Xu Youyuan said, “After getting out of jail, I demanded the company conduct a thorough internal investigation, but they refused, using ‘the incident has already been resolved’ as an excuse. The chairman and the higher-ups didn’t want any further complications.
“SQUALL isn’t afraid of scandals, especially not ones that have already been overturned. For a while after the incident, people might still talk about it, but in a few years, everyone will forget. Meanwhile, ‘Rebirth Universe’ has been running for five years. Five years is a critical stage for any blockbuster game, and with the rise of other immersive VR games, its revenue has started to decline unhealthily. At this point, creating a sensational news story to redirect public attention back to ‘Rebirth Universe’ might seem like a positive move to the company.”
Shi Ye asked, “Are you saying all of this was orchestrated by SQUALL itself?”
Xu Youyuan replied, “It’s possible.”
“But this isn’t child’s play. Stirring up such a huge incident just to grab headlines—isn’t that too risky?”
“There’s another important reason.” Xu Youyuan’s tone and expression sent a chill down Shi Ye’s spine.
“You mean… they wanted to target you?” Shi Ye frowned. “To remove you as the producer? To frame you and send you to jail?”
“I’ve considered that possibility.”
“But if they wanted you imprisoned, why spend a fortune to settle the case, find a scapegoat, and bail you out?”
“If I were truly convicted, it would confirm all the allegations, and ‘Rebirth Universe’ would inevitably collapse. What would SQUALL gain from that?” Xu Youyuan said. “At first, these were just suspicions lurking in my mind. But soon, when I was called back to the company and told to resign in disgrace at the board meeting, I knew everything had unfolded exactly as I’d thought. SQUALL never intended to throw me in prison, but they weren’t about to let me off easy either. This wasn’t an accident—it was a carefully laid trap meant to cripple me.”
Hearing this, Shi Ye fully grasped the horror of the situation. “Youyuan, what exactly did you do to become such a thorn in their side?”
A shadow fell over Xu Youyuan’s brow, but she didn’t answer.
Still, Shi Ye could tell—Xu Youyuan understood everything. She just didn’t want to say.
No doubt the matter was far more complicated than it seemed.
Perhaps there were professional dangers Shi Ye, as an outsider, couldn’t comprehend, and her friend had her own reasons for staying silent. She decided not to press further, trusting Xu Youyuan’s intelligence and judgment.
But there was one thing she had to ask.
“Wait a minute—after all this, what does any of it have to do with my sister?” Shi Ye steered the conversation back. “Don’t tell me you’re dodging the question.”
Xu Youyuan smiled faintly. “I don’t make a habit of dodging questions.”
After the "Vehicle Incident," she had felt a sense of danger unlike anything before, and the board’s attitude left her utterly disillusioned.
This was clearly a massive blame-game, with the full weight of responsibility dumped squarely on her shoulders.
If this had happened ten years ago, in her twenties, she might have stubbornly dug in her heels—too furious to let such injustice slide without uncovering the truth and retaliating on the spot.
But now, after years of navigating corporate politics, Xu Youyuan understood she couldn’t overturn the situation alone, at least not immediately.
Her best move now was to retreat into the shadows, regroup, and investigate in secret to clear her name.
As the producer and head of the entire team, she bore responsibility for both development and pre-launch testing—including the security flaws that led to the Vehicle Incident, though the details were never made public. She couldn’t escape accountability.
The company would cover most of the financial damages, but Xu Youyuan would still face penalties.
Under normal circumstances, her finances could have handled it. But the staggering costs of her late mother’s medical treatment and funeral had already drained her. This fine would be another devastating blow.
The company didn’t disappoint. Their final decision cut deeper than she expected.
“We’ve already given the public an explanation. Hand over all your shares, leave SQUALL, and give the group its closure. We’ll handle the rest—you don’t need to worry.”
While she was at home, caring for her dying mother, her longtime employer had struck her from behind, aiming to break her spine. They not only wrested away “Rebirth Universe”—the project she’d poured her soul into—but also destroyed her reputation in the industry and society at large.
She knew SQUALL was finally launching *that* project. The one she had vehemently opposed.
By kicking her out entirely, forcing her to shoulder the blame—even branding her a coward who let others take the fall—SQUALL had rid itself of Xu Youyuan, the troublemaker, while keeping its own hands clean.
Thankfully, her spine was tougher than they thought. She endured the blow, still standing, not yet brought to her knees.
But what shattered her life completely wasn’t SQUALL and its hidden agenda—it was her wife. No, her *ex*-wife now: Little An.
Returning home in disgrace, carrying a box of her belongings from the office, all Xu Youyuan wanted was to sleep and gather strength for the battles ahead. Instead, she found Little An waiting for her in the living room.
Their dog tried to leap into her lap, but she gently pushed it away.
“I know this is sudden, and you’ve just been through hell, but I can’t wait any longer. Honestly, I’ve felt this way since before your mother got sick. I held back because the timing never seemed right—I didn’t want to add to your burdens. But my hesitation only made things worse for both of us.” Little An was still in her work clothes, posture rigid, her expression a mix of pity and resolve.
