Chapter 112: Because It’s You, Only You

Chapter 112: Because It's You, Only You

After returning from his business trip to the neighboring city, Guan Junshan still sent the driver over.

On the surface, it was to pick up the coat he had left behind for over half a month, but when the driver went upstairs, he was also holding a bouquet of fresh, tender phalaenopsis orchids, as white as pearls, with petals layered in the sunlight and tiny water droplets trembling slightly.

Lin Haoda opened the door, stunned for a moment, then handed over the tote bag. The driver nodded at him and said, “Thank you, Mr. Lin.”

Lin Haoda lowered his eyes, his gaze lingering on the emerald green stems, but he asked instead, “Is President Guan busy lately?”

The driver answered honestly, “He’s okay.”

Lin Haoda let out a soft “Oh,” averted his gaze, and added with barely perceptible concern, “Remember to remind him to take his medicine and get some rest.”

The driver agreed, then handed over the flowers and said goodbye, “Mr. Lin, see you.”

Lin Haoda hesitated, then said firmly, “I don’t want them.”

The driver looked at him, blinked, and looked confused. “Then… shall I leave them at your door?”

Lin Haoda lowered his eyes helplessly. “You’ve taken what you came for. What’s with the flowers?”

The driver replied softly that President Guan hadn’t explained, only told him to bring them over.

Lin Haoda couldn’t bring himself to make things difficult for a messenger. He bit his lip and finally relented, “Give them to me.”

The door closed, and the driver left with relief. Lin Haoda stood in the hallway holding the flowers, pulled out his phone to message Guan Junshan, wanting to ask what he was up to again. He typed and deleted words in the chat box, but eventually gave up, comforting himself that it was just a pot of flowers after all.

The phalaenopsis came with soil, planted in a shallow ceramic pot. The flower stems were slender and delicate, like a veiled beauty under the moonlight.

Lin Haoda usually had a busy work life; his balcony only held a few trouble-free cacti and succulents. Suddenly faced with such a delicate flower, he had to learn how to water and fertilize it, and how to shield it from sun and rain.

Not long after, one day near the end of work, he suddenly received a message from Guan Junshan, asking very casually, “How are the flowers doing?”

“Alive,” Lin Haoda replied after a while. “I’m not good at this sort of thing.”

“At least you’re better than me.” Guan Junshan held his phone, sat at his desk, and pursed his lips as he stared at the screen. “Can you send me a picture?”

“Sure,” Lin Haoda agreed, then another message popped up: “But it’ll have to wait until I get home.”

Guan Junshan replied, “No rush,” and added, “I still have to work a bit late.”

The photo was sent around eight thirty in the evening, but Guan Junshan was in an online meeting and didn’t open it right away.

Lin Haoda had taken a picture of the flowers but received no reply for a long time, leaving him a little uneasy. He recalled that a couple of nights ago, the wind had blown, and he hadn’t closed the window in time; the next morning, he found a few flowers had fallen off.

After hesitating for a while, he sent another message, saying, “Two flowers fell off. It’s a bit wilted compared to when it first arrived.”

As soon as he sent this, Guan Junshan’s voice message popped up: “Is that so? I didn’t notice.”

His voice was deep and warm, and he comforted Lin Haoda easily, “Flowers bloom and wilt; it’s natural. Don’t blame yourself too much.”

Comforted, Lin Haoda complained half-truthfully, “Really? Didn’t you used to blame me for not knowing how to take care of flowers? That I didn’t know anything?”

“Not at all.” Guan Junshan laughed. “When did I ever complain to you about such things?”

“You did, you know.” Lin Haoda licked his lips and replied, “That time with the white tulips, I changed the water every day after work, and you still kept nitpicking…”

Whether he should be praised for such an impressive memory or not, the top of the chat kept changing—first showing Guan Junshan was “typing,” then “recording a voice message.”

Lin Haoda stared at the screen for a while, rubbing the edge of his phone case with his thumb. He felt that sentence might have crossed a line. After a few seconds of hesitation, feeling guilty, he finally withdrew it.

But since Guan Junshan had already seen it, he naturally wouldn’t let Lin Haoda dodge the question. Instead, he pressed, “You still remember?”

… Lin Haoda had to play deaf and dumb. He turned off his phone and hid on the balcony to water the flowers.

But Guan Junshan was relentless; he sent several more messages in a row. The phone was left in the living room, beeping continuously. Each ring made Lin Haoda’s heart sink a little further.

