Wen Yifan's gaze lingered on the screen, her scalp prickling as the words "desire" and "possession" burned into her consciousness. A subtle tension crept into her features as her finger hovered uncertainly above the keyboard, slowly forming a question mark.
Before she could dispatch the message, Su Tian's return from the computer room shattered her concentration.
The rolling chair glided across the floor as Su Tian leaned in conspiratorially. "My god, I just encountered that intern. For a split second, I thought I'd wandered into the wrong office. Nearly gave me a heart attack."
Instinctively darkening her phone screen, Wen Yifan lifted her eyes. "Mm?"
"That new male intern," Su Tian breathed, casting a surreptitious glance that betrayed her infatuation. "Sweet heaven, I'm smitten. He's like a golden retriever in human form—tall, devastatingly handsome, and utterly adorable."
A soft laugh escaped Wen Yifan. "Funny how I never hear you describing Da Zhuang in such poetic terms."
As if summoned by the mere mention of his name, Fu Zhuang materialized nearby.
Su Tian's eyes rolled skyward as she delivered her verdict without hesitation: "He's more of a scrappy mutt, if we're being generous."
Fu Zhuang halted mid-stride. Though he'd missed the conversation's beginning, the insult landed with precision. "Sister Tian, why the unprovoked attack? How exactly am I a mutt?"
Su Tian waved him away dismissively. "Wasn't referring to you."
Once Fu Zhuang retreated, Su Tian resumed her investigation with renewed enthusiasm. "I have this distinct impression that puppy boy keeps stealing glances in our direction. You think he's interested in you or me?"
She paused, studying Wen Yifan's elegant profile before withdrawing her speculation. "Actually, never mind. I'm deluding myself."
Wen Yifan followed her colleague's line of sight.
Mu Chengyun occupied his desk with an air of cool detachment, his attention ostensibly fixed on his computer screen. After several heartbeats, perhaps sensing their scrutiny, he glanced up. The moment their eyes connected, his expression softened into an almost bashful smile.
The effect was, admittedly, rather endearing.
Wen Yifan returned a polite, professional smile before redirecting her attention. Nothing about the exchange struck her as unusual. "Don't overthink it," she said gently. "He's likely just trying to establish rapport with his colleagues on his first day."
"I'm merely indulging in harmless speculation. But honestly, you seem completely immune to attractive men." Su Tian's curiosity intensified. "So tell me—what exactly is your type?"
"Pardon?"
"I'm genuinely intrigued. You appear wholly indifferent to conventional attractiveness. Do you have particular preferences? What's your ideal?" Su Tian began cataloging possibilities. "The gentle intellectual? The commanding type? Someone cheerful and outgoing?"
The question caught Wen Yifan off guard, and unbidden, Sang Yan's insufferably arrogant face materialized in her mind's eye.
The realization stole her breath. She found herself meeting Su Tian's expectant gaze, and after a protracted silence, she dismissed the intrusive thought entirely, offering only an enigmatic smile in lieu of an answer.
The brief interlude concluded.
Wen Yifan immersed herself in drafting for a while longer. Eventually, she remembered the unanswered message awaiting her attention. Illuminating her phone screen, she reexamined that string of text, still processing it as though it were some bizarre spam communication.
Yet with the passage of time providing emotional distance, the words no longer felt quite so jarring.
Instead, a peculiar numbness settled over her.
Wen Yifan deleted the question mark lingering in her input field and hesitantly composed a new response.
[Are you]
[okay?]
Three seconds elapsed.
Sang Yan: [?]
Unable to recall the precise nature of her somnambulistic transgressions, Wen Yifan couldn't offer explanations. After checking on the wellbeing of her supposed "victim," she posed the question directly: [How do you want to resolve this?]
Sang Yan: [We'll see.]
Wen Yifan couldn't suppress her observation: [You seem to have been contemplating this for quite some time.]
As if the effort of typing exceeded his tolerance, Sang Yan dispatched another voice message.
Two words, delivered with characteristic arrogance and absolute certainty: "Indeed."
Silence.
Nothing more.
The implication hung in the digital ether—even if he required another decade to reach a decision, she would simply have to wait.
Wen Yifan suppressed her exasperation and responded with measured grace: [Alright, take your time deliberating.]
Despite her accommodating words, while Wen Yifan refrained from raising the subject, Sang Yan's approach suggested complete amnesia regarding the entire affair.
