Against the Algorithm

Chapter 17: Fractures and Shifts

So she walked. The breeze picked up again. The clouds finally gave in. Light drops pattered softly against the pavement, dotting her shoulders, clinging to her sleeves. She kept walking.

Lu Sicheng's fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel, the windshield wipers already swiping in intervals as the first streaks of rain began tracing lines across the glass. He wasn't in a hurry. The meeting had dragged. The board had been tolerable. And for once, he hadn't minded the silence afterward. But as he turned onto the stretch of road that led toward the base, a flicker of motion caught the corner of his eye.

Platinum hair.

Unmistakable.

He braked harder than necessary. His foot was already off the pedal before his brain finished processing. There—walking with her hood half-up, rain catching along her shoulders, her head slightly bowed but her steps steady—was Yao.

No umbrella.

No DiDi.

No sign of a ride.

Just... walking.

He stared for a half-second too long before his jaw tightened and he swung the car to the side of the road, hazard lights flashing as the tires rolled into gravel. By the time he got out, she had already taken another few steps. "Tong Yao."

She froze mid-step. The rain was steady now, soft but insistent. She turned slowly, her wide hazel eyes blinking up at him beneath the fringe of damp hair. "...You weren't supposed to be back yet," she said softly.

"You weren't supposed to be walking."

"I'm fine," she said immediately, too fast.

He stared at her.

She fidgeted.

He took a slow step forward, his voice low. "You could've called a car."

"I didn't want to." The answer came simple. Honest. A little stubborn. "I needed to walk."

Something in his chest gave. She wasn't flustered. Not now. Just quiet. Closed in. Holding herself together with the same precision she used when organizing match data—neat, efficient, fragile in its own way. "You're getting soaked," he said.

"I've had worse."

He looked at her again. The light rain traced down her cheek like the kind of tears she would never let herself shed in front of anyone. His voice softened. "Get in the car, Xiǎo Tùzǐ."

She hesitated. Her fingers curled into the sleeve of her coat. "...Are you angry?"

He blinked.

"No."

Her gaze dropped slightly. "I just didn't want to go straight back," she said. "I needed time. Jinyang—she—" she shook her head, silver strands sticking to her skin. "It doesn't matter."

He stepped forward again, close now, but not touching her. Never touching unless she saw it coming. "I told you before," he said quietly. "You don't owe her anything."

Her lip trembled. Just once. Then she nodded and stepped past him. He didn't stop her. Only turned, falling into step behind her. He opened the passenger door. She paused. Then slowly, carefully, she climbed in.

By the time he slid behind the wheel and closed his door, she had curled into herself in the seat, damp sleeves pulled over her hands. The silence stretched. He didn't break it. He just reached over, turned the heat up two notches, and wordlessly handed her the thick black hoodie that had been resting in the backseat.