Even long after the call ended, Li Xuan could still hear the faint sounds of rain and thunder in his mind. He glanced out the window—though the night had deepened, the rain had long since stopped.
He slowly set down his phone. Holding it for too long had left his arm sore. Flexing his numb fingers, he typed “Sheng Min birthday stream” into the search bar.
Hitting enter brought up a flood of related news articles and videos. It was easy to find the piercing keywords scattered throughout the dense text. His cursor hovered over the links, but he didn’t click any of them. When he finally closed the page, he suddenly remembered—Sheng Min’s birthday was coming up again.
In the following days, they didn’t contact each other again, just like after they had parted ways at the hospital. During this long silence, Li Xuan became increasingly aware that Sheng Min hadn’t anticipated any response from him that day.
Sheng Min hadn’t been waiting for anything; his actions were purely selfless.
Realizing this left Li Xuan struggling with insomnia. Late at night, unable to fall asleep, he threw himself into work, trying to distract himself. Yet, no matter how many lines of code he wrote, he would still find his thoughts wandering to Sheng Min’s face in moments of distraction. More than once, he opened the airline’s website, looking at flights. In just three hours, he could be by Sheng Min’s side. But each time, he hesitated and closed the page without booking.
It was as if two parts of himself were constantly at odds. He couldn’t quite articulate what held him back.
He tried analyzing it step by step, like solving a programming problem. The only conclusion he could come to was that the issue wasn’t about gender.
Even though he had once been uncomfortable with the idea of homosexuality, it no longer mattered now that it was about him. He didn’t care about others’ opinions, nor did he think of himself as gay. Li Xuan was certain he could never feel this way about anyone else but Sheng Min.
If Sheng Min was the rib he had lost, whether he was male or female was the most irrelevant detail.
But even after understanding all this, Li Xuan still couldn’t bring himself to approach Sheng Min openly. That wasn’t the real problem. It was like navigating a maze where the exit was just beyond a wall, yet he couldn’t find the way through.
“Still working overtime?” The office door suddenly opened. “Why is the air conditioning so low?”
Li Xuan lifted his head from the computer. “Why are you back?”
“I forgot a document,” Chu Tianheng said, raising the file in his hand.
“You came all the way back for that? Aren’t you coming here first thing in the morning anyway? No one’s rushing you to finish it tonight.”
“I just remembered, and I can’t relax until I double-check.” Chu Tianheng walked over and glanced at Li Xuan’s screen. “You’re still working?”
“Adding a search function to the props box.” Li Xuan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, senior, if you’re done, head home. It’s late, and it’s fine if you come in a bit later tomorrow. Next time, don’t bother running back and forth like this—it’s exhausting.”
Chu Tianheng nodded but didn’t leave. Instead, he sat down on the sofa. After a while, he called out, “Li Xuan.”
“Hm? What’s up?”
“Let’s go downstairs and grab something to eat?” Chu Tianheng looked at the untouched fruit platter beside him. “Didn’t you skip dinner too?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re only not hungry because you’ve gone too long without eating.” Chu Tianheng insisted, “We won’t go far, just downstairs for a quick bite.”
Li Xuan studied him for a moment before turning off his screen. “Fine, let’s go.”
At the base of every building in the software park, there were several vending machines. This area was busy, so the machines were restocked frequently. But tonight, being so late, only a few cups of instant noodles and soda crackers were left.
“If you wanted instant noodles, the storage room has plenty,” Li Xuan said, taking the paper bowl Chu Tianheng handed him.
“They only have Sichuan pepper flavor, and besides, I got you two sausages to go with it.”
Li Xuan chuckled, taking a few bites of his noodles before asking, “Senior, did you call me down here just to say something?”
“Not really.” Chu Tianheng hesitated for a moment. “Li Xuan, have you been in a bad mood lately?”
Li Xuan put down his spoon, took a napkin, and pressed it to the corner of his lips without replying. Chu Tianheng smiled. “I feel like I’m prying into your business…”
“Not at all.”
“I just think you shouldn’t put too much pressure on yourself,” Chu Tianheng said earnestly. “I know it’s not my place to say this, since technically, you’re my boss… Don’t shake your head—it’s the truth. But I genuinely feel like you don’t need to push yourself so hard.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It’s pretty bad. You’ve been like this for almost a week now. We’re all in the same company, and people notice. Qi Boyuan joked before that you don’t even need sleep. That’s not how it works.” Chu Tianheng scratched his head. “I just saw your computer. The progress you’ve made these past few days… you haven’t been sleeping, have you? Did something happen? At your pace, even three people from the art team working overtime couldn’t keep up.”
