When did he realize he didn’t actually dislike Li Shanqing’s messages?
Zhuang Xu couldn’t recall, or perhaps he didn’t want to.
After his father’s death, Zhuang Xu and Han Miao were locked in a stalemate for about three months.
He shuttled between home, school, the company, the lab, and Lawyer Zhou’s firm, seeking support, trying to graduate quickly, and striving for goals that were nearly impossible to achieve immediately. With his father’s protection gone, he was thrust into the spotlight, facing a harsh reality he’d never had to confront before, without any buffer.
It wasn’t like taking an exam with a single correct answer, or winning an award through intelligence and effort, or immersing himself in lab research, or simply producing results to call it done.
Years later, looking back, Zhuang Xu mostly felt numbness and exhaustion. Only the moments tied to Li Shanqing stood out as oddly light.
Perhaps because of this, even when their relationship hit rock bottom, and they argued face-to-face multiple times, words flying recklessly, Zhuang Xu refused to join those unfamiliar with Li Shanqing in criticizing him. Not even with Zhou Kaiqi.
Initially, the reason Zhuang Xu and Li Shanqing’s interactions increased was that, despite Li Shanqing’s chaotic way of speaking, he could still handle serious matters well.
One day in early November, Li Shanqing messaged Zhuang Xu, saying he’d finally recovered and could return to school—a cause for celebration.
But when leaving, Sister Mary forced him to wear three layers under his school uniform, making his shirt bulge. His classmates thought he’d gained weight.
Today, the science award competition results might come out, and he hoped for divine blessing! Mary had already burned incense for him.
Whether Zhuang Xu replied or not, Li Shanqing could happily send five, six, seven, or eight messages on his own.
Zhuang Xu didn’t always ignore him, but that day he truly had no time to chat. In the afternoon, at Lawyer Zhou’s office, they received some bad news.
Lawyer Zhou had recently hired two top international handwriting experts to analyze Han Miao’s letter of intent. The experts’ results came back, confirming that the signature was indeed Zhuang Zhicheng’s.
At this point, the sensible move was to consider negotiating a settlement with Han Miao, but Lawyer Zhou, familiar with Zhuang Xu’s father’s life, believed as Zhuang Xu did that he hadn’t signed it. After a moment of silence, she mentioned another suspicion she had, needing someone to investigate and verify, and asked them to stay calm.
Back in the car, Zhuang Xu’s uncle sighed heavily: “It’s over!”
Zhuang Zhizhong was always pessimistic and conservative. Before even going to court, he acted as if they’d already lost, slumping in his seat and complaining. After a while, he sat up straight, shifting gears to discuss professional manager candidates: “Even if, worst case, we need a professional manager, it should be chosen by Sister-in-law, who holds the most shares. How could it be up to that guy Han Miao?”
He spoke with indignation. Zhuang Xu didn’t respond. Zhou Kaiqi chimed in briefly, and Zhuang Zhizhong continued: “Anyway, Sister-in-law inherited Brother’s shares. Even if we hire a manager, Han Miao won’t gain anything.”
“Let’s not talk about this yet,” Zhuang Xu said. “The lawsuit hasn’t been fought.”
His uncle quieted down, then said after a pause, “Then you need to talk properly with General Qian today.”
Leaving Lawyer Zhou’s firm, Zhuang Xu and Zhou Kaiqi had to rush to the airport to fly to an inland military district to visit General Qian, an old friend of his father’s.
Weiyuan Biotech’s first military contract was facilitated by General Qian, providing most of the lab’s startup funding. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call him his father’s patron.
The airport they landed at was tiny, with a single runway and a dilapidated terminal. General Qian sent a car to pick them up, driving through the county town and along winding mountain roads for over two hours to reach the camp.
The office was on the second floor of a modest building in the military camp, simply furnished. General Qian, in his uniform, with short gray hair, invited Zhuang Xu and Zhou Kaiqi to sit on a wooden sofa. A soldier brewed them two cups of tea, which served as their reception.
Zhuang Xu had only met General Qian once, while Zhou Kaiqi was more familiar with him. After brief pleasantries, General Qian got straight to the point: “Zhuang Xu, I don’t want to waste our time. You’re too young, still in university, and your mother has never managed the group. It’s too much to take on. Even from your perspective, finding a professional manager now would be a wise decision.”
