CHAPTER 29: FIRST HUG

Friday afternoon.

Ruan Zhizhi was sprawled on her desk, scrolling through Weibo with nothing better to do, happily watching the fans of a trending young idol tearing into each other over something utterly trivial.

The next second, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a supervisor hurried past her desk.

She quickly shoved her phone away and stood up along with the rest of her colleagues. The supervisor almost never came to inspect them during work hours — unless something urgent had come up.

“Group A’s Xu Zhengyu, Group C’s Ruan Zhizhi — you have one minute to get ready. Bring your recorders and laptops. You’re coming with me for an on-site interview.”

Big news, for sure.

After working here for so long, she finally had the chance to cover a live event. Ruan Zhizhi, personally called by the supervisor, was so excited she could barely sit still and immediately began packing her things.

On the way to the scene, she and Xu Zhengyu from Group A sat side by side in the back of the company van like two schoolkids, sitting upright and properly, listening intently as the supervisor explained the background of the case.

“I just got reliable word — around 2 p.m. today, a fourth-year female student from University A fell from the girls’ dorm. No obvious external injuries. The forensic doctor’s preliminary assessment is suicide. Right now, her family, the police, and several teachers are on-site for investigation. Our job is to get there before any other news agency and gather as much useful information as we can.”

The supervisor paused, then added, still uneasy since this was their first live assignment:

“Remember this — as reporters, the most important thing is to write articles that grab attention. Don’t let yourself get distracted by anything else. Focus on asking the questions you need answers to, no matter what.”

The implication was clear: don’t worry about the family’s emotions, and don’t worry whether your questions are appropriate — as long as the information is valuable, that’s what matters.

Ruan Zhizhi lowered her head, taking notes seriously at first, but after hearing this, her enthusiasm dimmed a little.

She’d always thought that being a reporter meant respecting the facts, restoring the truth of events for the readers — not fabricating sensationalism to boost magazine sales.

But… if the incident happened at University A… would Shi Yan be there too?

She hoped he wasn’t involved.

Feeling unsettled, Ruan Zhizhi hesitated over whether she should call Shi Yan to check on him, but she was afraid the supervisor might notice and start asking questions about her personal ties to University A. After some thought, she slipped her phone back into her pocket.

The company van soon pulled up at the university gates. Surprisingly, there weren’t many onlookers yet, which meant their company was among the first to receive the news.

The supervisor flashed his press credentials at the security guard and led them straight into the girls’ dormitory area where the incident had taken place.

The student’s body had already been taken away for autopsy, leaving behind only a horrifying dark red bloodstain on the ground, encircled by a chalk-marked evidence line.

It was the first time Ruan Zhizhi had ever seen such a gruesome scene. Her head spun, and bile rose in her throat.

In that moment, she suddenly missed Shi Yan.
If he were here, he’d stand behind her, cover her eyes, and tell her not to be afraid.

Beside her, Xu Zhengyu noticed how pale she looked and smiled faintly, trying to comfort her:

“First time seeing a death scene, huh? It’s okay. You’ll get used to it.”

Then he pulled out his recorder from his briefcase.

“We’re partners today. To be more efficient, why don’t you go interview the family, and I’ll ask around among the classmates and teachers to see if we can pick up any leads?”

Ruan Zhizhi nodded politely, forcing herself to suppress the nausea clawing at her throat.

The two quickly split up.

She popped an ejiao date candy into her mouth, took a deep breath, and made her way toward the most crowded area.

From what she’d learned reading countless news reports, the deceased’s family members were usually highly emotional at the scene — almost always clashing with the school administration, and sometimes even getting physical.

Sure enough, as she pushed her way through the gathered crowd, she spotted a middle-aged couple at the center, completely inconsolable.

The woman’s eyes were swollen from crying, her hair messy and disheveled. The man sat squatting on the ground, chain-smoking cigarette after cigarette, his face dark with grief.

They were only just entering middle age, hadn’t even begun to enjoy family life, and now they had lost their daughter. It was heartbreaking.

“What kind of useless school is this?!” the woman screamed hoarsely, her voice breaking. “I sent my perfectly healthy daughter here to study, and now she’s about to graduate, but you’re telling me she’s dead — that she jumped? I don’t believe it! I will never accept this!”

She was almost hysterical.

