Chapter Text
For as long as he could remember, Gao Zhongxiong had been infatuated with writing; the way a string of letters flowed on a sheet of paper, mingling to form a sentence—a story. The feeling of the brush sitting pleasantly in his hands, the grinding of ink, or the smooth glide of his favorite pen, gently guided by his imagination to leave behind his tale amidst a sea of stars.
Under the moon’s cover, his world unfolded, painted in a multitude of hues. The night sky was dusted with arrays of constellations and his desk stood in the midst of it, hidden beneath a stack of handcrafted, intricate maps that were pushed to the side to free up a measly space for writing. When Gao Zhongxiong sat down in front of it, the noise of the outer world all seemed to fade away, replaced by a deafening silence that allowed in only the scratch of his pen against paper.
The words accompanying his stories danced on paper and the soft tune of a piano rang clear, freeing his mind from the plaguing despondency of everyday life. There was no need to settle for normalcy in his tales, and the choice on what to write and who to be was his—whether it be a villain who had the courage to stand up for his beliefs, ridiculed by many; a common person or a hero saving the day with bravery and wit. He wouldn’t have to deal with facing judgment anymore, no more nagging, no more harsh remarks. Instead, his words held power—enough of it to make up for the recent chain of misfortune that kept haunting him so.
When he wrote, there was no time to think about anything else other than his canvas. Each of his sentences were crafted with precision; each story a piece of his soul laid bare; every stroke of his pen deliberate; and every word carefully chosen, lest it be unable to convey its intent. Writing was his haven—to him, who wasn’t particularly outstanding in anything else, it was the only thing he could truly call his own.
There was a sense of comfort in having found something he held so dear to his heart, to not have to walk around aimlessly for years to come, spending his life with no ambitions of his own. So, even if his physical abilities were almost too shameful to show, his grades in literary matters more than made up for it—and to him, that was all that mattered.
His aunt however, ensured he’d know she disagreed. Her remarks only seemed to grow louder and harsher, her insults nestling themselves down deep into a hidden corner of Gao Zhongxiong’s heart, tearing at him from the inside and making him feel much more useless than he in truth was. He wasn’t adept at simply turning a deaf ear to it either—not when it had been just the two of them all along.
After his uncle’s death, he’d listened to the sorrowful weeping in her bedroom. She didn’t have children on her own, and no one had forced her to continue taking care of him. Yet, she had never thought about abandoning him. Compared to her struggles of keeping them both afloat, a few insults were nothing—he could at least endure this much.
In the end, when he finally managed to snag himself a spot in the marketing department of a well-reputed company, her voice gradually grew distant and quiet. Soon, he’d be out of her house, coming to visit every so often only to take care of her in the same way she had done for him.
From here on out, his life was supposed to bloom; working at a job of his own choosing, one he had dreamed and longed for all along, one that coincidentally also gave him enough time on his hands to work on his novels—to him, it was like a dream come true.
To his luck, his superior proved much kinder than he thought he would be, teaching him patiently, picking up after him in case of mishaps, and praising him far more often than he scolded him. Bonding with his coworkers didn’t take him awfully long either, and soon, Gao Zhongxiong found himself attending their regular get-togethers after office hours. Though stressful at times, his work life was as perfect as can be.
Yet, in stories, all good things must come to an end eventually, and Gao Zhongxiong’s unlucky streak was just about to begin.
Two years later, when his kind supervisor transferred out of their department, the company, rather than promoting one of his coworkers who were already familiar with the work, brought in a new face to fill the vacant spot—and that person was Han Jin.
At first, Han Jin—though a little inept—wasn’t too bad. His attitude was still rather pleasant, neither condescending nor rash, and working with him was also fairly easy. He didn’t shy away from owning up to his mistakes, and was willing to accept any improvement that was provided. However, a year down the road, his temperament abruptly changed.
Haunted by the whispers of people around him telling him everything he had was due to his brother’s influence, Han Jin slowly lost his mind. In his desperation to prove himself, he not only stole credit from workers below him, but also hurled abuse at them whenever he was met with protest, growing his expectations for the quality of work expeditiously. Soon, meeting his demands became as good as impossible.
Gao Zhongxiong in particular, perhaps due to being a soft-hearted person by nature, fell victim to his picking well-nigh daily. So, when an agitated Han Jin came barging into the room after being called upon, he’d already half-expected to bear the brunt of it.
“Gao Zhongxiong, I didn’t expect you to be this shameless!” Han Jin’s laughter erupted like a torrent; unrelenting and deranged, each snort more full of himself than the last. If Gao Zhongxiong hadn’t witnessed his change first-hand, he probably would have thought him to have gone mad.
After years of observing him, Gao Zhongxiong had learned a thing or two about Han Jin. For one, the moment in which the gears in Han Jin’s head started to shift, fueled by blinded rage, his perception had already begun warping into a tool created for his benefit—disregarding facts and everyone else around him.
Gao Zhongxiong also knew this didn’t bode well for him, it never did. But even knowing that, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Han Jin was still his superior. One wrong move could still cost him his job, mark his departure and return to his aunt’s home, especially with the influence Han Jin’s brother still carried.
As for Han Jin, in all of his years of working at the office, he had never felt this humiliated. He didn’t think much about being called in by HR initially, especially considering that the timing of it aligned perfectly with the half-yearly routine check-up on the welfare of their staff they conducted. Yet when he entered the room, the atmosphere inside was stifling. No matter how much he deluded himself into thinking otherwise, deep down he knew that there was something amiss, and soon enough, that feeling would be proven right.
