It seemed like smoke filled the air, as though they were locked in a fierce standoff, but in reality, the undercurrents were much subtler. After all, everyone ultimately shared the same goal. Over time, Song Lang’s extraordinary skills and meticulous work ethic gradually earned him the respect of the team. Even Vivian eventually admitted, “People often say ‘gold and jade on the outside, but ruins within,’ but Senior Song is a rare example of being flawless both inside and out.”
At work, Song Lang took great care of Vivian, though never in a way that crossed professional boundaries. Ying Jun always felt she might be overthinking it—until one night during an on-site audit. They were working overtime into the late hours, everyone pale and bleary-eyed. Ying Jun’s stomach hurt terribly, so she drank one cup of coffee after another, as if the slight warmth could suppress the pain in her chest.
Vivian mumbled as she worked, “If I could have a bowl of plain congee right now, I’d gladly give up ten years of my life.”
It would’ve been better if she hadn’t said anything—at her words, Ying Jun’s stomach pain only worsened. The fluorescent lights were as bright as daylight, but lifting her head from the mountain of data felt disorienting. Then Song Lang spoke: “I know a congee shop that can still deliver at this hour.”
The room almost erupted in cheers. When the congee arrived, its soft, fragrant aroma was enough to whet everyone’s appetite. They all abandoned their work to enjoy the meal. With a casual air, Song Lang handed a bowl of pork and century egg congee to her. “Miss Fang,” he said.
Ying Jun politely thanked him.
“What about my Eight-Treasure Congee?” Vivian teased, uncovering lids one after another. “Where’s my congee? Come on out, Eight-Treasure Congee!” Because she was young, her behavior didn’t come off as frivolous—just lively and full of energy. She was in the prime of her life, staying up all night without a single fine line appearing at the corners of her eyes. Ying Jun thought to herself that she didn’t even need a mirror to know she probably looked like a panda, dark circles under her eyes as she slogged through her work.
Someone eventually found the Eight-Treasure Congee and handed it to Vivian. Shortly after, Ying Jun heard her laughing: “Oh, Senior Song, you’re eating Eight-Treasure Congee too?” Her tone was light and delighted, as if this discovery brought her unexpected joy.
The century egg in Ying Jun’s congee tasted faintly bitter as she slowly chewed and swallowed.
Before the project was completed, Ying Jun ended up in the hospital with stomach bleeding. Not even her boundless ambition could withstand the sudden collapse of her health. Subordinates and colleagues came to visit her, expressing their regret. After all, it had been Ying Jun who had fought to secure the IPO project in the first place. Now, with her illness, everything had effectively been handed over to Song Lang.
Lying in her hospital bed, she joked with her colleagues, “This time, I really worked myself to the point of coughing up blood.”
Someone told her that Vivian and Song Lang had gone on a business trip to Tokyo, which was why they couldn’t visit her.
Ying Jun’s expression remained unchanged as she calmly shifted the conversation to another topic.
Ying Jun was required to stay in the hospital for two weeks. During this time, she was finally free from answering endless calls and emails, free from being urgently summoned in the middle of the night to address errors in critical data.
Taking the longest vacation since she started her career, Ying Jun spent her days lying in bed after her IV drips, playing on her PSP. She only knew how to play the classic game Zuma, where strings of colored balls resembled vibrant pearl necklaces. Sometimes, by sheer chance, an entire chain would vanish upon collision.
As time passed, she became numb. Time in the hospital seemed frozen, punctuated only by the pop-pop-pop sound of her gaming console. By dusk, she finally cleared the game, only to realize—it was nothing special after all.
0 Comments