Ke Junjie's hand shook slightly as he closed the notebook.
"…I see."
He placed it back gently into He Zhiyong's hands. "No wonder you didn't say anything back there."
He Zhiyong held the notebook close, his fingers curling protectively around it.
He Junjie softened. "About Zeyu, don't worry about the compensation. I'll handle it. You go home."
He Zhiyong's eyes trembled. He bowed deeply once more.
He Junjie dismissed him with a small smile before turning back toward the mansion. "Stay safe, He Zhiyong."
He disappeared behind the gates.
He Zhiyong stood still under the streetlamp for a moment, letting the quiet settle into his aching bones. His ribs screamed with every breath, but his steps were steady as he walked to his old bicycle.
He mounted it slowly, winced, then began pedaling into the dim street.
The wobbling silhouette of a tired young man—small, silent, but enduring—faded into the night.