Zhuang Xu had heard such blunt words often recently and no longer felt humiliated or angry: “I understand your concerns, but as it stands, no professional manager is better suited to run Weiyuan Biotech than me.”
“SyncPulse’s military technology and data are too sensitive. Even with safeguards, handing it to someone else isn’t completely secure,” Zhuang Xu said, having prepared his points. The analysis wasn’t hard; the challenge was facing General Qian’s skeptical gaze while staying composed. “I know Mr. Han has approached you and made assurances, but he truly doesn’t understand the lab or database operations.”
This visit wasn’t made with high hopes of gaining support. Zhuang Xu’s greatest wish was to highlight the risks in Han Miao’s letter of intent and persuade General Qian to remain neutral.
His father was even more reserved and less skilled at public speaking than Zhuang Xu. When facing difficulties privately, he always said to do one’s best but never spoke of leaving it to fate.
SyncPulse was his father’s and the lab team’s lifeblood. Zhuang Xu wanted to preserve his father’s vision and the integrity of the medical sustained-release device—though it felt like climbing a mountain, he couldn’t not try.
The conversation lasted hours, stretching into the evening. General Qian’s initial impatience and distrust softened, almost as if swayed by Zhuang Xu. After much thought, he promised: “Though I never heard your father mention hiring a manager, based on current evidence, the letter bears his signature. If, as you say, you can prove it’s forged or reach an agreement with Han Miao, I’ll support you and your mother.”
General Qian had a meeting before dinner and didn’t invite them to stay.
Leaving the building, they drove past the heavily guarded barbed-wire walls. The mountain road ahead was lined with dense trees, dimming the car’s interior.
Zhuang Xu felt heavy-hearted, uncertain of the path forward, but his resolve remained firm to fulfill his father’s unrealized wishes. At that moment, he received a message from Li Shanqing: “My project for the International Science and Engineering Fair passed the Bingang city-level selection!”
Li Shanqing asked: “Want to see my project details?”
Wanting to distract himself, Zhuang Xu replied, “If you want me to see it, send it.”
A moment later, Li Shanqing responded: “Sent to your email. Please, past first-prize winner, predict what award I’ll get.”
The car was bumpy, so Zhuang Xu didn’t open it immediately, pocketing his phone and closing his eyes.
After checking into the hotel, he and Zhou Kaiqi ate a quiet dinner at a small restaurant nearby, then returned to their rooms. Swiping his keycard, the room was dark until he inserted it into the power slot, lighting up the space.
The county hotel was old, its furniture worn, the bedpost glossy with age, the carpet faintly musty with traces of smoke and alcohol that couldn’t be cleaned.
Zhuang Xu wasn’t fussy or germophobic. He placed his bag on the rack, unzipped it, showered, changed, and sat in an armchair to review Li Shanqing’s project materials on his laptop. Just a few lines in, he could sense Li Shanqing’s brilliance, which he didn’t even try to hide.
Based on Li Shanqing’s resume, last year, at fifteen, he was preparing for the Biology Olympiad, conducting experiments at Bingang University’s advanced lab, and developing this award project.
The experiment was designed with maturity and efficiency. Even with Professor Zhao’s guidance, the designer’s intelligence and talent shone through in just a few lines.
Zhuang Xu spent over an hour reading the entire project. During the process, he found himself wondering if he had such talent at sixteen. By the time he closed the file, his gloom had dissipated, his negative emotions cleared, and his mind felt sharp again, though he wasn’t sure how to evaluate it for Li Shanqing.
If Li Shanqing were more normal, Zhuang Xu would have earnestly invited him to join Weiyuan Biotech after his studies. But Li Shanqing…
After some thought, Zhuang Xu messaged him: “I’ve read it.”
A new message came within two seconds: “How is it?” Li Shanqing said. “I’m so nervous, like waiting for final results.”
“I’m not that authoritative,” Zhuang Xu told him honestly. “It looks outstanding to me.”
As expected, Li Shanqing took the praise and ran with it: “Any other adjectives? I like longer ones.”
Zhuang Xu ignored him, asking, “I have a few questions. Are you free to answer?”
Li Shanqing called immediately, and Zhuang Xu answered reluctantly.
“What questions?” Li Shanqing said smugly, as if his tail were already in the sky.
