You Are the Code of My Heartbeat

Conflict Debugging

When Cheng Jian’s coffee cup left its third ring on the desk, her phone vibrated. The screen displayed 「Lu Wan」 with the new Q-version avatar she’d set last week — a cartoonish illustration of her wearing programmer-style black-rimmed glasses, with a floating thought bubble saying 「Loading...」

"Hello?" Cheng Jian answered while wiping away the water mark with a tissue.

"Director Cheng~" Lu Wan’s voice stretched playfully. "I have to pull an all-nighter tonight — don’t wait up for dinner."

Cheng Jian typed a string of meaningless characters into the keyboard. "When will you be back?"

"Hmm… Maybe morning? Deadline's tomorrow." Papers rustled in the background. "Oh, there are dumplings in the fridge — when you cook them, remember to…"

"Add scallions and ginger first, then put them in once the water boils. Stir twice with cold water," Cheng Jian interrupted. "You've told me twenty-seven times."

Lu Wan giggled like an open code stream: "No wonder you're Director Cheng — so low memory usage!"

After hanging up, Cheng Jian stared at her monitor. In the two weeks since her promotion to Technical Director, her workday had extended from 7 PM to 9:30 PM. Meanwhile, Lu Wan’s illustration studio had just taken on a major project — their schedules now resembled servers in mismatched time zones.

She opened her photo album. The latest picture was breakfast from three days ago — a sunny-side-up egg and toasted bread arranged into a smiley face. Scrolling backward, the intervals grew longer — daily shots turning into weekly ones.

Suddenly standing, Cheng Jian grabbed her coat and headed toward the elevator.

---

The receptionist at the illustration studio looked surprised at this unexpected visitor. "Are you here for Lu Wan? She's in a meeting with clients..."

Cheng Jian nodded, eyes glancing across the corridor walls lined with artwork. Lu Wan’s style was easy to recognize — warm lighting hiding cool-toned details, much like herself — seemingly playful but deeply perceptive.

Argument voices leaked through the conference room glass:

"This style looks too childish! We need something professional!"

"But user research shows…" Lu Wan’s rare tense tone responded.

Cheng Jian pushed open the door. Five pairs of eyes turned instantly. Lu Wan stood before the projector, hair hastily tied into a bun, corner of her mouth stained with coffee residue. Her stylus clattered onto the floor as she widened her eyes in surprise.

"Sorry," Cheng Jian remained expressionless, "family delivery."

She lifted the convenience store plastic bag containing sandwiches and hot milk. Lu Wan’s lips twitched — Cheng Jian knew she was suppressing laughter. This exact micro-expression had been cataloged under `habit_records` database ID 047.

A client frowned. "We’re discussing important matters—"

"Please continue." Cheng Jian placed the food before Lu Wan, stepping naturally to her side. "I’m a technical director. Perhaps I can offer cross-disciplinary suggestions."

Displayed on the projector were APP interfaces designed by Lu Wan — rounded icons interwoven with delicate hand-drawn lines. Suddenly Cheng Jian pointed at one corner: "This interactive animation could optimize performance using Bézier curves."

"And here," she highlighted the login button, "adding 0.3 seconds of elastic feedback gives users better control."

Lu Wan secretly poked Cheng Jian’s waist — their Morse code meaning 「Since when did you understand UI?」

Clients whispered among themselves, finally nodding. "Let’s proceed along these lines for now?"

---

At 1 AM, only the two of them remained in the studio.

Lu Wan slumped in her swivel chair chewing cold sandwich. "What nonsense about Bézier curves earlier?"

"Last week’s notes," Cheng Jian crouched to pick scattered color cards. "Taped beside your digital tablet."

Lu Wan suddenly fell silent. Looking up, Cheng Jian saw reddening eyes — "I thought you'd completely forgotten my work."

Cobalt blue paint stained Cheng Jian’s shirt cuff — smeared like tear-shaped traces. She recalled three months ago when Lu Wan cried saying "You don't care about my paintings at all," while Cheng Jian could only mechanically reply "Rest early."

"I created a new folder," Cheng Jian unlocked her phone. "Named `/inspiration/`."

Inside were detailed photos of Lu Wan’s works — signatures tucked into the corners of picture books, random doodles in sketchbooks, even figure drawings on the backs of grocery lists. Each photo was tagged with a timestamp and Lu Wan’s exact words from that day.

"You sneak-photographed!" Lu Wan leaned closer, hair strands brushing Cheng Jian’s nose. "This one was me painting in pajamas!"

Cheng Jian let her browse freely, fingers unconsciously rubbing the scratch marks on her cufflink. All those arguments, cold wars, and misunderstandings — could actually be compiled into another language. As long as you're willing to spend time reading each other’s source code.

---

On the way home, Lu Wan dozed against Cheng Jian’s shoulder.

"Cheng Jian," she suddenly murmured, "there's a field trip activity next week."

Cheng Jian’s breath paused slightly. "How many days?"

"Three." Lu Wan lifted her head. "Gonna sketch outdoors."

Cheng Jian remembered this morning’s email — headquarters inviting her to a tech summit exactly during those three days.

"I’ll take compensatory leave," she said.

Lu Wan smiled, pulling out the Debug doll from her bag — somehow now wearing a miniature shirt with tiny cufflinks stitched onto sleeve cuffs.

"Bring it," Lu Wan stuffed the doll into Cheng Jian’s pocket. "So Director Cheng won’t crash your system missing me."