Liangcheng's summer had settled in like a warm quilt, the cicadas announcing every afternoon with relentless percussion. The city moved slower in the heat, but inside Luminar System, the pace was anything but slow. Meetings overlapped with proposals, new models demanded testing, and deadlines pressed from all directions.
And there—quiet, efficient, smiling as though she had all the time in the world—was Lin Qing Yun.
Her desk was once again neatly stacked: schedules, translation notes, draft documents waiting for polish. She moved from one task to the next with the same calm rhythm, even though anyone watching closely could see the faint tiredness under her eyes.
"Finally!" Shen Qiao's voice rang across the office like the crack of a whip. She strode over in her heels, perfectly tailored dress swaying with her steps, and stopped right in front of Qing Yun's desk. "Do you know how dull the last few weeks have been without you here? My entire system nearly collapsed."
Qing Yun looked up, startled. Then she laughed, soft and good-natured. "I doubt Luminar would collapse because of one part-timer."
"You underestimate yourself." Shen Qiao folded her arms, pretending to be stern, though her eyes softened. "When you're not here, I can't find my notes, my schedules are off, and Chen Rui starts telling me jokes. Do you realize the level of suffering?"
Qing Yun pressed her lips together, holding back another laugh. "Then I suppose I'll do my best to keep you from Chen Rui's jokes."
"Exactly. So don't you dare to exhaust yourself again."
It was a lighthearted exchange, but it warmed Qing Yun more than she expected. She slipped back into her rhythm as though she had never left—typing, translating, double-checking, smiling politely whenever someone passed by her desk.
Only when her phone buzzed did her smile change, softening in a way that was invisible to everyone else.
Gu Ze Yan: Don't skip lunch. I know you. Don't overdo it.
Lin Qing Yun: (smiling emoji)
She stared at the screen a moment longer, then tucked it away. She wasn't about to admit that she had, in fact, only eaten a piece of bread all morning.
Two days later, under the heavy gold of the late July sun, Si Yao came home.
Qing Yun spotted her the moment she stepped off the bus—a slim girl in a white shirt and jeans, hair tied in a ponytail, eyes sparkling even under the summer heat. Qing Yun rushed forward, hugging her tightly.
"Jiejie!" Si Yao's voice was bright, familiar, so alive. "I missed you!"
"You're too thin again," Qing Yun scolded softly, but her smile betrayed her joy.
That evening, their little apartment glowed with the warmth of home. The fan hummed lazily as Si Yao chattered nonstop: about dorm life, about national competitions, about a teacher who always wore mismatched socks, about a boy she might like but wasn't sure. Qing Yun listened, nodding, asking small questions, smiling all the while.
Ze Yan wasn't there, but somehow his presence hung in the air, a faint thread woven into their daily life. When Si Yao mentioned the international competition, Qing Yun thought of him, of Luminar, and of all the roads that stretched ahead.
Later, when Si Yao had finally run out of energy and collapsed into bed, Qing Yun sat by her side, stroking her hair as though the years hadn't passed, as though she was still eleven, still fragile, still needing protection.
"Don't push yourself too much, Yao'er," she whispered. "Jiejie will always be here."
But in her heart, she felt the fleeting nature of these moments—like trying to cup running water in her palms.