Chapter 1

Another winter, snow falling in gusts.

The heater hummed in the office, warmth fogging the glass of the window until the reflected figures blurred.

At a desk sat a young woman in her twenties, head bowed, fists clenched, shoulders trembling faintly.

“I’ve read your resignation letter. Go find Xuezi and she’ll process your paperwork.”

Jiang Min signed the resignation form and handed it back. “That’s all.”

“President Jiang, thank you.” The other woman faltered, her voice thick with restraint and guilt. “And I’m sorry… for calling you so late last night. I really — I just can’t do this anymore.”

— Past one in the morning, she had phoned Jiang Min, her emotions collapsing as she sobbed that she couldn’t keep doing this job.

“Go home and get some rest.”

Jiang Min neither coaxed her to stay nor tried to talk her out of it. She didn’t offer even a single word of comfort.

Little Chu lifted her head to look at Jiang Min, tears glimmering in her eyes.

A piece of calligraphy still hung on the wall — the name of this nonprofit organization.

Lingyin. Listening to the voice of the times.

She remembered how, three years ago when she had first joined Lingyin, she had been so eager to do something that mattered. And now, barely any time later, she was the one walking away.

Jiang Min rose and gave her shoulder a light pat, but in the end said nothing more.

Only after Little Chu had thanked her over and over and left did Mi Wei come in, heaving a quiet sigh. “Senior Sister, Sister Xuezi rounded up a few candidates over there — no idea if any of them are any good. I thought you’d keep Sister Chu on until after the New Year… I know she suffered plenty under Team Leader Jian Ming, but there’s still a shoot tonight!”

The shoot had only been taken on two days ago. A partner enterprise had contacted Jiang Min: to cooperate with a superior department’s impromptu emergency fire drill, they needed filming tonight, with final footage delivered within the next week or two.

But most of the team was currently down south on another project. Only two people had been left in the filming unit — and one of them was Little Chu, who had announced her resignation just last night.

“That’s enough. No need to go on.” Jiang Min didn’t look up, leafing through the resumes on her desk. “Once Xuezi starts the interviews later, I’ll come take a look too.”

The phone call had come last night; she had already been on the phone with Jiang Xuezi first thing this morning — they needed to hire someone immediately, right now.

Mi Wei nodded. “Then I’ll head out.”

“Oh, and tell Xuezi to pay out Little Chu’s salary for this month plus this year’s performance bonus. If the accounts are too tight, have her come talk to me.”

Mi Wei could only sigh. “Got it.”

The snow fell harder and harder.

Jiang Min was preparing her annual work report, the one she would present to the team’s investors. She hammered away at her computer until four in the afternoon, when a message from Mi Wei popped up: “Down to two candidates. The others were all hopeless.”

Jiang Min locked her screen, picked up a stack of files, and headed downstairs.

“Every Tom, Dick, and Harry is sending in resumes now. One of them has never even touched a camera — how did these people even get in here? Why aren’t you screening them?”

Jiang Min paused at the stairwell, listening to Jiang Xuezi vent, and told Mi Wei, “Go out and buy a few hot coffees.”

Mi Wei blinked. “How about milk tea instead? Dessert makes people happy!”

Jiang Min gave this hardcore milk-tea addict a look that said don’t think I don’t know you just want one for yourself, and nodded. “That works too.”

Mi Wei saluted. “On it!”

By the time that exchange was over, Jiang Xuezi had finished blowing off steam.

Jiang Min walked over and patted her shoulder. “Don’t be angry. Getting worked up won’t help. Keep looking.”

The whole team numbered only twenty or thirty people, and Jiang Min had dumped HR, finance, and logistics entirely on Jiang Xuezi’s plate. Managing that many trivial day-to-day headaches would try even the best temper now and then.

Jiang Xuezi looked back at her. “What are you doing here?”

Jiang Min pulled over a chair and sat down. “You’re fretting, so naturally I had to come see. Two left?”

“If you weren’t so picky, would I be this worried?” Jiang Xuezi sighed. “One candidate left. Might as well treat a dead horse like it’s alive.”

Little Chu had picked up her box and walked out without looking back, but the end of the year was a terrible time to hire — most people waited until their year-end bonus landed before quitting. Barely anyone had applied this round. A dozen or so had come in, and not one of them was normal.

As she talked, Jiang Xuezi tidied the stack of files on the table, flipping to the last resume — and her hand stilled.

“What is it?”

Right then the door pushed open, and the final interviewee walked in.

The woman wore a long dark-gray coat, snow still dusting her shoulders. Tall and slender, with cool, clear features and an unassuming air.