Lin Haoda chose to deceive himself, staying on the balcony longer than usual. Guan Junshan could no longer wait patiently and called him.

He asked, “Lin Haoda, why aren’t you answering?”

His voice was low and hoarse but self-assured, as if everything had become Lin Haoda’s fault again.

“I don’t have anything to say.” Lin Haoda wasn’t the best at playing dumb, and just wanted to hang up quickly, so he said offhandedly, “President Guan, I really don’t remember.”

Guan Junshan laughed on the other end. “You’re lying. Are you planning to fool me again?”

Lin Haoda denied it again, crouching beside the phalaenopsis, saying “No,” then paused, his voice tepid: “Anyway, it’s not an important memory.”

“How is it not important?” Guan Junshan’s lips were pressed against the receiver. At this moment, a strange competitiveness arose in him. “That was the first time I gave you flowers.”

What was supposed to be a very quiet night was disrupted by Guan Junshan’s words, making Lin Haoda flustered. He couldn’t stand his nonsense any longer, touched the petals of the phalaenopsis, and said with determination, “So what? You must have given many flowers to others too.”

On the other end of the line, Guan Junshan seemed to fall silent, offering no rebuttal. Lin Haoda pressed on, trying to define it that way: “So it’s not special at all. It’s just a bouquet of flowers; it doesn’t mean anything.”

After a few seconds, he added, “That’s it. I need to go take a shower.”

The line remained silent, not even a sound of breathing. Lin Haoda urged, “Do you… have anything else to say?”

Guan Junshan snorted and asked back, “What else can I say?”

Lin Haoda opened his mouth to speak, but Guan Junshan continued, “Lin Haoda, you can’t negate my sincerity just because of what happened afterward.”

“Yes, I have given flowers to others,” he admitted, taking a steady breath. “But that time was the only one where I picked each stem myself.”

“Because it was for you, and I only wanted to give them to you.”

After saying that, he hung up first—for the first time before Lin Haoda could.

The phalaenopsis was draped in the night, its petals dancing gently in the wind, indeed unrealistically beautiful.

Lin Haoda held his phone, slowly hugged his knees, and stared gloomily at the flower buds for a little while. In his chest, besides his heartbeat, there seemed to be a fire burning, heating his blood and making it hard to calm down.

What was this? It wasn’t like he was wrong. For someone like Guan Junshan, giving flowers was probably as simple as eating and drinking. Today he could give them to him, and tomorrow he could give them to someone else. That was why Lin Haoda had never dared to have any expectations about receiving flowers.

But now he claimed he was special, that his heart had been sincere from the beginning—who was he supposed to go confirm that with? It was simply too hateful and too unreasonable.

Because of this not-quite-pleasant phone call, Lin Haoda unexpectedly suffered from insomnia. His heart was heavy and hard to relieve, and for several days he didn’t go to water the flowers on the balcony.

After that, he was suddenly assigned a very urgent case and worked overtime for a whole week. When it was all over, the flower that had been left unattended on the balcony was in bad shape, showing signs of withering from lack of water.

Lin Haoda was filled with regret, panicking as he sat restlessly, searching online for advice and ordering care liquid overnight. Fortunately, the flower was just a little dehydrated and had no other problems, quickly returning to normal.

For the next half month or so, the flower was fine, and Lin Haoda went to work and came home as usual. The only thing slightly different in his life was that Guan Junshan no longer actively appeared or contacted him.

He should have felt relieved, Lin Haoda thought. Not long ago, he had been hoping that Guan Junshan would lose interest, that this dragging relationship would finally come to an end, with no extra branches or endings.

But the cold war didn’t last long either. About two weeks before the Lunar New Year, Lin Haoda received an invitation from Jiang Tianyi and Tang Chen, asking if he was interested in attending the company’s annual party.

Lin Haoda initially declined, saying he'd have to see, but the first face that popped into his head was Guan Junshan's. He thought Guan Junshan didn't seem like the kind of guy to hold a grudge, yet somehow, he never reached out to him again.

If the company’s annual party allowed unrelated guests, how come Jiang Tianyi thought to send him an invite, while Guan Junshan remained silent?

In the end, Lin Haoda decided to go anyway, because Yang Yue asked him again. Lin Haoda assumed Yang Yue was speaking on behalf of Guan Junshan, but when he showed up at the venue, he realized that wasn't the case.

