This time around, Cen Xiao was more restrained in bed, but Li Rong, with his feelings of vengeance finally finding an outlet, had no choice but to release his excess energy through sheer physical intensity. As a result, he was unusually uninhibited.
What followed was an unrestrained and shameless indulgence, leaving both of them utterly exhausted.
When Cen Xiao carried the now-legless Li Rong to the shower, he was already certain—they wouldn’t make it to Universal Studios tomorrow.
Li Rong’s eyes were warm and misty, his face flushed red from the steam. The lower half of his face was submerged in the bathtub water, leaving only his bright, glistening eyes staring at Cen Xiao.
Cen Xiao sat across from him in the tub, both needing a moment to recover.
After a while, Li Rong bent his knees, sitting upright amid the foam. The faintly visible marks on his body were half-hidden beneath the thick lather.
He asked seriously, “Do you think we still have any mental illnesses?”
In their previous lives, both had been through h*ll, their bodies and minds heavily scarred. Yet neither had sought out a doctor for treatment.
Admitting to having a mental illness wasn’t easy, especially for two people as prideful as they were.
Even if they had admitted it, years of living on high alert and in constant vigilance meant they could never expose their vulnerabilities or weaknesses to an untrusted psychologist.
It was nearly impossible for them to let their guard down, whether in Hongsuo or Blue Pivot, where danger always loomed and enemies lurked in every corner.
Not to mention, back then, they were also busy being adversaries to each other.
In this life, Li Rong had relied on the goal of revenge to keep himself focused, staying sharp and energetic at all times. The exhausting and demanding work had left him no time to think about lingering psychological wounds.
But now, as he reflected, he suddenly realized that every time he got closer to his goal, he felt the need to balance his joy with extreme stimulation or even some level of pain.
That wasn’t normal—he hadn’t been like that before.
It was like smoking. In the beginning, one cigarette might be enough, but as dependency grew, the need for more became inevitable.
In his previous life, Li Rong had been able to slice open his own arm without flinching, his face devoid of emotion as he felt the pain. He could still do that now.
That underlying madness had long since seeped into his blood. Over time, he had come to feel that no amount of therapy could ever restore him to who he once was.
But this wasn’t entirely bad. It just seemed far removed from the person his parents had hoped he would become.
Cen Xiao opened his eyes and lightly massaged Li Rong’s calf. “Do you want to see a doctor?”
Li Rong hesitated for a moment before resting his leg on Cen Xiao’s knee, murmuring, “I don’t want to. But… didn’t Zhai Ning suggest you should visit a psychologist?”
Cen Xiao scooped up some warm water to wash the parts of Li Rong’s body exposed above the waterline, his voice soft. “There’s nothing wrong with how we are now. Besides, it’s not the right time. Neither you nor I can afford to lose our edge right now.”
Han Jiang hadn’t fallen yet, and Du Mingli was circling the credit list like a predator, waiting to claim his prize. Cen Xiao was still just a team leader, not yet the head of the Ghost Eye Group.
Li Rong, on the other hand, was waiting for the Hongsuo Institute to restart its Luyinxu project. When that happened, the media would inevitably turn its attention to him as the son of Li Qingli and Gu Nong. This would be an excellent opportunity to expand his reputation and influence, clearing out the parasites clinging to the old and rotting system.
For someone poised to become an industry leader and a perfect victim-turned-survivor, any sign of mental instability or emotional volatility would be unacceptable.
Li Rong chuckled, brushing away some bubbles as he swam over to Cen Xiao, kneeling on his lap. “If I’d known there’d be a second chance, I should’ve gone to therapy in my last life. At least then I’d know what meds I’d need now.”
Cen Xiao encircled him with his arms and mischievously spread bubbles across Li Rong’s chest. Half-joking, he said, “You got a second chance by accident. I didn’t. Before I made my choice, I took care of everything.”
The creamy foam slid down Li Rong’s collarbone, over his chest, and back into the water. The ticklish sensation made him shiver slightly.
“You really are…” Li Rong sighed bitterly.
He had long suspected that Cen Xiao’s death had been deliberate.
Although this conclusion is cruel, it seems closest to reality.
Even if Du Mingli managed to harm him, that man is extremely cunning. He would have completely cleared himself of suspicion. In the end, even if an investigation turned everything upside down, it wouldn’t be possible to pin the crime of hiring a hitman on him.
That way, Du Mingli wouldn’t die.
