.
“—Come in.”
The voice was low, smooth, textured.
Familiar.
She pushed open the door.
Liang Yifeng sat behind the desk.
Familiar indeed.
Familiar people should make things easier.
She sat down opposite him.
He continued writing in a medical chart without looking up.
He didn’t speak.
Neither did she.
Perhaps familiarity didn’t make things easier after all.
Finally sensing her silence, he lifted his head.
Seeing her, his pen slipped, drawing an ugly black line across the chart.
He closed the file quickly and coughed lightly.
“How is it you?”
“I’m here to discuss tomorrow’s fire drill process.”
He leaned back, hands in pockets, studying her lazily.
After a pause, he remembered the meeting mentioning a reporter would come.
He hadn’t expected it to be her.
“I’m not familiar with the process,” he said calmly.
She had already taken out pen and paper.
“You’re not clear on the details?”
His computer screen glowed beside him.
Minutes ago, he had opened a photo clearly listing the drill procedures. It was still on screen.
He adjusted his glasses.
“I’m not familiar.”
“But they told me to find you.”
“You found me. Then?”
“To discuss tomorrow’s fire drill process.”
“And?”
“So I can write the report.”
He spread his hands. “I don’t have the process.”
She paused.
Then nodded.
She put everything back into her bag and stood.
“Maybe there was a miscommunication. I’ll find Doctor Liang.”
He didn’t stop her. Even made a polite gesture toward the door.
“If you need my help, feel free to ask.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
The door closed.
He folded his hands over his abdomen and stared at the white door.
Then at his computer.
On the glowing screen, item seven read:
Firefighters will rescue medical staff and patients playing trapped victims.
His WeChat group was buzzing—everyone trying to avoid volunteering as trapped staff.
He smiled without humor.
Typed:
I’ll do it.
Three seconds of silence.
Then the group flooded with messages:
I’ll do it too.
He closed the laptop calmly and called Liang Zhaozhao.
She answered amid chaos.
“Third Brother?”
“Are you in charge of tomorrow’s drill?”
“Yeah… why?”
“If you want a good article, shouldn’t the reporter experience it firsthand?”
She slapped her forehead. “Right! That’s a great idea!”
“Mm.”
“I’ll tell Reporter Zhong to play a trapped patient. Not sure who she’ll be stuck with though.”
He smiled slightly.
“You couldn’t host her yourself? I’m swamped!”
“Can’t.”
If he hosted her, discussed process with her—
He couldn’t manipulate things.
He couldn’t ensure he’d be trapped together with her.
So he couldn’t host her.
“You really can’t be gentler to your cousin?” Liang Zhaozhao complained out of habit.
He didn’t answer.
Instead—
A scream tore through the hallway.
She ran from the stairwell.
And saw a tall, balding middle-aged man swinging his fist toward Zhong Nian.
Liang Zhaozhao screamed—
“Reporter Zhong!”