Chapter 11

“Hello, Boss.” The interns greeted Lin Ze one after another.

“Good morning, Boss.” A female colleague smiled as she came over to pour coffee.

Lin Ze took off his suit jacket and hung it on the chair. The female colleague across from him added, “Your tie looks great today.”

Lin Ze smiled. “Thanks, bought it on Taobao. Want me to get one for your husband? Today’s the day to grab those mall coupons—I’ll give you all half an hour off at ten. Get ready to abuse your mice.”

The office burst into laughter. Someone came over and informed him, “Lin Ze, the Editor-in-Chief wants to see you.”

Lin Ze bent down, took out his personal seal, stamped a document, and handed it to someone to pass along for typesetting. Then he got up and headed to the Editor-in-Chief’s office.

“Lin Ze,” the Editor-in-Chief greeted. “How’s the special feature section going? It’s been a month already.”

“Pretty good. The drafts from the newbies are mostly readable now.”

“You need to hurry up. I can arrange your assessment in the next few days to fast-track your full-time position. For the sections you’re responsible for, communicate with the section editors. If the interns and reporters can handle it, let them take over. Don’t micromanage.”

Lin Ze’s heart skipped a beat. He thought, No way—they’ve only given me a little over a month, and I’ve just gotten familiar with how newspaper media operates. Now that I’ve trained the newbies, where are they planning to transfer me next?!

“Will I be reassigned after becoming a full-time employee?”

The Editor-in-Chief thought for a moment. “You’re currently in charge of the special features for pages five and six, but you can’t stay there forever. Your grasp of social hot topics isn’t deep enough. How should I put it? Your news pieces always lack a certain… flavor. Something that shocks people.”

Lin Ze understood what the Editor-in-Chief meant—his news wasn’t sensational or exaggerated enough.

“Of course, news that’s too attention-grabbing isn’t good either. The fact that you focus on the social aspects of events is already rare. There’s always a grassroots element in your work, not just pandering to middle-class reading preferences.”

From this point on, Lin Ze was a bit lost. Is this a case of ‘hitting me with a stick and then giving me a sweet date’? He could only nod repeatedly.

“I’ll have Director Li arrange your assessment. Do you have any interview plans for this afternoon?”

Lin Ze thought for a moment. “I’ve discussed it with the editors. Today’s coverage is about the losses from the Yangtze River flooding and the evacuation of riverside residents. Should I wrap up by four and come back?”

“Also, your news pieces always lean toward the public perspective. That’s not ideal for guiding public opinion. You need to practice using the government’s perspective more—highlight the municipal government’s compensation plans. The Chongqing Municipal People’s Congress is also paying attention to this issue.”

Lin Ze had planned to do a feature on the Yangtze River’s flood season from May to September over the millennia. He wanted to arrange a debate through interviews, letting residents question experts about the pros and cons of the Three Gorges Dam’s construction before having the experts explain in detail. The core theme would be that the dam’s benefits outweighed its drawbacks.

But with the Editor-in-Chief’s words, he had no choice but to pretend to think seriously. “Right, I’ll use that angle.”

The Editor-in-Chief nodded in satisfaction. Lin Ze wasn’t particularly fond of his way of thinking, but fortunately, this Editor-in-Chief wasn’t overly controlling. In the time since Lin Ze had joined the unit, he’d only been given advice like this three times. Compared to reporters who got called in daily to be scolded—or even have drafts thrown in their faces with shouts of “What the hell did your elementary school Chinese teacher teach you?”—Lin Ze was already living the dream.

“After your assessment, you can focus on developing toward headline news. The Director plans to groom you. Try working with him on a few issues first. Director Li is about to retire, so learn seriously. There’s still a lot you need to pick up.”

Lin Ze: “…”

Losing in love, winning in career. Once again, Lin Ze found himself fitting this pattern.

“Thank you for your guidance, Editor-in-Chief.”

“Director Li thinks you have talent, but you need to hone your objectivity in event reporting. Train yourself to see the same event from different angles.”

Lin Ze nodded repeatedly, feeling as if he were in a dream.

