Chapter 78
8:00 AM, Ptah Headquarters.
The entire company had a sleek, high-tech aesthetic with a distinct postmodern feel.
Perhaps because Ptah was one of the most advanced tech hubs in the world, the entrance was equipped with iris scan recognition, replacing traditional ID checks. Instead of marble floors, the entire surface was made of display screens, continuously rolling stock market data from the Hong Kong exchange.
Cleaning robots and household service bots moved along pre-programmed routes, skillfully weaving around pedestrians.
The female employees wore elegant Chanel-style suits, while a plaid-shirted programmer passed by with a cup of coffee. Everything was in perfect order.
A Maybach pulled up at the entrance.
This immediately drew attention—after all, for the lower and mid-level employees, this was one of the rare moments when they could catch a glimpse of President Ye.
Ye Yuyuan didn’t have fixed office hours. His work schedule was unpredictable, but he was a well-known workaholic—either working overtime or on business trips abroad. He had no personal life whatsoever. Six months ago, some people even speculated, with an O. Henry-style imagination, that Ye Yuyuan himself was actually Ptah’s most advanced AI humanoid robot.
The next second, a young man stepped out of the Maybach and walked to the entrance.
Everyone: “…”
The company, which had been buzzing with hushed conversations just moments ago, fell into a brief second of silence.
He was wearing a short down jacket, cargo pants, and ankle boots, with a knitted beanie on his head. He was tall and slender, his eyes bright and clear, and his features strikingly handsome.
Ye Yuyuan’s secretary, Wang Qiang, followed behind him, speaking in a strictly professional tone:
“Fang… Fang President, here’s your work schedule for today—”
Fang Huai listened with a composed expression, nodding occasionally: “Alright.”
His gestures and demeanor perfectly mimicked the composure of a newly appointed CEO.
[HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA]
[President Fang, LOL! Ye’s secretary really knows how to play along!]
[Wait, is the show actually serious? Is Fang Huai really taking over Ptah as CEO for the day? My god, this is the man who controls the world’s economy, 23333!]
When Fang Huai reached the iris scanner, Wang Qiang suddenly realized—oh no, they had forgotten to register Fang Huai’s iris data.
In the lobby, some white-collar employees had also paused to watch. With the holiday approaching, many of them didn’t have much work left to do anyway and were simply clocking in—so they might as well enjoy the entertainment.
To be honest, many of them—even though they were just ordinary office workers at Ptah—still considered themselves highly educated intellectuals. Deep down, they felt a mix of disdain and jealousy toward someone like Fang Huai.
They looked down on him for having no formal education, for making a living by selling his looks and charm. Yet, at the same time, they envied him for earning far more money than they ever could.
Now, seeing that Fang Huai was about to embarrass himself, some of them were gleefully waiting for the show.
After all, Ptah wasn’t a place just anyone could enter—even delivery couriers had to hand off packages at the security gate. If someone tried to force their way in, an alarm would go off, which would be highly awkward and humiliating.
Cold sweat broke out on Wang Qiang’s forehead. Just as he was about to step forward and grant Fang Huai a temporary visitor pass, Fang Huai moved even faster—taking a few long strides to the scanner and leaning in to take a look.
Then, a beep sounded.
The AI system spoke in its polite, robotic voice:
“Identity verified. Level 1 access granted. Welcome, Mr. Fang Huai.”
Wang Qiang: “…”
Everyone: “…”
Level 1 access was the highest clearance level in the entire company. Only Ye Yuyuan had it—it granted full access to all classified documents.
Was the production team of the show really this powerful? Or… what exactly was going on??
Fang Huai, unaware of the commotion, simply nodded politely: “Thank you.”
*
Five minutes later.
This was Fang Huai’s first time in a place like this, but he didn’t seem nervous or have the typical small-town-boy-in-the-big-city awkwardness. Instead, he was polite and restrained—if he didn’t understand something, he would ask, but never in an annoying way.
His thoughts were actually quite simple.
…This is my boyfriend’s workplace.
His light amber eyes sparkled with curiosity.
Everywhere he looked felt new and fascinating—he wondered what Ye Yuyuan usually did here and whether he got along well with his colleagues.
