Chapter 21

The business trip ended, and Chen Jubai returned home a little after four in the afternoon. The house was empty.

He changed his shoes and pushed his suitcase into the bedroom.

As soon as he opened the door, Snowflake ran toward him. Chen Jubai bent down to pick up the little thing, took it outside to feed it, and then came back inside.

The room was a bit messy. Several books were scattered across the desk, a charger left unplugged, the bed unmade, and a tablet rested by the headboard. At the foot of the bed lay her green satin slip dress, soft and lustrous, from her morning change.

Just two days ago, the bed had been neatly made, like a hotel room. Now, it had reverted to its natural state in his absence.

Chen Jubai walked over to the desk and noticed the titles on the book covers: The Singularity is Near, Virtual Reality: Theory, Technology, Development, and Applications, and VR/AR/MR Development in Practice.

Smiling, he picked one up and flipped through a couple of pages. She had even taken notes—neat, delicate handwriting, full of care and attention.

After reading for a while, he put the book down, tidied the bed, charged the tablet, and changed into fresh clothes. He also tossed her slip dress into the washing machine along with his clothes.

With time to spare before six o’clock, Chen Jubai sent her a message:
[What do you want for dinner? I’ll buy it.]

Song Wei was busy and only replied after ten minutes:
[You’re back?]

[Yeah, I’m home. What do you want to eat?]

[I want soup, old duck soup. 😊]

Chen Jubai had never made soup before and didn’t want to risk messing it up, so he called Song Gaoyi. Over a ten-minute call, Song Gaoyi explained the process in detail, sent a list of ingredients, and gave him tips on choosing the duck. For extra assurance, he even forwarded a tutorial video.

The market wasn’t far. By the time Chen Jubai returned, he had already watched the video three times.

Though no longer a beginner at cooking, he carefully followed the tutorial step by step—chopping the duck, blanching it, then adding it to the pot. He added coix seeds first, leaving the winter melon for later.

Old duck soup required slow simmering, so Chen Jubai set up his laptop at the dining table to work.

In the senior management group chat, Zhuo Wan sent a message:
[@Chen Jubai Congratulations, President Chen! Looks like our wallets will be a bit fuller this half-year.]

Chu Qi replied:
[Not this half-year. It’ll be next. Those companies are notoriously slow with payments.]

Ling Yaozhi chimed in:
[If they dare delay, I’ll go camp outside their office with a protest banner.]

Chu Qi:
[Old Ling, that’s why you’re the best.]

Zhuo Wan:
[Sister Ning said she’s treating us tonight. Shall we go out and celebrate?]

Sister Ning was another shareholder of Guangnian, someone who only invested money and didn’t get involved in operations. She was currently abroad.

Chu Qi responded instantly:
[Let’s go!]

Ling Yaozhi:
[I need to let my wife know first.]

Zhuo Wan:
[@Chen Jubai, what about you, President Chen?]

Chen Jubai replied:
[I’ve got plans tonight. Let’s celebrate another time.]

Ling Yaozhi:
[What plans could you have? I even postponed trying for a second child with my wife. What’s your excuse, single guy?]

Chu Qi:
[@Chen Jubai][I’m suffering so much.gif]

Smiling, Chen Jubai sent a message:
[Old Ling, Zhuo Wan, I’m married. For now, please keep it a secret.]

The previously lively group chat fell silent.

Two minutes later, Zhuo Wan confirmed the news over a call with Chu Qi and asked:
[Why so sudden?]

Chu Qi, eager to share, jumped in:
[It’s the girl he went on a blind date with late last year.]

Ling Yaozhi:
[Juebai, you’re efficient! Are we expecting a little Chen next year?]

The sound of boiling soup came from the kitchen. Chen Jubai went to lower the heat, returned, and typed:
[Not that soon.]

He paused and added:
[She said she’s okay meeting everyone. When do you have time?]

Zhuo Wan didn’t reply, but Ling Yaozhi and Chu Qi sent simultaneous messages:
[We’ll make time!]

Hearing movement at the door, Chen Jubai turned around.

The temperature was rising. The woman entering wore a beige trench coat, knee-high boots, her hair pinned up high, and light makeup.

She looked different from her usual down jacket look—today, she appeared graceful and elegant.

Catching the aroma in the air, Song Wei set down her bag and exclaimed, “Smells amazing!”

“We’ll eat once your parents are back.”

Impatient, she dashed into the kitchen, scooped a small spoonful of soup, and blew on it before taking a sip. Instantly, she made a face. “Chen Jubai! You forgot to add salt.”

