Chapter 32: The Thirty-Second Day in the Book – Extra Chapter for 6000 Nutrient Points…

Do you still believe in love that remains steadfast and unwavering even through the end of time?

If you ask this question in today’s fast-paced society, most people would say no. Even if they believe such love exists, they wouldn’t believe it could happen to them.

In this world, love is, at its core, a collision of hormones between two people. It definitely exists, but that kind of unwavering emotion feels too extravagant—too unbelievable to trust.

But just because one doesn’t believe, doesn’t mean they don’t hope for it.

So when the story of Yun Shuning and He Yan unfolded before the public eye, after the initial doubt, what followed was a deep sense of being moved.

Perhaps it was because of He Group’s actions—searches revealed no news about He Yan, and even information about Yun Shuning was largely blocked. Netizens searched for a long time before they finally managed to find a few of Yun Shuning’s photos.

Some were from her university days. In those pictures, she radiated youth, and every frown and smile was especially captivating. Only then did people realize—Shuyan had always been this beautiful.

Later photos were likely taken after He Yan’s disappearance. At some point, the smile had vanished from her face. Looking straight into the camera, her expression was cold. Her thin frame looked as if it had lost all traces of human warmth.

“After losing you, there were no more smiles in my world.”

“You are buried beneath the earth, bones turned to dust, while I wander this world with snow in my hair.”

“After watching this video and seeing these photos, I suddenly believe in love again. Rare as it is, painful as it may be, it’s still so beautiful—so warm.”

“Such passionate and overwhelming love… it really makes me envious. If only he were still here.”

“Wuwuwuwu, it’s just a short video, but this child is already crying so hard they can’t breathe… yet I still want to watch it again.”

“So there really is a love in this world like the ones written in novels—unrelated to life or death, unrelated to worldly matters.”

“He Yan has to come back. I can’t imagine, don’t dare to imagine, what will happen to the one who’s still waiting for him if he never returns in this lifetime.”

“About me shipping this couple in the comment section and crying like a dog over it.”

…

Zhao Guping looked at the flood of stories and comments online about Yun Shuning and He Yan’s love, and for the first time—despite being a normally rational person—his eyes reddened.

In his memory, He Yan was someone who could stir up clouds and rain, a man of supreme logic and meticulousness. He never thought he could understand him, nor did he want to try to figure out what was in his mind.

As a special assistant, his only job was to complete every task assigned to him to the highest standard, to present multiple solutions to every situation for his superior to choose from.

Perhaps it was precisely because of his tact and ambition, used in the right places, that he was able to stay by He Yan’s side all these years.

Even just learning a little from He Yan during this time was enough to make him a leader in his industry.

Even though he was probably the person closest to He Yan in this world—aside from his relatives—he still knew almost nothing about He Yan’s personal life.

He Yan disliked anyone stepping into his private world. He didn’t like being followed. Outside of work, he was practically unreachable.

So Zhao Guping simply couldn’t imagine what it would look like for He Yan to fall in love with someone.

But when he tried to place Yun Shuning’s words into the image of He Yan he held in his mind, he suddenly felt that the version of “President He” in his heart had become more complete, more alive.

Yes, how could someone pass through this world without leaving a single mark? Perhaps the mark He Yan left behind… was Yun Shuning.

As for the “Shu-He Education Foundation” that netizens uncovered, he had no memory of it at all.

As He Yan’s assistant, he processed countless affairs every day. A charity project was nothing unusual—there was an entire department in the company to handle such things. It wasn’t even something that warranted his attention.

But one thing was certain: that name was probably chosen by President He himself.

It might be hard for many to believe, but after working beside He Yan for so long—even without understanding the real him—he had still learned a few of his traits.

Like his daily preferences, what he liked to eat or not eat. For instance, the fact that He Yan was terrible at naming things.

Any business venture named by He Yan personally always ended up with an extremely simple title—usually just the project’s purpose and a code. Everyone thought this was He Group’s trademark: clean and easy to understand.

Only he knew that this was simply because their President He didn’t like and wasn’t good at naming things.

So among that long list of angel children relief funds, “Embracing the Snow’s Children,” and other such charitable foundations, the name “Shu-He” stood out remarkably. No wonder netizens managed to dig it up so quickly.

This name really suited President He’s style. Using your name, placed before my surname—just two simple characters, yet it carried an inexplicable sense of romance.

So be it. At worst, he’d just have to hold on for another couple of years. What’s stabilizing He Group, after all? He… can definitely do it.

…

The fact that He Yan was the lover mentioned by Yun Shuning may have seemed to most people like a beautiful love story. They praised the love between the two of them, and grieved over this hopeless wait.

But there was another group that was hurt even more deeply: the hardcore CP (couple pairing) fans of Shuyan and her mystery lover.

Back then, they had eagerly mined Shuyan’s livestreams, searching for any sweet crumbs about her and her beloved. Every time she brought him up with a smile, every time her tone paused slightly when she mentioned love, every time…

At that time, they had been immersed in this beautiful love story, feeling Shuyan’s happiness as if it were their own, eager to share the joy with the entire world.

They had scraped out those crumbs bit by bit from between the cracks. The more ecstatic they were when they found sweetness back then, the more heartbroken they were now.

They never knew that viewing this love story from another angle would bring them so much pain—like one knife after another being driven into their hearts, twisted cruelly, making them cry uncontrollably.

