An hour passed, and the big boss still hadn’t emerged from Director Qiao’s office. Naturally, the employees started whispering—was he in there finalizing another wave of layoffs?
Zheng Rongguang, who had recently been promoted, was pushed to the front lines. Clearing his throat, he approached the office door and gave it a tentative knock. “President Lu? Director Qiao? I’m coming in…”
No reply.
He tried the handle—it was locked.
In that moment, every inappropriate, wildly speculative thought exploded in his head like a firework. All of them the kind of rumors you couldn’t say out loud in polite company.
“…Probably just… in a meeting,” he said to himself after mentally bracing for the worst.
Then, stepping into the middle of the office floor like a general rallying troops, he announced gravely, “Everyone stay sharp. A new round of layoffs might really be coming.”
Panic set in. People scrambled back to their desks, racing to prove their productivity. For the moment, gossip about Qiao Jin’s office took a back seat to survival.
As lunch hour approached, Secretary Yin—ever poker-faced and impeccably dressed—returned from outside, cradling something in her arms. She knocked twice on the office door, then, without waiting for a response, pushed it open and walked in.
No one knew exactly when the lock had been undone.
The temperature inside the office was stifling. Secretary Yin had barely stepped in before he started sweating.
He pulled a set of clean clothes from the bag and handed them to Lu Pingzhang, who was standing by the window, smoking.
Lu took the clothes, placed the underwear neatly on top, and brought them into the lounge.
Qiao Jin was lying on the sofa bed, staring blankly into space. He didn’t look up when Lu walked in.
Lu set the clothes beside him and leaned over to look him in the eyes. “Stop giving me attitude. You were clearly into it just now—kept grinding against me, telling me to hurry up.”
Qiao Jin had nothing left to say. His body was completely drained, and his mind felt like it was unraveling.
The discomfort—physical and emotional—was so overwhelming it made him feel nauseous.
Lu tried to help him get dressed, but the moment he touched Qiao Jin’s leg, he was kicked away.
“Get out.”
Lu, feeling quite satisfied himself, wasn’t fazed in the least. Still in good spirits, he calmly placed the clothes back beside him. “Fine, get dressed yourself. I’ll take you out for lunch. What do you want to eat?”
Qiao Jin stayed silent.
Lu went on, “You promised we’d have dinner together for your birthday. But you went and had it with someone else yesterday. I think you owe me a meal.”
There was a time when Lu never had time. Now it was Qiao Jin who didn’t.
Qiao Jin shot him a cold look. “Not going.”
Still in a good mood, Lu said, “Alright, then come with me to Guangzhou tomorrow for a meeting.”
“No,” Qiao Jin replied flatly. “Get out. I need to get dressed.”
“Sure. We’ll talk once you’re dressed.” Lu stood up, his gaze sweeping over Qiao Jin’s body from head to toe.
The way he stared was infuriating. Qiao Jin threw off the down jacket covering him and started dressing, piece by piece.
Just watching him made Lu stir again. If it weren’t for the sour look on Qiao Jin’s face, he might’ve gone for round two.
Once Qiao Jin was fully dressed, Secretary Yin came in silently and gathered the scattered clothes off the floor, including the rarely worn black down jacket, and left with them.
Qiao Jin stood up, adjusted his collar, and walked toward his office chair, wincing slightly at the ache in his thighs. His lower back throbbed as well.
The discomfort became even more pronounced when he sat down, and a subtle twitch flickered in his brow. He didn’t look at Lu, who was still leaning against the wall. He forced himself to ignore the pain and said, “No need to talk. I’m not going. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, and I’m hitting the gym with Linxiao.”
Lu’s eyes followed the way Qiao Jin’s shirt tucked into his trousers and the way the fabric stretched as he sat down. He couldn’t stop picturing Qiao Jin at the card table last night, and then lying on a massage bed with the therapist’s hands all over him. The thought made his blood boil.
“From now on, you’re not going out with Fu Linxiao anymore,” he said sharply. “That guy’s all about partying, drinking, and clubbing—he’s bad news.”
Qiao Jin frowned at him and couldn’t help saying, “And you think you don’t have those same bad habits?”
Lu Pingzhang’s brows knitted slightly.
Qiao Jin was about to say, “You’re even worse,” but bit his tongue and swallowed the words.
Lu already sensed whatever he didn’t say couldn’t have been good. He stared at him and asked, “What?”
Qiao Jin looked away, opened a drawer, and pulled out his eye drops. “Nothing.”
Lu walked over and took the drops from his hand, unscrewing the cap.
Out of the corner of his eye, Qiao Jin saw him coming and instinctively leaned back—like a reflex, something ingrained in his bones.
But it wasn’t fear exactly. Qiao Jin couldn’t explain it, but it wasn’t that he was really afraid of him.
Lu held the drops and gestured for him to tilt his head back.
Qiao Jin tipped his head slightly. From this angle, Lu’s downward gaze gave off an overwhelming air of authority.
Lu cupped his chin and administered the drops. The stinging made Qiao Jin squeeze his eyes shut, and the clear liquid ran from the corner of his eye like a tear, tracing down to his ear.
Seeing that, Lu’s heart softened. In a quiet voice, he asked, “What would it take for you to come with me?”
For a moment, Qiao Jin looked confused. He blinked one eye and thought about it before realizing what Lu was referring to.
His eyes were glassy from the drops, and the corners had turned red. Looking up at Lu, he seemed exhausted and vulnerable. “The hiring manager… tell him to stop being so picky. It’s the end of the year—it’s already hard to find candidates.”
His voice was low, completely different from how sharp it had sounded earlier when he was angry.
To Lu, it almost felt like Qiao Jin was asking for a favor.