Following her into the kitchen, he laughed softly. “Not my fault.” He wasn’t confident with seasoning, so he added a little at a time. “Try it again.”

She tasted it again after he adjusted it and said, “Add a bit more.”

He complied. “Now?”

Repeating the process, she finally nodded. “It’s good now. Chen Jubai, I think you have a talent for cooking.”

He turned down the heat, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s not hard.”

“I think it’s pretty hard. You’re really smart.”

She showered him with praise, her tone full of warmth and encouragement.

Chen Jubai chuckled. “Go change. I’ll finish the dishes.”

“Will my parents be back?”

“Not sure.” Earlier, he had asked Song Gaoyi about the soup but didn’t inquire further. To him, only those not coming home needed to report.

Song Wei waved her hand dismissively. “Then don’t wait for them. They probably won’t eat here tonight.”

“Why not?”

Because they didn’t know you were back, she thought. Taking another sip of soup, she said, “Just a guess.”

In this family, Chen Jubai was the glue holding everyone together. When he was home, everyone was there. When he wasn’t, everyone went their separate ways.

As expected, they didn’t return. Song Gaoyi sent a message, and Yang Yingqiu said nothing. Thus, the two of them dined alone.

Song Wei didn’t eat much. After two bowls of soup, she patted her stomach. “I’m full.”

“Just soup? You’ll get hungry later.”

“I’ll deal with it then.”

She took it upon herself to wash the dishes, showered, and came out with a book in hand. Instead of going to the study, she stayed in the living room, cradling the cat as she read.

Chen Jubai glanced at her. Sitting cross-legged in a comfortable position, her makeup-free face was clean and fair, and she wore a headband with two pink bunny ears sticking up, looking adorable.

The warm lighting in the living room complemented the wooden floor and bookshelves, creating a cozy atmosphere. Occasionally, the lively sounds from outside filtered through the window, drawing Snowflake’s attention. The cat wagged its tail and curiously trotted over to the window.

He sat down beside her, stayed silent for a moment, and then took the initiative to start a conversation. “Want to talk about your previous job?”

“What’s there to say about it?”

“What about the layoff situation?”

Layoffs… It had been two or three months. She had already found a new job, and what had once seemed insurmountable now felt trivial. Like a tempest in a teapot—stepping out of it, the world outside was calm and peaceful.

Yet, even now, bringing it up still felt stifling.

Since he asked so directly, Song Wei felt there was no reason to hold back. She recounted the causes and events leading up to it. “That’s it. Originally, I probably wouldn’t have been laid off, but without strong connections, I could only leave regretfully.”

He seemed to be doing something, and after a while, he said in a low voice, “Now you do.”

Song Wei was stunned for a moment. She looked up at him and laughed lightly. “Chen Jubai, you’re so self-centered.”

“At Guangnian, you’ll never be laid off.”

“You have no principles, do you?”

“Mm.”

Hearing the faint seriousness in his voice, she didn’t dare to joke any further. “What about you? Why did you choose this industry in the first place?”

He fell into a thoughtful silence.

He had answered this question countless times in interviews and networking settings, giving responses about dreams, passion, and the vibrant future of virtual reality.

But the real reason was simple—he needed money. At the time, virtual reality was a booming startup trend, making it his top choice.

She wasn’t a reporter or an industry peer, so Chen Jubai answered sincerely. “My first year of college tuition was paid by my aunt. After that, I relied entirely on scholarships for the next three years. Back then, my dad’s debts still weren’t fully repaid. If I had taken a job as a regular programmer after graduation, it would’ve taken ten years to pay off the interest and principal. There wouldn’t be the version of me you see today.”

Song Wei hadn’t expected such an answer. She froze for a moment. “I noticed the company’s mission is to ‘create a dreamlike world within reach of humanity.’ What does that mean?”

“That was crafted by the branding agency.”

“…Really?”

“Yeah.”

“And the name ‘Guangnian’—was that also from the agency?”

“That one wasn’t.” A faint smile tugged at Chen Jubai’s lips. “When we were discussing company names, ‘Guangnian^[1]“Guangnian” (光年) means “light-year,” symbolizing vast distances and limitless possibilities. It reflects the company’s ambition to bring the unimaginable closer to … Continue reading’ got the most votes. It quantifies the vast distances of the universe. Similarly, our technology allows everyone to witness impossibly real experiences.”

“So, ‘a dream within reach’?”

“You could say that.”

Song Wei pouted. “That’s surprisingly romantic.”

She thought for a moment and then asked, “What about now? Do you enjoy working in this industry?”