“I figured we shouldn’t drag this out… Who knows what else might happen? I don’t want us to end up resenting each other. Youyuan, you’re the closest person to me in the world. I can’t keep lying to you.”
There was no infidelity, no explosive fight, no dramatic turning point. Little An spoke to her with the practiced calm of adulthood—like polite negotiations with a difficult client, or the measured tone of laying off an employee. This was the bloodless warfare of grown-ups, where appearances mattered more than honesty.
In the home they’d shared for three years, the couple—who had been together for nearly five, legally bound—parted ways in less than fifteen minutes, their breakup as civil as a business transaction.
Her bags were already packed. A friend’s car waited outside. Little An had only stayed to say goodbye before walking out of Xu Youyuan’s life for good.
Shi Ye said, “Your divorce from Little An was so sudden, wedged between your mom’s passing and the Vehicle Incident. I never felt right asking for details. So… what really happened between you two?”
“No particular reason.” Xu Youyuan thought for a moment before adding, “Well, there is one—I just fell out of love. I poured all my energy into work and neglected her. She felt like she was practically single, yet still bound by the constraints of a relationship. If it was no different from being alone, why not just be truly single? That’s how she saw it. I didn’t have much to say—if the love was gone, there was no point in forcing it.”
Shi Ye couldn’t find the right words to interject.
She and Xu Youyuan were close, but no matter how close, the private matters of a couple weren’t something she could casually comment on. Only those involved knew the full story.
“She thinks I’ve forgotten what love is,” Xu Youyuan said earnestly, looking at Shi Ye. “She believes I’ve lost the ability to love. She said the gifts I gave her for holidays weren’t out of love or because she needed them, but out of habit—like brushing my teeth in the morning and again at night. Day after day, monotonous, devoid of any passion. She didn’t want to sink deeper into the numbness of middle age. She was utterly fed up with it.”
“Do you think she was right?”
Xu Youyuan replied, “I didn’t think so at first, but after some reflection these past few days, maybe she was. I dismissed her words earlier because I never had the time to really think about them. But after losing my job, I had plenty of time to mull it over. I admit she was right—I did prioritize work more. But if I didn’t work hard, how could I maintain our lifestyle? If I didn’t keep climbing, someone else would overtake me in an instant. In this era, at this level, did I even have a choice?”
Shi Ye understood now. “So, in that state of frustration, you ended up with my sister…”
Xu Youyuan rubbed her temples. “No matter how agitated I was, I wouldn’t have intentionally slept with your sister. Like I said, it was a complete accident.”
The divorce with Little An was finalized quickly. They both signed the electronic agreement without even needing to visit the civil affairs office—everything could be settled online these days.
They divorced amicably, dividing their assets equally. Of course, by then, Xu Youyuan didn’t have much left to split.
She wanted to keep the only property she still had, paying Little An her share in installments over the next few months.
Little An wasn’t keen. She planned to go abroad—all her courses were already registered, and she only needed the final payment. She insisted on receiving her due immediately.
“Selling the house takes time.”
“I have a friend who can pay in full. The transfer process is fast now. Don’t drag this out, Youyuan.”
Shi Ye was indignant. “For her, it’s just a delay, but what about you? You’re completely unprepared, just went through something massive, and she’s pressuring you to sell your home?”
Xu Youyuan didn’t comment, continuing instead, “The house sold quickly. After that, I moved to the western suburbs, as you know.”
When Xu Youyuan moved out of her duplex in the city center, with its stunning river views, her belongings amounted to little more than two suitcases, a backpack, and some daily essentials. Nothing else.
She sold her old car and replaced it with a cheap, outdated model without an autonomous driving system. Fortunately, Xu Youyuan was old enough to have gotten her driver’s license back in the day, so manual driving wasn’t an issue.
The money from the sale covered a year’s rent. Even in the western suburbs, a one-bedroom apartment came with a jaw-dropping price tag. Still, compared to the city’s sky-high rents, the suburbs were a bargain—just a bit farther out and with extra gas expenses each month.
After the cleaners finished, Xu Youyuan moved in.
She stayed in the western suburbs for about a week before calculating her remaining funds. It was clear she needed a job—income was urgent.
She could code, draw concept art, even write scripts. Xu Youyuan had always pushed herself relentlessly. Over the years, she’d built a solid professional network and assumed finding freelance work to scrape by wouldn’t be hard, even without a full-time position.
But when it mattered most, that network vanished.
The “Reshape the Universe” vehicle scandal wasn’t just industry news—it was nationwide gossip. Xu Youyuan’s expulsion from SQUALL turned her from a respected veteran into an industry-wide joke, even a pariah. And with SQUALL still pulling strings behind the scenes, every message she sent to former colleagues and contacts went unanswered.
At thirty-four, worn down by middle age, freshly grieving her mother’s death, reeling from divorce, and plummeting from the heights of her career, Xu Youyuan found herself stranded in a dead-end valley—utterly alone.