If Cen Xiao wanted revenge, he would have to make Du Mingli pay the same price.
Moreover, Cen Xiao absolutely wouldn’t allow himself to end up in prison.
So, if he was determined to do this, he had already prepared to give up his life.
Cen Xiao held Li Rong by the neck and kissed his smooth lips. “My mom has a friend who’s a nutritionist and also got a psychologist’s license. When you… were gone, she noticed something was off with my emotions. She knew I didn’t want to go to the hospital, so she recommended some medication to me, but I didn’t take it.”
Li Rong slapped his chest with some force. “You’re an idiot. I think the reason you got to this point is because you’re sick.”
Cen Xiao laughed deeply, pulling Li Rong even closer. Beneath the water, the two were nearly intertwined. “Humans are like finely crafted instruments created by nature, operating according to its laws. Humans pride themselves on their intelligence, but in reality, they’re incredibly fragile. For example, those little pills can easily sever human emotions. But I don’t want to lose that part of me.”
Influenced by Xiao Muran since childhood, Cen Xiao always held complex feelings toward Li Rong. Before this, he couldn’t even tell whether he hated Li Rong more for experiencing the familial love he never had, or whether he loved Li Rong’s radiant, fierce soul that burned so brightly.
When he finally stopped analyzing the details, ceased suppressing his nature, and began longing to walk alongside Li Rong, to give everything, to yearn for wholehearted joy and open love—just as he decided to bare his heart to him, they killed him.
At the very moment when he was most certain of his love for him, they killed him.
He couldn’t bear to lose the pain of that emotion. It was the last thing Li Rong had left him.
True death is being forgotten. Even if everyone else in the world stopped caring about Li Rong, forgot about him, Cen Xiao would not.
Li Rong understood. His eyes reddened, but in such an intimate position, crying seemed a bit ridiculous.
So he laughed instead. Laughing, the tears still fell, washing away the foam clinging to his face. He murmured, “You’re insane.”
Who plans their own death? It was even more ruthless than anything he could do.
Li Rong sniffled, trying to stay calm. “But I don’t believe your IQ is lower than Du Mingli’s. If he can clear himself, so can you. Why must you—”
Just for the satisfaction of doing it himself?
It was satisfying, like the exhilaration he felt when he plunged a knife into Huang Baikang’s neck, the rush of blood pumping.
But even then, he restrained his emotions at the critical moment. Cen Xiao, who was even more composed than him, wouldn’t lose control and drag himself down over a fleeting impulse.
Cen Xiao played with Li Rong’s soft, damp hair, speaking nonchalantly. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just that after half a year of you being gone and me planning my revenge, I suddenly realized one day—I couldn’t remember how many cubes of sugar you like in your coffee.”
Li Rong froze, his lips slightly parted, his eyes unblinking. He seemed to know what Cen Xiao meant.
Time is the cruelest and most merciless thing. Even without medication to suppress emotions, time gradually dulls the sharpness of feelings.
No one can resist the laws of nature. For the brain to absorb some things, it must let go of others.
Let go of trivial, insignificant details.
Like how many cubes of sugar he took in his coffee, what color slippers he wore, the wallpaper on his phone in high school, the catchphrases he always said. These details would fade bit by bit with his absence.
And then, eventually, more important things would be forgotten.
At this moment, Cen Xiao finally admitted it calmly: “I can’t bear the thought of forgetting everything about you.”
Realizing that he would forget was more cruel than losing him.
So, he had decided to seek him out on the path to the afterlife.
“Idiot,” Li Rong muttered softly, pulling Cen Xiao into a tight embrace and burying his face into his neck.
The bubbles, pushed by the gentle ripples, rose and fell like tender hands soothing their tense souls.
That night, Li Rong was especially clingy, like a cat curling up on a warm carpet on a cold day, nestling snugly in Cen Xiao’s arms.
Together, they unapologetically wasted two Universal Studios tickets.
***
By late April, A City was steadily heating up. After a month of relentless public criticism and urging from netizens, the Hongsuo Research Institute finally announced the relaunch of Luyinxu.
The internet erupted in cheers.
“Finally relaunching! Those poor kids now have hope!”
“I’ve always believed in Hongsuo Research Institute! It truly lives up to its name as the temple of science!”
“Luyinxu can finally clear its name. I’m sure it can cure bacterial progeria!”
“Ahhh, I’ve been waiting for this day. I can finally rest easy!”
