Against the Algorithm

Chapter 36: Crayfish and Favoritism

The conversation around them softened for a moment, a few curious glances from the others, but no one said a word.

Not when it was her .

Da Bing, never far, stood from where he had settled at Sicheng's feet and immediately padded after them, his silent white paws following every step like a sentinel.

The hallway to her apartment was quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of wall sconces, and Sicheng's footsteps were quiet as he moved through the door that was cracked open. In her room, he didn't pause. The familiar scent of her shampoo lingered faintly in the air, and he could feel the soft hum of heat coming through the vents as he crossed the room and knelt to ease her down gently onto the bed. Her eyes fluttered once—just once—before she settled back into sleep with a soft sigh, as if even her subconscious knew she was safe.

He reached for her slippers, tugging them off with the same quiet care he always used when it came to her, setting them by the bed before lifting the thick comforter up and over her. She looked so small like this, curled beneath the covers in one of his old team hoodies, her face half buried in the pillow.

Da Bing leapt up at the foot of the bed, circled once, and settled beside her legs like a sentry once more.

Sicheng leaned down, the space between them folding as he braced one hand lightly beside her head and pressed his lips softly to her forehead—warm, steady, lingering just a second longer than necessary. Then, with one last glance, he rose and without a word, left her to sleep in peace.

Late into the night, long after the others had retreated to their rooms and the base had fallen into that hushed, rare quiet that only came when the day had truly been put to rest, Sicheng sat alone in his office, the soft light of his desk lamp casting shadows across the sharp lines of his features. His fingers moved with practiced ease across the surface of his tablet until the familiar chime of a new email pulled his attention away from the screen.

The sender's name stopped him short.

Chengdu Lu Atelier – Private Commission.

He clicked it open, a flicker of something unreadable flashing in his amber eyes as the contents loaded. And there it was.

The necklace.

A single photograph accompanied the message—a shot of the finished piece against a velvet-lined box, the lighting perfect enough to catch every subtle gleam of precious metal and the quiet fire of the rubies.

It was exactly as he'd envisioned it.

A delicate white gold chain, thin enough to be nearly invisible against skin, but strong—unbreakable in its craftsmanship. The pendant, a smooth medallion no larger than a coin, also white gold, bore the unmistakable crest of the Lu family etched into its surface in quiet, commanding elegance. The rubies—small, precise, strategically set into the ridged outer edge—added just enough weight, just enough gravity. They weren't for decoration. They were a mark of lineage, of recognition, of legacy.

And at the back, engraved in a script only the Lu family's private smiths were permitted to use, was the family's decree.

"What we claim, we protect. What we protect, we never relinquish."

This was no ordinary gift.

No whim.

No passing indulgence of affection.

This... was intention.

In the Lu family, such a piece was not given lightly. It was older than engagement rings, deeper than wedding bands. It was a declaration not just of love, but of permanence. A mark placed not around the finger, but above the heart, pressed directly against the collarbone where it would lie with every breath she took.