Do you feel there's no way to solve your problem?

As the morning mist, mingling with the cold light of the office buildings, seeped into the editorial department of Shanghai, Ning Zhichu was staring blankly at her computer screen. A second official letter from the Lin Group lay in the editor-in-chief's inbox, its wording even harsher than the previous one, accompanied by an inquiry letter from an industry association—if the data could not be proven accurate within three days, not only would a public apology be required, but they might also be blacklisted for interviews within the industry.

“At the beginning, the editor-in-chief called you.” Xia, the intern, spoke timidly, and water droplets clung to the coffee cup she handed over. “Sister Song just said in the break room… that you might have deliberately exaggerated the difficulties of Lin’s transformation in order to be rated as an outstanding employee, and that’s why you changed the data.”

Ning Zhichu's fingers, gripping the coffee cup, turned white; the heat of the rim made her fingertips numb. When she entered the editor-in-chief's office, the wall clock pointed to 9:15. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, illuminating the official documents on the desk, the red stamp like a glaring scar. "Lin's won't accept verbal explanations," Editor-in-Chief Lin Man said, rubbing her temples and pushing a resignation letter template in front of her. "This is the worst-case scenario. If you can find evidence, there's still room for negotiation."

As she walked out of the office clutching the template, she bumped into Song Wei. The folder in Song Wei's hand "accidentally" slipped from her grasp, scattering printed papers covered with posts from anonymous forums accusing Ning Zhichu of "rising to power through connections" and "faking data to win awards." "Oh dear, I'm so sorry," Song Wei said in a low voice as she bent down to pick up the papers. "Reporter Ning, these things are all over the internet now. You'd better explain yourself clearly."

Ning Zhichu didn't speak, but paused in her action of squatting down to pick up the papers—one of the papers had a photo of her and Wei Ting on the streets of New York printed on it. The background of the photo had been cropped out, leaving only the two of them holding hands, with the caption "Taking shortcuts by relying on her Wall Street tycoon boyfriend, all the interview data is fake."

At lunchtime, Ning Zhichu was munching on bread in the fire escape when her phone vibrated. Wei Ting had messaged her: "I'll take you to Japanese food on the Bund tonight. I've booked your favorite window seat with a view of the Huangpu River at night." She stared at the message for half a minute, then typed on the screen, "I have to work overtime revising a draft tonight, let's go another time." After hesitating for two seconds, she added a smiley face emoji.

The moment the message was successfully sent, she leaned against the cold wall, her throat tightening. It wasn't that she didn't want to see him, it was that she didn't dare. She was afraid she wouldn't be able to hide the bloodshot in her eyes, afraid that she wouldn't be able to hold back her tears when he asked about work, and even more afraid that if he found out, he would really use his connections to solve her problems, just like what they said online—what she wanted was to earn the title of outstanding employee through her own abilities, not to live in the halo of being "Wei Ting's girlfriend."

At six o'clock in the evening, Ning Zhichu pretended to work overtime and hid in the conference room searching for evidence. On the computer screen, the cloud document customer service's reply was particularly glaring: "The modification history has been deleted with advanced permissions and cannot be recovered." She rubbed her sore eyes and suddenly heard the conference room door being gently pushed open.

Wei Ting stood at the door, wearing a dark gray wool coat and carrying an insulated bag. "I was passing by your company and brought you some food." He walked in, placed the insulated bag on the table, his gaze sweeping over her bloodshot eyes before landing on the resignation application template in front of her. His brows furrowed almost imperceptibly. "Not finished yet?"

Ning Zhichu quickly stuffed the template into the drawer, forcing a smile: "Almost done, almost done. It's just a small problem, a few minor tweaks will fix it." She opened the insulated bag, inside were her favorite crab roe xiaolongbao, still steaming. "How did President Wei know I hadn't eaten?" "How did you get up here? Don't you need to scan your face to get in?" She bit into the xiaolongbao, deliberately changing the subject, unaware that her hands were trembling slightly.

Wei Ting didn't answer, but simply sat down in the chair opposite her, his fingertips lightly tapping the table. The light fell on his sharply defined profile. He didn't tease her as usual, nor did he press her about work; he just quietly watched her eat. Only after she finished the last steamed bun did he hand her a tissue: "It's cold tonight, I'll take you home."

The car was warm, but it couldn't dispel the chill in Ning Zhichu's heart. Wei Ting drove, his gaze occasionally sweeping over her in the passenger seat. Seeing her staring blankly out the window, he couldn't help but ask, "Have I been too busy lately and neglected you?" His voice carried a barely perceptible probing tone, "Since we came back from New York last time, I haven't had a proper meal with you."

Ning Zhichu's heart tightened, and she quickly turned around and smiled, "No, you're always busy with work, I understand." She continued to look out the window, afraid that Wei Ting would see her tears. "By the way, how's that investment project you mentioned last time?" She deliberately brought up his work, trying to change the subject.

Wei Ting tightened his grip on the steering wheel, a hint of disappointment flashing in his eyes, but he still followed her words, saying, "It's almost settled. The shareholders' meeting will be next week." As the car entered the residential area, he suddenly stopped by the roadside, reaching out to unbuckle her seatbelt, but she dodged him. "I can do it myself, thank you, Little Bun." She pushed open the car door quickly, almost running into the building.

Wei Ting sat in the car, watching her disappear into the stairwell, his fingertips trembling slightly. He looked down at the scarf she had left on the passenger seat, still smelling of her usual gardenia perfume, but his heart felt like it was stuffed with a cold, damp cotton ball.

