公司年会，我抽中和女总裁共舞一曲，跳完她问我明天是否有空
发布时间：2025-11-20 10:01:07 浏览量：40
年会现场的空气，混合着自助餐台飘来的三文鱼腥气、女同事们过于热烈的香水，以及中央空调吹出来的那股万年不变的干燥。
我缩在角落，面前的盘子里堆着半凉的鸡翅和几根蔫了吧唧的薯条。
我叫陈阳，启明科技高级程序员，工号9527。
一个在代码世界里构建虚拟王国，在现实世界里活成透明人的物种。
“下一位幸运儿！会是谁呢！”
主持人声嘶力竭地吼着，仿佛抽中的不是跟总裁共舞一曲，而是冰岛双人豪华游。
我低头，用叉子戳着盘子里最后一只鸡翅，心里默念：别是我，别是我，千万别是我。
社交，尤其是在这种浮夸场合的社交，对我来说约等于公开处刑。
“让我们看看大屏幕！数字正在飞速滚动！”
我眼角的余光瞥见周围同事们一张张兴奋到扭曲的脸，他们攥着自己的号码牌，像等待开奖的赌徒。
只有我，把那张印着“9527”的纸片揉成一团，塞进了裤兜。
这串数字，从我入职那天起，就带着一种周星驰电影式的戏谑感，让我在这家严肃的科技公司里，显得有那么点格格不入。
“停！”
音乐戛然而止。
全场的目光“唰”地一下，聚焦在舞台中央的大屏幕上。
一个巨大的，鲜红的数字，定格在那里。
9527。
我操。
空气凝固了三秒。
然后，我身边的同事，外号“胖子王”的王海，用他蒲扇般的大手狠狠拍在我的背上。
“我靠！阳哥！是你！是你啊！”
他的声音像是平地惊雷，瞬间把我从角落的隐形状态里炸了出来。
上百道目光，像探照灯一样齐刷刷地射向我。
有羡慕的，有嫉妒的，有看热闹的，还有……我那桌的产品经理，眼神里带着一丝“这孙子走了什么狗屎运”的鄙夷。
我的脑子“嗡”的一声，一片空白。
舞台上，那个一直只存在于公司宣传册和全体邮件里的女人——我们的总裁，苏晚，正微笑着看着我这个方向。
她穿着一身剪裁得体的黑色丝绒长裙，不像其他女领导那样珠光宝气，只在耳垂上点缀着一对小小的珍珠耳环。灯光下，她的皮肤白得像瓷，眼神清冷，却又带着一丝礼节性的温和。
她是启明科技的传奇。
据说三十出so头就坐到了这个位置，手段凌厉，作风强硬，是那种能在董事会上把七八个老头子说得哑口无言的狠角色。
跟她跳舞？
我低头看了看自己。
洗得发白的格子衬衫，牛仔裤，以及一双穿了三年，鞋尖已经有点开胶的运动鞋。
这画面，简直就是B站鬼畜区的绝佳素材。
“陈阳！快上去啊！苏总等着你呢！”
HR总监在台下热情地招手，脸上的笑容比哭还难看。
我感觉自己像一只被架上烤架的鸭子，浑身上下的血液都往头顶冲。
胖子王在后面推了我一把。
“去啊阳哥！光宗耀祖的时刻到了！”
我踉踉跄跄地往前走了两步，每一步都像踩在棉花上。
通往舞台的短短十几米，我感觉自己走了一个世纪。
我甚至能清晰地听到邻桌行政部的几个女孩在窃窃私语。
“天啊，怎么是他？”
“就是那个整天穿着格子衫的程序员？”
“他会跳舞吗？别踩到苏总的脚吧？”
这些声音像细小的针，扎在我的耳膜上。
我深吸一口气，走上舞台。
聚光灯打在脸上，一片炫目的白，我几乎看不清台下的景象。
只能闻到苏晚身上传来的一阵极淡的、像雪后松林般的冷香。
她朝我伸出手，掌心向上，手指纤细修长。
“你好，陈阳。”
她的声音比我想象中要柔和，没有那种女强人特有的压迫感。
我慌乱地伸出手，握住她的手。
她的指尖很凉，皮肤细腻得不像一个日理万机的公司总裁。
“苏……苏总好。”
我的声音干涩得像砂纸。
音乐响起了，是一首华尔兹。
我他妈连广播体操都没做利索过，更别提华尔z。
我的身体瞬间僵硬，像一根杵在地上的电线杆。
苏晚似乎看出了我的窘迫，她嘴角微微上扬，露出一丝极淡的笑意。
“别紧张，我带着你。”
她轻轻一带，我的身体就不由自主地动了起来。
我的全部注意力，都集中在自己的脚上，生怕下一秒就给她那双精致的黑色高跟鞋印上一个耻辱的脚印。
