Chapter 113: Side Story 13

As soon as three o’clock arrived, a wave of relief swept through the algorithmic trading floor.

“Market’s closed.”

“Market’s closed!”

But Xie Lan didn’t leave immediately. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Zhong Chen, in the next bay over, rounded up a few colleagues and headed into a conference room. He glanced at the wall clock and lowered his head to continue writing his internship summary report and farewell letter.

The pure English writing habits of foreign investment banks had liberated his brain power to a large extent. Despite that, he remained steady in front of his computer for several more hours. It wasn’t until Dou Sheng’s message chimed that he finally hit send, packed his laptop into his backpack, and took one last look at the empty desk—it was already cleared out after the handover that afternoon.

After finishing his undergraduate degree and before starting graduate school, the first internship of his life had come to an end.

The elevator opened in the first-floor lobby. As Xie Lan walked through the gates, his eyes immediately found his boyfriend sitting in the waiting area. His suit jacket was tossed to the side, his shirt sleeves were rolled up several folds, and Dou Sheng was leaning his arms on his knees, focused intensely on a game.

Xie Lan held his breath as he approached, intending to startle him, but froze when he saw the screen.

Candy Crush?

“Have you had a personality transplant?” he asked, bewildered. “Since when do you play games like this?”

Dou Sheng instantly cleared the level and exited the app, laughing. “Just decompressing a bit. Congratulations, little Xie Lan! The internship is officially over!”

Xie Lan hummed in response. As they walked through the revolving doors together, he asked, “Did your boss win his court hearing today?”

Dou Sheng looked completely satisfied: “He lost!”

“…?”

A look of confusion spread across Xie Lan’s handsome face.

“Xie Lan! Wait up!”

A shout came from behind as Zhong Chen came chasing after them, out of breath.

He was holding his phone. “I just saw your email. What do you mean, ‘withdrawing from the return-offer evaluation’?”

“Mm.” Xie Lan simply nodded.

“Why? It’s rare for an off-cycle intern to get into the evaluation pool, let alone for an offer two years down the line. Isn’t it good to have options?” Zhong Chen found it inconceivable. “You’re the only undergraduate intern in this batch; the odds were slim to begin with, and you’re giving up voluntarily?”

Dou Sheng gave a yawn. “He thinks your job is annoying.”

Xie Lan: “…”

Zhong Chen blinked, and before he could react, Dou Sheng added a helpful explanation: “He says an algorithmic trader’s life is spent wreaking havoc on models and living in self-remorse.”

Zhong Chen raised an eyebrow at Xie Lan. “I’m all ears?”

Having known each other for so many years, they were the closest of friends. Thus, Xie Lan gave him a gentle smile, though his words were merciless. “I summarized your job into eight words: Indecision during the session, regret after the close.“

Zhong Chen’s expression became quite vivid. “I… am I… indecisive during the session?”

“Extremely,” Xie Lan nodded seriously. “One-third of your day is spent agonizing over whether to intervene in the algorithm, and another third is spent in self-criticism after the close, wondering why you made the wrong intervention or why you didn’t catch the momentum in time to intervene.”

Zhong Chen: “…I knew nothing good was coming, but what about the last third?”

Xie Lan smiled. “Dragging colleagues into conference rooms to hear about their misery so you can comfort yourself.”

Zhong Chen: “…”

Zhong Chen clutched his heart. “Lan Lan, I know you guys in the Math Department look down on us traders, but… isn’t there a single nice word for me to hear?”

“There is,” Xie Lan nodded again, serious. “Among the traders in your sector, most spend their energy on post-close regret, while you focus yours on mid-session indecision. The accuracy of your interventions is significantly higher than your peers.”

This immediately made Zhong Chen burst into a laugh. He clicked his tongue. “Not bad, little Xie Lan. The classic ‘criticize then praise’ technique. Very nice.” He checked his watch. “I have a post-mortem meeting to run, so I’m out. I’ll bring some games over to your place this weekend.”

Xie Lan hummed and waved goodbye, watching him run back into the building in his suit—vibrant and full of the youthful pride of a top-tier investment bank trader.