He wasn't oblivious to what was wrong. She'd been avoiding him lately, replying to his WeChat messages slower and slower, her smiles barely reaching her eyes when they met, and even her favorite crab roe soup dumplings—tonight she only ate two. Had he done something wrong? Had he disappointed her by working overtime in New York? Or did she feel his presence was bothering her?

Over the next two days, the misunderstanding grew thicker and thicker, like the winter fog in Shanghai. Wei Ting deliberately canceled his social engagements and bought her favorite strawberry cake to go to her company, only to be told by his colleagues that "Reporter Ning has taken leave." He texted her to ask how she was feeling, and she only replied, "I'm fine, just a little tired." That evening, he waited for her downstairs in her apartment complex and saw Ning Zhichu sitting alone on a bench in the garden at the entrance, lost in thought. What was wrong with her? She seemed so distracted.

He stood under the sycamore tree, watching her sit quietly, then watching her turn and walk into the stairwell, her mind elsewhere, as the strawberry cake in his hand gradually grew cold.

Ning Zhichu's situation was also getting worse. The anonymous posts were spreading more and more wildly, and some people even dug up her university grades, spreading rumors that she "got into the company through connections"; the editor-in-chief talked to her and said that her eligibility for the outstanding employee selection was temporarily suspended, asking her to "quell the public opinion first"; the Lin Group even threatened to sue her for damaging the company's reputation.

On Friday night, Ning Zhichu worked late into the night in the office and finally found Lin's revenue forecast from last year in an old industry report—it stated "estimated revenue of 23 billion," but the final annual report adjusted it to 32 billion due to a merger and acquisition deal at the end of the year. She quickly took a screenshot of the report and saved it. Just as she was about to breathe a sigh of relief, her phone suddenly rang.

It was Wei Ting calling. The phone rang for a long time before she answered. "Hello?" Her voice was tired and hoarse. "I'm downstairs at your company." Wei Ting's voice was as deep as the Huangpu River on a winter night. "It's raining. I'll take you home."

This was the first time Wei Ting had taken the initiative to contact Ning Zhichu since that incident. It was because Wei Ting had been investigating things at Ning Zhichu's company, including the huge incident at the Lin Group. As the top executive at the venture capital firm, it would be hard for Wei Ting not to know. However, he couldn't understand why Ning Zhichu would rather shoulder such a huge burden himself than tell him.

She walked to the window and, sure enough, saw the silhouette of a black Bentley faintly visible through the rain below. She hesitated for a moment, then picked up her bag and went downstairs. Wei Ting stood beside the car, holding an umbrella; rainwater soaked his trouser legs. Seeing her come out, he immediately held the umbrella over her head. "Why aren't you wearing a coat?" He reached out to tighten her collar, but she dodged him.

The silence under the umbrella was as cold as ice. Back at her apartment building, Ning Zhichu was about to open the door and get out when she heard Wei Ting speak: "If you need me, I'm always here. Just say the word, okay?" His eyes were full of reassurance and heartache. So he knew everything. Ning Zhichu thought to herself, "Yes, so many things. Does Wei Ting also believe what's being said online?"

Ning Zhichu's heart ached suddenly. When she looked up at him, she saw raindrops sliding down his hair and dripping onto his coat. She opened her mouth, wanting to tell him the truth, wanting to say that it wasn't that she didn't want to rely on him, but that she was afraid of betraying his trust, and that she wanted to prove her abilities on her own. But the words that came out were: "No, don't overthink it. I'm just having some work troubles and I want to handle them myself."

"Solve it yourself?" Wei Ting's voice suddenly rose, then quickly fell back down, filled with suppressed grievance. "Am I really that untrustworthy in your heart? Do you think I can't help you solve your problems?" The veins on his hands gripping the steering wheel bulged. "Ning Zhichu, we are lovers, not strangers."

The rain grew heavier, pattering against the car window. Ning Zhichu looked at his reddened eyes, her heart aching as if pricked by needles. She wanted to explain, but didn't know where to begin, so she could only bite her lip and turn her head to look out the window.

Wei Ting looked at her silent profile, the light in his eyes gradually dimming. He started the car, his voice as cold as ice: "Get in, get some rest."

Ning Zhichu pushed open the car door and stepped into the rain. She didn't turn around, but she could feel the car lights behind her, casting a heavy shadow on her back. She was already overwhelmed by the grievances in her heart and the guilt she felt towards Wei Ting.

Back home, she leaned against the door, listening to the car engines fading into the distance. Finally, she couldn't hold back any longer and squatted down, tears mingling with the rain as they fell onto the back of her hand. She took out her phone, scrolled to Wei Ting's chat interface, her fingertips hovering over the screen, but she hesitated to type.

Wei Ting sat in the car, watching the light in her room come on, the strawberry cake in his hand completely cold. He opened his phone and scrolled to the photo they took in New York—in the photo, she was leaning against him, her eyes crinkling with laughter. He didn't know how that unforgettable trip to New York had turned out this way; they were so close, yet their hearts were separated by an entire winter night's rain.

The rain continued to fall on a cold Shanghai night. On Ning Zhichu's desk, the screenshot proving her innocence was lit; in Wei Ting's passenger seat, the ungiven camera bracelet shimmered with a faint, lonely light in the dim light. Misunderstandings, like wrinkles, were etched in their hearts. Neither was willing to speak first, yet both secretly worried about the other in the dead of night.