“你是技术部的？”她忽然开口。
“嗯，是……是的。”我结结巴巴地回答。
“我好像，在一份代码审查报告上，见过你的名字。”
她的话让我心里一惊。
我？代码审查报告？
我写的那些东西，除了我们项目组的几个人，应该没人会看。更何况是她，一个站在公司金字塔顶端的人。
“是……是吗？”我感觉自己的舌头打了结。
“嗯，”她轻轻点头，舞步从容不迫，“关于‘星光’项目底层数据冗余的优化建议，是你提的吧？”
我的心跳漏了一拍。
“星光”项目，是公司今年最重要的项目之一。我当时确实发现了一个潜在的性能问题，写了一份详细的分析报告，还附上了优化方案。
但报告交上去之后，就像石沉大海，杳无音讯。
我们项目总监还旁敲侧击地告诫我，少管闲事，做好自己分内的工作。
我以为那份报告早就被扔进了碎纸机。
没想到，她竟然知道。
而且，还记得我的名字。
“那份报告，你写得很好。”她看着我，眼神里没有了那种公式化的温和，多了一丝真正的欣赏，“逻辑很清晰，考虑得很全面。尤其是你提到的，关于用户在弱网环境下数据同步失败的回溯机制，很有价值。”
被她这么一夸，我那因为紧张而一片空白的大脑，仿佛瞬间被注入了一行关键代码，开始重新运转起来。
“我……我只是觉得原来的方案，不太……不太保险。”
“这不是保险不保险的问题，”她微微摇头，“这是同理心的问题。你站在了用户那一边。”
同理心。
这个词从她嘴里说出来，让我感到一阵莫名的震动。
在启明科技，我们听得最多的是KPI、是DAU（日活跃用户数量）、是变现能力。
从来没有人，会跟我谈“同理心”。
尤其是我那个前女友林薇，她总说我写的那些代码，不过是一堆冰冷的字符，毫无价值。
她说：“陈阳，你能不能别整天琢ling那些没用的东西？你看看人家张伟，都升项目经理了，你还在写代码！你写的那些东西，能当饭吃吗？能换成市中心一套房的首付吗？”
那些话，像一根根刺，扎在我心里很多年。
而此刻，苏晚，这个全公司最有权力的女人，却告诉我，我写的那些东西，有价值。
我忽然觉得没那么紧张了。
我的脚步，也似乎跟着音乐的节拍，变得稍微流畅了一点。
“你平时……也看代码吗？”我鼓起勇气，问了一个可能很蠢的问题。
她笑了。
这一次，是真的笑了。眼角弯弯的，像月牙。
“我以前也是程序员。”
这个答案，比她说她认识外星人还让我惊讶。
“真的？”
“真的，”她顿了顿，眼神里掠过一丝怀念，“很久以前了。那时候，我们还在用Delphi写程序。”
Delphi。
一个古老到快要被遗忘的名字。
我只在大学的教科书上见过。
那一瞬间，我感觉我们之间的距离，被拉近了。
她不再是那个高高在上的女总裁，而是一个……前辈。一个曾经也在深夜里，为了一个顽固的bug而抓耳挠腮的大前辈。
一曲终了。
我笨拙地停下脚步，微微鞠躬。
“谢谢您，苏总。”
“不客气。”
她松开手，转身准备下台。
台下响起礼貌而热烈的掌声。
我长长地舒了一口气，感觉像刚跑完一场马拉松，后背的衬衫已经被汗浸湿了。
就在我以为这场“公开处刑”终于结束的时候，她忽然转过身，又看向我。
她的眼神在闪烁的舞台灯光下，显得有些难以捉摸。
她微微倾身，靠近我的耳边，用只有我们两个人能听到的声音，问了一句。
“你明天，有空吗？”
我的大脑，第二次宕机了。
周围的掌声、音乐声、嘈杂声，瞬间离我远去。
我的世界里，只剩下她那句轻飘飘的问话，和一个巨大的问号。
什么意思？
她明天找我有事？
工作上的事？关于那份报告？
还是……别的什么？
我张了张嘴，却发现自己一个字也说不出来。
她看着我呆滞的样子，又笑了笑，那笑容里带着一丝……狡黠？
“明天上午十点，公司楼下的‘远方’咖啡馆，我等你。”
说完，她没再给我任何反应的时间，转身，迈着优雅的步子，走下了舞台。
只留下我一个人，像个傻子一样，愣在聚光灯下。
年会剩下的时间，我完全是灵魂出窍的状态。