He didn’t know that the CEO had a private elevator, so he entered the employee elevator instead. The elevators here required access cards, with each card granting access only to specific floors.
Fang Huai stood to the side, observing carefully for a moment.
“Excuse me, do I need to swipe a card for this?” he politely asked the person next to him.
“Yes, but—”
Before they could finish, everyone watched, stunned and expressionless, as Fang Huai pulled out a public transportation card—a Nan City One Card—and casually tapped it on the scanner.
The next second, a beep sounded, and the top floor button lit up.
Everyone: “…”
WTF.
The person beside Fang Huai rubbed their eyes, watching in disbelief as he casually stuffed the bus card back into his pocket.
[Holy sh*t, my boy is insane??!]
[HAHAHAHA since when can a bus card grant top-floor access?! I’ve worked at Ptah for three years, and this is the first time I’ve seen this… Is the AI system broken today?]
[That girl above is obviously slacking at work. Congrats, you’re now officially fired from Ptah.]
[When you’re rich, you can do whatever you want. Y’all don’t understand the power of Level 1 access.]
Inside the elevator, a heavily made-up woman gave Fang Huai a longer-than-usual glance. Her gaze seemed a little odd. Fang Huai was very sensitive to people’s stares, so he instinctively looked over—but by the time he did, she had already averted her eyes.
*
Twenty minutes later, Top Floor Office.
“Here is your work schedule for today,” Wang Qiang took a deep breath, forcing himself to read it with a straight face:
“8:00 AM to 10:00 AM – Sit on the sofa and watch Harry Potter for two hours.
10:00 AM to 12:00 PM – Free time. At 12:00 PM, have lunch in the office.
In the afternoon, eat a small scoop of ice cream, then head to the 17th floor to select entertainment and sports facilities. Relax for three hours.”
Fang Huai stared, completely dumbfounded: “…”
“Ye Yuyuan…,” he hesitated, then asked, “does he do this every day?”
A housekeeping robot arrived with a freshly squeezed orange juice. In front of him, the screen that was originally displaying stock market trends slowly curved and transformed into a mini IMAX screen, playing a movie trailer.
The air conditioning was set to the perfect temperature, and even the chair was ergonomically designed for maximum comfort.
“Most of the time, no,” Wang Qiang replied tactfully. “President Ye’s workload is actually very demanding. Aside from coding, he has many other responsibilities.”
After President Ye’s instructions yesterday, the entire office had been redesigned overnight—even an Ultraman plush toy was now sitting in the corner. When Wang Qiang walked in this morning, he almost didn’t recognize the place.
Fang Huai: “Hmm.”
…Coding.
During a break in the trailer, he discreetly looked up “coding” on his phone.
[Shocking! A well-known programmer from a top tech company collapses from overwork!]
[Recent data shows that the average life expectancy of programmers is significantly lower than in other professions!]
[How to save your receding hairline—A programmer’s survival guide!]
Fang Huai: “…”
He was shocked.
Was Ye Yuyuan working in a profession that could lead to sudden death?!
But the articles also mentioned that if not for financial struggles, no one would willingly put themselves through such high-intensity, life-threatening overwork just to earn money.
So… it must be because he doesn’t have enough money.
Fang Huai fell into deep thought.
If he could earn a little more money and support Ye Yuyuan, then wouldn’t that mean he could…
Just then, a melody pulled Fang Huai out of his thoughts. His ears twitched slightly—he had just heard a piece of background music from Frost. Since he had helped compose many of the tracks, he knew them by heart.
He lifted his head and looked at the screen. The pre-show videos were randomly selected, yet right now, the screen was playing none other than the trailer for Frost.
*
December 4th, 9:00 AM sharp.
Frost – Official Trailer, Global Release.
At Ptah Headquarters, Fang Huai sat comfortably in an ergonomic chair, half-sunk into its plush design, curiously watching while holding a bag of chips.
At the filming site of The Chronicles of Spring and Autumn, Xu Shu, dressed in martial attire, clicked open the video on his phone with an expression of disdain.
Many office workers, seizing the chance while their bosses weren’t around, slacked off to watch. Others had been waiting for this moment and clicked on the video the second it dropped.
