For the past two months, an unspoken barrier—a thin layer of frosted glass—had stood between them, keeping their relationship in a state of subtle ambiguity but at a safe distance.
Yet Wen Yun’s words just now had all but shattered that barrier, blatantly making it clear to Xie Zhinan that there was no longer room for pretending or evasion.
Xie Zhinan’s heart tightened once again, feeling both sadness and an overwhelming disgust with himself.
He should have kept his distance from Wen Yun.
If he had done a better job, perhaps this scene wouldn’t have unfolded.
Wen Yun didn’t need to care about him, didn’t need to ask him why he was upset. He wouldn’t make things difficult for Wen Yun either.
Wen Yun could have just left him wherever, let him wallow in his pain for a while, and then he would be fine again.
He would accept any result calmly, like a weed on the roadside. Even if it were accidentally trampled into the mud, nearly dead, it would only take a couple of days to recover and quietly start growing again.
That’s how it should have been.
But strangely, Xie Zhinan couldn’t seem to get it right. He thought Wen Yun had no reason to care about him, but when Wen Yun asked him why he was upset, his heart felt like a water-soaked towel being suddenly wrung out. It ached, swelled, and his eyes burned.
The inability to control himself brought an instinctive sense of shame to him. He turned his face away, trying to act calm, as if nothing had happened.
But Wen Yun, it seemed, had no patience left that day. “Xie Zhinan,” he said in a flat tone, calling his name again, as if urging him.
Xie Zhinan had no choice but to respond.
It took him two seconds to react, and then, helplessly, he shook his head. After pausing, he shook it again.
“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely, his voice even raspier than before. “…I don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know why things had turned out this way.
His head throbbed, his mind had completely shut down, and all he wanted was to escape quickly—from this trap, which had been deliberately set for him from the start to ensnare and consume him.
But just as he took a step, Wen Yun forcefully pulled him back by his arm. Only then did Xie Zhinan realize his arm was still in Wen Yun’s grasp. He tried to free himself, but Wen Yun showed no intention of letting go, holding onto him tightly.
With no other option, Xie Zhinan said weakly, “…Can you let go of me?”
“If I let go, you’ll run away again,” Wen Yun replied.
Xie Zhinan pressed his lips tightly together, so hard they turned pale, as if he was unwilling to say another word.
Wen Yun lowered his head slightly, leaning in closer to him.
Xie Zhinan could once again smell Wen Yun’s scent and feel his breath brushing against his cheek. His heart skipped a panicked beat, and he nearly forgot how to breathe.
Some small creatures play dead when scared.
After two months of careful coaxing, luring, and trickery, Xie Zhinan had finally been drawn out of his shell.
Everything seemed to be going well; Xie Zhinan was even starting to tentatively take steps toward him. But then, just the lightest breeze from the outside, no thunder or rain, scared him back into hiding.
Wen Yun lowered his gaze slightly, looking at Xie Zhinan’s drooping eyelashes. He spoke softly, “Xie Zhinan, you’re a coward.”
Xie Zhinan’s lashes fluttered slightly, then lowered even further.
He thought Wen Yun was right, yet the words still made him feel sad. So he twisted his arm again and said in a low voice, “…Let me go.”
“Are you so scared you can’t even tell me why you’re upset?” Wen Yun pressed him harshly, almost cruelly, his voice dropping to a murmur as he forced him to answer. “How is it you’ve made no progress at all?”
No progress at all.
The words cut like a sharp blade, piercing directly into Xie Zhinan’s most vulnerable and hidden wounds.
No progress at all.
How was it that just a single glance from Wen Yun could summon him over?
How was it that he still… still couldn’t control himself?
A tear suddenly fell from Xie Zhinan’s eye.
He had held it in for so long, but in the end, he couldn’t hold it back.
His tears, like the most powerful weapon, froze Wen Yun in place. Xie Zhinan was crying, and it was Wen Yun who panicked first. The words he’d been about to say caught in his throat, leaving him speechless.
He had intended to push Xie Zhinan a little. Xie Zhinan was far too skilled at evasion—his past experiences had forced him to excel at and rely on this avoidance mechanism.
But he couldn’t keep running away forever.
Or rather, Wen Yun didn’t want him to keep running away, at least not from him.
He didn’t want to be someone Xie Zhinan felt he needed to avoid.
The more carefully he handled things, the more at a loss he felt.
The slow and steady approach hadn’t worked. Wen Yun realized that sometimes Xie Zhinan needed a little push.
But after pushing him to tears, he found himself at a loss.
He never knew how to handle Xie Zhinan’s tears.
Wen Yun wasn’t good at dealing with emotional relationships. Or perhaps, when it came to handling emotions, both of them were fools.