胖子王他们在我耳边嚷嚷着什么，我一个字都没听进去。
“阳哥！牛逼啊！跟苏总跳舞什么感觉？她是不是身上特别香？”
“你跟苏总说什么了？她最后跟你说什么了？笑得那么开心？”
“阳哥，你这是要起飞了啊！以后发达了可别忘了兄弟们！”
我像个木偶一样，被他们灌了几杯啤酒，然后浑浑噩噩地回到了我那个三十平米的出租屋。
关上门，隔绝了外面世界的喧嚣。
我把自己扔在床上，盯着天花板。
“你明天，有空吗？”
那句话，像一个无限循环的bug，在我脑子里不停地转。
我从裤兜里掏出手机，屏幕上还显示着林薇三个月前发给我的最后一条微信。
“陈阳，我们不合适。我想要的生活，你给不了。祝你幸福。”
下面，是她和那个叫张伟的项目经理，在朋友圈晒出的婚纱照。
照片里，张伟戴着名表，笑得春风得意。林薇挽着他的胳膊，脸上的幸福，是我从未见过的灿烂。
我曾经以为，我的世界，就在她点击“发送”的那一刻，彻底崩塌了。
我花了很长时间，才把那些碎片一点点捡起来，勉强拼凑成现在这个对一切都漠不关心的样子。
我以为我这辈子，也就这样了。
守着我的代码，守着我的出租屋，守着我那点可怜的自尊，孤独终老。
可苏晚的出现，像一块巨石，砸进了我那潭死水般的心湖。
她为什么要约我？
难道她也像林薇一样，觉得我这个人……有什么可图之处？
不可能。
我有什么？
没钱，没权，没地位，连长相都只能算是“对得起观众”。
唯一的优点，可能就是代码写得还算凑合。
可她是一个公司的总裁，她手底下最不缺的就是会写代码的人。
我想了一整夜，脑子里上演了无数种可能性。
从“她想挖我去做她的技术助理”到“她其实是我失散多年的姐姐”，甚至还有“这是一个精心策划的恶作g作剧，明天咖啡馆里会有一群人等着看我笑话”……
每一个想法，都显得那么荒谬。
第二天早上，我顶着两个黑眼圈，对着镜子里的自己发呆。
去，还是不去？
去，可能会面临无法预料的尴尬，甚至羞辱。
不去，我可能会永远好奇，那个晚上，她那句问话背后，到底藏着什么。
我的手机响了。
是胖子王打来的。
“喂，阳哥，醒了没？今天还上不上班啊？”
“上。”我揉了揉太阳穴。
“那你可得穿好点！我跟你说，现在整个公司论坛都炸了！全是你跟苏总跳舞的照片！还有人开了盘口，赌你今天会不会被苏总召见呢셔！”
“……”
我挂了电话，感觉一阵头疼。
事情已经完全超出了我的控制。
我打开衣柜。
里面清一色的格子衬衫，像一排排等待检阅的士兵。
我叹了口气，随便抽出一件，套在身上。
算了。
死就死吧。
反正我的人生，已经够像个笑话了。
九点五十五分。
我站在“远方”咖啡馆门口，手心冒汗。
这家咖啡馆，我知道。公司楼下最贵的一家，一杯美式咖啡的价格，够我吃两顿丰盛的午餐。
我平时连路过，都会加快脚步。
我深吸一口气，推门走了进去。
咖啡馆里很安静，放着舒缓的爵士乐。
我一眼就看到了她。
她坐在靠窗的位置，穿着一件简单的白色衬衫，头发随意地挽在脑后，露出光洁的脖颈。
没有了昨晚的盛装和气场，她看起来就像一个普通的、漂亮的邻家姐姐。
阳光透过玻璃窗，洒在她身上，给她镀上了一层柔和的光晕。
她面前放着一杯咖啡，和一台打开的笔记本电脑。
她没有看电脑，而是望着窗外，似乎在想什么心事。
我犹豫了一下，还是走了过去。
“苏……苏总。”
她回过头，看到我，愣了一下，随即笑了。
“你来了。”
她指了指对面的座位，“坐。”
我拘谨地坐下，身体绷得像块钢板。
“喝点什么？”她问。
“我……白水就好。”
她挑了挑眉，没说什么，招手叫来服务员。
“一杯冰美式，谢谢。”
然后她看向我，问：“不加糖不加奶，可以吗？”
我愣住了。
“你怎么知道……”
“你的工位上，除了即溶黑咖啡，没有别的东西。”她淡淡地说。
我的心，又是一震。
她竟然……观察得这么仔细？
她到底是谁？公司里无处不在的监控摄像头吗？