The Editor-in-Chief made a circling gesture with his hands and added, “Of course, your news sense is sharp and unique. We don’t have to lean entirely into political coverage. Play to your strengths, balance each other out, and view issues dialectically—maintain social relevance without losing your individuality. Go on.”

Lin Ze’s heart was practically bursting with joy. Life had suddenly become radiant.

Though this daily newspaper wasn’t a political media outlet, it held a significant share of the urban market. Lin Ze’s initial plan had been to oversee the entertainment supplement—after all, that was what he was used to.

But now, right after his assessment, they were shifting his focus toward headline news. This wasn’t the career path he’d envisioned at all. The fact that the Editor-in-Chief was seriously grooming him was something to be grateful for.

The assessment was a mere formality—Lin Ze aced it effortlessly. After becoming a full-time employee, his salary would be 5,400 yuan. There were no transportation subsidies, but the newspaper would assign him a Jeep for interviews. Though it was shared with the Director, the Director was older, suffering from lumbar spine issues, and planning to retire early. The Jeep would soon be Lin Ze’s alone.

Next, he’d need to find time to sign up for driving lessons and start preparing daily headlines. Of course, Lin Ze wouldn’t be solely responsible for headlines—the Director would still oversee things and select suitable content from other reporters’ work.

He’d also have to enroll in a photography refresher course. The pressure was immense, but life was fulfilling.

The working hours for daily newspaper reporters were much more flexible than for editors. The hardest-hit were the proofreaders, who often worked until past 2 a.m. Pages one through four had a 9 p.m. deadline, but Lin Ze could leave by 6 p.m. It didn’t matter if he showed up in the morning or afternoon—he just had to return around 4 or 5 p.m. to have his drafts reviewed by the Director.

The work pressure was also greater than before. Coming up with explosive headlines every day was no easy task. It couldn’t all rely on leaks—he had to scour for information everywhere.

Taking on major news production for the first time, Lin Ze finally experienced the saying, Watching others carry a load seems effortless; carrying it yourself breaks your back.

Not every reporter’s news could make the front page. The front page usually selected key content from various sections. But since the Editor-in-Chief had spoken, the implication was that Lin Ze should prepare attention-grabbing news closely tied to society and daily life. Under this premise, the headlines Lin Ze wrote would be prioritized for the front page.

What should I cover today?

Chongqing hits its highest temperature in 37 years?

Food safety initiative launching soon in Chongqing?

Large-scale revolutionary drama premieres?

Lin Ze pinched the bridge of his nose and took a sip of coffee in the empty Starbucks. Temporarily setting work aside, he chatted with Situ Ye about his past relationship, officially rejoining the “Go Die Single Club” and resuming his bachelor status.

“…So, that’s how it is,” Lin Ze said helplessly.

Situ Ye laughed. “That guy was too smart—a cunning liar.”

Lin Ze replied, “Too bad his intelligence wasn’t used for good.”

Situ Ye asked, “So you’ll never use Jack’d again?”

Lin Ze picked up his iPad. “Still using it.”

Situ Ye added, “I thought you’d… what’s the phrase? ‘Stop eating for fear of choking’?”

Lin Ze muttered, “That relationship was just too exhausting. It left me feeling like I don’t even know how to love someone else anymore.”

Situ Ye reassured him, “With time, everything will get better. How about we help each other through this emotional dry spell?”

“Fuck off.” Lin Ze was torn between laughter and tears, then suddenly realized something. “Wait, did you and Junjun break up too?”

Situ Ye didn’t answer, lowering his head to wipe a coffee pot. Lin Ze asked, “Did you two sleep together?”

Situ Ye looked up at Lin Ze and shook his head.

“I don’t like sex—just love,” Situ Ye murmured, sitting down beside him. “Sometimes I don’t even know if I’m really gay.”

“You’ve never done it with anyone before?” Lin Ze asked.

“I have. As a top. With my Spanish teacher.”

Lin Ze made a stunned face. He hadn’t expected Situ Ye to have dated a foreigner!

A student hooking up with his teacher—a language teacher at that! A foreigner! And as a top! Talk about turning the tables!

“We only did it once. I really liked him, but later I found out he was married.”