In truth, this job was a supreme challenge to IQ, composure, and on-the-spot decision-making. Even coming from a top-tier finance program, one might not necessarily secure a seat in the offices upstairs. Someone like Zhong Chen, who converted directly after his undergrad and had a straight ‘S’ rating for two years, was a true rarity.

It was just that Xie Lan personally had no interest in it. This internship was something he had applied for before going abroad. Being a math major who didn’t want to go into research or teaching, everyone had urged him to try finance, and Zhong Chen had recommended it most fervently. So, he had come.

Today, two months later, he had decisively closed that door for himself.

Dou Sheng chuckled and rubbed his head. “Do you dislike it that much?”

“It’s not that…” Xie Lan hesitated. “Maybe actual trading is exciting, but I was just an intern watching from the sidelines. My perspective was limited.”

Dou Sheng couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Er-Mao, very precise wording.”

Xie Lan immediately glared at him. “How many years has it been? Still making those jokes? Do you look down on me?”

“I wouldn’t dare, spare my life!” Dou Sheng laughed. “Or maybe you could apply for a different role later? Researching algorithms instead of trading might be better?”

Xie Lan gave an “um.” “Maybe.” He looked up at the grand office building one last time. “I just find it hard to imagine myself as an employee here in the future. The more people tell me my brain is made for finance, the more absurd it feels.”

Dou Sheng smiled but didn’t say anything, walking to the doughnut vending machine on the corner and began selecting seriously. “I want a Berry Red Velvet. Do you still want the Hazelnut Sea Salt Chocolate?”

Xie Lan hummed. “By the way, you said your boss lost?”

Dou Sheng bent over to retrieve the doughnuts. “The final judgment was consistent with my boss’s initial assessment. But from the client’s perspective, it was a loss—the conditions he claimed for a sentence reduction were just too ridiculous.”

This was the first case Dou Sheng had assisted with after joining a top criminal litigation firm in the capital. Xie Lan had witnessed him organizing evidence and preparing materials through the nights for the past two months. Although everything was “according to expectations,” hearing about the loss was still painful.

Xie Lan took a bite of the doughnut and was preparing what to say when Dou Sheng turned around. His dark eyes were sparkling.

“You have no idea how hard my boss and the prosecutor fought today. My boss was about to turn the tables, but then the other side caught one point and brought down his entire logic. They were both exhausted. It was a thrill to watch.” He fed a piece of his own doughnut to Xie Lan, letting his boyfriend have the first bite. “That’s the joy of criminal defense. Tearing and blocking within the scope of the law—there are always unexpected turning points that you can savor for a long time.”

Dou Sheng snapped his fingers. “And do you know what the best mindset for a criminal defense lawyer is?”

Xie Lan swallowed the doughnut, staring at him intently. “What is it?”

“It’s believing that whether or not the result is what the client wanted, or whether it meets your performance expectations, the law is just. Even if our abilities fall short, we strive for a clear conscience.”

Dou Sheng took a big bite of his doughnut as he walked, eating the sugary-oily mixture so quickly it sounded like he was drinking jelly. His Adam’s apple moved happily as he laughed. “I need to think if I can package this case and put it into a video. It was too brilliant.”

Xie Lan walked beside him, looking at the long tail of traffic on the street. After a long while, he gave a soft “um” and lowered his head to keep eating. They walked for a while, their hanging hands naturally interlocking as they discussed the final preparations before going abroad.

---

Graduation felt like it was only yesterday, but they were flying to the UK in a week. After a dinner of cold noodles near T-University, Xie Lan went back to campus to chat with his supervisor for a bit and didn’t return until night.

Dou Sheng was livestreaming. A laptop was set up in the living room, and a stack of suits in garment bags was piled on the floor.

“Actually, the law firm system needs to be categorized: domestic vs. foreign, comprehensive vs. boutique, litigation vs. non-litigation. At a criminal firm like ours, dress code isn’t 100% strict. The most demanding ones are those dealing with capital markets—IPOs, mergers, and acquisitions. But I’ll tell you guys anyway: when I was still unsure of my direction, I prepared according to the most rigorous standards.”

He took out the suits one by one to show the camera. “For daily office wear, I suggest deep blue or light gray. You can’t go wrong with deep blue; it’s the common choice. Light gray is a bit more relaxed and bright; I personally recommend it. For shirts, you can choose white, light linen, or light blue—as long as it’s harmonious.”