The annual party was held at a resort hotel on the outskirts. Guan Junshan and Tang Chen had rented out a banquet hall, prepared simple meals, alcoholic drinks, and soft drinks, and offered complimentary overnight stays. Lin Haoda arrived late without needing to show his invitation—Jiang Tianyi personally met him at the entrance. As soon as he entered the main hall, he was met with curious stares.

He wore casual attire, wearing glasses, with no special effort put into his look. Looking up, he was startled by the bizarre costumes filling the hall—some people were dressed as game characters, others as movie stars, and the rest were weird costumes he couldn't even tell if they were supposed to be living things.

By comparison, Jiang Tianyi, dressed as a forest princess, seemed pretty normal. She grabbed Lin Haoda's hand and dragged him over to the registration desk, and told the staff, “This is the person I invited. Give me an extra raffle ticket, quick!”

As the staff began recording, a red cloak whooshed past. Yang Yue, dressed as a vampire count, squeezed in and stopped them: “Wait, I'm the one who invited Mr. Lin!”

They each grabbed one of his arms. He asked helplessly, “What’s this? Do you get an extra raffle ticket for every person you bring?”

They all stared at him and nodded in unison.

Speechless, Lin Haoda realized he'd overestimated how much he mattered to them. Fortunately, Tang Chen, who maintained some composure, rescued him from the bickering pair.

Regardless, this was Lin Haoda’s first time attending a gaming company’s annual party. Compared to the formal process of sitting at a table, listening to speeches, and clapping on cue, the atmosphere here was more relaxed, enjoyable, and interesting.

The raffle had five rounds, one at the top of each hour, with generous prizes. Lin Haoda, who had never been lucky, unexpectedly won a newly released gaming console, becoming the envy of others.

But Guan Junshan had yet to show up. Lin Haoda initially thought he had other plans and would arrive late. As midnight approached and there was still no sign of him, Lin Haoda grew impatient and found Yang Yue, lowering his voice to ask, “Is President Guan… not coming today?”

Hearing this, Jiang Tianyi laughed, raised her glass, and teased, “What’s wrong, Hao Da? Do you have something to discuss with Jun Shan?”

Lin Haoda didn’t answer, glancing around nervously. “Isn’t he the big boss? Usually, he gives a speech and does a year-end summary.”

“No big deal! Tang Chen holds just as many shares.” Jiang Tianyi winked. “Besides, no business talk is allowed today—unless you have personal matters…”

Lin Haoda quickly changed the subject, “Oh,” he compromised, “then I don’t have anything either.”

With that, he turned and slipped away like a rabbit, leaving Yang Yue and Jiang Tianyi exchanging knowing smiles behind him. They then chased after him relentlessly.

Since Guan Junshan was absent, most of the functional tasks fell to Tang Chen, who was busy all night. A few media people at the event cornered him for short interviews. Jiang Tianyi simply watched from the sidelines and wouldn’t let Yang Yue help Tang Chen escape. Eventually, a pre-recorded video was played to rescue Tang Chen from the crowd.

The lights in the hall dimmed, and Guan Junshan’s face slowly appeared on the LED screen. Unlike his usual formal appearance, he wore casual clothes, a less stern expression, and a slight smile as he greeted the employees and guests.

It wasn’t a year-end summary but more of a reflection on their journey. Guan Junshan sat at a table, his voice low and gentle, recounting the studio’s founding—starting with only a dozen employees, growing step by step, recruiting passionate and like-minded partners, and achieving what they had today.

Though they had known each other for so long, their careers had always been independent. Lin Haoda had never had a chance to learn what happened after Guan Junshan left the Guan’s Group, or why he chose to make games. Of course, Guan Junshan wasn’t the type to easily share such things.

Initially, Lin Haoda thought Guan Junshan just liked playing games and thought the industry was a good investment. As a businessman, he had always been successful and had sharp instincts.

But Guan Junshan personally denied that. In the center of the screen, he spoke softly about his past—how his family had opposed his gaming hobby as a child, considering it a waste of time.

“People learn to calculate costs—not just their own lives, but also how much money, time, and expectations others invest in them. Before making each decision, I had to calculate carefully. That was what I held onto until I was twenty-eight.”

So even if games were fun and enjoyable, they weren’t the right path to pursue. It was better to give up, spend less time, keep minimal passion, meet others’ expectations, and still be true to himself.

