Shen Che comes to liquidate his ex-boyfriend's company.
When she opened the door to the conference room, sitting opposite her was someone she hadn't seen in six years. The gray sweatshirt is thin and old, and the wrist bones are sticking out from under the cuffs, and they are thin.
She sat down, opened the statement, and read through the assets and liabilities. He asked her to turn to the second page.
The last line of each version of the iteration log is followed by the same date. March seventeenth. Four years in a row. The most recent line reads: She should be coming.
She closed the folder. The voice is flat.
"Mr. Lu, please cooperate with the process."
That night she returned to the hotel and bought a hot Americano from the convenience store downstairs. She never drinks hot food. She doesn't know.
This book is about two adults pretending not to know each other. The words written outside the text are more important than the text itself. Write a line of comments that has been left in the code for six years, write a glass of Americano that you bought by mistake, write a password that has not been changed, write all those things that you thought you had turned over long ago, but in fact have been stuck in the same place.