“My child has been using Jiaketing for four years. Now that Suhe Biotech is in trouble and the Jiaketing production line has been affected, many hospitals are out of stock. We have to buy it at higher prices from pharmacies. I sympathize with Professor Li and Professor Gu, but without an alternative drug, we’re still dependent on Jiaketing. I just hope the production isn’t disrupted.”
“I hope Luyinxu gets released soon—if not, it’ll be hard for everyone to keep boycotting Jiaketing.”
“The relaunch will be fast! Luyinxu’s research data was only sealed, not lost. Once reopened, it’ll take just a month or two to produce. After the second-phase trials, it’ll be ready in a few months. If they expedite the process, the kids might get it by year-end!”
….
Li Rong wasn’t particularly surprised by this outcome.
Peeling the wrapper off a yogurt popsicle, he bit into it and casually remarked, “I figured Zhu Yan had no choice. This whole mess had to end during his tenure. He might want to pass it out, but Jiang Weide wouldn’t take it.”
Zhu Yan was too attached to power to give up his position as director of the Hongsuo Research Institute. In the end, he would forever bear the stain of being self-serving and blind to right and wrong.
Cen Xiao lightly patted Li Rong’s back. “Go ahead. I’ll wait for you in the car.”
This time, Li Rong didn’t look up at the large screen outside the Hongsuo Research Institute. Instead, he made his way up the steps, entered the elevator, and went straight to Jiang Weide’s office.
After nearly a month of continuous meetings, Jiang Weide was finally able to relax now that everything had been settled.
When Li Rong entered, Jiang Weide was polishing his glasses. With his head lowered, his slight double chin was more pronounced, and his clumsy fingers nearly dropped the glasses.
Once he finished and looked up at Li Rong, he couldn’t help but sigh.
“You’ve come.”
The last time they met, Li Rong had looked like a dying flame—frail, pale, and barely holding on. But now, his eyes were bright, his spirit restored, and even his face glowed with health.
Young people really do recover quickly.
Li Rong curled his lips into a smirk. “Teacher, last time you said no one could relaunch Luyinxu.”
Jiang Weide paused, slowly mulling over his words. “So, you’re the one who orchestrated all of this.”
It was truly hard for him to believe that the collapse of the seemingly invincible Suhe Biotech was brought about by this young college student standing before him.
But on second thought, the things Li Rong had done to defy belief weren’t just limited to this.
He had to admit that Li Rong’s talent was extraordinary.
Li Rong glanced at Jiang Weide’s desk. Jiang Weide wasn’t a particularly organized person, and the documents on his desk were slightly messy.
This was in stark contrast to Zhang Zhaohe, who was obsessively meticulous and organized, almost as if he had OCD.
Li Rong squinted and asked, “Why did Hongsuo Research Institute take so long? Where was the resistance?”
Jiang Weide shook his head helplessly and replied, “Don’t jump to conspiracy theories everywhere. This is a significant matter, and making such decisions naturally takes time. The Hongsuo Research Institute has many departments, leaders, and participants in decision-making, so there will always be all sorts of opinions. For everyone to reach a consensus, discussions are necessary. After discussions, reports have to be submitted to the investigation team, and approvals must be awaited. Only after the approvals are finalized can the institute make a public announcement. You can rest assured that without the pressure of public opinion, Hongsuo will assign the most outstanding researchers to take over Luyinxu, striving to fulfill your parents’ wishes as soon as possible.”
Jiang Weide’s words sounded sincere, not like a lie.
Li Rong, on a whim, suddenly asked, “What exactly is GT200 for?”
His connection with Jiang Weide was intertwined with GT201, yet he never knew what this project code represented. However, as he traced backward, he discovered that several GT projects that left records seemed entirely unrelated, and GT200 didn’t even have any records left behind.
The reason he was so fixated on this code was that the kraft paper bag that held Li Qingli’s handwritten notes also had the letters “GT” printed on it.
He believed these two letters must have a significant connection to both Li Qingli and Jiang Weide.
Jiang Weide’s eyes flickered with a trace of surprise, but he quickly regained his composure and responded casually, “Why would you suddenly ask about that? It has nothing to do with you.”
Li Rong chuckled lightly, “I couldn’t find any information on it, so I got curious.”
Jiang Weide remained calm. “Even though you’re just a university student, you already have the ability to submit papers to top journals. But the details of other projects can’t be disclosed to you.”