“Then I met someone who clearly loved playing DPS, but to make me happy, he always chose support or mage roles and kept dying. I thought he’d give up quickly, but he kept playing. Every new game, every new choice opportunity, he still let me pick first what I wanted to play.”

“I thought he didn’t like the game enough. Later I realized he was indulging me, wanting me to be happy. Perhaps that feeling outweighed his desire to win.”

“This same person repeatedly made the least cost-effective choices. Being sidelined and targeted at work, he still insisted on completing cases. No matter the weather, even in the rain, he ensured every detail was perfect. His time was never spent on making choices. To him, choosing a favorite job, making favorite decisions, loving sincerely—these were more worth pursuing than efficiency and cost.”

The low voice echoed in the hall.

“…Compared to me, he seems to prefer choosing ‘sincerity.’”

Holding a glass, Lin Haoda stood in the dim hall, blending into the crowd. Feeling his cheeks burn, he lowered his head slightly. Jiang Tianyi, in front of him, turned around and gave him a knowing smile.

Perhaps it was the champagne, but Lin Haoda felt his ears burning too. Unable to stay any longer, he pushed the door open and walked alone toward the outdoor pool.

The night breeze was cool, cutting off all noise. There was no one else. The umbrellas were all folded, revealing the deep, starry sky. Lin Haoda paced slowly along the irregular pool edge. The blue LED lights under the water outlined the calm surface like a beautiful, mysterious gem.

He wrapped his jacket tighter, looked up at the blurry stars stirred by the wind, and scattered sounds floated into his mind—Guan Junshan’s voice saying “sincerity.”

Half the champagne remained in his glass. Lin Haoda had long abandoned his calm façade. He raised the cool glass to his burning cheek, closed his eyes in confusion and frustration.

The outskirts were quiet, with only the occasional sound of tires on cobblestone. The hotel was halfway up a mountain, shrouded in light mist. The view below was indistinct.

After standing outside for a while, Lin Haoda was about to go back when the door creaked open.

He turned and saw Tang Chen holding a glass too. Meeting his gaze, Tang Chen asked, “Alone outside?”

He stepped closer, smiling gently. “Not going in?”

“It’s stuffy inside.” Lin Haoda glanced back—the video had ended, the lights were bright again, and the lively atmosphere had resumed.

Tang Chen nodded in understanding. After a pause, he said, “Tianyi’s just like that. Don’t mind her.”

“No worries.” Lin Haoda smiled. “We’re friends. Don’t be so formal.”

“Our wedding date is set.” Tang Chen put down his glass, pulled an invitation from his inner pocket, and handed it over. “July, in Philadelphia.”

Lin Haoda took the invitation, opened it, and examined it carefully. “Looks wonderful. Congratulations.”

“Will you come?” Tang Chen asked proactively. “It might be a bit far. I’ll book your ticket in advance.”

“I’ll try my best.” Summer was still half a year away; Lin Haoda couldn’t promise. “I’ll confirm as soon as I know.”

Tang Chen nodded. “You mean a lot to Tianyi.”

Lin Haoda glanced at the tipsy figure inside. “She means a lot to me too.”

“Philadelphia is beautiful. If you like snow, winter is better.”

Tang Chen’s tone shifted. “Do you know there’s a famous temple there?”

Lin Haoda shook his head honestly, then thought. “Is it very effective?”

“Maybe,” Tang Chen said honestly. “I never tried it myself.”

“I first went there with a friend,” he told Lin Haoda. “Deep winter, heavy snow. Each step, snow poured into the boots. But by then, my hands and feet had gone numb—I couldn’t feel anything.”

Lin Haoda had never seen such heavy snow. “Was it a must? That devoted?”

Tang Chen smiled and continued. “When we finally reached the temple gate, it was closed due to the blizzard. My friend called the caretaker and slipped him fifty bucks. The guy opened the door, but warned us, ‘No pastor today, no bishop, no Jesus, no gods, no Buddha—let your wish go to hell!’”

He mimicked the tone, and Lin Haoda found it amusing. “At that point, you must have given up, right?”

Tang Chen shrugged, saying “unfortunately,” then recalled. “But even so, he didn’t look back. The wish-making process was quite ridiculous. According to online sources, you had to randomly flip through the Bible three times, note the page numbers, then find corresponding parchment sheets, each marked with different things—wealth, health, love, etc. You had to burn two of them, keep the last one, wrap it around a personal item, and bury it in the yard to make it come true.”

Lin Haoda had never heard such urban legend before. “Do people really believe in that kind of thing?”

