The rented apartment was dim when Xie Zihan pushed the door open.
The single bulb in the living room flickered twice before stabilizing, casting a yellowish glow over the narrow space. The air still carried the faint scent of dinner—simple food, nothing fancy, but warm. A small pot simmered on the stove, steam curling lazily upward.
"Brother Han!"
Sumin looked up from the table, surprise flickering across her face when she saw him. She had already set out three bowls, chopsticks neatly arranged.
"You're back early today," she said quickly, standing up. "Dinner's ready. Come eat."
Xu Feng glanced over from where he was washing his hands. "Yeah, sit. You didn't eat properly yesterday either."
Zihan didn't look at the table.
"I'm not hungry," he said.
His voice was calm—too calm. Flat. Like a surface frozen over something deep.
Without waiting for a response, he walked past them and went straight into his room.
The door closed softly behind him.
Click.
The sound was light, but it echoed strangely in the small apartment.
Sumin stood there for a second, fingers tightening around the edge of the table. Her brows knitted together.
"…What's wrong with him?" she asked quietly.
Xu Feng dried his hands slowly, eyes lingering on the closed door. "I don't know."
He hesitated, then added, "The investment went through."
Sumin's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Mm." Xu Feng pulled out a chair and sat down. "Lin Capital. They gave us the seventh floor. Funds are settled too."
That should have been good news.
But the room felt heavier instead.
Xu Feng picked up his chopsticks, then paused. "This Sunday… I'll take you out. Buy some clothes. Or if you need money, I'll transfer it to you."
Sumin glanced toward Zihan's door again.
"…Just send me the money," she said softly. "I'll go myself."
Xu Feng nodded. "Okay."
Neither of them spoke after that.
—
Inside the room, Zihan stood motionless.
The room was small—just a bed, a desk, an old chair, and shelves stacked with books and handwritten notes. The window was half-open, letting in the distant sounds of the city: traffic, laughter from somewhere far away, a siren fading into the night.
He didn't turn on the light.
He took off his jacket slowly, as if each movement required thought, then placed it neatly on the chair.
His gaze drifted to the desk.
The game code was still open on the laptop screen. Lines of text glowed faintly in the darkness.
Mythfall.
Seventy percent complete.
It was supposed to feel like hope.
Instead, his chest felt hollow.
His phone buzzed once on the bed.
A Weibo notification.
He didn't need to open it.
He already knew what it was.
That image flashed again in his mind—
A blurred photo.A familiar silhouette.Someone standing beside another man, close, natural.
Not looking back.
His fingers curled slowly.
"…Idiot," he muttered—to himself.
He sat down on the edge of the bed.
Why did I say that?
The words replayed in his head, sharp and merciless.
Don't meet me again.I'm bad luck.
His jaw tightened.
Why did I push her away?
The room felt too small. The air too thin.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head dropping into his hands.
For a long time, he didn't move.
Then something inside him cracked.
His shoulders trembled once—barely noticeable.
Then again.
He pressed his palm against his eyes, hard, as if trying to force the memories back.
Her smile.Her voice.The way she looked at him—like he mattered.
"…I had it," he whispered hoarsely.
Something precious.
Something warm.
And he had let it slip through his fingers.
A soft, broken sound escaped his throat—not quite a sob, not quite a breath.
If I had stayed silent…If I hadn't said those words…
But there were no ifs left.
Only the quiet hum of the city outside.
Only the glow of the laptop screen, waiting.
Slowly, painfully, he straightened.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand, drawing in a shaky breath.
"…Work," he murmured.
Because if he stopped—
If he thought any longer—
He wasn't sure he could hold himself together.
He turned back to the desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Outside his room, the apartment was silent.
And inside, Xie Zihan coded through the night—
Not to build a future,
But to escape the ache of something he feared he had already lost