Jiang Weide’s reasoning was valid. In the scientific research field, there was no shortage of people fiercely protective of their work. Researchers guarded their experimental data as tightly as possible, which was why only by obtaining the data from Li Qingli and Gu Nong could Luyinxu be recreated.
But Li Rong believed that Jiang Weide’s reluctance to share wasn’t that simple.
The meaning of “GT” must hold particular importance.
Restarting Luyinxu naturally meant retrieving the sealed data from Li Qingli and Gu Nong.
Two days later, Ji Xiaochuan excitedly told Li Rong, “Boss! It’s me…my advisor’s lab group was assigned to retrieve the data and participate in Luyinxu’s recreation. I begged my advisor for half a day to let me tag along. I’ll help you…record it!”
Li Rong’s eyes curved in a smile. “So sending you to the lab has this kind of payoff.”
It truly was a coincidence. Ji Xiaochuan had been assigned to a relatively idle group by Jiang Weide, so the heavy responsibility of recreating Luyinxu had fallen to them.
Ji Xiaochuan had been helping out in the lab for a long time. Her adorable appearance, hardworking nature, and knack for lab work—combined with her startling ability to master experiments faster than even the graduate students—had earned her the affection of the two teachers leading the group.
When Ji Xiaochuan expressed her desire to join and record the moment, the two teachers reluctantly agreed, swayed by her persistence.
Technically, students weren’t supposed to be allowed into such areas, but rules could always be bent when necessary.
At 8 a.m. that day, Ji Xiaochuan, with her work badge hanging around her neck, strode confidently through the long corridor of the investigation team’s archives.
The hallway was wide and high, exuding an aura of solemnity and authority. Along the way, there were three security checkpoints, and without the proper documentation, entry was impossible.
Ji Xiaochuan aimed her phone camera at the corridor and spoke softly into her earpiece, “Boss, this place is so…majestic. And the security is really tight.”
Li Rong’s tone remained calm. “It’s just a façade.”
It looked impressive, but wasn’t it easily infiltrated by opportunists like Li Baishou?
Ji Xiaochuan remarked, “It seems like the files are…categorized. Professor Li’s materials are inside.”
Though Li Rong’s voice remained composed, as he watched the camera inch closer and closer, shortening the distance, he couldn’t help but grow visibly tense.
Cen Xiao, seated beside him, keenly observed that Li Rong, who initially tapped his knee leisurely, now clasped it tightly without moving.
The echo of footsteps reverberated down the long corridor. The pristine white walls reflected the sound, creating a somber, oppressive atmosphere.
As Ji Xiaochuan continued down the hallway, she gradually fell silent, cautiously following the two teachers, worried about being left behind.
After winding through twists and turns, they finally arrived at a lead-gray door.
Ji Xiaochuan noted that the building’s layout was akin to A University’s library—a design guaranteed to confuse anyone unfamiliar with the space.
Just as they were about to approach the door, the hallway suddenly dimmed, and several lights simultaneously went out.
The human eye couldn’t adjust quickly enough to the abrupt change, leaving everyone in total darkness.
— Beep! Beep! Beep!
A piercing alarm blared around them, the echoes magnified by the corridor, threatening to rupture their eardrums.
Ji Xiaochuan flinched violently, letting out a shriek as she clutched her ears and pressed her back against the cold wall.
Even the two teachers, clearly unaccustomed to such an incident, stood frozen in shock.
A power outage?!
“How could this happen?”
“Is this some kind of fire drill or something?”
The two teachers questioned the nearby staff member, who seemed equally confused.
“I’m not sure. Let me call and check.”
After the initial fright of the sudden blackout, Ji Xiaochuan quickly regained her composure.
The faint glow of her phone allowed them to vaguely make out their surroundings. The two advisors stood in place, using their phones as flashlights, while the staff member made a call.
“Ji Xiaochuan, are you okay?” Li Rong’s soft voice came through.
“Ah…I’m fine. The sudden blackout just startled me a bit,” Ji Xiaochuan replied, glancing at her phone as she spoke.
Cen Xiao frowned. “Why the sudden power outage?”
Ji Xiaochuan shook her head, but she quickly realized the other person couldn’t see her gesture. She softly murmured, “I… I don’t know.”
Cen Xiao and Li Rong exchanged a glance, both reading something unspoken in the other’s eyes, but neither said a word.
