This is the bed and the sofa. I’m afraid there’s no room for me.

The next day, noon.

A woman hurriedly threw on a white coat, tying her hair back as she said: “Why’d you come so early?”

She closed the door, shutting out the noise, and strode toward Xu Fengluan.

“I was just about to nap on my desk after lunch, and here you are,” she grumbled, her delicate features brimming with a worker’s resentment.

Xu Fengluan, already seated inside, showed a rare trace of guilt, explaining: “Couldn’t sleep last night, napped this morning, then came over.”

She paused, mumbling: “You know, it’s been eating at me.”

At this, the woman’s earlier bluster deflated, and she only asked: “Your cold any better?”

“Probably… still no energy,” Xu Fengluan shook her head.

The woman sank into a reclining chair, saying: “I’ll take you to get some meds later.”

“Alright,” Xu Fengluan nodded.

The visitor was Xu Fengluan’s childhood friend, Li Jianbai.

When Xu Fengluan was fostered at her grandma’s, the Li family lived across the hall.

With both Li parents being doctors and perpetually busy, the two kids were often left together.

Whichever parent had time would feed them; otherwise, they’d get some cash to grab rice bowls at the neighborhood diner.

As a child, Li Jianbai was scared of the dark, often knocking on Xu Fengluan’s door at midnight with her pillow when her parents worked late.

Back then, Xu Fengluan wasn’t so cool either—just a kid, scared of the dark house alone.

So, the two would huddle at the head of the bed, chatting aimlessly.

Like how, when Xu Fengluan inherited the family business, she’d become a domineering CEO, and Li Jianbai would be her doctor friend.

Xu Fengluan would call her at midnight, demanding she come to her mansion to treat her tragic love interest.

Li Jianbai even practiced for it, perfecting a delivery with three parts surprise, three parts trembling, five parts emotion, and ten parts awe: “President Xu has never cared for anyone like this.”

Sadly, her practice went unused—not Xu Fengluan’s fault, but because Li Jianbai studied dermatology.

Everyone knows a CEO novel’s heroine can’t have skin issues—her skin must be flawless, snowy, delicate, at most catching some non-disfiguring major illness.

“Show me your hand.”

Though they’d discussed it online, Li Jianbai still checked in person for certainty, hesitating before saying: “It’s just a tiny mole. If you don’t look closely, you’d miss it…”

She wanted to dissuade Xu Fengluan—medically, the mole was harmless, not worth removing, and…

She glanced at Xu Fengluan, words catching in her throat.

Xu Fengluan clearly knew what she meant, but said: “Can we do the anesthetic now?”

Having been here too often, she knew the process better than Li Jianbai.

For such a small mole, no surgery was needed—just anesthetic and a laser.

Li Jianbai sighed, standing: “Come on, I’ll take you.”

After the quick procedure and grabbing cold medicine, it took barely half an hour.

Li Jianbai tossed the medicine bag at her, too lazy for instructions, slumping into her chair, grumbling: “Can’t you come during work hours? Let me slack off openly for once.”

Her lazy nature hadn’t changed. Before graduating, she dreamed of private hospitals, but her parents shoved her here before she got her diploma, keeping her spinning like a top.

Xu Fengluan sat across from her.

Since college, one busy with studies, the other with music, they rarely met. Even planned meetups often fell through. Now, with a rare chance, she wasn’t in a rush to leave.

Li Jianbai felt the same, complaining about lost break time but quickly chattering: “Since I moved out, my parents are suddenly clingy. Used to see them once every ten days, now we eat together weekly.”

“They keep nagging about marriage—annoying as hell.”

“This job’s draining me. In school, I worried about office politics, but now I’m just seeing patients non-stop. No time to scheme even if I wanted to.”

Her complaints turned to Xu Fengluan: “Your grandma just retired from her director post—getting old, less energy.”

Xu Fengluan had responded to earlier topics, even if she didn’t fully get them, but here, her face stiffened, not even managing a hum.

Luckily, Li Jianbai only mentioned it, then pivoted: “You met your ex-wife, huh? Saw it on X-blog yesterday.”

She grinned like a gossip, grabbing her thermos, pouring tea into a paper cup for Xu Fengluan, hugging the jug herself, eagerly asking: “How’d it feel? Any chance of rekindling?”

She added: “Washed the thermos this morning, had it disinfected. Tea’s been steeping, haven’t had a sip.”

Yesterday, Burning Meteor’s members avoided asking, fearing Xu Fengluan’s distress, planning to bring it up at rehearsal. Li Jianbai beat them to it.

Xu Fengluan held the paper cup, blowing on it, the tea leaves swirling.

Work changed things—Li Jianbai, once a cola addict, now…

Xu Fengluan thought, then said: “I’ve got two packs of goji berries. I’ll bring them next time.”

Li Jianbai didn’t refuse: “Don’t dodge the question. Will it work or not?”

She pressed: “I was too busy to watch the live stream yesterday. That damn show doesn’t allow recordings. Found a pirated clip, gone in three seconds. Just saw fan edits and screenshots to feed my gossip.”

Zhang’s tactics made sense—no full leaks to protect ratings. Fan clips were fine, even promotional.

