Yi Lan's novel was published on an ordinary weekday.
No announcement from the platform. No congratulatory banner. No editor calling her name in a crowded hall.
Just a quiet update that appeared on a page most people would scroll past without stopping.
Qing Yun saw it in the afternoon, while restoring a fragment of calligraphy at Jiù Mèng Xuān. The light outside was pale, the kind that made the room feel suspended between seasons. She paused when the notification appeared, her fingers still resting on the paper.
She read the title.
Then the author name.
She didn't open it immediately.
There was something intimate about that moment — knowing the words existed now, separate from the person who once doubted every sentence. Knowing they no longer belonged to guidance or correction or encouragement.
They belonged to the world.
Qing Yun closed the notification and returned to her work, but her movements softened, steadier than before.
Later that evening, she opened the page again.
The comments were sparse. A few readers saying they liked the atmosphere. Someone mentioning the prose felt "quiet but heavy." No viral explosion. No overnight fame.
Qing Yun smiled faintly.
That suited Yi Lan better than fireworks ever could.
—
They met two days later.
Yi Lan arrived at the teahouse early, already seated when Qing Yun entered. She looked different — not dramatically so, but in the way people change after making a decision they've been carrying for a long time.
She didn't fidget. Didn't over-explain.
"I resigned," Yi Lan said after the tea was poured.
Qing Yun nodded, unsurprised. "When?"
"Yesterday."
"And how do you feel?"
Yi Lan considered the question. "Lighter. A little scared. Mostly relieved."
She took a breath, then continued, "I got a job offer in Haiyun."
The word hung between them.
Far.
Different.
Yi Lan added, "It's not a big position. But it's writing-related. I'll be able to support myself and keep working on my next book."
Qing Yun looked at her steadily. "That sounds right."
Yi Lan laughed quietly. "You're not even going to pretend to stop me?"
"You didn't ask for permission," Qing Yun said. "You're informing me."
Yi Lan's eyes softened. "You taught me how to write with my heart."
Qing Yun corrected gently, "I told you to stop trying to please invisible readers."
They both laughed.
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
When they parted, Yi Lan bowed slightly — half joking, half sincere.
"Thank you," she said.
Qing Yun watched her leave, feeling no urge to follow.
Helping someone start didn't mean walking their road for them.
—
Chen Rui's promotion came without warning.
Ze Yan told him in the middle of a routine meeting, his tone as calm as if assigning a report.
"You'll be Chief of Staff," he said.
Chen Rui stared. "For Luminar?"
"For my Haiyun subsidiary."
The room fell quiet.
"Haiyun?" Chen Rui repeated, disbelief giving way to reluctant excitement. "That's… far."
Ze Yan looked at him evenly. "That's where you'll grow."
Chen Rui laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "So this is how you get rid of me."
"You're free to decline," Ze Yan replied.
Chen Rui stopped laughing.
"No," he said after a pause. "I won't."
When Chen Rui left the office later, he lingered at the door.
"I'll still report," he said. "Just… from a different city."
Qing Yun smiled. "You were never meant to stay in one place."
He grinned. "Take care of him for me."
She nodded.
—
Shen Qiao announced her marriage on a Friday afternoon.
No buildup. No spectacle.
Just a statement delivered with the same composure she used in meetings.
"I'll be getting married next month."
The room froze for a second.
Then questions followed — when, how long, who.
Shen Qiao answered briefly. Longtime partner. Private life. No photos.
Later, Qing Yun asked her quietly, "Why tell us now?"
Shen Qiao smiled faintly. "Because I won't be available for overtime anymore."
It was a joke. But not entirely.
That night, Qing Yun realized something important.
Everyone she trusted had something else waiting for them.
And that was good.
—
The office grew quieter in the following weeks.
Desks emptied. Calendars cleared. Conversations ended earlier in the day.
Qing Yun noticed the absence not with sadness, but with awareness.
People didn't stay because they were loyal.
They stayed until they were ready to leave.
One evening, she and Ze Yan stood by the window, watching the city lights come on.
"Everyone's going somewhere," he said.
She replied calmly, "That means we didn't hold them back."
He looked at her, then nodded.
"And us?"
"We're still here," she said.
The quiet that followed wasn't empty.
It was transitional.