After Bringing Joy to the Short-Lived Mad Young Lady - Chapter 22

Zong Heng stepped into the office as usual, casually hanging her coat over the back of her chair and pressing her fingers to her temples.

Her gaze swept across the desk, where a steaming cup of coffee sat conspicuously.

Without even glancing at it, she expressionlessly tossed the cup into the trash bin.

The full cup of black coffee collided with the inside of the bin, producing a loud thud.

Opposite her, Shark shifted slightly, and Fang Yi’s face emerged from behind the monitor.

This was unusual.

Zong Heng’s hand paused mid-air as she checked the time—there was still an hour and twenty minutes before official work hours began.

Her eyebrow arched slightly. “Why are you here so early today?”

In her memory, Fang Yi seemed to be perpetually late, leaving early, or even skipping work without reason—utterly lacking discipline.

But today, she sat rigidly at her desk, her face tense, exuding an inexplicable sense of discord.

“Woke up, so I came,” Fang Yi said, her eyes flicking toward the trash bin, fingers interlaced. “Didn’t like it?”

To express gratitude for the small kindness Zong Heng had shown by giving Lin Shuxing her business card, Fang Yi had gone out of her way to buy the coffee.

Aurora had mentioned that Zong Heng only drank a specific brand of sugar-free, hand-ground black coffee—expensive stuff.

Fang Yi had jogged over to buy two cups that morning, one for Zong Heng and one for herself.

She had tried to make some changes, following along, but after the first sip, she had thrown hers away—now reunited with its sibling in the trash bin.

It was disgusting—bitter to the point of sourness. The promotional material boasted some imported beans, but the taste was so bad it could’ve been poison and no one would’ve noticed.

Rumor had it that coffee was originally invented to be fed to animals, keeping them alert and working harder.

“I don’t drink beverages from strangers,” Zong Heng replied, sitting down and beginning to organize her already immaculate desk.

Fang Yi shrugged, unfazed. She raised two fingers and began pecking at the keyboard with agonizing slowness.

Definitely strange. Zong Heng frowned.

Even a middle schooler probably didn’t type this slowly, let alone an engineer.

Disappointment weighed heavily in Zong Heng’s chest as she watched Fang Yi’s sluggish fingers. It felt like her only redeeming quality was rusting away, the entire office now steeped in the decadent stench of capitalist indulgence.

Could someone like this really create a project that would “change the world”?

Zong Heng had her doubts.

When Wang Quan had gone to pick her up at the airport, he had lavished praise on Fang Yi. Even Wang Hejun, a woman of discerning taste, had spoken highly of her.

But fame often outstripped reality. Zong Heng’s impression of Fang Yi now was far worse than during her public lecture at Z University.

Back then, though she had publicly refuted Fang Yi, a corner of her mind had still remembered the name.

Fang Yi—the “Yi” that meant “strategy in the grand game.”

Zong Heng had once hoped to see Fang Yi make waves internationally, or at the very least, leave a mark in Yanjing.

But Fang Yi hadn’t pursued a Ph.D., and her output under her prestigious advisor during her master’s had been mediocre.

She hadn’t delved deeply into any field, content to remain in the small city of Z.

At such a young age, did she really have no ambition at all?

Wasting talent was a shameful sin!

Considering the possibility that Fang Yi had simply “been picked up by some rich heiress and was now coasting on that,” Zong Heng found herself increasingly irritated by Fang Yi’s delicate features. And then there was the slow, deliberate—

Tap—

Tap—

Tap—

Fang Yi hugged the giant shark plushie, slouching in her chair with no semblance of proper posture. Her long fingers pecked at the keyboard like a dim-witted robot with a faulty network card, her face wearing a naturally idiotic expression.

That idiotic face was also marked with scratches—ones that looked like they’d been clawed out by a woman’s nails.

With whom? That little girl from the other day?

This realization darkened Zong Heng’s expression even further. She muttered under her breath, “Lunatic.”

She felt it was absolutely necessary to suggest to Jiang Xiye that Fang Yi be kicked out of the office. Or, at the very least, she would move out the moment the lab’s server room was officially set up.

