The Symphony of Scars

CHAPTER 3: THE CODE OF HEALING

In the afterglow of the grand opening ceremony, Le Ha Chi realized that manual memorization alone was no longer enough to protect Shen Ze Yan from cunning “old foxes” like Shen Zheng. That night, under the dim glow of her desk lamp in the small apartment, she didn’t sleep. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as lines of Python code scrolled endlessly across the screen. She was building a private “augmented reality identification system” that combined biometric data with the behavioral patterns she had secretly collected.

To Ha Chi, Shen Ze Yan was not merely a target—he was a complex equation she both desperately wanted to solve and fiercely wanted to protect.

Ze Yan rarely allowed anyone into his penthouse on the top floor of the tower. The space was minimalist to the extreme: only black and white tones, no portraits, no unnecessary decorations. For someone who could not see faces, visual clutter was a form of t*****e.

At eight o’clock in the morning, the doorbell rang. Ze Yan opened the door, his breath catching for a split second as the familiar scent of green tea washed over him.

“Mr. Shen, I’ve upgraded your support system,” Ha Chi said, holding up an ultra-thin pair of smart contact lenses and a new data encryption kit.

Ze Yan narrowed his eyes. “You hacked into my security system to obtain the shareholders’ biometric data?”

“I only borrowed what was necessary to ensure you’ll never be ‘blind’ in front of your enemies again,” Ha Chi replied calmly as she stepped inside and placed the document bag on the table. “In your world, information is light. I’m simply turning it on for you.”

To install the new contact lenses, Ha Chi had to get close. Ze Yan sat on the leather sofa and tilted his head back slightly. Ha Chi leaned in until only a few centimeters separated them.

This was the first time she had observed him at such close range in daylight. His skin was slightly pale, his long lashes concealing a deep, profound loneliness. When her soft fingertips touched the corner of his eye to place the lens, Ze Yan suddenly grabbed her wrist. Ha Chi’s heartbeat skipped. His hand was burning hot, a stark contrast to his icy exterior.

“Why are you so dedicated?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “Just to be a good secretary, or do you want something else from me?”

Ha Chi gazed into his eyes, which were struggling to focus on her silhouette. She saw her own reflection in them—a hazy shadow. I want the truth, she thought silently, but what she said was: “I want a boss who stays alive long enough to keep paying my salary.”

Ze Yan let out a short, rare laugh. He released her wrist, but the warmth from her fingers seemed to linger on his skin.

That afternoon, they worked together in the private laboratory. Ze Yan was researching a protein capable of regenerating visual nerve cells—his final hope.

Ha Chi did more than just make coffee. She sat beside him, helping analyze automation scripts to accelerate the gene screening process. Their seamless synergy left the other researchers stunned. They barely needed words; a single glance (even if he couldn’t see clearly) was enough for Ha Chi to know exactly which document he needed.

Deep into the night, when the entire tower had fallen silent, Ze Yan suddenly pushed aside his cold cup of coffee. “Take a break. Your tea scent… is much better than this coffee.”

Ha Chi smiled. She took a small packet of tea from her bag. “This is tea from my hometown. It’s not fancy, but it might help you sleep well without nightmares.”

They sat there, surrounded by millions of dollars’ worth of machinery, sharing a single warm cup of tea. In that moment, Shen Ze Yan felt the icy wall that had surrounded him for so long c***k open just a little. For the first time, he told her about the accident when he was eighteen—not the full truth of what happened, but the feeling of waking up and no longer recognizing his own mother.

“It felt like the whole world had abandoned me, even though everyone was still right in front of me,” he said, his voice dropping low.

Ha Chi listened, her heart tightening. She suddenly realized that both of them had been left behind by that same accident. He had lost his sight; she had lost her family and her honor.

When Ze Yan finally fell asleep on the sofa from exhaustion, Ha Chi quietly used her special access privileges to enter the corporation’s old archived database.

Her fingers trembled as she typed the keywords: “2014 Accident – Driver Le File.”

The screen displayed a file locked with the highest-level encryption. She began using her programming skills to bypass it. Lines of code flashed by; sweat beaded on her forehead.

Finally, the screen showed a partially corrupted video clip extracted from a damaged dashcam. In the dark, blurry footage, Ha Chi saw that her father’s car had not lost control. Another vehicle had deliberately forced them toward the cliff. And even more horrifying, the person who stepped out of that other car—though their face was obscured—wore a lapel pin that glinted under the streetlight. It was unmistakably familiar.

It was the Shen family’s lapel pin.

At that exact moment, a sound came from behind her. Ha Chi startled and slammed the laptop shut.

“What are you doing here so late?”

Ze Yan stood in the doorway. Light from the hallway cast his long shadow across the floor. He wasn’t wearing the lenses; his eyes bored into the empty space where she stood.

Ha Chi hid her trembling hands behind her back. Should she tell him? Or was he also part of the cover-up?

“I… I was just double-checking the security system for tomorrow,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady.

Ze Yan walked closer, each heavy footstep echoing in the quiet room. He stopped right in front of her, leaning down until the scent of cedarwood enveloped her.

“Le Ha Chi, you’re a terrible liar,” he whispered. His hand brushed against the still-warm laptop. “What are you looking for in my past?”