His attitude conveyed a particular dynamic: he reserved the prerogative to remain silent about the matter, yet should Wen Yifan display even the slightest indication of forgetting, he would resurrect the topic with brutally blunt, accusatory language, his expression unchanging throughout.
Ensuring she could never escape the memory of her "heinous transgression."
Never forget that he occupied the position of the vulnerable, humble, victimized party.
While she embodied the role of heartless demon who'd taken her pleasure and conveniently forgotten the consequences.
As days accumulated into weeks, Wen Yifan began entertaining the theory that during her sleepwalking episodes, she must have been possessed by some external force, transformed into a client seeking particular services. And the sole individual within their shared residence capable of providing such services was, unfortunately, the highest-ranked practitioner from the infamous Fallen Street—Sang Yan himself.
His valuation was astronomical, utterly beyond her means.
She was drowning in insurmountable debt.
The tranquil surface of their coexistence only heightened her anxiety about the tempest brewing beneath.
There persisted an inescapable sensation that beyond this deceptive calm, in territories beyond her perception, Sang Yan was orchestrating some devastating counterstrike.
Following the May Day holiday, the department recruited two additional reporters through external hiring channels.
Several days later, the director selected an opportune moment when the entire team was present and relatively unencumbered to organize an informal gathering welcoming the newcomers. The announcement materialized at midday, though the venue remained undetermined.
Upon receiving this notification, Fu Zhuang appeared at Wen Yifan's desk wearing an expression of theatrical suffering. "Sister, the director informed me this gathering would also serve as my belated welcome party."
Wen Yifan failed to perceive the problem. "What's troubling about that?"
"I've been interning here for four months!" Fu Zhuang's aggrievement was palpable. "He actually said he never shows favoritism and instructed me not to feel neglected!"
"That's actually rather considerate," Wen Yifan consoled him. "If they'd excluded you this time while only welcoming Fang Li and the others, wouldn't that effectively render you invisible within the team?"
Fu Zhuang fell silent for three beats. "You make a valid point."
Mu Chengyun, having overheard their exchange, inserted himself into the conversation. "Sister Yifan, will you be joining us tonight?"
The gathering wasn't obligatory—given that most people faced work obligations the following day, the director had emphasized voluntary participation. However, professional courtesy and basic respect typically ensured near-universal attendance.
Wen Yifan had scheduled a phone interview with an expert for that evening and remained uncertain about her availability.
"I'm not entirely sure. I'll assess the situation."
"Ah," Fu Zhuang's disappointment was audible. "Sister, do you have prior commitments tonight?"
Mu Chengyun added his inquiry: "Will you be occupied until late?"
"Mm," Wen Yifan replied casually. "I'll make every effort to attend."
By the time Wen Yifan completed her phone interview and composed the preliminary draft, the evening had surrendered to darkness, the clock reading past nine. As she gathered her belongings in preparation for departure, the director emerged from his office with fortuitous timing.
Wen Yifan paused. "Director, you didn't attend the dinner?"
Gan Hongyuan, the director, was approaching fifty, possessed of a comfortable build, his eyes disappearing into crescents when he smiled—the very picture of benevolent contentment, reminiscent of a Maitreya Buddha. He carried a briefcase and responded with warmth: "Just concluded a meeting."
Wen Yifan acknowledged this with a nod.
"You've just finished as well, haven't you? Let's proceed to the gathering together and decompress a bit." Gan Hongyuan continued, "They've completed dinner and relocated to a secondary venue. It's near the office—we'll go together."
Though Wen Yifan had harbored no intention of attending, circumstances now left her no graceful alternative but to acquiesce.
During their journey, Gan Hongyuan engaged her with various historical anecdotes, his voice maintaining a steady, monotonous cadence that functioned essentially as an auditory sedative. Toward each narrative's conclusion, he would append motivational platitudes and philosophical observations, clearly hoping to strike some resonant chord within Wen Yifan.
Internally, Wen Yifan remained utterly unmoved, though externally she performed appropriate displays of inspiration.
Their interaction maintained a veneer of harmonious engagement.
While Gan Hongyuan submerged himself in nostalgic reverie, Wen Yifan seized the opportunity to consult her phone. The group chat messages revealed that the evening's second phase would unfold at Overtime Bar. The team had already secured a booth and instructed latecomers to proceed directly.
This particular venue triggered immediate associations with Sang Yan.