Chen Jubai looked at her, nodded, then shook his head. His voice was steady. “I enjoy the sense of accomplishment more.”

Song Wei was taken aback again.

Her thoughts stirred with a resounding echo.

Fresh out of college, she had planned to find a job first and figure out her career later. Back then, her goal was simply to join her former company.

She started as a product assistant, overwhelmed by endless grunt work and busywork, and often regretted choosing that position.

Later, Andy started assigning her small projects to oversee. Endless communications and dealing with endless buck-passing left her exhausted.

But when the small product launched and received positive feedback from clients, Song Wei felt that all the late nights and countless arguments had been worthwhile.

From assistant to specialist to manager, from convincing stakeholders during requirement reviews to achieving a 15% market share with her product, she found happiness in being recognized for her capabilities.

Yes, she liked that sense of accomplishment too—the joy of having her efforts acknowledged, making her feel valuable.

Her gaze locked with his, and her eyes glimmered like fireworks soaring into the sky, carrying warmth and light.

He stayed quiet, meeting her gaze.

In the end, it was Snowflake jumping onto the dining table that broke the moment.

Chen Jubai retracted his gaze, stroked the little cat’s head, and said softly, “If that sense of accomplishment always exists, I’ll always love this industry, constantly learning and giving more to it.”

Song Wei didn’t know what to say. Her heartbeat quickened.

He calmed the fidgeting kitten, then turned his gaze back to her. “If there’s anything you don’t understand, just ask me. I think I’ll be more useful than those books.”

Song Wei smiled in return. “Alright, Mr. Chen.”

She wasn’t going to be overly polite. The book in her hand was tough to get through, and she had struggled to read just a few pages. “Chen Jubai, what do you think the metaverse really is?”

The concept was too vast and abstract. Sometimes it seemed clear, and other times, utterly confusing.

Chen Jubai asked, “Do you want the complicated version or the simple one?”

“Simple.”

“Another world that exists when you close your eyes. In that world, anything you can imagine can happen. It’s infinitely expansive and offers complete freedom for exploration.”

He added, “Have you used any of our products before?”

“I have.” Of course, she had; she wasn’t that unprofessional.

Guangnian had focused mainly on technology output in its early years. In recent years, they had started producing consumer devices, currently promoting three flagship products: AR glasses, smartwatches, and VR/AR headsets, with updates every three months.

Chen Jubai returned to the study and came back with a pair of glasses in hand. He walked behind her and placed them on her face before she had a chance to react.

Song Wei instinctively closed her eyes.

With her vision blocked, her hearing and sense of smell became sharper.

She could hear his steady, even breathing and catch the faint trace of cooking oil still lingering on him—both of which seemed to hold a kind of magic, making her mind go blank.

“Open your eyes.”

The gentle, magnetic timbre of his voice brushed against her ear, causing her body to stiffen momentarily.

She quickly opened her eyes.

The scene before her was unremarkable, as if she were wearing plain glasses. But when he pressed a button, a translucent screen slowly appeared in front of her lenses. It resembled the hot air balloon image used during eye exams, but then it began playing a movie.

Chen Jubai helped her adjust the fit. “Right now, AR glasses are still in the growth stage. Their functionality isn’t as extensive as headsets, and the focus is on being lightweight and practical. This model is called Space Pro. It’s still in testing. Compared to the previous version, which only had basic features like notifications, music, photos, and video recording, this one adds interactive gaming and real-world navigation with translation. The resolution, refresh rate, design, and weight have all been improved.”

Previously, Song Wei had tried the Space 1.0 version at the company. That version was similar to other glasses on the market. However, this one, as he mentioned, was much lighter, with a noticeably clearer and smoother display. Last time, wearing the older model had made her feel a bit dizzy, but this time she felt perfectly fine.

He handed her his phone. “You can try it yourself.”

Song Wei glanced at him. “There aren’t any secrets on here that I shouldn’t see, are there?”

“No.”

She first opened the music app. As she played a track, Chen Jubai began explaining automatically from the side, “The sound quality is also version 2.0. It’s much clearer and more balanced, with a degree of noise cancellation as well.”

Song Wei listened to half a song before moving on. She opened a simple game from his home screen. Somehow, he handed her a game controller, seemingly out of nowhere. She wasn’t very skilled at gaming, but the incredibly lifelike graphics displayed through the lenses left her astonished.

After finishing the gaming experience, Song Wei decided to test the communication features. She opened WeChat.

Initially, she just planned to send herself a voice message or make a video call to see how it worked. But when she opened the contact list, she froze.

At the top of the pinned chats, there was a contact labeled with two words: Wife.