They moved offices that year, just as summer was drawing to a close.
Li Shanqing could tolerate neither the cold nor the heat, and he was also afraid of the sun. But the day of the move just had to be a bright, clear day. Zhao Zixi stood with him behind the glass, in the shadow of the office building’s cylindrical pillar.
With Fang Tinghan acting as the moving commander-in-chief, they were about to relocate to a newer, larger office building. This was because NoaLume’s first phase of clinical trials was about to begin, and also because the original office had been leased under Lu Zhengming’s lead, which Li Shanqing said felt unlucky.
Zhao Zixi had learned from Li Shanqing about the matter with Cleland Corporation and Lu Zhengming and had belatedly sensed the danger, though she wasn’t privy to the specifics of Li Shanqing’s plan. It had all started in late January when Li Shanqing’s temper during R&D meetings became erratic. He fired several employees and abruptly disbanded a few teams.
Lu Zhengming had come to find him over this. Zhao Zixi watched through the glass and felt that the atmosphere between the two wasn’t one of argument, but it wasn’t exactly harmonious either.
Lu Zhengming wore a solemn expression, while Li Shanqing sat back in his leather chair with his legs crossed, placating him with a devil-may-care grin.
After Lu Zhengming left, Zhao Zixi felt a little uneasy. She and Fang Tinghan went to ask Li Shanqing about it. He shrugged. “I fired the prized protégé Brother Zhengming worked so hard to get in. He’s a bit angry, so I coaxed him a little.” Then his expression turned serious as he told them he had reached a secret agreement with a new investor, but first, he had to force Lu Zhengming and his foundation to divest their shares.
Not long after, Li Shanqing began appearing frequently in the media as the company’s founder, drawing public attention to himself. Zhao Zixi finally began to understand Li Shanqing’s intentions: it was a swift seizure of the right to speak and a consolidation of real power over the R&D center.
Li Shanqing called NoaLume a “sanctuary for the modern person’s emotions,” a place that could alleviate suffering without causing addiction. Whether it was people deeply affected by attention deficit disorders who often needed concentration medication, or patients with depression, all could find a suitable refuge in NoaLume.
Li Shanqing was naturally handsome, and when he gave speeches, he had an almost fantastical, missionary-like air about him. He quickly won the support of many young people, and the number of applicants to become volunteers surpassed Zhao Zixi’s wildest imagination.
Of course, he also attracted a great deal of scrutiny and criticism. A video of Li Shanqing’s first roadshow where he talked about “emotional subscription” was dug up by opponents and widely circulated as proof that he was creating a vessel for a psychoactive drug disguised as a wellness pod.
However, Li Shanqing’s demeanor was now completely different from back then. He engaged in a dialogue with an ethics expert and, facing the other’s sharp questions, reflected on his past statements without batting an eye.
—He was young then, he explained, and overly eager for quick success. He had since taken many ethics courses and now only wished to make a contribution for modern people with mental health struggles.
The opposition, of course, didn’t buy it. When the traditional media condemned Li Shanqing as a monster and sinner hatched from an incubator, drawing a stark, polar-opposite comparison with the medical slow-release devices represented by V-Origin Biotech, Li Shanqing would then speak emotionally about the impact of the project that Cleland Corporation had once shut down.
Zhao Zixi was not involved in the specific negotiations. She only knew that within a few months, Li Shanqing had, from somewhere, collected crucial documents about Cleland Corporation’s terminated project, as well as confidential emails between Lu Zhengming and several investors. He used these as leverage and also managed to persuade two other shareholders to side with him.
Then came June, when the final agreement was reached. The new investor, Will, took over the shares from Lu Zhengming’s foundation and several other shareholders. Soon after, they secured a new round of financing.
The new investor, Will, did not come for the office move, but he was very supportive of Li Shanqing and sent several bodyguards to assist. Outside the building, a dozen or so protesters were holding signs, but they were held back at a distance. Still, their voices were loud, shouting slogans to halt the clinical trials.
Zhao Zixi was four years older than Li Shanqing, and in her view, the elder should shoulder the heavy burdens. Yet, when it came to matters concerning the company and external communications, she and Fang Tinghan, in their private discussions, both felt they were well-protected by Li Shanqing.
If it had been up to the two of them to face Lu Zhengming and Cleland Corporation, the two bookworms who often crashed overnight in the lab’s break room would likely have been powerless to resist.
What Li Shanqing successfully obtained was actual control of the company. NoaLume was now famous, known to all. It hadn’t fundamentally broken any laws and was on a strong growth trajectory. The price, however, was his personal safety and his reputation.
Even Zhao Zixi had received calls from her mother and relatives, asking what kind of company she was working for and why it was spoken of so poorly.
From spring to summer, she often heard Li Shanqing on the phone with his parents. Sometimes he would apologize, admitting his mistakes; other times he would soothe them in a soft voice, telling them not to worry.
But no matter how turbulent the public opinion, neither Zhao Zixi nor Fang Tinghan ever wavered. One late night in July, Li Shanqing and Zhao Zixi were the last to leave the R&D center. When he drove her home, he stopped at her door and suddenly asked from inside the car, “Zixi, we’re going to do better than anyone else has done, right?”
