7: Sister, I'm not stupid.

Rumors are like rats in a sewer; they can't stand the light, yet they breed frantically in the darkest corners.

10:00 AM, Injection Molding Workshop.

Wang Fugui was carrying a box of raw materials, pouring them into the hopper.

Several female workers gathered around the water dispenser. Their voices were kept low, but they drifted right into his ears.

"Did you hear? That Supervisor Chen usually acts like a saint, but she's quite the player behind the scenes."

"Tell me about it. I heard she even got her own distant maternal cousin once removed into bed. Is that a cousin? That's a 'boy toy.'"

"Tsk tsk, I even saw her buying underwear for that Silly Big Guy. Women nowadays, in their thirties like wolves and forties like tigers—she's probably looking for a strong laborer to satisfy her cravings while her man's away."

The sound of laughter buzzed like flies.

Wang Fugui's hand, pouring the materials, froze in mid-air.

The heavy box of materials remained motionless in his hands.

He understood.

I may be simple, but I know what dirty words are.

They were insulting Sister.

A surge of hot blood rushed to his head.

Wang Fugui spun around abruptly.

The female workers saw his dark, brooding face and were frightened into silence, scattering away.

Wang Fugui didn't give chase.

He just felt a tightness in his chest, more suffocating than the time he encountered a wild boar on the mountain.

That was Sister.

The Sister who bought him shoes, cooked for him, and had the softest heart despite her sharp tongue.

I can't let Sister's reputation be ruined because of me... The Factory Manager's Office.

Chen Yun stood before the office desk, hands folded in front of her, nails digging deep into her palms.

The Factory Manager, with his receding hairline, tossed a stack of photos onto the desk.

The photos were blurry.

There was one of Wang Fugui shirtless hanging clothes on the balcony, one of the two of them grocery shopping together, and even a forced-perspective shot that made it look like she was wiping sweat off Wang Fugui.

"Chen Yun, you're an old employee."

The manager tapped the desk, the sound echoing against Chen Yun's heartstrings.

"The factory doesn't interfere in employees' private lives, but the influence is bad. People are saying nasty things out there, saying you're using your position... to engage in improper relations."

"Those are rumors."

Chen Yun's voice was dry, sounding like it had been ground against sandpaper.

"They are rumors, but people believe them."

The manager lit a cigarette, blowing smoke in her face.

"Cadre housing is in high demand; many eyes are watching. If that cousin of yours has nowhere to stay, the factory can arrange a spot in the collective dormitory. Don't let people talk behind your back."

When Chen Yun walked out of the office, her legs were weak.

The sunlight outside was blinding, making her dizzy.

She wanted to cry, but this was the factory, and eyes were everywhere.

She had to keep her back straight.

She returned home—to that so-called home.

Wang Fugui had already prepared dinner.

A plate of stir-fried greens and a plate of twice-cooked pork; the meat was sliced evenly, all prime pork belly.

Seeing Chen Yun enter, Wang Fugui wiped his hands on his apron and grinned.

"Sister, let's eat."

Looking at that guileless face, the grievances in Chen Yun's heart suddenly burst through the dam.

She wanted to scream, to smash things, to ask the heavens why they were tormenting her like this.

But she just sat down and picked up her chopsticks.

Swallowing the first mouthful of rice felt like swallowing a stone.

"Sister."

Wang Fugui suddenly put down his bowl.

He lowered his head, staring at the wood grain on the table.

"I heard there's a storage room at the factory."

Chen Yun's chopsticks paused.

The air froze.

Only the ticking of the wall clock remained.

"What did you say?" Chen Yun asked.

"I said, I want to move out."

Wang Fugui looked up, his eyes frighteningly bright, devoid of any impurity.

"I heard the coworkers gossiping. I'm thick-skinned and not afraid of being insulted, but I can't let Sister be dragged down. Sister is a supervisor, someone who needs to save face."

Chen Yun's heart twitched violently.

This fool.

She was the one who had dragged him into this muddy mess; she was the one who had developed feelings she shouldn't have.

In the end, he was the one taking the initiative to leave to preserve her reputation.

A massive sense of panic, of being abandoned, instantly seized her.

Reason screamed: Let him go! This is the best outcome!

Emotion roared: Keep him! Even if it means ruin!

Chen Yun took a deep breath, forcing down the urge to cry.

She slammed her chopsticks onto the table.

"Move then! I've been tired of looking at you for a long time anyway!"

She stood up, her back to Wang Fugui, looking out at the pitch-black night.

"You snore, your feet stink, and you waste water when you shower. I've wanted to kick you out for ages. Since you found a place, get lost first thing tomorrow morning!"

Wang Fugui was stunned for a moment, then he smiled foolishly.

"Hehe, as long as Sister isn't angry. Then I'll go pack my things."

The rustling sound of packing came from behind her.

Looking at the busy figure reflected in the window pane, Chen Yun's tears finally broke through.

This was the last night... Night deepened.

Wang Fugui slept on the floor mat, his breathing steady.

Chen Yun walked to his side barefoot, like a ghost.

Moonlight spilled over his face, softening his rugged features.

Chen Yun crouched down.

Her finger hovered in the air, tracing the silhouette of his brow, nose, and lips in the void.

She didn't dare touch him.

One touch and it would shatter.

"Fool."

She cursed silently.

Early next morning.

When Chen Yun woke up, the floor mat was already empty.

The room was empty, yet his scent was everywhere.

That scent of grass after being baked by the sun.

A bowl of hot porridge was covered on the table.

Chen Yun rushed to the balcony like a madwoman.

On the road below, a tall figure was carrying a bedroll, walking with large strides toward the depths of the factory area.

That was the direction of the storage room.

Chen Yun's hand gripped the window frame tightly, half her fingernail snapping off.

In her hand, she clutched an old towel.

It was the one Wang Fugui used to wipe his sweat; it was washed white and felt stiff.

She pressed the towel to her face, rubbing hard until her skin stung.

"Wang Fugui, you bastard."