“别紧张，”她似乎又看穿了我的心思，“我没有监视你的意思。只是前几天去你们部门，路过你工位时，无意中看到的。”
“哦……”我应了一声，感觉更紧张了。
服务员把咖啡端了上来。
我捧着那杯冰凉的咖啡，却不知道该说什么。
气氛一度陷入尴尬的沉默。
最终，还是她先开了口。
“昨天晚上，吓到你了吧？”
我下意识地摇头，又觉得不妥，赶紧点头。
“有……有一点。”
她轻笑出声：“你的表情，不像‘有一点’。”
我窘迫地低下头，恨不得找个地缝钻进去。
“我找你来，不是为了工作。”她说。
这句话，又把我的心提到了嗓oz眼。
不是为了工作？
那是为了什么？
“我想……请你帮个忙。”她说。
“帮忙？”我更糊涂了，“我能帮您什么忙？”
她抿了一口咖啡，目光再次投向窗外。
“我需要一个……男朋友。”
“噗——”
我刚喝进嘴里的一口咖啡，差点喷出来。
我咳得惊天动地，脸涨成了猪肝色。
她 calmly地递给我一张纸巾，眼神里带着一丝无奈的笑意。
“你没听错。”
我好不容易止住咳嗽，难以置信地看着她。
“苏总，您……您别开玩笑了。这个玩笑一点都不好笑。”
“我没开玩笑。”她的表情很认真，完全不像在开玩笑的样子。
“为什么……是我？”我艰难地问出了这个问题。
这是我最想不通的地方。
追她的人，恐怕能从公司门口排到黄浦江边。
她为什么会找上我？一个平平无奇，甚至有点loser的程序员？
她沉默了一会儿，似乎在组织语言。
“因为，你安全。”
“安全？”这个词让我哭笑不得。
这算是夸奖吗？
“对，安全。”她点头，“你简单，纯粹，对我不感兴趣。”
“……”我竟无言以对。
她好像把我整个人都看穿了。
“我不喜欢麻烦，”她继续说，“我需要一个人，在某些特定的场合，扮演我的男朋友。不需要你做什么，只要站在我身边就好。”
“特定的场合？”
“比如，家庭聚会。”她端起咖啡杯，眼神有些飘忽，“我家里人，一直在催我……你懂的。”
我好像有点明白了。
豪门逼婚的戏码？
这简直比八点档电视剧还狗血。
“你放心，这不是白帮忙。”她从包里拿出一份文件，推到我面前。
“这是合同。为期三个月。三个月内，你需要配合我出席三次家庭活动。作为回报，这个数，是你的酬劳。”
她指了指合同最后一页的一个数字。
我凑过去一看，瞬间倒吸一口凉气。
数字后面，跟着一串我这辈子都没见过的零。
这个数字，足够我在老家买一套不错的房子了。
我 staring at that number, my brain struggling to process it.
This was insane. Absolutely insane.
“Why me?” I asked again, my voice hoarse. “You could find professional actors, people much better suited for this than me.”
“Professional actors are too fake,” she said simply. “My family isn't easy to fool. They would see through the act in a second.”
“And they won't see through me?” I asked, gesturing at my worn-out shirt.
“They won't,” she said with a certainty that baffled me. “Because you're real. Your awkwardness, your nervousness... it's all real. It's more convincing than any performance.”
She looked me straight in the eye.