Li Xuan smiled faintly. “There’s no need to rush. I’m not pushing you guys—just stick to the schedule. Don’t worry about me.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Chu Tianheng looked flustered. “If updates are urgent, we’ll speed up as needed. That’s fair. But you’re burning the midnight oil alone, which is why I’m asking and trying to persuade you.”
“You’re the boss and the lead programmer. I get that the company is still new, and Nook has taken off. There’s a lot of pressure on you—”
“Senior, senior,” Li Xuan interrupted. “You’re misunderstanding. I’m not pulling all-nighters because of urgent updates or anything. If I were, none of you would get any rest… I just can’t sleep, so I write code to distract myself.”
“Still, you’re doing it for work—”
“No, really, I’m not.” Li Xuan laughed helplessly. “It’s a personal matter.”
Chu Tianheng paused, then gave a soft “oh” as he processed this. “I see.”
“I’m getting some water.” Li Xuan stood up, pushing his instant noodles aside. “Want anything?”
“Anything’s fine. Soda water.”
“Lime-flavored?”
Li Xuan walked over to the vending machine. As he was selecting drinks, he glanced up and noticed the screen on top of the machine. The usual beverage ads had been replaced by a photo of Sheng Min. It was a fan-made birthday tribute, and all the vending machines in the software park had been updated with it. Across the street, the LED screen on the building displayed a looping video of Sheng Min during the morning rush hour.
Ever since Sheng Min became famous, this happened every year around his birthday. Li Xuan had never paid much attention before, but now it seemed inescapable.
“Li Xuan?” He had been lost in thought for too long, and Chu Tianheng called out to him.
“What?”
“I said lime is fine.”
“Alright.” Li Xuan bought two bottles of water, bent down to retrieve them, and returned to the bench. But he couldn’t resist glancing at the vending machine screen again.
Sheng Min’s birthday was less than ten days away.
His studio had already posted his schedule for the month. The day before his birthday, the company would host a fan meeting.
On social media, big fans revealed that Sheng Min would take a midnight flight to N City on his birthday. Since he had a fashion magazine’s tenth-anniversary gala two days later, fans speculated he might stay a few extra days before heading to his film set.
Li Xuan couldn’t remember when he had read all this information. Perhaps he had deliberately tried to forget it, but somehow he remembered every detail—even the punctuation.
He rubbed his temples, took a sip of water, and glanced at Chu Tianheng, who was tidying up the paper bags. “You say it’s personal, and I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s really nothing.”
“I usually don’t talk about these things, you know. But seeing you so tightly wound lately, I couldn’t help but worry. It’s not even about Qi Boyuan—I heard from him you’re younger than him by a few months. Not even 22 yet, right?”
“Almost.” Li Xuan’s voice unconsciously softened.
“Still young. Sometimes I forget, but you and Qi Boyuan are both still students, not even graduates yet.”
“That makes you sound ancient.” Li Xuan shook his head with a smile. “You’re only three years ahead of us.”
“A few years older still counts as older, right? You do call me senior, so let me play the senior card. Wait, that phrase doesn’t quite fit… Anyway, you get the idea.” Chu Tianheng shook his head. “In any case, my point remains—don’t put so much pressure on yourself. It doesn’t matter if it’s work or personal matters; you don’t have to be perfect at everything. Trying to keep everything so orderly will only exhaust you.”
Li Xuan remained silent for a moment, saying nothing. Seeing Chu Tianheng rub his eyes, visibly tired, he finally spoke. “I’m heading upstairs. You should go back as well—it’s almost two in the morning.”
“Alright. But don’t overwork yourself anymore. Go upstairs and rest. If you’re really in a bad mood, take some time off. If it’s work-related, let us know. Problems aren’t solved by overworking.”
“I know,” Li Xuan murmured. After a pause, he added, “Tomorrow, I’ll tell the admin to buy a couple of boxes of tomato-flavored instant noodles for the office. The vine pepper ones were Qi Boyuan’s choice. That way, you won’t have to drag me downstairs in the middle of the night if you’re craving noodles again.”
“Hey, it’s not about—wait, there’s only tomato left?”
“Then tell the admin yourself what flavors you want.”
“This isn’t about noodles… Stop changing the subject.” Chu Tianheng couldn’t help but laugh.
“Got it.” Li Xuan stood up and patted his shoulder. “I’m fine, really. You should head back.”