He decided to apologize first. “I’m sorry, I…”
But Xie Zhinan suddenly looked up, seemingly trying very hard to hold back his tears, to avoid embarrassing himself further. A pool of tears welled up in his eyes, refusing to fall, making his gaze bright—so bright that it almost carried a sense of finality.
As expected, the next moment, he said, “I’m leaving.”
He didn’t even say something like, If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going first, Mr. Wen.
Normally, that would have been more in line with his usual style of playing dumb.
But this time, his words were so direct, so resolute.
He was leaving, just like that—exactly like five years ago.
Wen Yun’s heart sank. “Xie Zhinan…”
Xie Zhinan began to struggle. At first, it was just a faint resistance, but when he realized Wen Yun was still holding onto his arm, his struggles became more intense, almost reflexive.
Afraid of hurting him, Wen Yun reluctantly let go.
Xie Zhinan stumbled a couple of steps to the side, his footing unsteady and swaying. Wen Yun instinctively reached out to steady him, but Xie Zhinan avoided his outstretched hand.
Wen Yun sighed helplessly and called out softly, “Nan Nan.”
Xie Zhinan had originally planned to leave immediately, but that intimate form of address abruptly shattered his chaotic thoughts, crumbling emotions, and the memories he didn’t want to revisit. It rooted him to the spot.
Back when they were dating, Wen Yun used to call him that.
The nickname was a little cloying. Other than his parents, no one had ever called him that.
Later, even his parents stopped using it. His father passed away in a car accident, and his mother moved on to a new family and new children, leaving him forgotten.
Wen Yun had unearthed that forgotten name from the depths, and it struck at Zhinan’s heart like a hammer.
Xie Zhinan had planned to say nothing to Wen Yun, but he stopped, lifting eyes that shimmered as if washed clean.
Wen Yun instantly read the meaning in that gaze.
But Xie Zhinan himself might not have realized it.
He was feeling wronged.
Xie Zhinan looked at Wen Yun, sniffled, and his gaze carried a deep sadness. But his temperament was naturally mild; even when hurt or upset, he couldn’t muster anger. He merely looked at Wen Yun and called out softly, “Wen Yun.”
“Mm,” Wen Yun responded just as softly.
Xie Zhinan’s lips parted slightly, and almost hesitantly, he said, “…Let’s not do this anymore.”
Not do what anymore?
Wen Yun’s breath suddenly grew heavy. In the quiet office, his uneven breathing rose and fell, long and clear, as though he were suppressing something. His entire demeanor became oppressive. His jaw tightened, making his expression appear tense.
Standing with his back to the office’s floor-to-ceiling window, the cold daylight spilled over him, casting a shadowy gray hue. His dark eyes were as deep as ink, fixed intently on Xie Zhinan, unreadable.
To Xie Zhinan, Wen Yun’s gaze felt unbearably heavy, as if an avalanche or a raging sea were bearing down on him—or as if roaring flames were about to engulf him.
And yet, Wen Yun’s face betrayed no visible emotion, not even the slightest flicker of his eyelids.
All that vast, oceanic emotion was suppressed beneath his indifferent and distant exterior.
Xie Zhinan suddenly felt he couldn’t meet Wen Yun’s eyes. He quietly lowered his gaze and murmured, “…We shouldn’t be like this.”
“Like what?” Wen Yun asked.
That question was difficult to answer.
Xie Zhinan stayed silent for a long time, his lips moving slightly but failing to form words. After several seconds, it seemed as if he had finally summoned the courage—or perhaps forced himself—to say what had been lingering in his heart for so long.
“…Like a boss and subordinate.” Once the words were spoken, there was no turning back. Xie Zhinan’s face turned pale, his voice weak, almost as if he were talking to himself. His words barely audible, like a mosquito’s buzz, “I don’t want this anymore.”
Wen Yun didn’t speak for a long time.
Xie Zhinan didn’t dare look up at his expression. In the silence of the office, only the sound of their uneven, heavy breaths overlapped, revealing their emotional turmoil.
Though Xie Zhinan’s words carried finality, their breathing, almost entwined, hinted at a strange intimacy.
This intimacy made Xie Zhinan feel embarrassed again. He thought his words had already reached a point of no return, so he turned to leave.
His hand had just touched the doorknob when Wen Yun’s scorching hand suddenly grabbed his wrist.
The familiar sensation made Xie Zhinan’s heart jolt.
He tried to pull away, but Wen Yun seemed to sense his intent and tightened his grip in advance.
Xie Zhinan’s arm trembled, immediately going weak, leaving him unable to resist.
“Sorry,” Wen Yun said from behind him, close, his head slightly lowered, as if leaning on him for support. His thin lips brushed against Xie Zhinan’s ear, his scorching breath spilling into the sensitive shell of his ear. “I never wanted us to be just boss and subordinate.”
The burning yet clear words struck Xie Zhinan’s eardrums, leaving him no chance to escape.