Back when Wang Hejun had first met with her, he had painted a grand vision—if the project pioneered by Wang Quan truly met expectations, they might even get a supercomputer as their core server.

Before Zong Heng had arrived, that goal had seemed distant. Now, it felt like they were worlds apart from ever achieving it.

A knock sounded at the door. Zong Heng answered coldly, “Come in.”

Aurora stepped inside with a smile, flicking her pale golden hair. “Morning, Engineer Zong.”

She was Wang Quan’s secretary, handling meticulous paperwork while also memorizing everyone’s habits and—little bits of gossip.

A shame she hadn’t been born in the right era. Otherwise, she could’ve made a fine spy.

After the obligatory greeting, Aurora gracefully made her way to Fang Yi’s desk, waving a pack of cartoon-themed bandages.

“Xiao Yi, does it hurt? I’ve got some bandages here for you.”

“No need, it’ll heal soon enough,” Fang Yi waved her off, leaning away slightly.

The scratches left by Shui Wuding’s nails weren’t deep, but since they were on her face, they stood out more.

“But it’s on your face—you should be careful about infection. Scars would be such a shame,” Aurora blinked, deploying her classic trump card. “I already brought them—do you want to put it on yourself, or should I help?”

“Ah, you don’t have a mirror. You can’t see it properly. I’ll do it.” Aurora tore open the packaging and leaned in with practiced consideration.

Zong Heng rolled her eyes silently, her disdain practically oozing out.

She had no idea what these youngsters saw in Fang Yi. Every time she stepped out for a stroll, she’d come back to find Fang Yi buried under a pile of snacks.

This place was so lax it didn’t feel like an office—more like a zoo.

“No, really, I’ll do it myself,” Fang Yi leaned back dramatically, quickly snatching the bandage. “Thank you, comrade. This is enough.”

In the past, she wouldn’t have minded this kind of casual physical contact.

But now, it was as if she had just realized that even with someone of the same gender, she needed to maintain some distance—though she was overdoing it, to the point where the effect was as absurd as a monk calling someone “benefactor.”

“Comrade?” Aurora couldn’t help but laugh at the term.

“Move it a centimeter to the lower left—yes, right there.” She narrowed her eyes, a mischievous glint surfacing as she twirled a strand of golden hair around her finger. Leaning in closer, the heavy scent of rose perfume wafted between them, her tone turning teasing. “Well done, little comrade—”

Fang Yi pressed the bandage onto her face by feel, but under Aurora’s provocations, she kept retreating—so much that she accidentally kicked the shark plushie off the chair.

Under Aurora’s amused gaze, Fang Yi’s nose twitched. Unable to hold back any longer, she covered her nose with one hand and sneezed.

Aurora’s eyes curved into crescents, the tip of her high-heeled boot tapping lightly as she watched Fang Yi’s flustered evasion. For the first time, she understood the joy a temptress must feel teasing a monk.

Fang Yi had a great figure—long legs, a slender waist, exceptional skills, and endless patience. As both a friend of the big boss and a core member of the development team, she never put on airs.

Once, a newbie mistook her for IT support and asked her to fix a machine. She went without hesitation, patiently explaining how to troubleshoot the issue during the repair.

Always composed, always unflappable—it seemed there was nothing she couldn’t handle.

And rumor had it she’d never been in a relationship—utterly perfect.

If Zong Heng was an untouchable glacier—lofty, distant, and intimidating—then Fang Yi was the calm, boundless ocean, making people want to toss something in just to see the ripples she’d make.

Aurora had only suspected Fang Yi might be gay before, but now, seeing her flustered reaction, she was almost 100% certain.

Stirring waves in still waters—she must’ve had an interesting weekend.

Aurora’s suggestive gaze lingered on the band-aid before she tactfully withdrew, waving at Fang Yi and gracefully taking her leave.

She couldn’t wait to share this juicy intel with the girls.

Good news: Fang Yi did like women.

Bad news: They’d found out a little too late—she was already taken!

Some lucky girl out there is eating well.

No sooner had Aurora left than Zong Heng’s icy glare locked onto Fang Yi again.

Fang Yi was baffled.