“And more importantly, I’ve seen your code, Chen Yang. A person who can spend a week hunting down a single, elusive bug in a million lines of code, who writes reports with that level of detail and empathy... that person is reliable. You’re not the type to cause trouble.”
My heart skipped a beat.
She wasn't just looking for a shield. She was looking for someone she thought she could trust.
And her reason for trusting me... was my code.
The very thing Lin Wei had despised.
I felt a strange, bitter, and yet incredibly validating emotion welling up inside me.
“Think about it,” she said, pushing the contract closer to me. “You don't have to answer me right now.”
She stood up. “我还有个会，先走了。你慢慢考虑。”
She walked away, leaving me alone with the contract, the cooling coffee, and a mind in utter chaos.
I sat there for almost an hour.
The contract lay on the table like a Pandora's Box.
Opening it could lead to a world I couldn't even imagine.
But it could also lead to complete and utter disaster.
I thought about my cramped apartment.
I thought about the instant noodles I ate for dinner three times a week.
I thought about Lin Wei's mocking smile.
And I thought about Su Wan's eyes when she talked about my code.
“Reliable.”
“Empathy.”
These words echoed in my head.
Finally, I picked up the pen.
My hand was shaking, but I signed my name on the last page.
陈阳。
The first "family event" was a week later.
It was her grandfather's 80th birthday banquet.
The location was a private club on the outskirts of the city, a place so exclusive it didn't even have a sign.
Su Wan sent a car to pick me up.
Before I got in, she handed me a bag.
“换上。”
Inside was a full set of clothes. A tailored dark grey suit, a crisp white shirt, a silk tie, and a pair of polished leather shoes.
The brand was one I'd only ever seen in magazines. The price tag, which they had forgotten to remove from the inside of the jacket, made my hands tremble.
It was more than my annual salary.
I changed in the backseat of the car, feeling like I was putting on a costume for a play I had no script for.
“Don't be nervous,” she said, glancing at my stiff posture. “Just be yourself.”
“Myself?” I gave a wry smile. “Myself is a guy who wears a thirty-dollar T-shirt and eats instant noodles. Not... this.”
I tugged at the unfamiliar tie.
“Then be the version of yourself who wrote that report,” she said. “Confident, logical, and focused.”
The car drove through a set of ornate iron gates and stopped in front of a sprawling, European-style mansion.
Liveried servants stood at the door. The air smelled of money.
I took a deep breath.
Su Wan reached over and straightened my tie.
Her fingers brushed against my neck, cool and soft.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
“Ready?” she asked.
I nodded, feeling like a soldier about to charge into a minefield.
She smiled, then looped her arm through mine.
“Let's go.”
The moment we stepped into the banquet hall, I understood what she meant by "trouble."
The hall was filled with people who looked like they had walked straight out of a financial magazine.
And every single one of them was staring at us.
Specifically, at me.
Their gazes were a mixture of shock, curiosity, and undisguised disdain.
I felt like a virus that had just invaded a sterile laboratory.
“That's Su Wan? And who's that guy with her?”
“Never seen him before. Which family is he from?”
“Look at his posture. He looks so out of place.”
The whispers were quiet, but in the cavernous hall, they were deafening.
My palms started sweating again.
Su Wan squeezed my arm gently. “Ignore them. Head up.”
Her voice was calm, a small anchor in a sea of hostility.
An old man with a full head of white hair, leaning on a dragon-head cane, walked towards us. He was surrounded by a group of people who all looked like they were vying for his attention.
“That's my grandfather,” Su Wan whispered.
The old man's eyes were sharp, like an eagle's. They scanned me from head to toe, a gaze so intense it felt like it was peeling me layer by layer.
“小晚，回来了。” (Little Wan, you're back.) His voice was deep and resonant.
“爷爷，生日快乐。” (Grandpa, happy birthday.) Su Wan smiled, a genuine, warm smile I had never seen before.
Then, she tightened her grip on my arm.
“爷爷，这是我男朋友，陈阳。”
The moment those words left her mouth, the entire hall fell silent.
You could have heard a pin drop.
The old man's gaze sharpened even further.
“男朋友？” he repeated, his tone unreadable.
“是的。” (Yes.)
He turned his piercing gaze back to me.
“陈阳？”
“苏……苏老先生好。” I stammered, my throat dry.