He put the suits back and carefully unzipped the top cover, pulling out a pure black set. “For formal occasions, like meeting important clients or major trials, black is best. Black is the eternal protagonist, need I say more?”

The suit in his hand was a simple two-button design without any patterns. It hadn’t been worn out yet. But only Xie Lan knew how perfect the tailoring was—how the trousers hugged every inch of skin, outlining straight, long legs and firm glutes. Without a single word or expression, just standing there with a hand on the button, the tension of a young man would be palpable.

The chat knew quality when they saw it and exploded.

• Holy crap, this set is incredibly handsome!
• Indescribable elegance.
• D-Brand Haute Couture, I’m certain!
• Anyone notice Lan-zai is back?
• Anyone notice Xie Lan’s gaze changed?
• LOL, what unspeakable secret lies behind this suit?

Dou Sheng carefully put the suit back into the bag, his movements very cautious. He clicked his tongue. “Some of you have an eye for it. This one was expensive. I didn’t even dare wear it for the one trial I attended during my internship. And…” He cleared his throat and stole a glance to the side, lowering his voice. “Someone won’t let me wear it out.”

• Damn…
• Here he goes.
• Here he goes.
• I knew it. How can you go once without slaughtering the single dogs?
• The ‘stupid dog’ was me all along.
• AAAAAH henpecked husband!
• To the person above, be precise: (Fake) henpecked husband!

Xie Lan walked over, frowning. “What are you randomly hinting at again?”

“What did I hint? My mom won’t let me wear it, says a newcomer shouldn’t be too flashy, afraid I’ll outshine the bosses.” Dou Sheng shrugged. “Who knows why these people are hyping themselves up; they’re acting like they’re sick.”

• …
• Fooling us like we’re idiots, huh?
• You’ve shown your affection and had your fun with words, why don’t you just ascend to heaven?
• I’ll slaughter you, you grandson!
• Someone come and cut out his tongue!
• I’ve been meaning to say: what happened to the 10-million follower benefits? Suit Dou and JK Lan? It’s been four years!
• Right! Can you do it before going abroad?
• In my final moments, I’ll pull out my phone: J… K… Lan…

Dou Sheng laughed and stayed quiet. While turning to organize the clothes, he looked up at Xie Lan and curled his lips meaningfully.

Xie Lan, who really had warned Dou Sheng not to show off in that outfit, tilted his chin expressionlessly. “What 10-million follower benefits? I can’t read Chinese.” He turned away leisurely. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Dou Sheng watched him go. “How was the chat with your supervisor?”

Xie Lan closed the door behind him. “Tell you later.”

He entered the bathroom, opened the livestream on his phone, and watched while he washed. After Dou Sheng finished introducing the suits, he chatted with the audience while tidying up.

“That’s about it. For a criminal defense lawyer, there aren’t many occasions for these suits. But I’m sure some of you will enter boutique firms or capital market departments, or even banks and securities firms. You can use this as a reference.” He gave a long sigh. “Friends, Er-Mao and I are leaving next week. It’s a long journey; I can only leave you with this precious spiritual heritage.”

• Bullsh*t.
• Are you saying the UK doesn’t have internet?
• Can’t post videos once you’re in England?
• I only know the UK has many pigeons (flakers).
• One net to catch them all, one pot to cook them.
• Watch yourself.
• Douzi, I still want to know: why criminal defense?
• Same. Defense is exhausting and thankless.
• So many of our classmates are breaking their heads to get into the capital markets group.

Xie Lan, who was scrubbing shampoo into his hair, paused his movements and stood a bit silly in front of his phone, waiting to hear Dou Sheng’s explanation. When Dou Sheng was looking for internships, he had three offers: one from a major foreign firm and one from a domestic boutique firm (both for capital markets), and the last was the small firm specializing in criminal defense where he currently interned. It wasn’t exactly “small”—it was run by a formidable defense lawyer. While small in scale, its reputation was huge, with clients seeking them out from all directions. Of the offers, the first two were undoubtedly more tempting, but Dou Sheng had refused them bluntly.