How could it be such a coincidence? Of all days, the power had to go out when they came to retrieve the files.
The two teachers looked visibly irritated. Anyone would feel the same in such a situation, especially when there was no telling how long the wait would be.
The staff member made several phone calls, but no one answered. It was clear the rest of the office staff had been called away for an emergency.
Helpless and apologetic, the staff member said to the teachers, “Please wait a little longer. The power should be back soon. Without electricity, even the main door can’t be opened.”
“Sigh, hurry up,” one teacher muttered, pacing back and forth in frustration.
Ji Xiaochuan leaned obediently against the wall, her eyes darting around.
The unlit hallway felt ominous. Looking into the distance, it seemed like a bottomless black hole, ready to swallow anyone whole.
Looking up, the ceiling was so high that the top was obscured in darkness.
They were trapped in the faint bluish glow of their phones, small and fragile, surrounded by an overwhelming darkness.
Ji Xiaochuan swallowed nervously.
About ten minutes later, the staff member made another call, and this time, it went through.
After hanging up, he said awkwardly, “Uh… it seems there was a short circuit. They’re still checking it out. It should be resolved soon.”
Teacher: “A short circuit? How does it affect such a large area?”
Staff member: “I don’t know. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”
A few more minutes passed. Ji Xiaochuan licked her lips and hesitantly said, “Why do I feel… it’s getting warmer?”
The hallway had no windows and no sunlight. It was cold and dry, chilly enough to feel uncomfortable in light clothing, especially with Ji Xiaochuan leaning against the wall.
But now, she clearly felt the air around her growing warmer. It was subtle, but girls tend to be sensitive to temperature changes, so she mentioned it.
The staff member sniffed the air suddenly and muttered, “What’s that smell?”
The two teachers noticed it shortly after.
A faint, indescribable burnt metallic smell hung in the air. It was subtle at first, but as the staff member spoke, it grew more pronounced.
The teachers exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions filled with surprise.
The staff member seemed to realize something and instinctively stepped back two paces, fumbling nervously with his phone.
Li Rong, unable to see what was happening in the hallway, caught on to the tension through the conversations.
“What’s going on?”
Ji Xiaochuan felt her throat tighten. She widened her eyes and stared at the lead-gray door not far from her. Without thinking, she raised her hand and stretched her palm toward it.
Her palm felt a heat more tangible than what she sensed on her shoulder—heat radiating from the lead-gray door.
“Boss…”
Ji Xiaochuan didn’t know what to say or think.
The staff member stammered through his explanation over the phone, his voice echoing in the hallway, lifted higher by the rising heat, traveling along fragile electrical currents to the other end of the line.
“Send someone here immediately! Immediately! Immediately!”
He repeated it three times, then grabbed one of the teachers. “You two, come with me! It’s not safe here. Someone will come to handle it soon!”
The two teachers were already sweating at their temples. Just as they were about to flee, a metallic creak came from the heavy lead-gray door.
Something had clearly been damaged, causing the iron door to malfunction.
Ji Xiaochuan gripped her phone tightly, her eyes fixed on the ominous door emitting the terrifying sound.
“Xiaochuan, hurry! Let’s go!” A teacher tugged at her arm.
“Boom!”
A loud, muffled noise rang out. Something had either fallen or exploded, and the door visibly swelled outward, forming a shallow bulge. The metal strained and distorted, stretching and expanding unnaturally.
Then came a grating sound. The door dragged against the marble floor as an even stronger wave of heat burst through the widening gap.
The door, warped by the intense heat, suddenly sprang open!
The wave of heat blew Ji Xiaochuan’s bangs upward, and her pores tightened instinctively against the scorching air.
She squinted and turned her head away from the blast but quickly adjusted to the temperature. Looking back at the now-open door, she saw flickering flames.
They leapt and danced like tattered ghostly faces, trembling and pressing forward, twisting their forms while spreading the burnt metallic stench into every corner.
“It’s really a fire!”
“The archive room is on fire!”
“Quick, get out! It might be an electrical fire!”
…..
The three men shouted in panicked, overlapping voices.
“Where’s the fire extinguisher?!” Amid the chaos, a sharp voice cut through the low rumbling panic, making the men momentarily freeze.
Ji Xiaochuan’s lips trembled as she stared at the growing flames. Her mind felt like it had been struck hard, leaving her scalp numb.