His ears started ringing loudly.
He couldn’t process the meaning of those words, and his heart raced out of control, tightening one moment and pounding wildly the next. The overwhelming rhythm left his stomach queasy and his head spinning. His trembling hand on the doorknob shook faintly.
His throat swelled with pain as well, and he didn’t know what to say. He really… couldn’t think at all.
Xie Zhinan could only instinctively sense the danger—someone was standing at the entrance of the cave, ready to drag him out.
He had little strength, and in Wen Yun’s burning palm, he weakly struggled, like the last futile resistance of prey before its demise.
But unexpectedly, this time, Wen Yun didn’t hold him tightly.
Wen Yun let go of Xie Zhinan, but not entirely. His long, well-defined fingers slid down slightly, hooking onto the tips of Xie Zhinan’s ring and pinky fingers.
Just like… when they were at Wen Yun’s home before.
Xie Zhinan inexplicably shivered, a tremor that made his entire arm and spine feel weak.
After a long time, he heard Wen Yun’s soft voice ask, “Do I make you feel disgusted?”
Xie Zhinan remained silent for a long while, then… faintly shook his head.
He shouldn’t continue this conversation. His mind was nearly frozen, yet perhaps some instinct deep within him—an instinct he didn’t want to acknowledge—kept him from pushing Wen Yun away completely.
The moon is always meant to hang high in the sky, beautiful, pure, and radiant.
It shouldn’t concern itself with the wild weeds in the dirty ground—whether they resent it or not.
It wasn’t worth it.
Xie Zhinan’s throat bobbed, and although he knew he shouldn’t speak, he still did. His voice was hoarse but carried a distinct sincerity: “…You’re a good person.”
Even after being hurt, he still thought Wen Yun was good.
Wen Yun’s Adam’s apple moved subtly, his restrained reaction betraying him. He let out a low “mm,” his words barely above a whisper, carefully seeping into Xie Zhinan’s ears:
“If you don’t find me disgusting, then say goodbye to me before you go.”
After a brief pause, Wen Yun added in a low voice, “Every time you leave, you never say goodbye to me.”
Xie Zhinan didn’t understand why Wen Yun said this. He only felt like he was being reproached again. At this moment, he couldn’t care about anything else and just wanted to leave quickly. Sniffling, he fulfilled Wen Yun’s request, softly saying, “…Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
Finally unable to endure any longer, Xie Zhinan pushed the door open and left, almost fleeing.
…..
The next morning, the department gathered at the airport.
Xie Zhinan was wearing a gray fleece jacket, sitting quietly in a corner without saying a word.
His eyes were a little red and swollen. With his naturally pale complexion, the redness was especially noticeable.
At first, he sat on a chair in the hall, leaning his head back with his eyes closed for a bit. Later, perhaps realizing he couldn’t fall asleep, he opened his eyes again, staring blankly at the floor, seemingly lost in thought.
Li Mo, who had been chatting and laughing with other colleagues, noticed Xie Zhinan sitting alone in the corner. She walked over, took a snowflake pastry from her bag, and handed it to him. “Got up so early, you probably didn’t have breakfast, right? Here.”
Xie Zhinan hadn’t eaten breakfast. His reaction was a bit slow, but he took the pastry from her hand and murmured a thank you.
Looking at his pale face, chapped lips, and reddened eyes, Li Mo couldn’t help but ask, “Xiao Xie, are you okay?”
Since yesterday afternoon, Xie Zhinan had seemed off.
He had disappeared around noon and didn’t return until the 2 p.m. shift, looking pale and drenched, with a few strands of wet hair clinging to his forehead. His eyes had been shockingly red.
Li Mo had asked him a couple of questions, but Xie Zhinan hadn’t wanted to talk, so she didn’t press further.
She hadn’t expected his condition to still be so poor today.
“Did you work overtime last night?” she asked.
Xie Zhinan, who hadn’t finished his tasks due to his state yesterday, had indeed been forced to work late, only finishing around 11 p.m.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“That must’ve been really late, right?” Li Mo said. “Try to sleep a bit on the plane later. I brought an eye mask—want one?”
“It wasn’t too late,” Xie Zhinan replied, forcing a faint smile. “Thanks, Mo-jie. I brought my own.”
Li Mo nodded and didn’t insist. She glanced at Xie Zhinan again, noting his drooping expression, clearly still not in a good mood.
Knowing that words of comfort are sometimes futile, she simply patted his shoulder reassuringly.
Li Mo was warm-hearted and naturally attentive.
When Xie Zhinan first joined the company, she had helped him a lot. Understanding that her concern was genuine, he mustered a small smile for her in return.
As boarding time approached, the two exchanged a few more words before joining the group to board the plane.
On the plane, Xie Zhinan closed his eyes but couldn’t fall asleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, the scenes from Wen Yun’s office yesterday played in his mind.