For a moment, he was transported back to three years ago—when Qiao Jin used to lie in his arms like this, reading most of the time, occasionally dozing off.
Lu didn’t reply right away. He finished putting drops in Qiao Jin’s other eye, then finally gave a soft “Alright.”
A knock came at the door, followed by Zheng Rongguang’s voice: “Brother Lu—”
Before he could finish his sentence, it suddenly cut off—as if someone had yanked a cord. Zheng stood frozen, caught awkwardly in the doorway, one hand on the frame. He couldn’t quite enter or back out.
Lu let go of Qiao Jin, letting him reach for a tissue to wipe the water from his face.
“C-Crying??” Zheng blurted out, stiff with panic. His brain instantly assumed the worst—thinking Lu must’ve made Qiao Jin cry.
“What is it?” Lu asked, staring him down.
His voice was calm, but his gaze was ice cold. Though Lu always wore that same unreadable expression, today he felt downright dangerous—like he was about to explode.
Something doesn’t add up… Zheng thought uneasily.
Qiao Jin tossed the damp tissue into the trash. His fingers hit the desk with a sharp, dull thud.
Zheng snapped back to focus, quickly closing the door behind him and asking carefully, “That guy from yesterday’s interview… he called to ask if he got the job. So… should I just… call back and reject him?”
Way to say the one thing you shouldn’t have.
Qiao Jin turned his head to look at Lu.
Lu could feel that gaze. The way Qiao Jin was looking at him made him feel like the decision had been passed to him—like he was the one being judged. He turned to Zheng, his stare so intense it was like pinning him to the floor.
For a moment, Lu looked like someone with all the power, but still forced to concede. He said flatly, “Have him come in and sign the contract.”
Zheng Rongguang didn’t seem to catch on. “We’re not rejecting him? He got the job??”
Lu Pingzhang had the sudden urge to smash an ashtray over his head.
But before he could even think about acting on that impulse, he caught sight of Qiao Jin’s expression—it had softened, loosened, like a breath of tension had finally left his body.
“When can he start?” Qiao Jin asked.
“He hasn’t quit his current job yet, so the earliest would be next month,” Zheng replied. “But he said if the salary’s good, he can start the handover early.”
Qiao Jin glanced again at Lu Pingzhang.
Lu felt like those looks were melting him one after the other. He pressed his fingers to his temples and muttered, “…Give him the top of his salary range.”
Just like that, Qiao Jin’s whole demeanor settled. His face relaxed, his shoulders dropped slightly—as if he could finally exhale.
He rested his arm on the desk naturally and comfortably. Lu could picture him sitting there every day in a clean shirt and slacks, polite and poised with everyone who walked through the door.
He wanted to hide him away from the world.
But he couldn’t. Qiao Jin had always valued his freedom and never wanted to depend on Lu for anything.
He’d even gone so far as to open a bank account just for repaying Lu, depositing his entire salary into it every month as a symbolic gesture of financial separation.
Their relationship was like a seesaw teetering on the edge of a cliff. On the surface, it looked like Lu held all the power—but in reality, he couldn’t move an inch without everything collapsing.
Lu let out a long breath. At that moment, Qiao Jin looked up and said, “What time are we leaving tomorrow?”
“?” Lu raised an eyebrow.
Qiao Jin tilted his head, half of his face dipping into the shadows, the contours of it shifting subtly in the light.
Lu hadn’t expected the change in tone, like a sudden turn in the road. It felt like he’d stumbled into a gift he thought he’d lost. “A bit early. Flight’s at seven.”
Qiao Jin wouldn’t have to attend the full formal conference—just show up at the dinner in the evening, eat and drink a little. Honestly, it was less of a business trip and more of Lu taking him out to unwind.
And Qiao Jin knew that perfectly well.
Sensing his hesitation, Lu added casually, “Stay at my place tonight. You’ll be able to sleep in a little more.”
Seven a.m. was already considered late for Lu, but for Qiao Jin, it was brutally early. He was a chronic sleeper-in—if it weren’t for an alarm blaring at the last possible second, he’d never get up.
Lu worked hard to make the offer sound easy and generous, free of ulterior motives.
Qiao Jin glanced at him and hesitated, but eventually nodded. “Okay.”
He wasn’t the type to run from their relationship or bury his head in the sand. He was trying—genuinely trying—to give both himself and Lu Pingzhang a chance.
—
Since the trip to Guangzhou was set for tomorrow, Qiao Jin had to move his therapy appointment up to today.
After work, he first stopped by the ICU to see his mother. The nurse waited for him to suit up in sterile gear before handing him a folded slip of paper.
“She wrote it last night,” the nurse said with a sigh. “You should take a look.”
Qiao Jin’s whole body tensed. The last letter still haunted him. Now there was another.
He took the paper like a wooden puppet, stiff and mechanical, but didn’t look down at it.
The nurse, long accustomed to the ebb and flow of life and death, still felt a twinge of softness seeing him like this. She gently tried to ease the moment. “I know this is just our job… but I feel like I should tell you—your mother…”
Qiao Jin dreaded what she might say next.
The nurse lowered her voice. “She’s really in a lot of pain. She woke up on her own last night and tore off her oxygen tube. Luckily, I found her in time. Nothing serious happened. I handed her a piece of paper, and she wrote that.”
Qiao Jin nodded. He clenched the paper tightly in his fist, his whole arm trembling from the force.
The nurse sighed and left the room.
Qiao Jin stood there alone in the cold, empty hospital room.
It took him a moment to gather himself before he unfolded the crumpled note. Jagged, trembling lines crisscrossed the page—barely legible.
But he still managed to piece it together.
Pain.
Just one word.
So blunt. So raw. A plea for help from a mother to her son.
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