Recently, Wen Yifan had encountered Sang Yan infrequently at their shared residence. He appeared to have grown substantially busier, a stark departure from previous patterns when he'd spend entire days at home, either collapsed in bed absorbed by his phone in a state resembling paralysis, or engaged in aimless slumber within his quarters.
She hadn't inquired about the nature of his preoccupation.
Her working theory suggested he'd secured new employment and commenced living the structured existence of a working professional.
At Overtime Bar, a server escorted Wen Yifan to the booth housing her colleagues.
Before achieving visual contact, their boisterous, animated voices reached her across the distance. However, the moment Gan Hongyuan materialized, collective silence descended.
It was as though some invisible force had constrained their natural exuberance, transforming their demeanor into something considerably more restrained than before.
Fortunately, Gan Hongyuan made only a symbolic appearance before excusing himself.
Having arrived tardily, Wen Yifan remained ignorant of whatever game currently absorbed the group's attention and could only observe quietly. She claimed a peripheral seat, with Su Tian positioned adjacent. Throughout the evening, people continuously departed for restroom visits or other purposes.
With this constant circulation, the seating arrangement underwent perpetual transformation.
Before she registered the shift, Wen Yifan discovered Mu Chengyun had become her immediate neighbor.
Mu Chengyun appeared to have consumed a considerable quantity of alcohol, his cheeks bearing telltale flush, his bearing suggesting diminished sobriety. Upon noticing Wen Yifan, his lips curved into a smile as he addressed her with careful politeness: "Sister Yifan."
Wen Yifan acknowledged him with a nod, offering gentle counsel: "Don't overindulge. We have work obligations tomorrow."
"I haven't consumed much," Mu Chengyun projected pure obedience. "Just this single can."
The moment he articulated this claim, Fu Zhuang returned from the restroom, settling beside Wen Yifan. He wore the unmistakable expression of someone harboring juicy gossip, announcing with palpable excitement: "Sister Yifan, I just encountered that classmate of yours!"
Wen Yifan rotated her head. "Who?"
"You know, that—" Fu Zhuang halted abruptly.
Evidently, the name eluded his recollection.
"Mm?"
Fu Zhuang scratched his head, contemplated briefly, and could only produce a descriptive nickname: "That one! The supremely cool and devastatingly handsome guy!"
Wen Yifan's gaze swept the surrounding area.
The bar's oppressive darkness combined with Wen Yifan's compromised vantage point prevented any glimpse of Sang Yan. She casually redirected her attention, forgoing verbal response in favor of a slight smile.
Mu Chengyun interjected: "What supremely cool and devastatingly handsome guy?"
"Haven't I mentioned this before?" Fu Zhuang extracted his phone, rapidly locating the relevant video. "Here, let's collectively appreciate my idol! My life's ultimate aspiration is to emulate him! Wealthy, handsome, and absolutely formidable!"
Mu Chengyun accepted the device, studied the content briefly, then remarked with sudden recognition: "This resembles Senior Sang Yan."
Fu Zhuang's astonishment was evident. "You're acquainted with him as well?"
"Haven't you encountered that post on the school forum?" Mu Chengyun examined the footage a bit longer before returning the phone. "The campus heartthrob voting thread, still pinned to the forum homepage, receiving daily bumps."
"Why would I concern myself with campus heartthrob rankings? I'm not gay," Fu Zhuang stated. "So you're suggesting this supremely cool individual also attended Nanda?"
"Presumably," Mu Chengyun replied. The video's quality compromised his certainty. "If my identification is correct."
"He got into Nanda too." Fu Zhuang's sense of inadequacy intensified. "So he possesses academic excellence as well?"
"Indeed. I've encountered him once," Mu Chengyun elaborated. "My former department head shared his graduating class. Following their graduation ceremony, I accompanied them to their class celebration."
"And then? Did anything particularly dramatic occur?"
"Not especially, though it left a lasting impression," Mu Chengyun smiled at the memory. "Given the graduation context, everyone participated in symbolic drinking, though consumption remained moderate due to next-day work obligations."
He continued: "However, those two legendary figures from the Computer Science department, Senior Duan and Senior Sang—one abstained from alcohol entirely, while the other consumed over a dozen bottles without betraying the slightest sign of intoxication."
Fu Zhuang's curiosity peaked. "Who consumed over a dozen bottles?"
"Senior Sang."
Upon hearing this revelation, Wen Yifan suspended her drinking motion and directed her attention toward them.