On the stream, Dou Sheng read a few comments and laughed. “True. Those who can do IPOs and M&As usually won’t do criminal defense. You might not get to handle more than a few cases that actually uphold justice in a lifetime. Not only is it messy, you might even face personal threats.”

• I thought you didn’t know.
• I was dumbfounded when I heard your choice.
• What? Is the host not doing it to gather material for the channel?
• LOL, I actually believed it was for the material.

“Gathering material is just one aspect, but there is a reason.” Dou Sheng smiled, his gaze passing over the lens to look at the bedroom door. “There’s another reason… Actually, Er-Mao and I faced a similar choice.” He paused. “As graduation approached, my supervisor and seniors talked to me several times. It was the same for Xie Lan. It’s as if the smartest students must choose the most promising path, or else they’re destroying their lives. Xie Lan was driven to the brink of insanity and actually suffered at an investment bank for two months. He’s been so irritable lately even Wutong avoids him.”

Xie Lan frowned in the shower. Was he? Was he that irritable?

“But today, little Xie Lan ended his internship and officially crossed out his path in finance.” As Dou Sheng spoke, he turned the camera 180 degrees, pushed open the bedroom door, and shouted toward the bathroom: “Xie Lan!”

Xie Lan jumped. “What?”

“You made it clear to your supervisor, right?”

“Yeah,” Xie Lan said, somewhat helpless. Even through a sturdy door, shouting at millions of viewers while naked was weird. He instinctively took two steps back. “I made it clear. He won’t give me internal referrals anymore.”

Dou Sheng snapped his fingers and happily returned to the living room, flipping the camera back. Xie Lan picked up his phone to keep watching.

• LOL, isn’t Lan-zai in the shower?
• Lan-zai is cursing you in his heart right now.
• With you being this naughty, how can the (fake) wife not be irritable?
• Not hitting you ten times a day is a sign of gentleness.

“Xie Lan’s original intention for choosing math was being interested in pondering those problems. My intention for law was being interested in understanding the various facets of life—the truth and the lies. No matter how others advise us, we don’t want to betray those intentions.” Dou Sheng explained to himself, smiling at the screen. “Anyway, that’s how it is. I’m going to the UK for an LLM and will come back to be a free-spirited defense lawyer. Xie Lan applied for a double major in Math and Music. Since he couldn’t find a job in Math that interests him, he’ll pursue excellence in music arrangement.” He clicked his tongue. “In any case, as long as you guys don’t run away, Xie Lan and I won’t starve.”

• Damn, I was just about to get teary-eyed.
• Understood, running away now.
• Aren’t you going to kneel and call us ‘Daddy’?
• I’m not running, I want to keep making ‘pocket money’ for Lan-zai.
• Remember, you only have the Emperor’s favor because of the (fake) wife.

Dou Sheng snorted. “Shut up, eight-year veteran fan. When you followed me, Xie Lan hadn’t even gotten off the plane yet.”

Xie Lan couldn’t help but laugh, turning up the volume on the stream as he rinsed the foam from his hair. The hot water cascaded over his head and skin, splashing happily on the floor. Dou Sheng knew he was watching; his boyfriend was fully aware of his habit of peeking at the screen while showering. Rather than giving an account to the audience, Dou Sheng was actually consoling him.

And he had indeed achieved his goal.

Dou Sheng fiddled with the speakers in the living room for a moment, and then a familiar intro began to play. Xie Lan paused his movements and began to hum along.

The intro was light and ethereal, but the main melody was tense—the music mimicking the clash of swords, sweeping through like a rainbow. The rap in the chorus had a rebellious flair, until the end faded back into that light ethereality. Remarkably, both the beginning and end were in a sad key, yet under the violin’s performance, there was no sorrow—only an elusive nimbleness and spirit.

This was his fifth year collaborating with the “Tianya Shenwang” animation company. This year, they had expanded into gaming with a Xianxia mobile game, and this was a sect theme song he had written. The game only launched last week, and the song premiered during a livestream event three days ago. The popularity in the room was unparalleled, and a sect theme song actually hit the charts on music apps. Though it only stayed at the top for a night, it was a commendable achievement.

“Listen to this—the arrangement, the aura, the structure, the violin performance…” Dou Sheng couldn’t help but clap in the stream. “I can only say, it’s peerless!”