Li Shanqing had been exhausted for the past six months, often going to the hospital for nutritional IV drips due to physical depletion. He rarely showed his fatigue, usually presenting a detached and rational image, as if having fewer expressions and less emotional fluctuation could better shield him from attacks and gossip. Only when he was with those closest to him would he, like his old self, act a little spoiled.
Zhao Zixi comforted him, “Of course we are.” Afterwards, in what seemed like a first, Li Shanqing mentioned V-Origin Biotech to her. “Do you think our company’s reputation will get a little better after our product is on the market?”
“It’s hard to say…” Zhao Zixi didn’t dare to make a definitive statement.
“This is terrible,” Li Shanqing lamented. “We’re really going to become the cautionary tale to V-Origin Biotech.” He pursed his lips and sighed, his expression taking on a liveliness that had been rare in recent times. “I don’t even dare to go out to restaurants with Mary lately.”
Zhao Zixi didn’t know how to comfort him either. Seeing him shake his head, she instinctively reached out and patted his head. Li Shanqing froze for a moment, then, as if remembering something, he smiled at her.
It was a strange smile, one that suddenly became mature, making it hard for Zhao Zixi to forget.
“You’re like an old friend of mine,” Li Shanqing told her. “He liked to pat my head, too.”
After the office move, the pressure from Li Shanqing’s work and studies did not lessen. He frequently attended social events, strolling about nonchalantly under the protection of two bodyguards, exchanging pleasantries with various figures.
Sometimes he hoped to run into Zhuang Xu or a senior executive from V-Origin Biotech, but for some reason, perhaps because his luck had run out, he never did.
Due to his health, Li Shanqing couldn’t travel too far from Fancheng. But as the company grew, a lot of work required him to leave the city. He discussed it with Will and decided to buy a private jet, equipped with his own doctor and medical equipment, to facilitate travel.
In September, due to the changing temperatures of the season, Li Shanqing caught a cold.
Perhaps it was an illness brought on by cumulative exhaustion. Although his pneumonia didn’t relapse, he remained in a drowsy state, showing no signs of getting better. Fortunately, the first phase of clinical trials was proceeding smoothly, and his university professors were understanding, so it didn’t greatly impact his life.
During the two weeks he was sick, Li Shanqing was hospitalized and would occasionally think of Zhuang Xu. One night, he tried calling Zhuang Xu from a different number, but it still wouldn’t connect. He suspected Zhuang Xu had blocked all unknown numbers.
Perhaps Zhuang Xu had learned his lesson from knowing the old Li Shanqing and didn’t want to receive messages from unknown numbers again, or to be drawn into another terrible relationship.
But it was true that he and Zhuang Xu shouldn’t be in contact anymore. Li Shanqing had already cut back on looking up news and interviews about Zhuang Xu, to prevent himself from feeling jealous of Zhuang Xu’s positive public image.
Li Shanqing found it hard to imagine what their relationship would be like now if he hadn’t completely broken things off with Zhuang Xu back then. It wasn’t in Zhuang Xu’s character to not help him or to remain completely silent. But if Zhuang Xu had gotten involved, the situation would have become a hundred times more complicated.
This outcome was better for both of them. Perhaps Li Shanqing was destined to be alone.
Most of the time, Li Shanqing had accepted this. He lived through the moments of his life without Zhuang Xu normally, feeling that meeting and parting were the most common scenes in life.
He didn’t need Zhuang Xu that much, and Zhuang Xu didn’t need him that much either. They had been forcibly bound together by Li Shanqing’s selfishness and assertiveness, two polyhedrons with no perfectly matching faces. Their feelings were neither shallow nor deep; burying them in the ground would be enough to end it. Li Shanqing should follow the guidance of reason and not regret it too much.
But who was Zhuang Xu texting now? Would he fall in love with someone new and say goodnight to them, letting them know when he left the office? Who would he call when he was sad?
When Li Shanqing was sick, his spirit was fragile. Thinking of such scenarios made him feel even sicker, his organs shrinking together. He fantasized about telling Zhuang Xu he regretted it, asking to be together for just one more week, for Zhuang Xu to cherish him and kiss him again, to not walk out of his life, even if only for a week.
At these times, Li Shanqing both appreciated the necessity of NoaLume and realized that in moments like this, he didn’t want to use drugs to control his sadness. Because unlike others, if even he forgot about that brief romance with Zhuang Xu, then no one else in the world would remember it.
Fortunately, the call wouldn’t go through, and he was too weak. After a night’s sleep, the emotions would pass. He thought that once he felt better, he should get the implant as soon as possible. How could he be so useless every time he got sick?
Li Shanqing’s cold mostly cleared up by the end of September, and a few interviews and meetings that had been previously scheduled could finally be put on the agenda. He had lost a lot of weight and didn’t want to appear weak on camera, so he invited the stylist he had frequently used in the first half of the year.
After taking two allergy pills, the makeup artist made him look very energetic. His slightly sunken cheeks even seemed to have filled out, and the photos turned out very well. His parents sent him messages of praise after seeing them.