Fu Zhuang theorized: "Is that the genesis of his bar ownership? Because he enjoys drinking?"
"Not necessarily," Mu Chengyun reflected. "He seemed to be experiencing profound distress that evening—barely spoke at all, just maintained continuous drinking. People attempted intervention, but he behaved as though completely deaf to their concerns."
"Ah," Fu Zhuang's interest in these particulars waned, his response casual. "Perhaps something significant occurred. It was graduation season, after all. Maybe he'd been romantically rejected, or the object of his affection was relocating to another city, forcing them into long-distance circumstances."
"Possibly," Mu Chengyun agreed. "Throughout that entire evening, I only heard him articulate one statement."
Fu Zhuang's interest reignited. "What did he say?"
Mu Chengyun contemplated, appearing somewhat disoriented: "Too much time has elapsed. I can't recall."
Fu Zhuang's frustration at the suspended narrative was palpable. "Then why mention it at all!"
The conversation thread dissolved.
Hearing fragmentary accounts of Sang Yan's history from external sources, though Wen Yifan felt no sense of direct involvement, her emotional state registered as peculiar. She lowered her gaze, studying the effervescent bubbles ascending through her drink, requiring substantial time to recalibrate her thoughts.
With work obligations looming the following day and having expended considerable energy throughout the current one, Wen Yifan found herself battling significant drowsiness. She didn't linger extensively, finishing her beverage before manufacturing an excuse for departure.
Mu Chengyun rose simultaneously. "I should withdraw as well."
The remaining attendees maintained high spirits and refrained from insisting they stay, merely cautioning them to exercise care during their journey home.
The pair proceeded toward the exit.
As Wen Yifan passed the bar counter, she cast an unconscious glance in that direction before quickly redirecting her attention.
Outside the establishment.
Wen Yifan was preparing to navigate toward the subway station when she remembered Mu Chengyun's presence beside her. "Are you returning to Nanda?"
Mu Chengyun's alcohol tolerance appeared deficient, his eyes carrying an unfocused quality suggesting genuine intoxication.
"Mm, yes."
"Then let's proceed to the subway station together."
"Okay."
After advancing several steps, Mu Chengyun exhibited visible instability. Wen Yifan instinctively grasped his arm to provide stabilization. "Are you alright?"
Mu Chengyun mumbled: "Somewhat unsteady."
Wen Yifan hesitated, calculating appropriate responses, when suddenly someone approached from behind. The man seized the hood of Mu Chengyun's sweatshirt, his tone devoid of expression: "Unsteady, are you?"
Recognizing that voice, Wen Yifan redirected her attention.
She met Sang Yan's profile.
Unusually, Sang Yan wore a black suit today. His tie hung loosely knotted, his jacket open, exposing the pristine white shirt beneath. Rather than lending him any semblance of propriety or suppressing his inherent arrogance, this formal attire somehow amplified both qualities.
Following his declaration, Sang Yan elevated his eyelids, his gaze fixing precisely on Wen Yifan's hand where it contacted Mu Chengyun's arm.
Then he looked up, meeting her eyes directly.
Wen Yifan prepared to speak.
Sang Yan preempted her: "Let go."
She immediately released her grip.
Simultaneously, Sang Yan unceremoniously dragged Mu Chengyun forward, as though performing some charitable deed. Both men possessed considerable height and maintained rapid pace, progressively widening the distance separating them from Wen Yifan, who followed behind.
After a brief interval, Mu Chengyun shook off Sang Yan's hold, his expression no longer displaying previous disorientation. "Senior Sang?"
Sang Yan withdrew his hand as well, subjecting Mu Chengyun to an evaluative scan. "Who are you?"
"I'm also a Nanda student," Mu Chengyun smiled. "I've encountered you before."
"Ah," Sang Yan's lips curved sardonic. "Sobered up, have you?"
Mu Chengyun's expression betrayed no guilt. He rubbed his head again, still projecting slight disorientation. "What?"
Sang Yan studied him before his smile broadened. "Hey, discontinue the performance."
Mu Chengyun froze completely.
"Exhausted your repertoire? These pathetic little stratagems," Sang Yan's demeanor remained casual, as though Mu Chengyun's actions merited zero serious consideration, "I employed them eight hundred years ago."
Silence.
Sang Yan's smile intensified. "If they were effective, would it be your turn to attempt them?"
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