The images in memory had long since yellowed and blurred, yet now, carried across years and mountains and rivers, they overlapped with the scene before her eyes.

Jiang Min said softly, “Lin Xuqing?”

Her voice was quiet — probably no one but Jiang Xuezi had heard.

Jiang Xuezi was startled too. She looked at Jiang Min, then at the newcomer. It had to have been eight or nine years since she’d last seen Lin Xuqing. But having already gotten her shock out of the way a moment before, she recovered faster, pushing the resume across to Jiang Min.

The one-inch ID photo inside showed a face with clean, unclouded features.

The name field read, in unmistakable characters: Lin Xuqing.

Lin Xuqing said nothing. The snow that had settled on her brows melted fast in the warm room, leaving her lashes damp and glistening. She gave a perfectly courteous nod. “Hello.”

Her tone was flat and calm — polite, and distant.

Jiang Min looked at her, brow furrowing.

How long had it been since she’d last seen her? She could hardly remember.

Jiang Xuezi gestured. “Hello, please, have a seat.”

Lin Xuqing nodded to her. “Thank you.”

Jiang Xuezi glanced at Jiang Min; Jiang Min nodded, signaling her to proceed as usual.

What followed was a strictly by-the-book self-introduction.

“My name is Lin Xuqing. My last job was at a new-media company. Before that, it’s all listed in order in my resume. If there’s anything you’d like to know in more detail, I’m happy to elaborate.”

“My portfolio is attached at the end.”

Now that things had shifted into work mode, Jiang Min stopped interjecting.

When Jiang Xuezi began asking about her portfolio, Jiang Min picked up the resume. A densely packed single page, laid out with perfect clarity, the experience more than substantial.

Mingchuan University, chemistry major. She had entered photography and videography competitions while still in school and taken home several awards. Graduated at twenty-one, went to a pharmaceutical company, then a magazine office — mainly responsible for shooting, but she had also run social media operations. Eight years, filled to the brim.

Jiang Min glanced across the table.

Lin Xuqing was answering Jiang Xuezi’s questions, focused and earnest, as if no one else in the room existed.

Just then Jiang Xuezi finished her questions and turned her head, giving Jiang Min a small nod.

On paper, Lin Xuqing’s experience and ability were a near-perfect fit for the position — so good a fit it was almost a waste of her talent.

Jiang Min could only nod.

This was a fire fight; she had no room to be picky.

With the candidate decided, the other coworkers all relaxed.

Jiang Xuezi made the call on the spot. “There’s a shoot tonight. Little Lin, can you manage this evening?”

Lin Xuqing hadn’t expected work to start this fast, but she didn’t hesitate. “I can.”

And just like that it was settled, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Mi Wei returned from her milk-tea run right then, and hearing the news, happily handed out drinks all around. Warm and outgoing as ever, she offered Lin Xuqing a taro soy milk. “I’m Mi Wei, Sister Min’s assistant. This one’s yours!”

Lin Xuqing considered a moment, then accepted it. “Thank you.”

Jiang Xuezi turned to Jiang Min. “Do you want to brief Little Lin, or should I?”

Jiang Min thought about it. “You do it.”

Jiang Xuezi clapped her hands, and everyone gathered around. “We’ve got a shoot tonight, so I’ll keep this short. Internally we have a project team, a filming unit, and a post-production unit. But most people are out on another project right now, so each team’s down to one or two people.”

She introduced them one by one.

“This is Xu Yang from the project team.”

“This is Yun Shu from filming.”

“This is Yu Sisi from post-production.”

“Oh — and I forgot to introduce myself. I’m the Head Housekeeper. If nobody else will deal with it, come find me.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

A faint, polite smile touched Lin Xuqing’s face too. “Hello, everyone. I’m Lin Xuqing.”

Before submitting her resume, she had already looked into Lingyin’s basic situation.

The nonprofit had grown up under the support of the civil affairs authorities, shooting public-service ads primarily. In the two years since its transition, it had taken on some corporate partnership projects as well. Like most nonprofits, its structure was flat — beyond the team leader, there were only a few small groups underneath.

When she finished, Yun Shu, who was also in the filming unit, spoke up first. Short, with a baby face, she smiled at her. “Glad you’re here. Let’s go over tonight’s shoot in a bit, shall we?”

Lin Xuqing nodded. “Sure. No problem.”

“Catch up with everyone later,” Jiang Xuezi said, patting Lin Xuqing’s shoulder. “Little Lin, come with me — we’ll walk you through tonight’s shoot. Everyone else, back to work.”

