Chapter 9 Crush Killing and Suspension Bridge Effect

Chapter 9: Killing the Crush and the Suspension Bridge Effect

Guan Junshan walked into the meeting room, spending another bright holiday day dealing with accumulated work.

Perhaps due to the cold, he struggled to concentrate during the afternoon meeting, frequently losing focus and correcting himself. Sitting on the 29th floor of a towering building, surrounded by one-way glass panels, he felt like a fragile bubble box floating above the bustling city.

The entire city lay beneath his feet, yet he felt no sense of reality. In this concrete jungle, sealed within layered cubicles, his mood mirrored that of countless ordinary office workers—longing to escape, to chase the harbor and sunlight of three in the afternoon.

And Lin Haoda's appearance made this escape feel more real.

At first, Guan Junshan didn't notice his messages. During meetings, he usually kept his phone on silent, not letting personal matters distract him.

It was only during a break that he stepped into the corridor to take a call. Just as he was about to hang up, Lin Haoda sent another message, without any context: "Take back what I said. They have way more energy than I do."

Frowning, Guan Junshan scrolled up through the chat history, seeing a message from ten minutes ago:

"I’m near Victoria Harbor now, heading to the hotel."

"There are so many senior tour groups here. I envy their retirement."

"[Image]"

Under normal circumstances, Guan Junshan would likely ignore such a nuisance. But the sick Guan Junshan had lost his usual composure, judgment, and absolute rationality. He moved his thumb to the screen, hesitating to open the image, when Lin Haoda’s message popped up again:

"[Image]"

Guan Junshan clicked to view it—an ice cream cone, probably strawberry-flavored, topped with some dark green pistachio crumbs.

Lin Haoda’s life seemed to be the complete opposite of his own, or perhaps a natural contrast. An analogy came to Guan Junshan’s mind: just as the Earth is round, no matter where you live, there’s always someone on the opposite side of the globe, living a completely different schedule, forever separated by the twilight line between day and night.

For Guan Junshan, Lin Haoda might just be that person on the other side of the world. Timid, unlucky, and insecure, and probably jobless—why else would he be strolling along the harbor on a workday afternoon, eating a cheap, ubiquitous ice cream?

Guan Junshan felt a bit down. He looked up at the sky beyond the skyscraper’s glass, deciding not to reply to Lin Haoda’s message, when a subordinate approached: "Mr. Guan, the meeting will start in five minutes."

For some reason, Guan Junshan didn’t want to be seen chatting with someone else. He flipped his phone face-down in his hand. "Okay, I understand."

The subordinate had barely left when his phone buzzed again. He turned it over to see Lin Haoda’s message: "What's up?"

Confused, Guan Junshan moved his finger and realized he had accidentally sent a period—probably from brushing against the keyboard.

Lin Haoda, thinking it was his fault, replied: "Sorry, I forgot you can't have ice cream."

A second later: "Is your cold better now?"

Guan Junshan paused for a moment, then finally replied, "Much better."

Lin Haoda then asked, "Are you out of bed? Are you in your room?"

"I’m in a meeting," Guan Junshan told him truthfully.

"Meeting in your room?" Lin Haoda asked, being simple-minded.

"At the office."

Lin Haoda sent an 'okay' emoji, then added after a few seconds, "I’m at the hotel now, about to hand the jacket to the front desk."

Guan Junshan wasn’t used to him reporting every little thing. He replied from the meeting room door, "Okay, that's enough."

But Lin Haoda’s message came a second earlier: "What time does the afternoon meeting end?"

Guan Junshan stared at this message that crossed the line for a few seconds without moving. The meeting room was nearly full. He glanced at the quiet crowd, frowned slightly, then returned his gaze to the screen, sensing a subtle, hard-to-define emotion.

A few seconds later, as if feeling guilty, Lin Haoda retracted the message.

That only confirmed Guan Junshan’s suspicion. Thinking of Lin Haoda’s recent proactive behavior—his responsive attention and care—a certain answer seemed ready to surface.

With that thought, Guan Junshan turned his back, one hand in his pocket. He cleared his throat and sent a voice message to Lin Haoda, in a tone that was stern but generous: "Alright, I’m going to the meeting now. No more messages."

He didn’t want Lin Haoda to cling to this budding sentiment. When he should have said something harsh to reject him, the words didn’t come out as strongly as he intended.

Lin Haoda went silent for half a minute, as if his secret had been exposed, feeling defeated and embarrassed. His tone reverted to its initial caution: "I’m sorry, Mr. Guan."

The last message was: "Sorry for bothering you."

Guan Junshan was so cautious and sensitive because such incidents happened constantly in his life—from friends, colleagues, even strangers he’d never met, each with their own reasons. The pink bubbles others saw only trained him in two things: cutting things off quickly, and being cold-hearted.

Logically, Guan Junshan should have been satisfied. He had successfully stopped Lin Haoda’s hidden little crushes, nipping trouble in the bud.

But looking at the stiff, black period on the screen, thinking of the pink ice cream cone—still looking cool and frosty—that Lin Haoda had sent him, he felt a lack of the sense of accomplishment he thought he'd feel.

Guan Junshan turned back and walked into the meeting room, where everyone stood up to greet him: "Hello, Mr. Guan."

His gaze swept over their dark gray suits, the dark conference table, and the gray plaid carpet. For a moment, he felt like all color had been drained from the world. Though the sun shone brightly outside, he was back in this little gray-and-white glass box.

He wondered what color world Lin Haoda lived in at that moment.