“If your school doesn’t give me an explanation for my daughter’s death, I’ll take this all the way up — I’ll petition, I’ll go straight to Beijing if I have to! I won’t let this go!”

University A’s principal, Wang Chongming, came from a scholarly family. Both his parents held PhDs, and his grandfather had once worked alongside revolutionary leaders to help establish China’s early education system — he was widely respected.

But right now, his face was etched with sorrow as he tried to calm the mother down:

“Comrade, please, listen to me. Li Ruixi’s autopsy report has already come out — it confirms suicide. The police have also reviewed all the dorm surveillance footage, and there’s no indication of foul play.”

Principal Wang sighed heavily before continuing:

“I admit, the school has its faults. We failed to notice Li Ruixi’s emotional and mental state in time, and for that, we are to blame. But I can assure you, her death was absolutely not caused by anything the school did.”

“Ha!” The woman sneered through her tears, unwilling to believe a word. “You’re all just covering for each other! My daughter was perfectly fine — why would she want to die? She was about to graduate, she was guaranteed a spot in grad school, she had such a bright future ahead of her! Tell me, what reason would she have to jump off a building now?!”

She refused to hear any explanation, lost entirely in her grief.

The atmosphere suddenly froze.

“The real reason she jumped was you. Not the school.”

Out of nowhere, a man’s voice broke through the air—calm, soft, but chillingly cold.

Instantly, silence fell. You could hear a pin drop.

Shi Yan?

At a time like this… coming here wasn’t he just asking for trouble?

Ruan Zhizhi frowned, turning her head along with the crowd toward the source of the voice.

That familiar man was wearing a white knitted cardigan, walking in unhurriedly from the edge of the crowd. His presence seemed untouched by dust, clean and untainted. His expression was composed as ever, his voice steady:
“I’m Shi Yan, Li Ruixi’s supervising professor from the psychology department. If you have anything to discuss, you can come to me.”

The woman looked stunned for a moment, but quickly recovered, wearing the same unreasonable, aggressive expression as before.
“Supervisor, huh? Then why don’t you tell me—how are you going to take responsibility for my daughter’s death?”

Shi Yan let out a cold laugh, his gaze filled with disdain.
“I’ve already said it. Li Ruixi took her own life because of you. Naturally, the one who should be held responsible… is you.”

The moment his words fell, the crowd erupted into murmurs. Ruan Zhizhi heard whispers around her, and two girls standing nearby were speaking just loudly enough for her to catch every word.

“Professor Shi’s right. Ruixi jumped because the pressure was too much for her. She couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Yeah, I heard that too. Her mom never talks about anything except studying, getting into grad school, and bringing honor to the family. I also heard Ruixi failed her entrance exams this year. Maybe she was scared of being scolded and punished by her parents, so she…”

…

Hearing this, Ruan Zhizhi’s heart skipped a beat. She immediately turned to the two girls.
“Sorry to interrupt, I’m a reporter covering the incident. Just now, you mentioned that Li Ruixi’s parents pressured her into taking the graduate school entrance exams, but she failed this year. Can you confirm that’s true?”

The two girls froze, startled by her sudden question, but relaxed when they heard she was a reporter.
“It’s true. The exam results are already out. The list’s in the principal’s office and the senior professors’ offices. If you don’t believe us, you can check for yourself.”

“Thank you so much!” Ruan Zhizhi thanked them with her recorder in hand, feeling slightly more certain inside.

Meanwhile, Shi Yan’s voice cut through the noisy crowd like frost, cold and sharp:
“Li Ruixi didn’t get an automatic admission to graduate school. She lied to you about being recommended because she was terrified of punishment. The truth is, she’d been preparing for the entrance exams all along. But unfortunately, she didn’t get in. That’s the real reason she jumped. The culprits are you. It was your relentless pressure that pushed her to the edge.”

Just then, Xu Zhengyu, who had been conducting interviews elsewhere, squeezed through the crowd toward Ruan Zhizhi.
“How’s it going? Find anything useful?”

Ruan Zhizhi nodded slightly, gesturing toward the couple nearby.
“Those two are Li Ruixi’s parents. I’ve been observing them for a while, and I just spoke with some of Ruixi’s classmates. Based on what I’ve gathered, I believe Professor Shi is right—Ruixi jumped because she failed the exam and the pressure became unbearable.”

“No! I don’t believe it! I don’t!”