His hoarse voice wasn’t as noticeable over the phone, making him sound more childish. During calls like this, he seemed entirely like a kid, making Zhuang Xu wonder if he’d misread the sharp look in Li Shanqing’s eyes when they first met.
“Zhuang Xu, Zhuang Xu,” Li Shanqing drawled his name twice, then eagerly demanded, “Come pick me up, treat me to dinner, and we can chat. You can ask anything.”
“I’m not in Bingang,” Zhuang Xu told him.
“Where are you then?” Li Shanqing asked curiously.
“On a business trip.”
“Fine,” Li Shanqing grumbled. After a few seconds, he admitted hesitantly, “I was kidding anyway. I can’t go out to eat—my parents won’t let me.”
Logically, Zhuang Xu wouldn’t have asked, but that day he asked smoothly, “Why not?”
“I’m prone to allergies,” Li Shanqing said, sounding unhappy. “I’ve barely eaten out my whole life. Even at school, I bring food Mary makes. I can’t eat in the cafeteria.”
“Outside food isn’t that great anyway,” Zhuang Xu said truthfully, thinking of that night’s stir-fry.
After his words, Li Shanqing paused for two seconds. Zhuang Xu thought he’d argue, but instead he said, “Let’s not talk about that. Zhuang Xu, what do you want to ask?”
Zhuang Xu moved on from trivial life topics, asking about issues in Li Shanqing’s project paper that weren’t mentioned but had arisen in the lab. He also told him, “The nanomedicine lab is working on this experiment. If you get accepted, you might join the low-confidentiality parts.”
Li Shanqing grew interested and discussed it with him.
As they talked, Zhuang Xu noticed that when the topic was serious, Li Shanqing’s flamboyant chat tactics toned down. At least he was quiet when thinking.
But it didn’t last long. After covering the topic, Li Shanqing started fishing for information aimlessly: “When does your volunteer recruitment start? With my health, I’m perfect for it. Should I send you my medical report from this year? You’d see.”
“No need. I won’t look,” Zhuang Xu said, immediately rejecting his opportunistic self-promotion.
Li Shanqing huffed unhappily, making childish, inexplicable sighing noises.
“I just want to be healthier,” Li Shanqing told him. “I don’t want my parents to worry anymore. With my body like this, who knows how long they’ll have to worry? If I could get on the list, could you help me try? I can pay—I have plenty in my account.”
He sounded so pitiful that Zhuang Xu thought for a moment and said, “Once the volunteer recruitment criteria are set, I’ll keep an eye out for you. But for the implant, Lawyer Zhou still needs to sign off.”
“Fine, fine,” Li Shanqing whined. “I thought you set the criteria.”
“It’s not me. I don’t have much authority right now,” Zhuang Xu told him.
“Why not?”
For some reason, holding the phone, Zhuang Xu recalled General Qian’s initial look that afternoon—sympathetic but distrustful. The company’s other executives were the same.
He had no one to confide in, couldn’t show weakness to anyone, not even his mother. The only person he could and wanted to tell was this bizarrely overfamiliar guy on the phone.
“Zhuang Xu, did we lose connection?” Li Shanqing said. “Hello, hello?”
“The lawsuit isn’t over,” Zhuang Xu said, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t hold a position in the group, so I have no authority.”
“You’ll have it soon,” Li Shanqing said confidently, vouching for him. “Put me on the list then.”
Zhuang Xu didn’t want to argue immaturely and stayed silent. Li Shanqing added, “If I get healthy, I can work for Weiyuan Biotech too! There are lots of smart people, but someone as smart as me isn’t common, right?”
He wasn’t wrong, so Zhuang Xu didn’t sternly refuse.
The truth, in the end, was that Li Shanqing didn’t join Weiyuan Biotech. He was too clever and shrewd, able to secure hefty investments without needing anyone’s lab.
What tormented Zhuang Xu most was never knowing whether the sixteen-year-old Li Shanqing on that call was sincere.
He could never tell if Li Shanqing was less cunning back then.
Every time Zhuang Xu thought back unprompted, he hoped Li Shanqing only became complex later, though deep down he knew Li Shanqing was always this way.
His comfort and flattery, his constant displays of intelligence, were all to achieve his goals.
As for his relentless pestering and unreasonable provocations, they were just a spoiled kid trying to claim a toy that wasn’t his.