Lin Xuqing looked over and met Jiang Min’s gaze head-on. Her lips moved. “Thank you, Sister Xuezi. Thank you, President Jiang.”

Jiang Min arched a brow. “Don’t mention it.”

The heating upstairs was stronger. Mi Wei carried files in to help. “You can hang your coat by the door — don’t be shy. We don’t actually call her President Jiang around here. You can just call her…”

“No need.” Jiang Min cut in, the corner of her mouth curving up a fraction. “Let her call me what she likes.”

Mi Wei: “…Oh.”

Something about the atmosphere felt subtly off. She shot Lin Xuqing a glance, pulled the door shut behind her, and left.

With the door closed, the room went quiet.

Jiang Min said nothing, walking to the window to fasten it tight.

Seeing that Jiang Min had no intention of speaking, Jiang Xuezi had to start. “I covered the team’s basic situation just now. Here’s the project brief for tonight — take a look in a bit. This shoot isn’t complicated, just sudden. It’s scheduled for nighttime, so it’ll be fairly grueling.”

“The filming splits into two groups. One rides along with the vehicles; the other shoots wide exterior shots. Yun Shu is handling the ride-along. The exteriors are yours.”

Only after she finished did Jiang Min add flatly, “The pay is mediocre.”

Lin Xuqing nodded. “I know. I only just quit after a fight with my boss at the end of the year, and I’m job-hunting on short notice.”

“No wonder.” Jiang Xuezi patted her shoulder. “Consider it a stopgap, then.”

Jiang Min was still standing at the window. Only after Jiang Xuezi finished her briefing did she say, “Go say a few words to A-Min.”

Lin Xuqing nodded and walked over. “President Jiang.”

The woman at the window turned. Her loosely curled long hair brushed her shoulders; deep-green earrings swayed faintly, half-hidden in the strands.

The heating was on full, and she wore a white shirt under a green sweater vest, her features deep-set and elegant, refined as a painting.

Her expression was cool as well. “Get familiar with tonight’s assignment as quickly as you can.”

Lin Xuqing nodded. “Understood. I’ll head out, then.”

Watching her go, Jiang Xuezi turned back and grinned at Jiang Min. “You were pretty fierce just now.”

“Was I?” Jiang Min was unrepentant. “She’s the one calling me President Jiang.”

This one really knew how to hold a grudge.

Jiang Xuezi shook her head, laughing. “Then I’ll go show her around. Talk to you later.”

Jiang Min nodded and said nothing.

The work report was still waiting for her, and dealing with President Jian was never a light undertaking. By the time she surfaced from her computer again, the hours had slipped away without a sound.

It wasn’t until Jiang Xuezi knocked and came in that evening: “Everyone’s gone. I saw your light still on.”

“What time is it — everyone’s left?” Jiang Min checked the time. “Has what’s-her-name left too?”

“There’s a midnight shoot tonight, so of course everyone went home first to get their things. As for what’s-her-name — which what’s-her-name would that be?” Jiang Xuezi asked with a knowing smile. “And here I thought you had no intention of speaking to her at all.”

Jiang Min shot her a look. “This night shoot matters. I was reminding her.”

Jiang Min grabbed her coat and scarf and headed downstairs, calling out at the entrance: “That… Lin Xuqing.”

Lin Xuqing turned and stopped.

Her long hair was tied low at the nape of her neck, the smoke-gray coat draped over her arm, her figure tall and thin.

Snow drifted from the sky. Her skin was pale, her pupils ink-black — colder than the snow by several degrees.

Jiang Min watched her back and thought, Heartless thing.

But what came out of her mouth remained strictly business. “Get home early and rest — better yet, nap beforehand. Tonight’s shoot runs three or four hours. No being late on your first assignment. If you’re late, don’t bother coming back at all.”

She spoke fast, crisp and efficient, with an impersonal sort of chill.

“I saw your number on your resume. My number’s on this card.” Jiang Min handed her the business card, tossing a final line over her shoulder as she left. “I’m off. Get some good rest when you’re home.”

Lin Xuqing took the card. Still the same. Domineering, decisive — her word was law.

She stood where she was, watching Jiang Min’s retreating figure, and in that instant time flowed backward to an autumn many years ago. That person had been just as brusque at their parting, telling her: “Go on back. I won’t be looking after you anymore.”

Lin Xuqing lowered her head and smiled.

She tucked the card behind her phone and stepped out into the wind and snow.

That’s right.

What obligation did she have to look after her, anyway?