• You praise him with the same lines every time.
• Learn some music theory, even Xie Lan can’t listen to that.
• To be fair, the song is indeed peerless.
• Lan-zai has grown a lot in self-taught arrangement over the years. This year’s pieces are great even from a professional perspective! Praise!
• The important thing is the soul! An EM production has the power to control hearts!
• Agreed, the violin is the soul!
• A bit of a shame, Lan Lan really should have gone into music from the start.

Seeing this comment, Xie Lan wiped his hands on a towel, wanting to send a rebuttal.

But Dou Sheng spoke immediately after: “He put his heart into math in high school, and now he wants to develop music as a career. He just does whatever he likes; there’s no such thing as ‘should have from the start.’ Xie Lan and I are both of the ‘experience school’—we just strike wherever we point.”

• True.
• I think so too. Lan-zai is a personification of ‘freedom’.
• Coming back alone at sixteen, couldn’t even speak properly, making his own money and passing his own exams—that’s Xie Lan.
• Don’t look at Er-Mao being soft, he’s actually very hard.
• Er-Mao… soft? Hard?
• I’m suddenly changing colors (dirty mind).
• The person above???
• You guys are disrespectful, but let me change colors too…

Xie Lan wordlessly put down his phone.

Dou Sheng “tsk-ed.” “With an audience like you, the fact that my stream hasn’t been banned in eight years is a candidate for the ninth wonder of the world.”

Xie Lan said coldly to the screen: “Keep stirring the pot and you’ll get banned for good.”

Just as his low voice faded, Dou Sheng muttered in the stream: “If you keep stirring this ‘colorful’ (dirty) pot, Xie Lan will blackball you one by one from the room. He’s wanted to do that for a long time.”

Xie Lan: “…”

He instinctively looked around the room. Are there cameras in this bathroom?

• You only know how to threaten us with the (fake) wife.
• Clear proof of household status.
• I just want to know, is the new place in England rented?
• Is it a 1B1B (1 bed, 1 bath) again?
• Mm-hmm, we know you stay in one bed but are still ‘good brothers’.
• Right, right, we know.
• Douzi, play the song again, it’s good.
• The official audio isn’t out yet, is this really okay?
• Xie Lan definitely has official authorization. They’re big UPs, they aren’t stupid.
• When is the audio coming out?
• I only know the sect name is ‘Jizan’ (Fetter Cut), what’s the song title?

Xie Lan was about to dry his hair when he heard Dou Sheng roar, “Xie Lan!”

• Damn.
• Damn.
• Scared the life out of me.

Xie Lan, helpless: “What?”

Dou Sheng shouted at the top of his lungs: “Can your song title be made public??”

“Yes!” Xie Lan shouted back. “The official site already went public! It’s their own fault for not translating it!”

• Sorry.
• Sorry.
• Our bad, Lan-zai.
• Don’t be mad, Lan-zai.

On camera, Dou Sheng smiled. “Xie Lan came up with the title—‘I Shall Be Free’ (Wǒ Dāng Zìyóu).”

• Cool!
• Wow, sounds great.
• Fits the sect name perfectly.
• Fits the style too.
• Lan-zai’s Chinese has really leveled up!

Dou Sheng smiled and stayed quiet, and the song began to loop in the room again. The ethereal, drifting intro was like a breeze washing through a valley—untraceable, free, and easy.

None of the viewers would know that a small portion of the lyrics in the chorus was also written by Xie Lan. He had spent two and a half months racketing his brain, exhausting a lifetime of Chinese literary literacy, making even Old Qin tear up with emotion—

“I shall be free, clichés shall not sway me.

Destroy the prison of words, cut through the fetters of sorrow.

Standing firm on nothing but a backbone of grit.”

---

Author’s Note:

Lan-Egg mysteriously pokes the Keyboard-Thumper.

Keyboard-Thumper slants a look: “What?”

Lan-Egg says mysteriously: “Do you know what my talent is?”

“What?” Keyboard-Thumper yawns.

Lan-Egg pats itself thump-thump-thump: “Hard eggshell!”

Keyboard-Thumper: “…”

Dou-Egg can’t help but sigh: “Lan-Egg is so cute.”

Keyboard-Thumper: “…”