Would Lin Haoda, whose secret had been exposed, be sitting by Victoria Harbor, letting the wind hit him? Or sadly buying another ice cream and slowly licking his ice cream, brooding over his feelings?

Guan Junshan couldn’t imagine a world that wasn’t his. Lin Haoda, who had crossed the line, had been pushed back to the other side of the twilight line, left alone to nurse his broken heart.

In the second half of the meeting, Guan Junshan kept zoning out and thinking of Lin Haoda’s face.

On one hand, he believed he had done no wrong. On the other, he felt he could have let it slide this time. After all, maybe it was just the suspension bridge effect—he had saved Lin Haoda in a moment of crisis, thus developing these feelings.

If that were the case, it was understandable.

But he soon chalked it up more to the care Lin Haoda had given him.

Perhaps because no one else noticed Guan Junshan was sick—Wu Manzhen was still in a cold war with him, so she wouldn’t call to check in; Wu Sihan, having heard about the recent drunk driving incident, didn't dare bother him. So Lin Haoda was the only one who showed him any care.

Though he knew the excuse was pretty weak, Guan Junshan couldn’t bring himself to block Lin Haoda like he did everyone else.

Maybe he just needed that little bit of care. After all, he wouldn’t agree to anything Lin Haoda wanted. Perhaps once he got better, everything would be fine.

Driven by this not-so-rational feeling, when the meeting ended, he sent Lin Haoda a message:

"If you’re still near the hotel, try this restaurant."

"[Location]"

Lin Haoda replied quickly, making Guan Junshan wonder if he'd been crushed by the earlier rejection. He replied "Okay," and over ten minutes later, was already seated at the restaurant Guan Junshan had recommended, taking a photo of the menu to ask for recommendations: "Which flavor should I choose?"

Guan Junshan recommended a secret combo. Lin Haoda went for it without a second thought. A while later, Guan Junshan felt his phone buzz again in his pocket. He took it out and saw Lin Haoda’s message full of praise:

"Delicious! Such an awesome flavor!"

Before Guan Junshan could reply, a second message popped up:

"The owner asked if I was Mr. Guan's friend. He said you're the only one who would order this combination."

Guan Junshan replied with an ambiguous "Yes," unsure which question he was answering.

Lin Haoda didn't dwell on it and cautiously sent another message: "Can I share the photo?"

"Yes."

A photo of Lin Haoda holding a noodle bowl and cheerfully making a peace sign alongside the owner appeared on Guan Junshan's phone screen. The car drove out of the underground garage, slightly bumpy. Guan Junshan sat in the back seat. He lowered his eyes to look at it for half a minute, then finally sent the only sincere words he had spoken that afternoon: "Too childish."

Lin Haoda didn't say anything more.

Guan Junshan switched out to reply to a few work emails, then switched back, opened the photo, and looked at it a few more times. Lin Haoda still hadn't replied. Guan Junshan exited the chat window. Beside it, the Moments icon showed a red dot. He instinctively tapped it and saw Lin Haoda's profile picture in the new messages list.

Guan Junshan entered the Moments. The signal in the tunnel wasn't good; the loading icon struggled to refresh for a while.

Then Lin Haoda's latest Moments post popped up.

It was the group photo he had sent to Guan Junshan, along with a few others he hadn't shown him. The caption read: "Hidden menu check-in!"

Guan Junshan stared at that Moments post for a long time, unsure which exact word had displeased him. He went back to Lin Haoda's chat box and notified him as if giving a command: "If anyone asks you for the hidden menu, don't give it."

Lin Haoda didn't dare object and sent a sticker that read "Your subject obeys the imperial decree."

Guan Junshan looked at that sticker and found it very amusing. The timid posture somehow resembled Lin Haoda, which lifted his mood a bit. Remembering the earlier question, he decided to reply: "The meeting is over. There's still a business dinner later, so I won't be back for now."

Just as the message was sent, the car turned a corner and arrived at the destination.

At the evening banquet, Guan Junshan wasn't the main guest; just showing his face was enough. But even so, once he appeared, he was swarmed by people for a long time, had to make small talk, and was pestered into drinking a lot of alcohol.

By the time he left, it was completely dark. On the drive back, it started raining, and the traffic was stop-and-go all the way.

He fell asleep in the swaying traffic. When he woke up, the car was already parked in front of the hotel. The driver got out to hold an umbrella and opened the door for him.

Opening the door brought in a gust of cold wind. Guan Junshan had a headache and asked the driver as he got out of the car: "What time is it?"

"Half past eight." The driver accompanied him up the steps. The bellboy took the umbrella and escorted him into the lobby.

The bright lights in the lobby were a bit dazzling. Guan Junshan stopped to let his eyes adjust. Remembering that his coat was still at the front desk, he walked over to pick it up.

When the front desk saw him, they greeted him warmly and asked him to wait a moment. The coat was stored in the storage room.

While waiting, Guan Junshan took out his phone to reply to messages or emails. The message list was in chronological order. At the very bottom were earlier ones, including a WeChat message from Lin Haoda.

Guan Junshan tapped it and saw that Lin Haoda had replied shortly after Guan sent his message:

"Then can I wait for you?"

Guan Junshan stared at the screen for two seconds, then looked up, turned his head, as if sensing something, and looked toward the reception area behind him.

Sure enough, Lin Haoda was sitting on the innermost sofa, conspicuously standing out among the crowd of travelers and businesspeople in suits.

He was propping his chin on his hand, earbuds in, quietly watching a video on his phone as if no one else was around.