It’s just a cut on my face—since when is that against workplace dress code?

“Senior Zong Heng, is something wrong?” she asked.

“Yes,” Zong Heng strode over, picked up the fallen shark plushie, and hurled it at Fang Yi with a glare. “Behave yourself. What you do elsewhere is none of my business, but I won’t tolerate you turning this place into a mess.”

“If you put half the effort you spend on men and women into development, maybe your half-baked toy wouldn’t be such a joke.”

Fang Yi, bewildered by the scolding, tried to defend herself. “There are no men—”

“Is that the point?” Zong Heng cut her off coldly. “Women are no better! Nothing is! Remember, you have a fiancée, you damn seducer.”

Seducer?

The disdain and disgust in Zong Heng’s eyes finally clued Fang Yi in—she was being lumped in with the likes of Li Sinian.

Seduction… huh?

Ripples of memory surged in her mind, the damp heat of that night’s kiss flashing through her thoughts again.

She coughed stiffly, trying to suppress the sensation, but the harder she tried to forget, the sharper every tiny detail became.

Fang Yi braced her hands on the desk, her tone as formal as a news anchor’s. “Ours is a purely professional relationship—uh, contractual, I mean. Fiancée, well… Anyway, it’s not what you think!”

For once, she was stumbling over her words, only digging herself deeper.

With Zong Heng’s preconceived negative impression firmly in place, her eyes nearly rolled to the back of her head.

“Spare me,” Zong Heng snapped. “I couldn’t care less about your personal life.”

Back at the Yanjing Ninth Bureau, she’d seen all kinds of people. But no matter how debauched they were, in her presence, even the worst had to at least pretend to be decent.

The sharp arch of Zong Heng’s brows curled with contempt as she forcibly looked away—only to flick her gaze back moments later, landing lightly on the box containing Fang Yi’s game console. A cold smirk played on her lips.

“That said, you don’t actually think that little toy of yours qualifies as ‘full-dive,’ do you? You might fool some naive girl, but don’t lie to yourself.”

“Some preset animations, a bunch of latent bugs.”

“Keep wasting your time, keep ‘pioneering the future’ with those two fingers of yours.”

“But if you’re going to churn out garbage, at least keep it down. Your mechanical keyboard is too damn loud.”

Zong Heng’s icy, low-pressure aura made it clear she’d been holding back for a while. In an instant, the vast office fell so silent you could hear a pin drop.

The system, startled by the sudden hostility, quickly patted Fang Yi’s head: La-la-la, not listening! She said it was pretty good that night! Who possessed her?!

Having been by Fang Yi’s side day and night, the system knew exactly how much effort she had poured into those outputs.

Fang Yi had started late. When she first got her hands on a computer, she didn’t even know the proper finger placement for typing—just pecked away with a few fingers.

Starting from the typing tutor software even middle schoolers couldn’t be bothered with, she painstakingly corrected each finger, one by one. The little frog hopped across strings of English letters toward the future, the cops-and-robbers race run countless times…

Later, her typing speed grew faster and faster—touch typing, keystrokes swift and precise, her fingers nearly keeping perfect pace with the flashes of inspiration in her mind.

Only on that foundation did she begin coding.

Her typing speed was several times that of an average person. She often typed from dawn till dusk, wearing out several cheap keyboards, hammering her way into what some called genius.

Zong Heng’s words were downright harsh.

The system, terrified this might crush the kid’s spirit, would’ve gladly splurged on some laxatives for Zong Heng—if only it weren’t so stingy with its points. Instead, it brandished a tiny megaphone and roared: She’s just jealous of your talent!!

The moment she stepped into her professional domain, Fang Yi’s previously erratic heartbeat steadied into its proper rhythm.

Slowly, she lifted her onyx-black eyes to meet Zong Heng’s, lips pressed into a thin line, voice cool. “Not preset. Not animations. See for yourself.”

The system immediately puffed up, playing the intimidating sidekick: You hear that?! My host said NO! Could YOU do it?!

Even if Zong Heng couldn’t hear it, the attitude had to be there—max out the emotional support for the host!

