Lǐ Zhèngyán's "service to atone for his mistakes" period had seemingly become the latest theater performance, staged daily at lunchtime in the company cafeteria, with every seat filled.
However, the cast of this play involved far more than just him and Lín Jīng as the two main actors. Two other significant roles had, almost immediately, forcefully joined this silent "service competition" in their own ways.
Lǐ Zhèngyán's service began at lunchtime, but someone clearly believed that care should start from the early morning. The very next day, a high-quality kraft paper bag quietly appeared on Lín Jīng's desk… (breakfast details remain unchanged) A note attached read, in neat handwriting: "Heard that post-burn diet should be light, so I specifically chose this low-sugar croissant, and switched to low-caffeine beans for the coffee, so it won't affect sleep – Dān." This care was precise, detailed, and carried an undeniable thoughtfulness.
This scene happened to be witnessed by Lǐ Zhèngyán, who had come to the Marketing Department early to discuss interface issues for the "Virtual Lighthouse" project. He stared at the paper bag, his gaze instantly chilling a few degrees, the line of his jaw tightening slightly. He realized that Dān's "service" was all-day, pervasive, while he seemed only capable of appearing clumsily at lunchtime. A subtle sense of competition and frustration began to stir.
At lunchtime, Lǐ Zhèngyán appeared precisely on time beside Lín Jīng's desk and said concisely: "Eat." The two walked towards the cafeteria one after another. Lǐ Zhèngyán rigorously followed his self-imposed "waiter" rules, serving food, finding a seat, handing over chopsticks, his actions meticulous, even as precise as researching intricate instruments, though his expression remained stiff. He tried to recall Dān and Zhōu Sīyuè's natural gestures but found he couldn't imitate them. "This is steamed perch, good for supplementing protein and healing the wound," he said, pointing at a plate of fish, explaining dryly as if delivering a technical report, feeling awkward even to himself. "Thank you," Lín Jīng replied softly, feeling as if countless gazes around them were about to roast her. Just then, Zhōu Sīyuè, holding his tray, as if perfectly timing it, naturally sat in the empty seat next to Lín Jīng. His posture was elegant and composed. "Lín Jīng, is your hand feeling any better?" he asked with a gentle smile and concerned eyes. He then turned to Lǐ Zhèngyán, his tone carrying a hint of seniority. "Zhèngyán, it’s not easy for you to take care of someone while being so busy with work. But next time, you really need to be more careful. Girls can't be left with scars." The words sounded caring but were subtly barbed. Lǐ Zhèngyán tightened his grip on his chopsticks, not replying. He silently pushed the bowl of soup, cooled to just the right temperature, closer to Lín Jīng, his action carrying a hint of petulance. He realized he was completely outmatched in this exchange of words and emotional intelligence.
By afternoon tea time, this war without smoke had entered its white-hot stage. Dān, under the guise of stress-testing the intranet's speed, ordered cooling desserts from a well-known dessert shop for the entire Marketing Department. The one delivered to Lín Jīng was a specially requested rock sugar stewed snow pear, with a note: "Clears heat and moistens dryness, beneficial for skin recovery – Dān." This thoughtful gesture was precise, low-key, and benefited everyone, making it impossible to fault. Zhōu Sīyuè, leveraging his status as "specially invited consultant," used the reason of thanking the Marketing Department for their recent support and cooperation in training. He sent over a set of French desserts from a Michelin-starred restaurant, instantly elevating the afternoon tea for the entire department, drawing gasps of admiration. His approach was high-end, sophisticated, and widened his influence. And Lǐ Zhèngyán… he initially seemed oblivious to this "competition." Just as Lín Jīng thought he had abandoned this front, a colleague from the Administration Department approached carrying a large insulated cooler bag emblazoned with the logo of a high-end imported supermarket. Placing it in the Marketing Department area, she announced, "Lín Jīng, this is from Engineer Lǐ of the Digital Engineering Department. They say it's for your 'Virtual Lighthouse' project team to cool down, energize, and replenish vitamins." Upon opening the box, it revealed a dazzling array of high-end NFC juices, sugar-free sodas, premium coffee capsules, and a large quantity of beautifully packaged imported fresh fruits. The variety and sheer volume were enough for the entire department to enjoy and take home for several days. His method was clumsy, direct, even a bit crude, yet it inexplicably seemed… wealthy, genuine, carrying a "I don't know what you like, so I bought everything" kind of straightforward thinking and team spirit. He might not understand subtle care, but he understood how to support her and the projects she valued in the most practical way.