His emotions had been too volatile yesterday. After cooling off overnight, he began to blame himself for his immaturity.
He shouldn’t have spoken so plainly, nor should he have… cried.
The memory made him feel both ashamed and embarrassed.
It hadn’t needed to escalate to that point. He could have handled things more maturely.
For instance, he could have simply continued pretending to be clueless.
Pretend he didn’t notice the oddities of late, act like the diligent subordinate, and slowly, naturally retreat back to the way things were.
That way, there would’ve been no conflict. Perhaps, when facing Wen Yun yesterday, he could have remained composed.
After a week of poor sleep and nearly staying up all night last night, Xie Zhinan’s mind was utterly exhausted.
But the scenes from yesterday kept flashing relentlessly in his mind.
Finally, they froze on the moment he was about to leave, when Wen Yun said—
“I never wanted us to be just boss and subordinate.”
Xie Zhinan’s heart gave an abrupt jolt.
It was like a small pebble dropped into still waters, sending ripples spreading across his heart.
He took a deep breath, then exhaled heavily, as if that might relieve some of the frustration and confusion in his heart.
But clearly, it didn’t help.
Even though he had prepared himself to make a decision, Xie Zhinan realized that, in the end, he was still tangled up with Wen Yun.
What did it mean when Wen Yun said he hadn’t wanted to be boss and subordinate?
Was it still like before, just finding it interesting, wanting to try it out?
Xie Zhinan brought down a blade, intending to sever the thread connecting them, but as soon as the blade struck, he realized that the thread wasn’t just a simple string—it was a spider web. His blade not only failed to cut it, but it also got tangled up in it.
His heart was a mess, his hands and feet were helpless, and he didn’t know what to do.
Luckily, they were on a company trip, so at least he could escape for a few days.
He truly… didn’t know how to face Wen Yun anymore.
The company had booked a five-star hotel, a single room with a large bed, with a sea view right outside.
The island’s temperature was comfortable, unlike City A, where the cold wind pierced through the air.
Everyone was tired, so they did what they needed to do—some went out to play, others rested. As long as they showed up at the dinner venue on time, everything was fine.
Xie Zhinan, naturally, went straight to his hotel room and lay down on the bed. Through his window, he could see the vast, blue sea, and the sea breeze was pleasant. Finally feeling a bit of sleepiness, he put down his luggage and fell onto the bed, sleeping for a few hours.
However, his sleep wasn’t peaceful. He kept having strange, bizarre dreams.
At 5 p.m., he suddenly woke up with a jolt, his heart pounding, his neck drenched in cold sweat, and the corners of his eyes slightly wet.
He had dreamed of five years ago, when he left Wen Yun’s house.
After they broke up, he knew he shouldn’t stay in Wen Yun’s place anymore. He had come in a rush, and when he left, it was just as hurried.
So hurried, in fact, that he hadn’t even said goodbye to Wen Yun.
“Every time you leave, you never say goodbye to me.”
The sunset outside the window was perfect, with the curtains drawn back, and the orange sunlight spilled onto Xie Zhinan’s face. The room was so quiet that he could clearly hear the sound of his own heartbeat.
It felt as though something heavy had fallen on him, pressing down, making his heart beat heavily and sluggishly.
The details he had forgotten, the ones from five years ago, crossed the long span of time, accompanying Wen Yun’s deep and heated words, finally striking him.
Xie Zhinan lifted his arm to cover his forehead, unable to regain his senses for a long time.
He didn’t know how much time had passed before his phone buzzed with a message. He picked it up and saw that it was already after five, not long before it was time for their group dinner.
He forced his weary, aching body to stand up, hurriedly took a shower, changed into a white thin sweatshirt and dark blue casual jeans, grabbed his phone, and went out the door.
The dinner venue was a famous seafood restaurant in the area. Xie Zhinan didn’t particularly like seafood, but since it was a group activity, he didn’t want to ruin it for everyone.
He arrived just as it was 7 PM. As he pushed open the restaurant door and entered, he froze in place.
Inside the restaurant, their department manager, a plump little man, was grinning widely and speaking to everyone.
“Mr. Wen is here on a business trip to the island today. I had a hard time getting him to come!”
“Everyone, be on your best behavior!”
The noise around him was loud, the hall bustling with people, and the humid island air soaked into Xie Zhinan’s skin. The scent of food filled his nostrils…
But at that moment, he couldn’t feel anything.
Everything around him seemed to fade away quickly. He locked eyes with those familiar, indifferent black eyes, and it was as though the entire world contained only those eyes and that person.
![Professional Red Thread Cutter [Quick Transmigration]](https://www.freenovels.net/wp-content/uploads/2025/05/IMG_6298.jpeg "Professional Red Thread Cutter [Quick Transmigration]")