“做什么的？” (What do you do?)
The question was blunt, direct.
“我……我是个程序员。” (I'm... a programmer.)
A barely suppressed titter ran through the crowd.
I could feel their amusement. A programmer. In their world, that was probably equivalent to a plumber or a delivery guy.
The old man's face remained impassive.
“家里是做什么的？” (What does your family do?)
This was the question I dreaded most.
My father is a retired factory worker. My mother is a primary school teacher. We were the most ordinary family imaginable.
I braced myself for the humiliation.
But before I could answer, Su Wan spoke.
“爷爷，陈阳的父母都是老师，书香门第。” (Grandpa, Chen Yang's parents are both teachers, a scholarly family.)
She said it so naturally, so convincingly, that for a second, I almost believed it myself.
The old man grunted, a noncommittal sound.
Just then, a young man, handsome and impeccably dressed, walked over. He looked at Su Wan with a possessive smile, but his eyes, when they turned to me, were filled with hostility.
“Wan Wan, this must be a joke, right?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Where did you find this... interesting friend?”
“赵公子，” Su Wan's voice turned cold. “请你放尊重些。这是我男朋友。” (Young Master Zhao, please be respectful. This is my boyfriend.)
The man, Zhao Wei, was the heir to a real estate empire. I had seen his face on business news channels. He was, according to the office gossip, Su Wan's most persistent and powerful suitor.
“Boyfriend?” Zhao Wei laughed, a harsh, unpleasant sound. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my slightly-too-long-for-the-suit hair. “Come on, Wan Wan. You can do better than this. What can he give you? A well-commented piece of code?”
The crowd laughed along with him.
I stood there, my fists clenched, my face burning.
I felt like a clown.
This was a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake. I should never have come.
I wanted to run. To rip off this ridiculous suit and run back to the safety of my tiny apartment.
But then, I felt Su Wan's hand on mine.
She didn't say anything. She just stood there, beside me, her expression unyielding.
She wasn't backing down.
And if she wasn't backing down, how could I?
I took a deep breath, the smell of expensive perfume and champagne filling my lungs.
I looked Zhao Wei in the eye.
“I can't give her a building, Mr. Zhao,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “But I can give her something you can't.”
Zhao Wei raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? And what might that be?”
I thought of the nights I spent debugging, the satisfaction of solving a complex problem, the quiet focus of the digital world.
I thought of what she said to me in the coffee shop.
"Reliability."
"Empathy."
I smiled, a real smile this time.
“A world without bugs.”
It was a programmer's joke. A terrible one.
Nobody in that room would get it.
Except, maybe, for one person.
There was a moment of confused silence.
Zhao Wei looked baffled.
Then, I heard a soft chuckle.
It was Su Wan.
She was looking at me, and for the first time, her eyes weren't just appreciative or businesslike.
They were sparkling with genuine amusement.
That night was a blur.
I felt like I was acting in a movie. I mechanically smiled, nodded, and shook hands with people whose names I immediately forgot.
Su Wan was a brilliant director.
Whenever someone asked me a difficult question, she would deftly deflect it. When I was about to say something stupid, she would gently nudge me.
We were a team.
An incredibly strange, mismatched team.
By the end of the night, I was exhausted. My face ached from smiling.
As we were leaving, her grandfather called her over.
I stood at a distance, waiting.
I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I could see the old man's face. It was stern, but the sharp hostility from the beginning of the night seemed to have softened.
When she came back, her expression was complex.
“He said... you're not as bad as he thought,” she said, her voice quiet.
“That's high praise,” I joked, loosening my tie.
She didn't laugh.
She looked at me, her gaze intense. “Thank you, Chen Yang. For tonight.”
“It's in the contract,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“No,” she shook her head. “It wasn't in the contract for you to stand up to Zhao Wei. It wasn't in the contract for you to make me laugh.”
We stood there in the cool night air, the sounds of the party fading behind us.
The car arrived to take us home.
The ride back was silent.
But it was a different kind of silence. Not awkward, but comfortable.
When the car stopped in front of my shabby apartment building, it looked even more rundown than usual next to the gleaming luxury car.
“I'm here,” I said.
“Thank you again,” she said.
I got out of the car and handed her the bag with the suit.
“This... I'll get it dry-cleaned and...”
“Keep it,” she interrupted. “You'll need it for next time.”