“The foreigner didn’t have any diseases, right?” Lin Ze asked.

“Of course not. He had fair skin, was really cute—baby-faced with a beard and deep blue eyes. But later I found out he was already married in Spain.”

Lin Ze’s lips twitched. “What happened after that?”

“Before I finished college, his contract ended, and he went back to his country. I was the unwitting ‘other woman.'”

Lin Ze shook his head helplessly. Situ Ye patted his shoulder. “So from now on, you plan to test everyone before getting to the bedroom?”

Lin Ze smiled. “I bought a stack of HIV test strips online. From now on, before things progress to sex, we’ll both test first.”

Situ Ye burst out laughing. “What if the test comes back positive? Break up?”

Lin Ze fell silent. He’d thought about this more than once.

“Let me put it this way,” he said. “If Xie Chenfeng hadn’t lied to me—if he’d been honest about his condition when we fell in love…”

“You’d have stayed with him until he died,” Situ Ye finished.

Lin Ze nodded. “Yeah. But he lied to me.”

“His heart wasn’t entirely bad. After all, he used a condom that time you slept together. I think he really loved you and knew he’d made a mistake.”

“Right,” Lin Ze murmured. “At first, he probably just wanted revenge on the world, but then he changed his mind. I also think if he hadn’t loved me, he wouldn’t have wasted so much time on me. It’s just… this whole thing was a mistake from the start. An irreparable one. Weiwei said after Xie Chenfeng broke up with him, he had three one-night stands and got infected.”

Situ Ye asked, “If you’d been infected too, would you have stayed with him?”

Lin Ze shook his head. “No. I’d have found a place to die alone. I’d rather die by myself than stay with him—even if I still loved him.”

He sighed again. “The only person I can’t let go of is my childhood friend. He’s very straightforward and can’t find a partner. His mom’s also buried in debt, which has made his life miserable.”

Situ Ye laughed. “Why don’t you two just get together?”

Lin Ze was torn between laughter and tears. “A lot of people have said that.”

Situ Ye thought for a moment, then added, “It’s a good solution. How many test strips do you have?”

“I’ll give you some later. I don’t need that many—it’s not like I’m having one-night stands. At this rate, I might never even use them in my lifetime.”

Situ Ye asked with interest, “Finding the right person is one thing, but how can you guarantee your partner won’t cheat after you’re together? What if, after five or ten happy years, they get bored, have a one-night stand… Don’t say it doesn’t happen—it does. Then they come back with a disease and infect their partner. Just today, I saw a post on Weibo about two college students, barely nineteen or twenty. One cheated, got HIV, didn’t know it, and passed it to the other.”

Lin Ze shrugged. “There’s no way around that. Cheating isn’t exclusive to gay relationships—straight marriages have it too. It’s impossible to eliminate. All you can do is discipline yourself.”

Another customer came in, and Situ Ye went behind the counter to work. Lin Ze’s phone rang.

“Boss, the Editor-in-Chief is out. He wants you to cover a story in Shapingba! I’ll text you the address and details,” an intern said urgently. “The photography team is all out—Shapingba’s too far. He told me to bring you a camera, but Director isn’t here today, and the camera’s locked in his drawer. Do you have one?”

Lin Ze only had a digital camera. “Is this for a front-page story?”

“It’s a murder case! The serial killer from last time—they found him! He’s holding residents hostage in a house! Huge scoop!”

“Don’t worry about the camera. I’m on my way!”

He hung up and waited for the text. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Situ Ye behind the counter.

“Can you do me a favor?” Lin Ze asked. “Do you have your camera with you?”

“I have two—one digital, one mechanical. Why? Need to borrow one?”

“Are you free now? Come with me.”

“Sure. For an interview?”

Situ Ye found a coworker to cover for him. “Follow me. Let’s grab the camera from my place first.”

Lin Ze followed him to his apartment. Situ Ye lived in an old residential building behind Bei Cheng Tian Street, sharing a two-bedroom apartment. When the door opened, Lin Ze saw that the room was set up as a darkroom for developing film.

A single bed, windows completely covered by blackout curtains, and a clothesline with rows of photos clipped to it.

