Xinghua is a vast city where innovation, commerce, and culture thrive. The north has its mansions, the east its quiet gated hills—and far from both, Qin Tiewei's well-polished imported leather shoes struck a crack in the sidewalk as he walked with brisk, purposeful strides. One more left turn and he'd be there. Building 47, apartment 3C—the low-income neighborhood where his only hope lived.
Mr. Liu, QinX's lead software engineer, was certain the intern would never return, leaving Tiewei no choice but to come here himself. How could the brain behind the code for his company's revolutionary app quit at such a critical time? And how had Mr. Liu let it happen?
Laughter drifted from a nearby courtyard, drawing his gaze. A couple sat entwined, peering at a phone screen, their ease so natural it drew a small, wistful smile from him.
Apartment 3C.
He stopped at the door and instinctively reached for a bell. Finding none, he stared at the faded blue paint, willing a knocker to appear. With a final sigh, he rapped his knuckles on the wood.
Silence. Surely, someone's home.
He knocked again, harder this time. Irritation was starting to creep in. Hopefully, I didn't come all the way here in vain.
As he lifted his hand to knock again, a voice cursed at him from inside, "Who the fuck is that? Why are you banging on my door like I owe you money?"
The crude words hit Qin Tiewei like a slap across the face. All twenty-six years of my life, no one's ever spoken to me like this before. His jaw clenched in anger. The audacity.
The door swung open, and Chen Huan peered at him from behind thick glasses, annoyance plain on his face.
Qin Tiewei found himself stunned at the figure at the doorframe. Whatever I had expected… it wasn't this. He took in the hair jutting in every direction like they hadn't seen a comb in weeks. A thin shirt that might've been white in another life hung loosely on his smallish frame.
As Qin Tiewei's gaze travelled lower, he caught a glimpse of a hole in Chen Huan's boxer. Through the gap, he could clearly see the head of 'little Chen Huan' peeking from underneath it. Heat prickled at Qin Tiewei's neck, and he jerked his eyes away, embarrassed on Chen Huan's behalf.
He forced his eyes back to Chen Huan's face, staring at him in disbelief. This is the genius that's going to save my company?
He opened his mouth to speak, but something shifted in Chen Huan's face. A flush rose to his cheeks, his eyes widened—embarrassment? Recognition? Then the door slammed shut.
Qin Tiewei stared at the wood in front of him, shuddering from anger. He spun on his heel, ready to march back down those stairs and never look back. There is absolutely no way this person is worth another second of my time.
But his feet wouldn't move. Three days. Three days to save everything I've built, and this 'thing' is my only shot.
With a sigh of defeat, he turned back to the door and spoke calmly to it. "Chen Huan. Please open up, I need to speak with you."
Silence.
Qin Tiewei's control snapped. He pounded the door with thunderous force. "Chen Huan. Now."
The door flew open almost immediately. This time, Chen Huan's hair was slightly tamed, and he'd cocooned himself in a blanket—oil-stained, frayed, ridiculous in the sweltering heat.
Had he slammed the door to fix himself up? Or… whatever this was?
Chen Huan was smiling now. Beaming, actually. "President Qin... welcome to my humble home."
President Qin? Qin Tiewei's eye twitched. Cursed at me. Slammed the door in my face. Now you're rolling out the red carpet?
Chen Huan stepped aside with a flourish, and Qin Tiewei stepped into what–for an obsessively neat person like him–could only be described as his own personal eighteenth level of hell. The cramped space felt like they were closing in on him. Even my closet is bigger than this. A tiny bed perched by a corner of the wall, a bundled up mix of white, gray, and red clothing peeking from underneath it. Sand and crumbs littered the weathered vinyl flooring.
"Please, sit." Chen Huan gestured to a plastic chair beside a desk.
The desk was miraculously tidy—except for brown smudges scattered across its surface. Chocolate? Coffee grounds? Something else? Qin Tiewei wasn't sure he wanted to know.
He summoned politeness from the recesses of his soul. "No, thank you."
Chen Huan's smile faltered for a moment, then brightened again. "Can I get you something? You probably want a drink." He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. "I don't keep any at home…
"Should I get you tea? Coffee? I'm not sure anything I have will suit your taste. Oh—I have some rare jasmine tea my dad…"
Qin Tiewei arched his brow at Chen Huan's rambling. He's nervous. That's good. Very good.
"I've been saving it for a special occasion. And I don't really like tea…" Chen Huan exhaled sharply. "You probably like jasmine tea."
Qin Tiewei's eyes drifted to what passed for a kitchen in the corner—dishes stacked and crusted with the remnants of rotting meals. His stomach lurched. He flexed his fingers, barely containing the urge to recoil. How can anyone live like this?
When he looked at Chen Huan again, he could barely hide the irritation and disgust twisting inside him. The speech he'd prepared was long-forgotten. This person had unnerved him more than anyone he'd ever met. He hated him—to a bone-chilling degree. People built legacies writing songs and stories about love at first sight. Why had no one written about hate at first sight? The next words were the hardest he'd ever spoken. For the first time in his life, he stuttered: 'I… need… you.'"
Chen Huan blinked owlishly behind his glasses, his mouth falling open slightly. Something strange flickered across his expression—a flush spread across his cheeks, but his shoulders seemed to curl inward as if he could feel every ounce of Qin Tiewei's revulsion radiating off him. He muttered, "What? You… you… Need me?"
Qin Tiewei forced himself to composure, straightening his shoulders and relaxing his eyebrows. His voice came out calm and collected. "QinX needs you."
"But… but I quit." Chen Huan whispered and seemed to fold in on himself even more.
"I don't care!" Qin Tiewei said, stepping closer to him. Chen Huan retreated, taking one step back. "I have three days to present the first milestone of my app to the investors."
Chen Huan's back hit the wall with a thump. His breathing quickened as Qin Tiewei's face hovered a breath away.
"You can't just get up and quit."
"But I—"
"Tomorrow. Be at QinX by 8 sharp."
Chen Huan turned away. A soft, quiet sound that might've been a purr escaping his lips.
Qin Tiewei resisted the urge to grab his chin, so he could understand, clearly, that he had no choice in the matter. He shifted closer, his voice low against Chen Huan's ears. "Ask for anything. I will give it to you. Just don't make me come back here. Okay?"
Chen Huan pressed himself further into the wall. His voice came out like a mouse's squeak. "O… Okay."
Satisfied, Qin Tiewei finally backed away—fast, almost exiting the door in a single stride. Outside, irritation and anger still prickled at his skin. First milestone in three days. The completed app in six months or less. Six months. I'll avoid this person as much as I can, and I pray to the heavens I never have to be in the same room as him again.