Next time.
Right. There were two more events.
I nodded. “Okay. Goodnight, Su Wan.”
I used her name, not her title. It just slipped out.
She didn't seem to mind.
“Goodnight, Chen Yang.”
As I turned to walk towards the dark entrance of my building, she called out to me.
“Chen Yang.”
I turned back.
“Your joke,” she said, a smile playing on her lips. “A world without bugs. I liked it.”
The car drove away, leaving me standing on the sidewalk.
I looked up at my own window, a single dim light in a sea of darkness.
For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel so alone.
The next two months were surreal.
My life split into two parallel universes.
In Universe A, I was still Chen Yang, the quiet programmer. I went to work, fixed bugs, drank cheap coffee, and ate takeout. My colleagues still joked about me and Su Wan, but the jokes were starting to lose their edge, becoming part of the office lore.
In Universe B, I was “Su Wan's Boyfriend.” I wore a suit that cost more than my car (if I had one), attended a charity auction and a family friend's wedding. I learned how to hold a wine glass properly and how to talk about the stock market without revealing I had no idea what I was talking about.
I was getting better at it. The nervousness was still there, but it was buried deeper.
Su Wan and I developed a strange rhythm.
Before each event, she would brief me on the key people and potential conversational landmines.
During the event, we communicated with subtle glances and gestures. A slight pressure on my arm meant “shut up.” A quick glance at her watch meant “find an excuse to leave.”
After each event, we would go for a late-night meal.
Not at a fancy restaurant, but at a small, 24-hour noodle shop near my apartment.
It became our ritual.
We would sit in a corner, slurping noodles, and “debriefing.”
“Your handshake with Uncle Wang was a bit too weak,” she'd say, picking out the cilantro from her bowl.
“Your cousin kept asking me about my investment portfolio. I told her I was all in on Dogecoin,” I'd reply.
She would roll her eyes, but the corner of her mouth would twitch.
It was in that little noodle shop, under the flickering fluorescent lights, that I started to see the real Su Wan.
The Su Wan who hated cilantro.
The Su Wan who could eat a whole bowl of spicy beef noodles without breaking a sweat.
The Su Wan who, when she talked about her childhood, her eyes would soften.
I learned that she grew up in a strict, demanding family. That she was expected to be perfect in everything. That she had to fight twice as hard as any man to get to where she was.
And I learned about her ex-husband.
It was after the third event, the wedding.
We were sitting in our usual spot.
“You looked uncomfortable tonight,” I said.
“Weddings,” she sighed, staring into her bowl. “They remind me of my own.”
It was the first time she had mentioned it.
“It was a marriage of convenience,” she said, her voice flat. “A business alliance. We were perfect partners on paper. But we were terrible husband and wife.”
She looked up at me.
“He wanted a wife who would stay at home, host parties, and be a beautiful accessory. He didn't want a partner who had her own ambitions, her own company, her own world.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.
It was the exact opposite of my story with Lin Wei.
Lin Wei left me because I had no ambition.
Su Wan's husband left her because she had too much.
“We're all just looking for the right algorithm, I guess,” I said softly. “One that matches.”
She looked at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
Then she smiled, a sad, tired smile.
“Maybe. Or maybe some of us are just destined to have bugs in our source code.”
The three months were almost up. The contract was nearing its end.
Our last “official” duty was done.
The noodle shop visits became less frequent. Our text messages, which had evolved from logistical arrangements to sharing interesting articles or funny memes, dwindled.
The two universes were slowly drifting apart.
Universe B was dissolving, and I was being pulled back, permanently, into Universe A.
And it felt... empty.
I found myself staring at her name in my contacts list, my thumb hovering over the call button, but never pressing it.
What would I say?
“Hey, the contract's over, but can we still go for noodles?”
It sounded pathetic.
She was the president. I was a programmer. The play was over. It was time for the actors to go home.
One afternoon, my project director, the one who had warned me to stay in my lane, called me into his office.
“Chen Yang,” he said, his face a mixture of envy and apprehension. “The ‘Starlight’ project... has a problem. A big one.”
I knew about the problem. The entire tech department knew.
The system was crashing intermittently. Users were losing data. The launch date was approaching, and the team was in a panic.
“The core algorithm, the one you wrote the report on months ago... it's the source of the problem,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “The current team... they can't fix it.”
I stayed silent.