A few evenings later, Lín Jīng had to work overtime to verify the final data due to project Cosing. The office was empty except for her. At this moment, Lǐ Zhèngyán's figure appeared at the doorway, a plastic bag from a pharmacy in his hand. He walked to her desk and, without a word, took out an unfamiliar, imported scar repair gel from the bag and placed it on her desk. "Try this," he said, his tone still flat, his gaze fixed on the red scab on her arm. "They say it works better. I checked the ingredients; it's quite gentle." "Thank you." Lín Jīng looked at him, hesitated, and then asked the small question that had been lingering in her mind for days, "You… why were you smoking that day? I remember you don't smoke." The smell of smoke, which she so detested, had come from him, and it left her feeling inexplicably bothered. Lǐ Zhèngyán's body stiffened almost imperceptibly. He was silent for a moment. He didn't look at Lín Jīng, his gaze shifted to the dark night scene outside the window, his voice low: "General Manager Wáng offered it; it was hard to refuse." He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing, as if making some decision, before adding with difficulty, his voice even lower, "And… I was in a bad mood those few days." He rarely admitted his emotions so directly. "Why were you in a bad mood?" Lín Jīng asked almost instinctively, regretting it as soon as the words left her mouth. Lǐ Zhèngyán suddenly turned back, his eyes fixed on her, filled with a torrent of complex emotions – annoyance, grievance, and a sense of reckless honesty. Facing her direct question in the quiet overtime night, his awkward defenses seemed to have failed. "Because of you." Three words, like three boulders, crashed into the silent air without warning, causing invisible ripples. "Because you were avoiding me, because you thought I was… an unreasonable person, because you… thanked the wrong person!" He spoke rapidly, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion that was almost bursting through the dam. "I know I was a jerk before! Binding you in that childish way, making you angry, hurting you, saying those things at the party… and then I denied it! But I don't know how to change! I don't know what to do anymore! I don't know how… how to make you stop looking at me like that!" He finally roared out the words that had been pent up in his heart for so long, his ears flushed red, his chest heaving slightly, as if he had just completed a long, arduous cross-country run. This was the proud, awkward Lǐ Zhèngyán, who habitually hid behind indifference, revealing his helplessness, regret, and deep insecurity so directly, almost miserably, for the first time. He was like a child who had done wrong but didn't know how to make amends, only able to roar out his inner anxiety with the clumsiest methods. He looked at Lín Jīng's slightly widened, shocked eyes, his voice dropping, with an almost pleading, clumsy tone: "Lín Jīng, I know what I'm saying now might still sound like I'm making excuses, but I only took one puff of that cigarette, and I haven't touched one since. I… I'm truly sorry for hurting you with my childishness and stupidity, both before and now." The office was silent, with only the faint hum of the air conditioning. Lín Jīng looked at him, at the unfeigned sincerity and pain in his eyes, listening to his stumbling yet incredibly real, belated explanation. The grievances, anger, and confusion she had accumulated because of him seemed to melt away a little at this moment, loosened by this clumsy yet earnest honesty. She suddenly understood that behind his bad behavior might lie an equally bewildered soul. She didn't speak, but picked up the cool scar cream from the table and gently held it in her hand. The cold touch seemed to carry warmth, and a hard corner of her heart began to soften slightly. "I know," she said softly, her voice remarkably clear in the silence. "The ointment, thank you." It wasn't explicit forgiveness, but it was no longer a cold, absolute rejection. This seemed to be a beginning. She saw the taut string in his eyes seem to relax a little. Lǐ Zhèngyán looked at her, seeing that she hadn't immediately pushed him away or made a sarcastic remark. The tension in his jawline finally eased almost imperceptibly. He knew this was just the first step of a long journey, but he seemed to have finally, clumsily, and with many mistakes, found a correct way to approach the tightly shut door – honesty, perhaps, was closer to her than a mask of indifference. And the pending "I…" seemed to find a sliver of possibility for placement in this belated explanation. At least, he had let her know that his frustration and abnormal behavior were all because of her. For him, this was a big step forward.