Zhāng Nuòxǔ had warned him in advance, “If I toss and turn and keep you up at night, it won’t be as simple as kicking you next door. Then you can sleep downstairs, open another door—don’t follow me through the same door!”
Shěn Chí felt that today was truly his happiest day.
He sent a message to Yán Tínglín: [I forgive you.]
Yán Tínglín replied: [Better not to.]
During the period of conflict with Shěn Chí, his ears had never been so clean.
He finally understood why Zhōu Shíyì didn’t want to see him.
Putting down his phone, Yán Tínglín went to the laboratory.
Táng Nuòyún said, “Next week’s weekly meeting is going to have disagreements again.”
Yán Tínglín asked, “After quantizing the model, did accuracy drop?”
Táng Nuòyún nodded and showed him the data.
Zhōng Yì would never allow even the slightest loss of model accuracy.
But if they didn’t quantize, the driving range couldn’t be guaranteed, and the cooling system would face huge challenges.
Yán Tínglín said, “There are still a few days until the weekly meeting? I’ll optimize it.”
Táng Nuòyún asked, “Will Professor Shao attend the next weekly meeting?”
After the three teams communicated together, there would be even more problems to solve.
At ten-thirty at night, Zhōng Yì finally left the office.
She had been living in a hotel for almost three weeks and had strangely started to feel at home.
Back in her room, Zhōu Shíyì hadn’t returned yet.
She put down her bag, grabbed her phone and keycard, and went downstairs again.
On the way to the Chip Building, Zhōng Yì called her father.
Jiāng Jìngyuān was delighted to see it was his daughter’s number.
Since the last time they ate Sichuan cuisine together in the Jinghe Campus cafeteria, the father and daughter hadn’t met.
Zhōng Zhuóhuá and Shí Fànyīn had gone to fashion week together and didn’t want to bring him or Zhōu Yúnlián; he was alone at home.
Before leaving, his wife reminded him not to disturb their daughter or call too often because she wouldn’t have time to answer.
So he called every couple of days, keeping each call under five minutes.
Five minutes to a father was almost the same as no time at all.
“Dad, are you asleep?”
“No, it’s only this hour. If you don’t call soon, Dad will worry you’ve forgotten him.”
Zhōng Yì laughed, “How could I forget? I might forget anyone, but never you.”
“Just saying nice things to coax me. Dad misses you.”
“Got time tomorrow? Dad wants to come see you and have a meal.”
Jiāng Jìngyuān didn’t ask for much, just to have a meal with his daughter.
“Boxed lunch is fine, no time for a big meal.”
“Still running every day?”
“…Starting tomorrow.”
With such a high-intensity job sitting in front of a computer at least twelve hours a day, it was time to increase exercise.
After the call, she reached the Chip Building.
Entering the elevator, Zhōng Yì pressed the button and noticed red stickers beside the numbers “9” and “10.”
Looking closer, beside 9 was the character “吉” (Ji, meaning “good luck”), and beside 10 was a small “囍” (Double Happiness) sticker.
Probably someone on the chip team put them up to tease the boss.
The “吉” sticker looked like it was cut from scrap material, and the “囍” sticker was one usually found on full-month celebration eggs for babies, peeled off and reused.
On the tenth floor temporary office, Zhōu Shíyì had just finished a video meeting and glanced at his phone.
Zhōng Yì hadn’t sent him a message.
***
Every morning when she woke up, she said, “Today I’ll send you a message,” but after saying it so many times, even he was a bit confused, feeling like she chatted with him every day.
But actually, she never sent one.
Just as he closed the computer, a familiar voice came from outside the door: “President Zhōu?”
“The door’s not locked, just push it open.”
“You push, I can’t.”
Zhōu Shíyì paused his hand flipping through files. Such a gentle, coaxing tone—it had been a long time since he’d heard it.
Sometimes he couldn’t even remember.
He put down the files and stood to open the door.
Holding the door handle, he gently pressed down, and the door opened.
Zhōng Yì had candy in her mouth, smiling faintly. “Here to pick you up after work.”
Zhōu Shíyì took her left hand, rubbing her fingertips. “Can’t push the door open—is it because you’re too tired from sending messages?”
Zhōng Yì chuckled quietly, stepped forward half a pace, and buried her face in his chest.
Zhōu Shíyì lowered his eyes. “You say every day you’ll send me a message—have you said it so many times that you think you already did?”
Zhōng Yì smiled, trembling.
“No laughing.”
She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. “I’ll send it tomorrow.”
Zhōu Shíyì bent down and kissed her. “Not expecting you to remember.”
Her lips carried a faint sweetness. “What candy?”
“Didn’t pay attention. Níng Quē’s assistant gave it to me.” She’d only half-melted the candy; the rest she popped directly into his mouth.
Zhōu Shíyì caught it—it was peach-flavored candy.
Remembering they were in the office, Zhōng Yì released him.
“Are you done with work?”
“Want to try it?”
“Almost done, just a few documents left to review.” Zhōu Shíyì returned to his desk.
Zhōng Yì followed him into the office and closed the door. “Ruichi also announced withdrawal from the price war this afternoon. Are you reconciled?”
“Company competition continues; there’s no such thing as reconciliation.”
“As for the personal feud between me and Shěn Chí,” Zhōu Shíyì said, “from start to finish, he’s the only one causing trouble.”
Zhōng Yì sat down opposite him. “At least the misunderstanding with Yán Tínglín is finally over.”
Zhōu Shíyì made such a big concession on this matter that even Yán Tínglín was moved.
Yán Tínglín even sent her a message, saying he wanted to invite her and Zhōu Shíyì to dinner someday.
She propped her chin up, looking at him. “I thought you would keep fighting with Shěn Chí.”
Zhōu Shíyì looked up from the files.
“I did plan to wear him down, but then I changed my mind. If the price war dragged on, it wouldn’t affect Kuncheng Motors much, but many suppliers in the supply chain might not hold out.”
He usually ignored his father’s words, but his father’s warning that “the price war will damage the entire ecosystem” stuck in his mind.
He continued to Zhōng Yì, “I have to ensure that every company in the ecosystem can make money, not just Kuncheng.”
“Kuncheng’s most urgent priority is to maintain a healthy ecosystem and push forward with the supercharging network.”
“In the short term, we will lose some market share, but in the long run, Kuncheng will win.”
Zhōng Yì said, “I always thought you wouldn’t compromise or retreat in competition.”
Zhōu Shíyì glanced at her, “That’s because you didn’t understand me.”
“Now I do.”
“How well?”
“You’re wondering if I’ll send you a message tomorrow.”
Zhōu Shíyì suddenly laughed, “…That counts as understanding?”
Zhōng Yì nodded, “I said it does.”
In the midst of their talk, he barely read a few pages of his files.
Zhōng Yì took his water cup. “You keep reading; I won’t disturb you.”
She stood and walked to the window, gazing at the park’s night view.
It had rained all day, and the wind was strong, making the outside cool.
She opened the window to let the breeze in.
As soon as the window cracked open, rhythmic jazz music drifted inside.
“Is that from Yán Tínglín’s office?”
She turned to Zhōu Shíyì.
“Yeah.”
“This piece is nice.”
“The music’s good, but his thoughts are stuck.”
Zhōng Yì smiled, “How do you know?”
Zhōu Shíyì said, “It’s the one I’ve heard the most.”
Yán Tínglín thought that by changing the playlist, he wouldn’t notice.