But it left Li Jianbai bitter, her voice growing more resentful.

Work was bad enough, now she couldn’t even gossip properly.

Then she teased: “Your little in-laws don’t seem to like you much, huh?”

“I saw comments—they’re tearing into the studio, cursing your manager for taking shoddy gigs for Liu Tingsong. Her first show back in entertainment, and it’s this casual? No pre-promo, no hints to fans, no contact with fan clubs, and a mediocre program.”

The show wasn’t bad, with decent buzz from the first episode and two viral hits, but Liu Tingsong’s status was too big for it.

Fans were initially thrilled at her return, busy promoting and spamming bullet comments, suppressing complaints. Now, waking up, they were stirring.

First trashing the studio, then the show, then Burning Meteor. Xu Fengluan’s worst moments were clipped, unremovable despite the crew’s efforts, branding her disrespectful, arrogant, green tea.

Good thing Xu Fengluan hadn’t checked her main account, or she’d see thousands of unique hate comments.

But so what?

Xu Fengluan held the cup, sipping the tea.

Though she quit cola, Li Jianbai didn’t skimp on taste, swiping her parents’ gifted premium teas—yesterday silver needle, today Longjing, all about indulgence.

“Don’t act deaf. Drinking my tea and not spilling?” Li Jianbai prodded, adding: “This tea’s three grand an ounce.”

“I’m reporting you,” Xu Fengluan shot back quick.

Li Jianbai didn’t flinch: “Go on, lock my parents up. I’ll quit and crash at your place…”

She laughed, teasing: “Though your bed and sofa probably have no room for me. Guess I’ll sleep on the floor.”

She’d been to Xu Fengluan’s place, knowing the lone beanbag sofa barely fit one, poking fun deliberately.

This tied to when she first learned of Xu Fengluan and Liu Tingsong’s relationship.

After they went to different colleges, Li Jianbai busy with studies, Xu Fengluan with rebellion, they rarely met. But Li Jianbai knew Xu Fengluan’s electronic lock code.

One holiday, not wanting to go home, she decided to crash at Xu Fengluan’s.

Used to dropping by, she didn’t bother calling, punching in the code and opening the door.

She looked up to see her friend in a stranger’s arms, both sunk in the sofa, sleeping soundly. Li Jianbai froze, stunned, unsure what to do until the noise woke them, revealing an extra person.

Words couldn’t capture Li Jianbai’s shock that day—she still held a grudge.

She couldn’t help saying: “Good thing you two were just tired, napping on the sofa. If it was anything else…”

“Enough, enough,” Xu Fengluan cut her off, still embarrassed after all this time, but then thought it’d be better to stay embarrassed.

“So, can you rekindle or not?” Li Jianbai circled back.

Xu Fengluan, helpless, knew her friend’s persistence. If she didn’t answer, more old stories would surface. She sighed: “Probably not…”

“Probably?” Li Jianbai raised a brow.

Without last night, Xu Fengluan might’ve given a firm, resolute no. But knowing Liu Tingsong’s persistence, she wavered.

“Tch, I knew you still love—”

Before she finished, the empty paper cup hit her.

Pushed to the edge, Xu Fengluan hadn’t sorted her own feelings—how could she explain to someone else? Only this childhood friend could force an answer; anyone else, and she’d have stormed off.

Li Jianbai, unfazed by the throw, tossed the cup in the trash, finally saying something human: “I knew you couldn’t let go. When you broke up, it was such a mess, it still gives me chills thinking about it.”

“But what she did was too much. As a friend, I hope you think carefully,” her playful tone gone, face serious, looking like a doctor issuing a grim diagnosis.

Xu Fengluan’s eyes lowered, hiding her emotions, saying only: “I know.”

Even best friends could only go so far. Li Jianbai didn’t push, pulling out two tickets from her drawer, handing them over: “A patient’s family gave me these a few days ago.”

Xu Fengluan looked—two musical theater tickets.

“They heard music playing in my office, thought I was a fan, went out of their way to get these.”

Li Jianbai laughed wryly: “I don’t even like this stuff—can’t understand it. Take someone and go for me.”

Before Xu Fengluan could reply, she added: “This is your fault. I was playing your songs to boost your band’s streams, and they overheard.”

Since Xu Fengluan loved musical theater, some Burning Meteor songs sampled its elements, so the family’s misunderstanding made sense.

This musical…

Xu Fengluan had followed it before, but the troupe mostly performed abroad. This year’s global tour was the first chance, though work forced her to give up.

But after its success, they added a show in S City.

Xu Fengluan didn’t refuse, pocketing the tickets: “Thanks.”

She was free tomorrow night.

Li Jianbai waved it off: “No big deal, treat me to dinner next time.”

“I’m back to work soon, let’s chat next time.”

“Alright…”

Her voice faded into the scorching sunlight.

Two musical theater tickets lay on the living room table. Xu Fengluan tilted her head, pondering who to invite.

A familiar figure, also fond of musicals, surfaced in her mind. She tried to suppress it, but a voice echoed.

“You like this too?”

The memory of a girl’s bright eyes, gazing at her in delight.