After a silent standoff, a flicker passed through Zong Heng’s gaze. She tilted her chin up slightly, her thoughts unreadable.

But when Fang Yi pulled the gaming console from its case, Zong Heng bent forward without hesitation, taking it in both hands.

The machine had been assembled by Fang Yi herself, many of its details rough and unrefined.

At the time, she’d been grappling with too many technical hurdles to focus much on quality control.

Zong Heng turned it over in her hands, her frown deepening until she finally let out an irritated tsk.

A pale glow slowly brightened—still the same wasteland. The disdain in Zong Heng’s eyes grew heavier.

Not even a change in scenery? Passing off an interactive projection as full immersion was just lazy.

If this was Fang Yi’s level, Zong Heng began considering the possibility of quitting the team.

She had no patience to waste on something so meaningless.

This sloppy, this absurd—there was no way they could create a groundbreaking project.

Zong Heng had always despised people who talked big but delivered nothing. Holding the console up with one hand, she sneered, “This is it?”

The wasteland seethed with unseen currents, the same ancient starlight spilling over scorched earth as it had for millennia.

She didn’t notice the shadow shifting beside her—a massive mutated millipede crawling up her leg.

Zzzzt—

Zzzzt—

The damp, icy tendrils coiled around her skin, and the sensation of insects crawling over her body made Zong Heng’s usually haughty expression stiffen. “What the hell is this?!”

She hated bugs second only to anything else in life—so much that her lips turned deathly pale, and a wave of nausea churned violently in her stomach.

Acting purely on reflex, Zong Heng didn’t hesitate for even a second. Instinctively, she raised her hand and smashed the only thing she was holding—the game console—straight down.

The millipede was crushed against the floor, the sickening squelch of its burst innards mingling with the crisp crunch of its shattered exoskeleton.

“Thud—!”

At the same time, the game console split cleanly in two, its exposed circuitry emitting a harsh, screeching electromagnetic whine.

The light source flickered out, and the office returned to its pristine, silent state.

“…”

Red and white wires spilled out, the dark green circuit board lying pitifully at the center of the “mass grave.”

The soldering on the console’s wiring was a mess, clearly the work of an amateur.

When Zong Heng realized the bug had also been part of the game, her expression shifted through a series of emotions before she finally turned to Fang Yi, who stood frozen in place, and blurted out, “How did you do that?!”

Projection alone couldn’t replicate tactile sensation—what kind of technology could achieve that?

Fang Yi said nothing.

The game console did have many flaws. Looking back now, it was practically a failure.

But it had been the culmination of countless sleepless nights of relentless study—it even held a piece of her earliest dreams.

Now the console was broken, and the data from the last test modification hadn’t been backed up.

Zong Heng’s mouth opened and closed, her chin tilting slightly, but she refused to lower it. The room plunged into an oppressive silence.

The tendons on Fang Yi’s knuckles stood out sharply, but they relaxed just as quickly.

She bent down, picking up the shattered pieces one by one, and placed them on her desk.

Zong Heng stepped closer, finally forcing out a few words from the depths of her throat. “These two connections are wrong—no wonder it broke so easily. I—”

I’ll fix it for you.

Before she could finish, she reached out, pointing at a misaligned, loose chip—only to have her hand slapped away violently the next second.

Fang Yi’s posture straightened like a drawn blade, her presence suddenly razor-sharp, a stark contrast to her earlier hesitant, awkward demeanor. It was as if she’d become a completely different person.

“I don’t want to lose my temper with you, Senior Zong Heng.”

Yet her tone was eerily calm, the depths of her dark eyes devoid of even a flicker of light.

A jolt of unease shot through Zong Heng. Instinctively, she retracted her outstretched hand. In Fang Yi’s tranquil gaze, she caught a glimpse of something dangerous—like countless beasts lurking beneath the surface of a blackened river.

“It’s fine. I’ll fix it myself. It was my first attempt, after all—there were bound to be issues.” Fang Yi’s voice was flat, like stagnant water.

She turned away, and Zong Heng couldn’t see her expression anymore.

But the calmer and more composed Fang Yi became, the more Zong Heng felt as though a thorn were lodged in her throat—unable to rise or fall.