Situ Ye turned on the light. Lin Ze looked around curiously—it had been years since he’d seen anyone use a mechanical camera. “Doesn’t everyone use digital now?”

“Retro cameras have a certain feel. Developing photos is part of the fun. I have a digital one here, but my laptop was stolen recently, and I haven’t bought a new one yet. Do you have a computer?”

“Yes! Absolutely! Hurry up—we’ll process the photos at my office!”

Lin Ze knew Situ Ye was into photography. The guy lived sparsely—aside from a bed, a bag, and a few clothes in the closet, there was nothing else. He must’ve spent all his money on photography, so he was probably decent at it.

They rushed downstairs with the photography gear. Situ Ye was still wearing his Starbucks apron—a tall, handsome guy in a dark brown apron had a certain charm, drawing glances from passersby.

Lin Ze silently prayed they wouldn’t be too late. He hailed a cab and told the driver to head straight to Shapingba, briefing Situ Ye on news photography during the ride.

Situ Ye listened attentively. Truth be told, Lin Ze had slept through most of his photography classes in college and hadn’t absorbed much. He could only summarize the key points.

“I’ve taken photography classes too.”

“That’s perfect.” Lin Ze was relieved. Newspaper photos didn’t require high quality—he wasn’t aiming for domestic or international awards. As long as they were clear, well-timed, and passable, they’d do.

They got out of the cab and rushed to the scene. Police were evacuating onlookers downstairs and setting up barricades. Officers were shouting negotiations up at the building, and experts were demanding talks.

Lin Ze ducked under the tape and showed his press pass, only to be immediately shooed away and told to talk to their superiors if he had business there.

“Set up the camera here,” Lin Ze instructed.

“I think that spot’s better.”

He pointed to a spot across the flower bed—there wasn’t a soul over there.

“Isn’t that too far? What if the suspect comes out? How will you capture the arrest?”

“You use the small camera for the arrest. I’ll focus on the balcony.”

“Fine, you’re the boss. I’ll go ask their captain.”

Lin Ze took out his voice recorder. The scene was packed with reporters, and he couldn’t squeeze in. Two TV station vans were parked nearby, and the crowd of spectators was huge. Police began evacuating bystanders, reporters included.

Unable to push through, and with the higher-ups in the press circle unwilling to talk, Lin Ze stepped back and noticed officers guarding the entrance to the neighboring unit.

He returned to Situ Ye, who was in a half-squat, camera tilted at a 45-degree angle, long lens focused.

“Take a look, Lin Ze.” Situ Ye made room.

Lin Ze leaned in and saw, through the zoomed-in view, a man pacing on the fifth-floor balcony. Blood dripped from the balcony onto the awning of the unit below.

“Jesus,” Lin Ze murmured.

Situ Ye stayed quiet for a moment, then asked, “Will they shoot him?”

“I think it’s possible.” Lin Ze glanced at the building across the way. “Snipers might already be up there.”

Situ Ye returned to the camera, maintaining his half-squat, fully focused on the balcony.

“You don’t have to be so tense. Just stay alert,” Lin Ze said. He’d seen many newbies on their first assignments—nervous and excited, snapping photos of everything from crowds to flowers to street signs. As a rookie, he’d even compiled irrelevant shots into drafts and submitted them. It really wasn’t necessary.

Situ Ye hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t budge from the tripod-mounted camera.

Lin Ze went to exchange intel with fellow reporters and ran into an acquaintance from a major newspaper. The guy was surprised Lin Ze had jumped to a newspaper job. After a brief discussion, Lin Ze pointed out, “Check out that building over there. Snipers are probably up there. Not sure if this story will even make it to print.”

The reporter immediately went to his photographer, telling him to secure a spot on the third building’s rooftop for shots. Grateful for the tip, he reciprocated: “If they take him down on-site, it’ll probably make tomorrow’s front page. This killer’s already murdered people in Yunnan and Sichuan.”

“What’s his name? Motive?”

The reporter gave a name and explained, “His criminal record’s in the Chengdu Evening News. He’s got a history of mental illness, ex-military—reconnaissance. Fled here, rented a place, and was apparently discovered by the landlord’s son. Now he’s holding the kid hostage. Smart kid—called 110 and even kept the killer calm.”