Not only was he reprimanded for half an hour without being able to state his case, he also got his pay cut with a demotion sure to follow—and that was already the lightest punishment on account of his ‘hard work’ and this being his first (official) offense.
In the end, the outcome was the same; the damage to his reputation had already been done. How could Han Jin ever take it with his head hanging down?
The only logical conclusion he could draw was that Gao Zhongxiong had prattled. He couldn’t think of anyone else other than him who would. In his eyes, he hadn’t mistreated anyone and the whole reason he was in this position now was definitely not his fault—how could it be his fault that Gao Zhongxiong was simply unable to bear a little bit of criticism without making a scene?
Gao Zhongxiong, on the other hand, cut a pitiful figure in front of him. Contrary to the earlier uneasy shuffling of his feet, he now seemed to have stopped moving entirely. His face was covered in a veil of terror, eyes darting around on the ground as his fingers anxiously started fiddling with one of the belt loops on his pants. The flimmer of composure he still had earlier had all but faded. He had no idea what he had done for Han Jin to be this agitated, and when he finally opened his mouth to speak, his voice came out small and intimidated. “What did I…”
“Gao Zhongxiong, don’t pretend to be a fool now!” Feeling his hatred rise, Han Jin clicked his tongue. “Do you think this is my fault? It’s all because of you and your constant lies that I’m in this position!”
Gao Zhongxiong never quite adjusted well to being screamed at. It was an experience that he was all too familiar with, the humiliation of admonishment for something he hasn’t even done, the pitying gazes of his colleagues digging into his back. It never got easier.
Rooted in place, Gao Zhongxiong said nothing and clenched the hem of his shirt tightly. He had learned the hard way that the best way to get Han Jin to calm down was to stay quiet and let him continue running his mouth off until he grew weary of it. Besides, he had neither the energy nor the confidence to refute him any longer, much less the capability to get any words out at this point.
He didn’t have anyone who would stand up for him either. His colleagues were just that—mere coworkers, certainly not his friends—and each of them too preoccupied with their own work to concern themselves with him. Over the years, they had all grown apart. Some who couldn’t take it anymore had quit, while others distanced themselves from everyone entirely, differentiating between work and private life in a manner that many would describe as ideal.
When Han Jin opened his mouth again to continue his chain of abuse, Gao Zhongxiong simply shut his eyes. Behind his back, his fingernails dug deep into his palms, scraping up and down anxiously as he waited for the worst that was yet to come.
However, rather than vulgarities being hurled at him once more, everything quieted down at once and a hand landed on his shoulder. Its touch was surprisingly gentle, reassuring even, as if it meant to tell him that this was the end of it.
“I followed you all the way out here because I feared that you might let out your anger on others but…” Yu Xiaozai paused and snuck a glance at Gao Zhongxiong, frowning as he did so. “I’ve been thinking about it, but I still can’t figure it out. How is it that you refuse to stop pushing the fault on others, Han Jin?”
As he tried to somehow talk his way out of being caught red-handed, Han Jin stammered, his face seizing up halfway through as if he himself realized how fickle an attempt it was. “Yu-zǒng1., it’s not like that…”
“Let me give you a word of advice, Han Jin. If you mistreat those around you, you’re the one on the losing end. Blaming others may work at first, but will it truly give you the respect you desire? Just look around you. If you truly can’t tell right from wrong when looking them in the eye, then maybe we have overestimated you.” Having finished saying his part, Yu Xiaozai sighed and rubbed the spot between his eyebrows with two fingers. “Report back to HR on your own. I will check in on the report later.”
Waving his hand in front of his face dismissively, he turned a deaf ear to any further complaints and faced Gao Zhongxiong sincerely, his expression softening in an instant. “Are you okay?”
Gao Zhongxiong didn’t dare raise his head and nodded, quickly mumbling his thanks. In recent years, because he’d been ridiculed so much, he had a bad tendency to sweat and stutter whenever he was nervous. He had already done so earlier when he’d sat in front of HR, meeting Yu Xiaozai face to face for the first time. Hours later, despite his best efforts, that aspect had still not changed, and his voice came out sounding more weak and muffled than intended.
“You can raise your head now, don’t worry, you haven’t done anything wrong and Han Jin’s gone too…” Yu Xiaozai awkwardly scratched the back of his neck and smiled. “Say, how about we get some warm tea to get you to calm down? Or some coffee if you prefer that!”
Gao Zhongxiong raised his head and gradually relaxed enough to answer smoothly when he saw Yu Xiaozai smiling at him. “I appreciate it, but I haven’t finished my work, so I’m unable to leave right now.”
Yu Xiaozai was quite fond of how earnest Gao Zhongxiong was. “Then how about after work? If you prefer a drink, we can go to a bar then too. Ah, but don’t feel forced to drink or anything!”
Gao Zhongxiong hesitated for a moment, but eventually caved and agreed. Besides, even if he’d never admit it in front of those he grew apart with, he also missed meeting up with someone to have a nice talk after work hours. “Yes, that works.”
“Great! Then I'll pick you up after work!” Yu Xiaozai practically radiated with delight, waving his hand quickly as he walked off to go about his duties again. “I’ll see you later!”
Gao Zhongxiong didn’t know why either, but when he looked at Yu Xiaozai’s retreating back, the word ‘spring’ suddenly appeared in his head.