Why did it turn out like this?

Shushu had clearly revealed so many glimpses of her happiness during her livestreams, often without realizing it. Every time she mentioned him, the smile at the corner of her lips never once disappeared. But then one day, suddenly everyone was telling them that Shushu’s lover had been gone for a long time.

Everything she said in the livestreams had been memories, a reflection of her desperate waiting.

Over four years—how on earth did Shushu manage to survive it?

In the dorm room, Li Wei sat in front of the forum thread known as the official “Shuyan CP shrine,” sobbing uncontrollably.

“Why? Why…?”

Her roommate in the bunk below her bed wore a face full of pity. She was slightly better off, at least not emotionally invested as deeply in this couple pairing.

Listening to Li Wei cry for nearly an hour from the upper bunk, she finally got up, cautiously asking, “Weiwei, drink some water, okay? I’m afraid you’ll get dehydrated.”

Li Wei took the cup her roommate handed her and gulped down a few mouthfuls.

It had been a long time since she cried this hard or this freely.

She remembered when her idol had a scandal years ago—she’d only howled for a bit and then sold off all his magazines and endorsement merchandise.

But this time… she just couldn’t stop crying.

It felt as if someone had torn down a beautiful, enchanting painting right in front of her—and forced her to witness the blood and tears of the painter staining the wall where the painting had hung.

“Do you think He Yan will really come back?” she asked, raising her tear-filled eyes to look cautiously at her roommate standing nearby.

“He definitely will.” Her roommate nodded firmly. She was just an ordinary person, with no idea how tragic the incident surrounding He Yan’s disappearance had been. She blinked to clear the stinging in her eyes and said, “I believe He Yan would never have the heart to leave Shushu to live alone in this world.”

“Mhm… yeah.”

That was the wish of many Shuyan fans, and also the most beautiful hope anyone who had learned their love story could offer them for the future.

Yun Shuning sat at the dining table, browsing news about herself online while eating breakfast.

She hadn’t expected that the lie she fabricated would cause such an intense reaction among netizens.

But when she saw the “Shu-He Education Foundation” established by He Group, even though she knew it was all fake—that she and He Yan had never had any real connection—she couldn’t help but marvel:

What a coincidence.

She looked at the edited clips netizens were posting online. Even as someone who knew the truth, she couldn’t help but feel dazed for a moment.

But she quickly gathered herself and began thinking about her next move.

Right now, the netizens who had learned about her and He Yan’s story were at an emotional peak.

They sympathized with her long wait and were deeply moved by their love.

So… should she seize the moment and deepen that impression?

Yun Shuning set down her phone and immediately rejected the idea.

She couldn’t do that.

This love story could be told by anyone else, it could appear in any video edit online—but it must never come from her own mouth.

Because if she said it herself, then while people might still grieve for her, they’d also begin to feel that maybe it wasn’t all that rare or special.

Even in the best-case scenario—if she shared the story during a livestream and moved her audience to tears—then what? If she told it again and again, even the most tragic story would eventually numb those who heard it. Just like Xianglin’s wife in Lu Xun’s story.

So what she needed to do now was act as if nothing had ever happened—as if everything was still the same as before. She would continue doing what she was supposed to do each day.

Back when no one knew about her and He Yan, whatever she did seemed completely ordinary to them.

But now, after they had learned the story, no matter what she said or did in the livestream, viewers would start to imagine what emotions she might be feeling, wonder who she was thinking of when her voice turned gentle.

Oftentimes, blunt truth placed in front of an audience couldn’t compare to the power of what they imagined on their own.

Soon it was time for her regular daily livestream. Just like always, she started it on time.

Yesterday, the internet had gone wild with the story of her and He Yan. Many had seen it, and many felt heartache for her.

So once viewers knew the time of Shuyan’s daily livestream, they waited early in the room, eager.

They thought that when she came online, they would definitely comfort her properly, express their love for her, and let her know that her love was worthy of all this support.

When they saw Shuyan appear right on schedule, they were full of emotion. For a while, the live chat was filled with well-wishes, messages of comfort, and words moved by her and He Yan’s love.

But the person on screen didn’t look at the comments at all. Just like every livestream before, she sat in front of the camera and practiced calligraphy with quiet focus.

From the footage, it was clear how much she had improved—her writing now was significantly better than before.

One could also notice her wrists—always so slender and delicate.

Viewers watched her movements and suddenly felt lost, even a little regretful.

This woman who had waited five years for He Yan—did she really need their comfort?

If it hadn’t been for that trending topic, she might have kept this story buried in her heart forever. Perhaps only decades later, when she was old, would someone accidentally uncover the truth about her and He Yan.

And then? Most people would probably just assume it was a case of similar names.

From the beginning, she never intended for anyone to know this story.

Before they found out, she had always been like this—simple, quiet, and sincere during every stream.

After Yun Shuning finished her calligraphy practice, she looked at the flood of comforting and sympathetic messages in the chat. She blinked, and in the same warm, calm voice as always, said:

“Today’s livestream ends here. I hope every one of you watching has a joyful day.”

“Goodbye.”

She hadn’t said anything else. She had only, so gently, wished them happiness.

And yet, as they stared at the now-dark screen, the viewers couldn’t help but tear up.

She told them to live happily… but what about her? Would she still be happy?