“Su... Su总 asked me to ask you... if you would be willing to take a look.”
Su Wan.
She had asked for me.
“The report had the solution,” I said flatly.
“I know, I know,” he said, sweating. “But implementing it now, it's... complex. It requires a deep rewrite. Nobody dares to touch it.”
He looked at me, almost pleadingly.
“The company is offering a huge bonus. And a promotion. Lead Architect.”
Lead Architect.
The position Lin Wei always wanted me to get.
But I wasn't thinking about Lin Wei.
I was thinking about a conversation in a noodle shop.
“Maybe some of us are just destined to have bugs in our source code.”
“I’ll do it,” I said. “But I don't want the promotion.”
He stared at me, dumbfounded.
“What? Why?”
“I have one condition,” I said. “I need complete authority over the code. No interference. From anyone.”
He hesitated for a second, then nodded vigorously. “Of course, of course! Anything you need!”
For the next 72 hours, I lived in the office.
The server room became my home.
The hum of the machines was my music. The glowing terminal was my entire world.
I didn't just implement my original solution. I tore the entire module apart and rebuilt it from the ground up.
It was elegant. It was clean. It was beautiful.
It was the best code I had ever written.
Fatty Wang and a few other guys from my team volunteered to stay with me, running tests, bringing me coffee and food.
On the third night, around 3 AM, I was staring at a particularly nasty piece of legacy code, my brain feeling like a tangled mess of wires.
The door to the server room opened.
I thought it was Fatty Wang with more coffee.
“Just put it on the table,” I mumbled, my eyes glued to the screen.
But the person didn't leave.
I felt a presence beside me.
And then, that familiar, cool scent of pine and ink.
I turned.
It was Su Wan.
She was wearing a simple grey hoodie and jeans, her hair tied in a messy bun. She looked exhausted. There were dark circles under her eyes.
She was holding two cups of coffee.
Not from a machine. From the 24-hour cafe downstairs.
She handed one to me.
“I heard you haven't slept,” she said, her voice soft.
I took the cup. My fingers were trembling from fatigue and caffeine.
“Almost there,” I said.
We stood there in silence for a moment, the only sound the whirring of the servers.
“Why did you refuse the promotion?” she asked.
I took a sip of coffee. It was bitter, strong. Just the way I liked it.
“I'm a programmer,” I said. “I build things. I solve problems. I don't manage people.”
I looked at her.
“It's not my algorithm.”
She looked at me, her eyes searching my face.
“Chen Yang,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “The contract is over.”
“I know,” I said.
“This... you didn't have to do this.”
“Yes, I did,” I said. “There was a bug. It needed to be fixed.”
I turned back to the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
“It’s what I do.”
She didn't leave.
She pulled up a chair and sat next to me, quietly watching.
She didn't say anything. She didn't offer advice. She was just... there.
Her presence was a strange comfort. It was like having a co-pilot, a spotter.
As the sun began to rise, I typed the final line of code.
I hit “compile.”
It ran.
No errors. No warnings.
I initiated the final stress test.
We watched the progress bar crawl across the screen.
10%... 30%... 70%...
The server load was at its peak. The system held. It was stable. It was fast.
100%.
Test complete. All checks passed.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding for three days.
I leaned back in my chair, every muscle in my body screaming in protest.
I had done it.
I turned to look at her.
She was already looking at me.
The morning sun streamed through the server room's small window, painting a golden stripe across the floor.
In the soft light, her face was stripped of all its corporate armor. She looked tired, vulnerable, and incredibly beautiful.
“You did it,” she whispered.
“We did it,” I corrected.
A smile slowly spread across her face. A real, unguarded smile.
“So,” she said, her voice a little playful. “Mr. Lead Architect who doesn't want to be a Lead Architect. What do you want?”
I looked at her, at the empty coffee cups, at the rising sun.
I thought about my two universes.
And I realized I didn't want to choose one.
I wanted to merge them.
“I'm hungry,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow.
“I know a great noodle shop nearby,” I said, my heart pounding in my chest. “Their spicy beef noodles are life-changing.”
She stared at me for a long moment.
The silence stretched, filled with unspoken questions and possibilities.
Then, she stood up and stretched, like a cat waking from a nap.
“Okay,” she said.
“But this time,” she looked at me, a mischievous glint in her eye.
“You're paying.”
