Early the next morning, Wen Zhi opened her eyes, her head throbbing painfully.An unfamiliar ceiling, clean sheets, a glass of warm water on the table… and a note, along with a business card left by the bed.
She stared for a moment, then picked up the card and skimmed it with her eyes—
"Yan Zhiheng?"
She softly read the name aloud, finding it strangely familiar.
She pulled out her phone to look him up.
CEO of YanHeng Pharmaceuticals, the youngest rising star in the pharmaceutical industry in recent years. Rumored to be calm, self-disciplined, uninterested in women, yet highly respected.
Wen Zhi pursed her lips, the hazy memories of last night surfacing—black shirt, sharp profile, and… that line: "She doesn't need you touching her."
A faint smile crept onto her lips.
She carefully put the card away. After a moment of hesitation, she added the private number written on the back.
Note: Thank you.
After sending the request, she hesitated again. A sudden thought flashed through her mind—
That name… Why did it remind her of a boy she once saved as a child?
But she couldn't quite recall. She set the phone down and picked up the card again.
The handwriting was neat and firm, with a steady rhythm—just like the man himself: restrained, composed, yet exuding a subtle force that couldn't be ignored.
Wen Zhi lowered her lashes, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the card, her thoughts drifting away involuntarily.
"Yan Zhiheng…" she whispered again, a faint frown forming between her brows.
Why did this name feel so familiar?
Not just familiar to the ear—but buried deep in memory, like a beam of light that had flashed through a rainy day in her childhood.
A picture stirred in her mind—
That summer, she was nine, accompanying her grandfather to a hospital seminar in the city. It rained as they were leaving. Her grandfather went to get the car, and she waited alone on a bench at the hospital entrance.
Beside her, a boy squatted on the ground, covered in mud, red-eyed, clutching his pants, saying nothing.
She'd given him the candy in her pocket. "Here, it's sweet," she'd said.
She still remembered how he'd looked at her—
Like a little dog just pulled from the water, soaked and lonely.
She even remembered asking, "What's your name?"
But before he could answer, someone came and rushed him away.
It was just a small scene in her childhood, long since faded.
But now… the name "Yan Zhiheng," and the pressure he carried when he stood close to her last night—it cracked something open in her chest.
Could it be him?
Perhaps she was just emotional from the hangover, but Wen Zhi suddenly felt a tightness in her chest.
She stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, drawing back the curtain. Morning light poured in, illuminating the room—and gradually, her memories as well.
Her phone buzzed. A system notification:
"Yan Zhiheng has accepted your friend request."
She stared at the screen for a few seconds.
She wanted to say something, but her fingers hovered over the keyboard, then finally typed:
"Thank you for last night. Sorry for the trouble."
She hesitated, then hit send.
She stared at the chat box, holding her breath, as if waiting for something.
But no reply came.
Wen Zhi gave a small, bitter smile, turned off the phone, and went to freshen up.
She didn't know if he remembered the little girl from back then.
But suddenly, she hoped—he remembered even just a little.