That was the archive room where all of Luyinxu’s records were stored. Now it was being devoured by the flames. She didn’t know how long the fire had been burning or how much had already been destroyed.
She was stunned and terrified. Even as the temperature around her soared, her heart felt frozen.
Li Rong had worked so hard to get this far, pouring everything into this moment.
How could this happen?
To fail so miserably just as the greatest dream was within reach—to fall from the clouds and watch the fire consume every last shred of hope.
How could anyone accept that? How could anyone bear it?
No.
Absolutely not.
Li Rong couldn’t take such a blow!
She had to do something. She would do something!
The hope Li Rong had given her—she had to protect it.
Her outburst startled the staff member, who stammered, “It’s… against the wall, in the far corner.”
He hadn’t even realized what Ji Xiaochuan was about to do, instinctively answering the question instead.
The two teachers were just as unprepared to react.
In truth, Ji Xiaochuan herself didn’t know what she was going to do. Her brain hadn’t figured out a solution yet—her body moved on its own.
“Ji Xiaochuan! What are you doing?” Li Rong’s voice crackled through the phone, intermittent and unclear.
The signal here was already poor, and now with the power and internet down, Ji Xiaochuan’s network had dropped to 2G.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she pushed through the surging heat and dashed toward the end of the hallway. Pressing her hands against the wall, she frantically felt around for the fire extinguisher.
By the dim, flickering light, she finally located it. Thankfully, A High School’s education had been thorough—she knew how to use a fire extinguisher.
“Ji Xiaochuan, stop! Professionals will handle it!” one of the teachers shouted, trying to pull her back. But the intensifying waves of heat forced them to retreat.
Ji Xiaochuan raised the fire extinguisher, her voice cracking with despair. “There’s no time! Waiting for help will be too late!”
Tears welled in her eyes as she twisted open the fire extinguisher and charged forward without hesitation.
She had no experience, no idea what might happen to her. In her naïveté, she believed the extinguisher was like a protective barrier that could shield her.
Her only thought was to extinguish the fire, to salvage the faint glimmer of hope.
“Ji Xiaochuan, come back here!” Li Rong’s blood froze as fear of losing her again gripped him. He yelled through the phone, rushing toward the door.
But before his words could echo back, the video call was abruptly cut off.
Cen Xiao, still more composed than Li Rong, stomped on the gas pedal, sending the car racing toward the archives.
Li Rong clutched his phone tightly, his knuckles white. His face was pale, his teeth chattering as he forced himself to contain his emotions. “This isn’t an accident…”
Cen Xiao’s face darkened. “It’s no accident. A short circuit causing a fire in such a short time, yet the flames are this big?”
Li Rong’s lips were bloodless, and the edge of his phone left a deep mark in his palm. “Even with a short circuit, it shouldn’t have caused a fire. There’s no way the archives lacked circuit breakers!”
Cen Xiao swerved sharply, the car skidding into alignment. “The only explanation is someone sabotaged the fire suppression systems first, then set the fire in the archives. The flames must have cut through the wiring, causing the power outage.”
Li Rong’s brow furrowed, his panic betraying his usual composure. “Who could it be? Suhe Biotech is already done for, and Zheng Zhupan is still in custody.”
Cen Xiao replied grimly, “Whoever it is, they must have significant ties to the investigation team to access the archives. Calm down; don’t lose focus now. If you panic, you won’t be able to think straight.”
“Ji Xiaochuan… Please be okay. Please, nothing must happen to her…” Li Rong muttered under his breath.
He was panicking despite his outward restraint. This was the first time he had truly opened his heart to make friends, and he had been fortunate enough to find genuine ones who cared deeply for him.
He cherished them, trusted them, and treated them like family.
Although he didn’t openly express it, he knew how much he cared for these people.
He couldn’t bear the thought of any harm befalling them, especially if it was because of him.
He wouldn’t know how to face it… or how to seek justice for them.
When Li Rong and Cen Xiao arrived at the archives, the fire had already been extinguished. Ji Xiaochuan sat in the break room, covered in soot, looking utterly disheveled as she stared blankly into space.
Her arm had a small burn, her hair was unevenly singed, and her face, streaked with dried tears, was unnaturally red. But thankfully, she had no serious injuries.
Without a pass, Li Rong barged in directly. Seeing Ji Xiaochuan, he rushed to her and grabbed her wrist, but his trembling hand gave him away.
Before he could say anything, Ji Xiaochuan burst into tears at the sight of him.