A heart-wrenching wail erupted from the middle-aged woman in the crowd.
“My daughter wouldn’t just… just end her life like this! No, no, no…”

Beside her, the man who had been crouching silently on the ground finally stood, hugging his wife tightly. His voice trembled, weak and hoarse:
“Wife… I think the professor’s right. There were so many nights I came home from work and heard Ruixi crying alone in her room. I thought about talking to you, asking you not to be so strict with her… but work kept me busy, and every time, I’d forget after sleeping it off. It’s my fault. I killed our daughter… I killed our Ruixi…”

By the end, his voice was choked with sobs.

Standing in the crowd, Ruan Zhizhi watched the scene unfold, her heart heavy with sorrow.

At this point, there didn’t seem to be anything left to investigate. Soon, more police officers arrived to seal off the area, and bystanders were instructed to leave. Taking advantage of the commotion, Ruan Zhizhi and Xu Zhengyu managed to approach the grieving parents to ask a few more questions.

By the time they finished their interviews, most of the crowd had dispersed.

Feeling drained, Ruan Zhizhi rubbed her temples. The chaos earlier had been overwhelming; surely, Shi Yan hadn’t noticed her presence.

Their editor was already urging them to leave, so Ruan Zhizhi and Xu Zhengyu went over their notes one last time, then packed up their briefcases to head back.

Although they had managed to secure first-hand information, they still lacked strong, definitive evidence. She wasn’t sure if their boss would be satisfied—or furious—when they returned.

Beside her, Xu Zhengyu looked just as troubled. Ruan Zhizhi glanced at him, trying to comfort him.
“Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. We’ll hand in the report without a problem.”

“Huh?” Xu Zhengyu blinked, pulled from his thoughts, and frowned.
“No, it’s not that… Ruan Zhizhi, that university professor just now… he looks really familiar. I swear I’ve seen him before.”

“You mean Shi Yan?” Ruan Zhizhi thought about it and shrugged casually.
“A City isn’t that big. Maybe you just ran into him somewhere.”

After all, she used to “coincidentally” bump into Shi Yan almost every day.

But Xu Zhengyu shook his head firmly.
“No, not by chance. I remember clearly—I must’ve seen him during a case. I just… can’t recall which one right now.”

Ruan Zhizhi watched him frown and overthink, sighing helplessly. She figured he was mistaken and didn’t dwell on it, focusing instead on packing her things—

And just then—

“Zhizhi.”

Hearing that familiar voice, Ruan Zhizhi instinctively looked up.

The man standing in front of her — despite just having gone through the unreasonable fuss and pestering of the deceased’s family — still looked composed and elegant, as if what had just happened was nothing more than exchanging polite greetings with strangers.

“Shi Yan, those people didn’t come back to bother you, right?” Ruan Zhizhi blurted out without thinking, her concern slipping out naturally and uncontrollably.

He reached out, his movements gentle as his fingers brushed over her hair. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.” Then, taking a slightly worn diary from his pocket, he lowered his voice. “This is the diary Li Ruixi gave me before she died. I thought you might need it.”

The deceased’s personal diary? That was an invaluable source of information.

Ruan Zhizhi reached out and took it. The diary was still faintly warm.

She looked up at him with slight confusion, but what she saw were Shi Yan’s eyes, no longer shrouded in their usual shadows. At this moment, they were as clear as a breeze, silently telling her: Ruan Zhizhi, write this article carefully. Give the deceased an answer.

Pressing her lips together, she nodded firmly and replied with all seriousness, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to investigate properly before writing the article.”

Behind her, her supervisor’s urging was getting louder and more impatient. Ruan Zhizhi hurriedly bid Shi Yan goodbye and was just about to turn and leave when a hand suddenly grabbed her wrist.

The next second, without warning, she fell into a familiar yet strange embrace.

The faint scent of mint on him, mixed with a subtle trace of tobacco, was enough to make her senses whirl. That line of poetry came to mind — “At such a night, it is hard not to be moved.”

Rigidly pressed against Shi Yan’s chest, she could hear his heartbeat — quick and strong, yet she was certain it wasn’t as rapid as hers.

Shi Yan’s fingers gently landed on her head, carefully fixing her wind-tousled hair. His voice was low and slightly hoarse, carrying a rare, almost disarming intimacy. “Life is unpredictable. If I were the next one to die… I’d regret never holding you like this, at least once.”