In Yu Yanbai's cell phone, my contact label is takeout. For three years, I came at every call: delivering hangover soup in the middle of the night, hot porridge for stomachaches, and tending to his mother in the hospital, in exchange for being called an errand runner and a 500 transfer for hardship pay. He said the person I want to marry most only is you, turning around to give my job evaluation quota to Xu Weiyi, with the PPT not even having my contact label deleted cleanly. I reported, broke up, blocked, and flew to Nancheng. When he chased after me to admit his mistake, I opened the old ledger left by my father—twenty-eight years ago, the Xu family swallowed my family's company. It is you all who owe me.