Li Shanqing’s first plane was a second-hand mid-sized jet, just over three years old, purchased from a broker on behalf of a wealthy businessman. It was delivered at the end of October after being refurbished.
The plane’s fuselage was painted with the black NoaLume logo. It was parked in the private hangar of an operator at a small airport on the outskirts of Fancheng.
For the past year, wherever Li Shanqing went, he had to endure sarcastic inquiries. He admitted that a part of him had become callous and profit-driven. But on this day, he felt a rare, pure happiness he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He called his driver and took Zhao Zixi, Fang Tinghan, and even Mary to see it. Everyone was very satisfied. Mary took a few pictures. The cool Fancheng wind blew into the large hangar, lifting the hem of her shirt. Outside the cabin door, the sky was filled with patches of clouds, colored red and grayish-blue.
At this moment, Li Shanqing thought of Zhuang Xu again, idly wondering what it would be like if Zhuang Xu were also here. This unnecessary thought caused a stiffness and a phantom-like pain to appear in his body, something he thought would never happen again. It made Li Shanqing feel genuinely disappointed in himself.
He stood beside Mary, looking at the photos she took, and thought with irritation: a hard-to-define, early-stage relationship shouldn’t be this difficult to get over. Why was it like his asthma, his allergies, and all his other chronic illnesses—not fatal, yet incurable?
Li Shanqing forced himself to cheerfully ask Mary if she wanted a photo with the plane. After she agreed, he took her phone and helped her take many pictures, to prevent himself from sinking into a deeper, more inappropriate melancholy that was so unlike him.
As it happened, an industry salon in Licheng invited him in mid-November. Li Shanqing casually asked the organizer who else would be there, and the organizer mentioned V-Origin Biotech.
Without hesitation, Li Shanqing immediately accepted. On the day of the event, he brought his stylist and headed to Licheng.
Li Shanqing attended the event at night, his entrance causing a small commotion. The salon was filled with entrepreneurs and peers; some liked Li Shanqing, while others were particularly repulsed by him. Li Shanqing was now very used to this kind of situation. With a nonchalant attitude, he found a comfortable sofa and chatted pleasantly with friends.
He controlled his gaze, trying not to too obviously search for a certain person. After about half an hour, Li Shanqing hadn’t found Zhuang Xu, but he did run into Zhou Kaiqi.
Zhou Kaiqi seemed to have aged a little. His hair was streaked with gray, and when his eyes swept over Li Shanqing’s face, his expression stiffened in clear repulsion. Li Shanqing paid it no mind. He stood up and walked over, intending to greet him. Just as he got close and said, “CEO Zhou, long time no see,” Zhou Kaiqi’s phone vibrated. He took it out, and Li Shanqing saw Zhuang Xu’s name.
Zhou Kaiqi must have felt the call came at the perfect moment. “Sorry, I have to take this call from our CEO Zhuang,” he said, pressing the answer button and walking in the opposite direction. Li Shanqing didn’t know if it was a hallucination or if he had really heard Zhuang Xu’s voice.
It was as close as it could possibly be—the closest Zhuang Xu’s voice had been to Li Shanqing in a year. It was calm, steady, and very light, like silk and silver, floating coldly through the noisy air, captured by Li Shanqing’s ears only with great difficulty.
Li Shanqing watched Zhou Kaiqi walk away. An image of Zhuang Xu’s back as he ate a hamburger in the hospital lounge outside his ward nearly two years ago appeared before his eyes. He felt a connection that had long been severed, and then he heard a strange sound. He looked down and saw his watch alerting him of a high heart rate.
That night, Li Shanqing was sleeping in his hotel when he suddenly woke up at three in the morning.
He was hot all over and drenched in sweat, a rare occurrence for him. Somewhat at a loss and unable to fall back asleep, he went to the bathroom for a shower, but even that didn’t completely calm him down.
Li Shanqing lay down again for a while, but found it difficult to sleep in this state. He braced himself and tried to find a way to resolve it. He had the theory but had never put it into practice. He tried, but it really wasn’t working, and he was about to give up when he suddenly remembered Zhuang Xu coming to find him the night before his birthday a year ago, when Zhuang Xu had kissed him.
Li Shanqing closed his eyes, dazedly thinking of the temperature of Zhuang Xu’s lips then. A moment later, his rationality burned away. His left hand fumbled for his phone and he called Zhuang Xu.
It still wouldn’t connect, but it didn’t matter. Li Shanqing’s phone fell onto the bedsheets, the sound of the failed connection tone drifting in and out of his hearing.
After some time, Li Shanqing made some sounds, allowing himself to call out Zhuang Xu’s name once before he had no more strength. The unpleasant, lonely scent drifted in the air, and an undeniable uncleanliness appeared on his body and clothes.
He lay there for a short while, then got up to shower again. The call had already disconnected automatically. In the bathroom, he once again uncontrollably thought of Zhuang Xu’s voice coming from Zhou Kaiqi’s phone, so light, so close. Fortunately, Li Shanqing had never had much of a sense of shame; he did whatever he wanted. He turned the showerhead to its maximum setting. As the water poured over his back and head, it wasn’t long before one of his hands pressed against the glass.