"I said the same thing at the time, don't waste your energy on such childish stuff." Tang Chen raised an eyebrow, his tone light. "But he wouldn't listen. It's not like I'm the one who has to be a true believer."

Before the story could continue, the glass door chimed again. Someone from behind called out, "Mr. Tang," asking him to come inside for a moment.

Tang Chen softened his smile, glanced back at the person, picked up his glass, and before leaving, he reminded Lin Haoda, "It's too cold by the pool. Don't stay out too long."

He also made a promise to Lin Haoda, "There's more to the story. I'll finish it next time I get the chance." Then he strode away.

Lin Haoda went back inside, just in time for the final round of the lucky draw.

The rules had changed a bit again. The person drawn could either pick a prize for themselves or choose to pass the luck to a friend and draw for them once.

Since he had already been drawn once earlier, Lin Haoda didn't hold out much hope. But the mini-program that controlled the odds seemed to have a strange fondness for him, giving him the last bit of luck.

Lin Haoda stepped onto the stage, the lights blurring his vision. Meanwhile, Jiang Tianyi and Yang Yue were vying with each other in the audience, both eager for Lin Haoda to choose them.

The host, good at working the crowd, asked him which one he had a better relationship with—Miss Jiang or Assistant Yang.

Lin Haoda broke out in a cold sweat and stammered, "Are there any other options?"

"Of course," the host offered a bad suggestion, steering the topic toward the absent person. "You could be a friend of our CEO Guan, but I doubt there are many in the company who would dare say that."

Laughter erupted from the audience as they waited to see how Lin Haoda would dodge the question.

Maybe it was because the host leaned in, and his cologne was too strong, or maybe Lin Haoda just wanted to end this quickly and get back to his room to sleep. He felt he had lost the ability to think clearly and fell for the trap.

Lin Haoda pressed down on the microphone and replied quickly, "Sure, I'll be CEO Guan's friend."

While the host was still stunned, he repeated, "Now I'm going to draw a prize for him. Is that okay?"

After a brief silence of a few seconds, cheers and whistles broke out from the audience. Lin Haoda, ignoring them, walked to the side and confirmed with the staff, "I'll call 'start.'"

The energetic drumbeats began.

"Start."

"Stop—"

It wasn't that Lin Haoda hadn't considered what would happen if his luck failed and he couldn't even win a consolation prize. After all, the company's boss, after a whole year-end party, only ended up with a parts prize. No one would have brought it up, and it would have been forgotten, but Lin Haoda had to emphasize it himself, and now everyone would remember it for the entire year.

But he quickly figured out that if he ended up winning nothing, he could just give the game console he had won earlier to Guan Junshan as a gesture of returning it to its rightful owner. After all, it was Guan's money and his choice of gift—he couldn't exactly refuse it.

But maybe his luck had turned a little. The images on the screen slowly came to a stop, and the audience was frozen for two seconds before erupting in wails that nearly lifted the roof.

This time, Lin Haoda not only won a prize, but it was the top prize—a luxury double honeymoon cruise.

But since the prize was drawn for Guan Junshan, it had nothing to do with him at all.

The host had never encountered this situation before. He didn't know whether to say "congratulations," so he announced with a hint of regret, "Alright, our friend of CEO Guan has won the top prize—a honeymoon trip. The prize will be delivered to CEO Guan through HR later. Any thoughts on this?"

Lin Haoda didn't show a trace of regret. Instead, he summarized nonchalantly, "Oh, he seems to have been pretty lucky all along."

This left everyone even more bewildered. They felt that the relationship between this strikingly handsome mysterious man and CEO Guan—well, it wasn't close enough to be considered close, nor distant enough to be considered distant...

Anyway, after all the night's chaos, Lin Haoda left the stage quickly. When he finally returned to his room, it was completely quiet.

Someone would surely relay the news that he had drawn the top prize for Guan Junshan. Lin Haoda glanced at the clock on the wall, thinking it was too late, and figured he had no reason to disturb Guan Junshan's rest.

He changed his clothes and was about to take a shower when a message notification suddenly popped up in the quiet room.

Lin Haoda wrapped himself in a towel and went back to the room. He opened the message and saw a screenshot sent by Guan Junshan—it was from HR confirming the prize draw.

"I don't have such good luck. The lucky one is someone else."

His words hinted at more, followed by a cute cartoon emoji icon of a cat cheering.