CTJM - 17

Chapter 17: Rescheduling

The interview came to an abrupt halt.

Wei Chi and Yao Anqi had both been watching the footage near the camera. When they suddenly heard noise from off-screen, they couldn’t help but frown. Wei Chi, with his shorter temper, let out an audible “tsk” in clear disapproval, breaking the silence of the room.

Tang Fei, of course, heard it too. A flicker of embarrassment crossed her radiant face as she quickly adjusted herself and apologized to everyone: “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were filming...”

Though this apology should have been directed at the TV crew, she kept her gaze fixed on Xiao Zhi. The awkwardness lingered, and Yin Mengxi couldn’t help but feel a bit impatient.

“It’s fine.”

But being the poised professional she was, she managed to respond gracefully, turning to Wei Chi and saying, “Let’s turn off the camera for now.”

Wei Chi, naturally following her lead, promptly shut off the camcorder.

“All the questions on the outline will be asked, but not everything will necessarily make it into the final cut,” she spoke quickly, glancing down at the document in her hands, deliberately avoiding eye contact with either Xiao Zhi or Tang Fei, who had now moved closer to him. 

“...Or we can take a break and let Senior prepare a bit more?”

Her tone was neutral but carried a hint of stiffness, lacking the softness she had displayed earlier when standing by the window with him before the interview began.

“It’s alright, let’s continue,” he responded shortly after. “I apologize for delaying the progress earlier.”

—What did that mean?

Was he apologizing for not answering the previous question well?

Or was he apologizing on behalf of Tang Fei’s sudden interruption to the crew?

Yin Mengxi wasn’t sure, nor did she care to dwell on it. With an ambiguous nod and a polite “thank you for your hard work,” she was about to signal Wei Chi to restart the camera when Tang Fei spoke up again. 

“Are you still filming? My mom asked me to call you over—you forgot you promised to have lunch with her today, right?”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough for everyone present to hear.

“My mom.”

“Having lunch.”

This scene felt eerily familiar. Reflecting back, it had been the same during their school days. Perhaps childhood friends naturally held a special status, casually referring to each other’s parents as “your dad, your mom, my dad, my mom.”

—So now he was going to her house for lunch again?

Figures... He simply wasn’t wearing a ring yet, but the signs were clear—his wedding was approaching.

Yin Mengxi continued to lower her gaze, doing her best to avoid seeing anything she shouldn’t. She opened her phone and glanced at the time—it was already 11:05 AM.

“If Senior has other plans, we can reschedule the interview for another time,” she said decisively, graciously giving him and Tang Fei space. “Let’s call it a day here...”

As she spoke, she closed the folder in her hands and stood up from her chair.

—Tsk, what a casual job. Traveling to and from the university took three hours round trip, and now after less than half an hour of filming, they were packing up to leave. Clearly, she, as the producer, was slacking off just as much as Luo Hua, who constantly ditched work to check the stock market.

Why was this?

Was it simply because she harbored resentment toward this unfortunate assignment at the humanities documentary channel?

Or... even after all these years, could she still not accept him being with someone else?

She didn’t dare delve too deeply into that answer. Her immediate instinct now was to leave—just as her first reaction had been to run when she saw Tang Fei hand him a bottle of water over a decade ago on the basketball court at South Sports Field. The habit of avoidance was hard to break. Turning toward Wei Chi and Yao Anqi, she had already decided to tell them to pack up their things. But just as she took two steps, she suddenly heard him call out to her from behind—

“Xiao Xi.”

...Ah.

It was such a light, casual call, almost too mundane. He seemed perfectly composed, but she couldn’t help but freeze in her tracks at the sound of that familiar nickname. Where could she go to complain about this? Their relationship had never been fair. Even during their closest moments, he had called her by that name, and now, years after they had parted ways, he still used it.

“Wait a moment.”

He sighed softly, adding the second sentence.

She wasn’t sure why she obeyed so readily. When he told her to “wait,” she stopped without hesitation, perhaps out of an ingrained habit of deference to a former teacher. Wei Chi and Yao Anqi both looked at her in astonishment—not only because they hadn’t expected her to have such a close connection with Xiao Zhi, but also because they weren’t used to seeing Director Yin, who always called the shots on projects, follow someone else’s instructions so compliantly.

And Xiao Zhi?

Though he had called her to stop, he turned back to Tang Fei. Yin Mengxi didn’t turn around, but her ears were sharp, catching his words: “I contacted Minister Zhou this morning and said I’d be late by fifteen minutes. Didn’t he tell Auntie?”

“Maybe he did—I’m not aware of it...” Tang Fei replied. “I just thought the timing was right and came to find you along the way.”

“Mm,” he acknowledged. “If you’re in a hurry, you can go ahead. It doesn’t really matter whether I attend the Young Faculty Luncheon or not—the department matters are more urgent.”

The Young Faculty Luncheon...

So he wasn’t going to Tang Fei’s house for lunch? He was attending a school-organized event instead?

“Ah, alright then,” Tang Fei agreed, though her voice carried a hint of hesitation. “Or I’ll wait for you and we can go together. Isn’t this almost over anyway?”

Yin Mengxi wasn’t sure if she was being overly suspicious, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Tang Fei’s words were directed at her. A subtle discomfort stirred within her, leaving her feeling stifled and frustrated.

“It’s over,” she interjected, preempting Xiao Zhi’s response. When she turned back, her demeanor was a mix of forced composure and resignation, as if trying to prove to someone—perhaps herself—that she had long moved on from the past. “Senior, go ahead and take care of your business. We’re fine.”

He looked at her, his brows slightly furrowed. She couldn’t tell if he was displeased or what, but his expression was undeniably complex—as if he saw her as an immature child, tinged with a bit of reproach and a touch of helplessness.

“It’s fine.”

Yet, he still went along with her. After a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, his deep eyes gazing at her, as captivating as his handsome widow’s peak.

“Shall we add each other on WeChat?”

His request was polite, as straightforward as when she had asked for his QQ years ago, without any elaborate excuses to mask the action. This immediately twisted her heart into knots and left the silently observing bystanders with mixed emotions.

But—

“My phone is out of battery. Let’s add each other next time.”

She lied smoothly, lacking the kindness and generosity he had shown eleven years ago.

“You should have Xiao Yao’s contact information. She’ll reach out to you later to reschedule.”