Lin Ze asked, “How old?”

The reporter gestured. “Twelve. Is that your paper’s photographer? Why’s he still wearing a Starbucks apron?”

Lin Ze: “Oh, well… our paper was acquired by Starbucks a few days ago… haven’t you seen? Our front page is all lattes, Blue Mountain, cappuccinos now…”

The reporter laughed. “A’Ze, you’re still full of crap.”

Lin Ze got the intel he wanted. Negotiators were still shouting for the killer to release the child. The boy’s mother wailed, begging to take her son’s place as hostage.

The negotiator said they could discuss demands. Lin Ze knew this wouldn’t be resolved quickly and turned to fetch Situ Ye, planning to have him shoot from a neighboring building’s balcony for a clearer angle.

But the moment he took a step, a bang sounded overhead. The crowd gasped in unison.

Lin Ze spun around. Everything happened in an instant—a piece of clothing fluttered down from the fifth floor. No—it was a person!

He charged into the crowd at full speed, shoving with all his might. Police shouted, pushing back. Lin Ze practically dove to the ground, squeezing through, snapping photos wildly with his camera.

Chaos erupted above. A hand grabbed him, yanking him out.

Covered in dust, Lin Ze nearly dropped his digital camera. He had no idea what he’d captured. Situ Ye half-carried him away. Lin Ze asked, “Did you get it?”

Situ Ye replied, “Think so. Wanna check?”

“Later. I need to interview the witnesses…”

He ran toward the officials, reporters swarming. Police carried the rescued child downstairs; the mother burst into tears. Lin Ze raised his camera—Situ Ye immediately fired off several shots and said, “I’ve got this.”

Lin Ze pushed into the press circle, voice recorder on. An official was briefing the situation—TV mics were practically shoved in his face. Another reporter Lin Ze knew nudged him, and Lin Ze noticed a police captain off to the side, debriefing subordinates. Taking the hint, Lin Ze slipped away to question him.

“Hello, I’m from Yuzhou Daily…”

The captain gave him a meaningful look. “Reporter, interviews are over there.”

“I’ll keep it appropriate. Give me an email—I’ll send you the draft for review first. Just need some on-scene details.”

The captain glanced into the distance. Lin Ze pocketed the recorder. “No recording. Just chat.”

His acquaintance from the news agency joined them, smiling. “Hello, hello.”

Lin Ze latched onto the agency’s coattails as the captain summarized the events, carefully omitting any mention of snipers. Lin Ze didn’t press—he already had the angle for his piece.

An ambulance arrived, and cameras and reporters surged toward it.

“Let’s go,” Lin Ze said, not bothering to fight the crowd. “Let’s see your shots.”

Situ Ye packed up the tripod, showing Lin Ze the photos as they walked.

Lin Ze: “…”

Situ Ye had captured the exact moment the killer was shot—a spray of blood bursting from his chest as he toppled over the balcony, then plummeted, the entire sequence crystal clear.

Every frame was award-worthy.

Award-worthy, yes—but also extremely graphic. Lin Ze wasn’t sure they could use them. Maybe as a photo spread?

The subsequent shots showed the hostage’s mother kneeling, taking her son from the officer. Her tear-streaked face, caught mid-turn, was a complex mix of gratitude, relief, lingering fear, and worry.

The child buried his face in her arms. Only an officer’s shoulder and white-gloved hand were visible, his badge peeking out as he bent down, soft sunlight casting a glow from the side.

It was a high-quality photo—one that conveyed everything Lin Ze wanted to say.

He remembered his photography professor’s words: A picture is worth a thousand words.

Lin Ze had never had a knack for photography. A photographer needed observation and thought—skills similar to a writer’s. Lin Ze was too restless. He had sharp instincts but couldn’t settle into the necessary patience. He was destined to be a reporter, wielding sharp language and dynamic emotion to tell stories. He genuinely admired Situ Ye’s talent.

“Not my best. A bit too artsy.”

“No, no! It’s perfect! Come with me! We’re definitely kicking that ‘rising property market’ headline off the front page!”