[To be honest, I’m looking forward to the soundtrack, but Fang Huai’s acting… yeah, I’ll pass.]
[I really hate it when singers force their way into acting just to get more fame. Can’t they just stick to one profession?]
[Wake up, Lin Shengyun isn’t blind. If Fang Huai’s acting were really that bad, why would he even cast him?]
[Anyway, it’s just the trash that Xu Shu didn’t want. Haha, enjoy your garbage. I’m gifting it to you.]
The screen flashed to black, and the distant echoes of a fishing song mixed with the rhythmic sounds of rowing, water, and wind filled the surround-sound speakers, instantly immersing the audience into a specific atmosphere.
Then, a series of short shots followed.
First, a young woman in a river town rowed a boat while singing.
Next, a handsome but disheveled young drifter leaned lazily against the shore, whistling in a carefree, roguish manner.
Then—black screen.
A careless male voice rang out, “The first twenty years of my life? Gambling on cockfights, chasing women, lazing around—life was smooth sailing…”
More flashing scenes, one after another, until suddenly—
A heavy, resonant piano note.
The images froze.
When the next shot cut in, the background music quickened, now layered with drumming beats.
A bloodstained letter appeared on-screen.
A middle-aged man in a military uniform trembled as he finished reading it. He then grabbed his cap, turned, and left. Black screen again.
The audience felt their hearts sink.
They all realized it at once—War had begun.
After the deep bass note, the film’s theme song, Frost, began—starting right at the climax.
The pace of the trailer sped up.
The whistle of a train, the pattering of rain, the sound of ragged breathing, and the frenzied gasps of soldiers all intertwined seamlessly with the melody, merging into a grand, tragic symphony.
Within the music, time slipped away like grains of sand, the rowing of boats sliced through the breaking dawn, and amidst the thunderous gunfire, a single blood-stained rose bloomed.
Every detail was painstakingly crafted, each note, each scene perfectly interwoven, pulling the audience’s emotions and even their very breath into its rhythmic tides, resonating through the winds of history from years past.
On the screen, a fragmented sequence of images and sounds wove together, gradually revealing the outline of the story. As the melody swirled and surged, the visuals grew more intense, building up to the peak of emotion—
The scene cut to a young man’s face.
His body was drenched in blood, a scar ran from his right eye to the corner of his lips, yet he tilted his head upward, his light amber eyes reflecting the faint morning light.
He smiled—just barely, a faint curve tugging at his lips, and the light in his eyes rippled like waves.
That gaze felt profound yet distant.
Like a quiet love poem whispered on a summer night in a Jiangnan water town, yet even deeper than that. Like a scar smoothed over, leaving behind nothing but its purest form.
He slowly raised his hand—
And pulled the trigger.
—‘Bang.’
The piano struck its highest note, soaring—
Then cut off abruptly, like a severed kite string.
The screen went black.
“……”
For a second, everyone froze.
Just one second of footage, yet the impact it left was indescribable. Lin Shengyun’s films often conveyed emotions through the eyes, but rarely had a performance expressed them so flawlessly.
[Who was that?]
[Judging by the scene, that was Lin Shuheng. The actor—Fang Huai.]
[……]
The black screen lingered for another moment.
Then—
A clear yet slightly husky young voice sounded, carrying a touch of nasal resonance, deeply moving:
“I, Lin Shuheng, will never die for anyone. I will die only for my beliefs.”
The screen lit up again—
Melody and color surged in unison.
A female pianist finished playing her last piece in an empty hall.
The last soldier sang a song of his homeland beneath the roar of artillery.
A frail woman, holding her deceased child, walked over a thousand kilometers of mountain roads.
And then, finally— A painting studio, bathed in afternoon light.
Dust and sunlight drifted down in silence.
A young boy knelt on the ground, his eyes red-rimmed, gently kissing a rose that had fallen into the dust.
The shot lingered for five seconds.
Outside the window, an endless blue sky stretched wide, while a white-winged bird soared with the wind.
Time felt long and boundless, yet in that moment, it seemed as if one could see its end.
By now, everyone watching was silent.
The screen darkened completely.
The final shot—
The protagonist, back turned to the camera, carelessly tossing a jade pendant in his hand.