“Boss… I’m so stupid! There was too much inside, I didn’t know… I didn’t know what to save! I couldn’t see clearly!”
“I couldn’t put it out! The fire was too… too big! Everything’s gone! What are we going to do about the records?”
Tears streamed down her face as she looked at Li Rong in despair and frustration. Her fingers, blackened with soot and blistered from grabbing the burning archive bags, trembled uncontrollably.
Li Rong felt a wave of relief wash over him upon hearing her strong, tearful cries. The cold sweat on his back soaked through, and the pallor of his lips finally gave way to a faint blush.
He was both furious and overwhelmed, clenching his teeth yet unable to utter a word.
At that moment, the documents didn’t matter to him. He only felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude that Ji Xiaochuan was safe.
Xu Tanghui, hearing the news, rushed over from A University, frantic and pale with fear. For a few seconds on her way, she thought her heart might stop.
Thankfully, aside from her burns and disheveled appearance, Ji Xiaochuan was fine.
Xu Tanghui immediately embraced her, gently patting her back while softly reprimanding her. “You silly child, what were you thinking….”
Ji Xiaochuan whimpered, nestling into Xu Tanghui’s embrace, wiping her tears on her shirt.
Xu Tanghui tenderly wiped the soot and tears from her face. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re safe, that’s all that matters. Don’t cry, dear.”
Cen Xiao steadied Li Rong and quietly said, “Jian Fu and Lin Zhen are on their way. I’ll let them know to avoid drawing attention. There are too many eyes here.”
Li Rong nodded lightly.
Watching as Aunt Hui calmed Ji Xiaochuan down, Li Rong began to regain his composure.
His pale lips regained color, and his trembling fingers steadied.
Walking over to the water dispenser, he poured himself a glass of cold water and gulped it down, his gaze becoming resolute.
“Today’s fire burned my parents’ records. Can someone take me to the scene of the fire?” he asked the staff in the break room.
The staff hesitated, glancing at one another, unsure of how to respond.
Technically, they couldn’t allow an unrelated person to visit the fire site. But since he claimed the burned records were his parents’, no one could bring themselves to deny him.
A teacher who had pulled Ji Xiaochuan out of the fire stood up and sighed, “So you’re Li Rong? I didn’t know you and Xiaochuan were friends.” Then he turned to the staff and said, “You should let him take a look. It won’t cause any harm.”
Before leaving, Li Rong handed Ji Xiaochuan a cup of warm water. He shook his head helplessly and said softly, “Silly. Do you not value your life?”
Ji Xiaochuan replied in despair, “But… Luyinxu… is gone!”
Li Rong gave a faint smile. “Don’t worry. They won’t bring me down, and they won’t win against me.”
Ji Xiaochuan looked up blankly, staring at Li Rong.
His eyes showed no despair or frustration. Instead, they burned with unyielding determination.
He indeed wouldn’t be defeated, nor would he crumble.
His soul was unshakably strong, and he remained the unwavering pillar for everyone.
Finally, Ji Xiaochuan nodded in trust.
If Li Rong said it was okay, then it was okay. He never made empty promises.
As Li Rong stepped out of the rest area, Cen Xiao pulled him aside. Cen Xiao gave him a firm hug and ruffled his hair in a comforting gesture.
Li Rong didn’t resist. He leaned softly against Cen Xiao, resting his chin on Cen Xiao’s shoulder. His blinking eyes conveyed all the hidden emotions he couldn’t share with others.
He had to stay strong for the team, but he could seek solace and comfort in Cen Xiao.
Cen Xiao didn’t care about the curious glances of the staff around them. Supporting Li Rong’s half-leaning weight, he whispered near Li Rong’s ear, his lips brushing lightly against the cartilage, “There’s something I haven’t told you. The GT201 results you didn’t get to see—they were successful.”
Li Rong froze, his eyes widening.
Cen Xiao patted his back gently and said in a low voice, “You’re amazing. Your Phase I trial—was a success.”
Cen Xiao had always said: You must allow yourself moments of weakness, then come to me for warmth.
And he fulfilled that promise.
Li Rong clutched Cen Xiao’s shirt, his damp eyes now brimming with a vibrant light.
In Cen Xiao, he always found warmth and strength—his pillar, his beacon, his haven, his love.
![The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth]](https://i2.wp.com/lazygirltranslations.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/11/4322s.jpg?resize=151,215 "The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth]")
