"Even if you’re not afraid of death, what else are you afraid of?"
A raspy voice drifted softly into her ear, like a person walking on the edge of a cliff, carrying a sense of detached numbness and icy cold.
The wind atop the rooftop was fierce and unrelenting, and the voice quickly dissipated into its gusts.
Her long hair was whipped into a chaotic dance by the wind, obscuring her eyes.
She turned her head back in terror.
In the darkness stood someone entirely cloaked by the night. Shen You’an couldn’t make out the face—just the tall, gaunt silhouette.
"If you jump from here, no one in this world will remember you. Your death would be the smallest, most inconsequential speck of dust in human existence..."
"Stop it... stop saying that..." She covered her ears and screamed in anguish.
The cruel and piercing truth.
"Which is why you must live. Even if you have to hang by a thread, you must live. Remember those who hurt you, remember the vulgar insults they hurled at you. Your death would only make them clap their hands in delight. That’s the stupidest choice you can make."
"Grit your teeth, endure just a little longer—you’ll get through it. Someday, you’ll turn around with pride; someday, you’ll be grateful that you’re still alive."
The man’s deliberately softened voice carried a kind of gentle persuasion, as if coaxing a lost child to come home.
Amid the howling cold wind, the man extended his hand toward her.
Shen You’an instinctively reached out. The man’s palm was broad and warm, and in that instant, she was transported back to a distant memory of a home bathed in warm lamplight, where her parents once waited for her.
The man pulled her down with a sudden tug, and before she realized it, she fell into the expanse of his wide embrace.
The clean scent of grass mixed with a faint tobacco aroma filled her senses.
Not unpleasant, surprisingly fresh—a scent she remembered for years.
The man stepped back politely.
She looked up but still couldn’t see his face.
He was indeed very tall and very slender. At 172 cm, she only reached his shoulder.
The man reached into the pocket of his coat and took out something, stuffing it into her hand.
"Life is bitter, but it needs a touch of sweetness sometimes."
"It’s freezing up here. Go home early, get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow will still be a fine day."
The man turned and walked away, his tall figure soon swallowed by the cold wind.
Shen You’an opened her palm. It was a lollipop.
As her thoughts settled, Shen You’an smiled faintly and glanced at the sky.
Under the deep blue heavens, crimson clouds burned like fire, splendid and radiant, spreading across the vast landscape.
Taking a deep breath, she reflected for the countless time how fortunate she was to still be alive.
"Hey, Shen You’an, what’s on your mind?"
Shen You’an chuckled, "I feel like having a lollipop."
Gao Yuyue reached out to touch Shen You’an’s forehead, "You don’t have a fever?"
Retracting her hand, she muttered, "Wait here."
She disappeared into a nearby convenience store.
Liu Runxi appeared beside her at some point, "Need a hand?"
Shen You’an kicked a small pebble by her foot and replied without looking up, "No, I’ve got this."
Liu Runxi smiled, "Alright."
No questions—just complete trust.
Soon, Gao Yuyue returned carrying a bag full of lollipops, thrusting it in front of Shen You’an, her tone full of disdain: "How old are you? And you still like lollipops?"
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Shen You’an accepted the bag. Gao Yuyue had bought an assortment: spiral pops, rainbow candies, Alpine lollipops—an impressive variety. Shen You’an picked one out and handed it to Liu Runxi.
Liu Runxi hesitated for a moment, then smiled and took it.
Shen You’an picked a spiral pop and handed it to Gao Yuyue next.
Though Gao Yuyue grumbled, she still accepted it.
Finally, Shen You’an chose the most simple, outdated-looking lollipop from the bag. She stared at it for a long while, then unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth.
"Someone once told me, life is bitter, but sometimes it needs a touch of sweetness."
Shen You’an’s eyes curved into a smile.
Gao Yuyue immediately turned vigilant, "Who said that? A man or a woman?"
Liu Runxi glanced sideways at her.
Shen You’an laughed and shook her head, "I don’t know either."
Gao Yuyue rolled her eyes, "You must be seriously ill."
Back home, Shen You’an stuffed the bag of lollipops into a drawer and opened her computer.
Just then, her phone chimed.
[Zhao Heng: Boss, I’ve sent Jiang Han’s new album promo plan to your email. Please review it.]
Shen You’an opened her email and skimmed the proposal.
She dialed Zhao Heng, "It doesn’t need to be so complicated. Cancel the variety show appearances—he won’t enjoy them. Focus more on promotions across major music platforms. He’s a singer, and people need to love his songs. The rest of the flashy stuff isn’t necessary."
A truly talented person doesn’t need such meaningless tricks—that would only insult his abilities.