Beside him, a young girl asked, “Mister, what’s today’s date? I think it’s some kind of solar term…”
The protagonist remained silent for a long time.
Then, in a lazy, offhanded tone, he finally replied, “October 23rd.”
A pause.
“…Frost.”
Black screen.
The credits began to roll.
Across countless screens, as the four-minute trailer ended, an overwhelming silence fell.
And soon after—The internet erupted into chaos!
*
Fang Huai finished reading Harry Potter, then spent some time reading in Ye Yuyuan’s office, idling away the entire morning. Around noon, he lazily made his way to the employee cafeteria for lunch. He told Wang Qiang there was no need to follow him and that he could just focus on his work.
The midday filming wasn’t taking place here, so Fang Huai could finally take a breather.
Turning the corner in the hallway, he nearly bumped into someone. He quickly steadied her. “Sorry, are you okay?”
It was a woman with meticulously applied makeup. Her outfit was noticeably different from that of the regular employees—more revealing. A row of bracelets adorned her delicate, fair wrist.
“I’m fine.” She glanced at Fang Huai, her eyes flickering. After a moment, she sneered slightly. “So, you’re the new little celebrity Ye always keeps around?”
Even though Ye Yuyuan had made his disinterest clear, there were always relentless admirers trying to get close to him—just like this woman.
She was a model who had been lingering around Ptah under the pretense of advertising deals, though never once had she succeeded in getting his attention.
Fang Huai immediately grasped the situation and raised an eyebrow. “…What?”
“I’ve seen plenty like you,” the model lied effortlessly, putting on a look of faux concern. “Ye’s quite fond of you for now, isn’t he? Don’t get too full of yourself. If you fall from favor, it’ll hurt.”
She became more and more engrossed in her story, as if she had found an outlet for her frustration:
“Honestly, you and him are from completely different worlds. How could you ever be worthy? You’re just a plaything—”
Fang Huai gave her a strange look and had to interrupt. “That’s not true. I’m his boyfriend.”
The model: “…”
Fang Huai’s tone was perfectly natural. Her expression blanked for a moment, and she forgot whatever she was about to say.
“You—”
The room was heated, and Fang Huai had taken off his down jacket. He was wearing an off-white knitted vest over a linen shirt, looking clean-cut and elegant. His posture was upright, and he was taller than the model, yet he didn’t come off as overbearing. He wasn’t the clueless country boy she had imagined.
Polite and composed, she said, “I know my lover’s character better than you do.”
“Please stop spreading such rumors. Otherwise—” He recalled a line from a drama he had recently watched and added, “I will reserve the right to take legal action. Yes.”
The model was so furious she couldn’t even speak. Her face turned pale, then flushed red. “Just because you say so doesn’t make it true! Keep dreaming! It’s just a game—he’s playing with you, and you actually think—”
Fang Huai thought for a moment, then, right in front of her, sent Ye Yuyuan a text message.
Three words.
Half a minute later, his phone rang.
*
In a rural orphanage, a class had just ended.
A silent man stood under a low eave, holding his phone. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and he wore the apron of an orphanage teacher. Though he still looked handsome and serious, his ears were faintly red. His deep voice was slightly hoarse:
“I… I love you too.”
“What happened?”
On the other end of the line.
The model was completely stunned, her lips trembling slightly. “…”
Wait—this couldn’t be real, right?
She tried to make one last struggle, but the AI system had already flagged her as someone who had been accessing Ptah through unauthorized means. Security arrived to escort her out.
Fang Huai politely waved her goodbye, then stepped aside to answer his phone.
“I’ll come pick you up after work this afternoon, okay?”
Last night, Fang Huai had stayed up researching—being someone’s boyfriend really required a lot of preparation.
Giving him a sweet nickname, picking him up from work, planning weekend dates, spending more time together…
Right now, Fang Huai just wanted to see him.
“It’s too far,” Ye Yuyuan was silent for a moment before replying in a low voice. “You don’t need to come. I’ll try to come back earlier.”
“But I want to see you sooner, baby.”
Fang Huai said softly.
Ye Yuyuan: “…”
At the orphanage, several students peeked their heads out, curiously watching their new, always-serious teacher—whose ears were now completely red.
