MPH - 10

Chapter 10: Farewell, Lao Jiazhuo

I don’t remember how long I stood at the door.  

My legs went numb, but my mind remained completely blank.  

I dragged myself back into the room, but couldn’t fight off the waves of dizziness that hit me. I collapsed to the floor and passed out.  

When I woke up, I found myself lying on the bed in the room.  

“Thank God, Miss Yingying, you’re awake,” came the kind voice of a middle-aged woman.  

“Guo Sao, why are you here?” My voice was faint and weak.  

“Second Master called home and asked Old Guo to send someone over to take care of you. But Grandmother was worried, so she sent me instead. Thank goodness I came—how could you faint like that in your room…?” Guo Sao fussed anxiously. “And Second Master—what a mess this family is in! This morning, First Master left early to return to America, and Miss Qi Xuan refused to leave. They’ve been arguing again…”  

My head felt unbearably heavy, and I groaned. “How long have I been asleep?”  

Guo Sao propped up my pillow. “Almost a whole day. I helped you onto the bed. Miss Yingying, you’re far too thin—you feel as light as a feather.”  

I sat up. “Guo Sao, could you make me some porridge?”  

“I already made it—it’s keeping warm on the stove,” she replied.  

I forced a smile. “Thank you. You can go now—I’m fine.”  

Guo Sao reminded me, “Miss Yingying, take care of yourself.”  

Suddenly remembering something, I added, “Guo Sao, I’m fine. Don’t tell Grandmother anything that might worry her.”  

Guo Sao nodded and left.  

At that moment, the phone in the hall rang. I went out to answer it—it was Grandmother.  

There were dozens of missed calls on my phone: from Jiang Manor, Tang Lechang, even Huihui had called. My head throbbed painfully, and I managed to mumble a few words before hanging up.  

Finally, it was Mom. “Yingying, I just saw online that Second Master will succeed as CEO of Laotong Group?”  

I mustered some energy. “Yes, that’s right, Mom.”  

Mom said, “Your voice sounds strange. Are you okay, Yingying?”  

I pretended to be cheerful. “Mm, I’m fine.”  

Mom said, “Now that Second Master holds such a high position, you need to be even more careful with your words and actions. Ask the elders for advice when you encounter problems.”  

“I understand,” I replied softly, though waves of despair surged uncontrollably in my heart.  

Mom seemed downcast as well, only saying, “That’s good. Take care of yourself.”  

I changed the subject. “Mom, how’s the wedding preparation going?”  

She hesitated before replying, “Yingying, I’ve decided to postpone the wedding for now.”  

A bad feeling rose in my chest. “Why?”  

“It’s nothing. I just suddenly don’t feel like getting married,” she said.  

Mom and I chatted briefly, then hung up.  

I was alone in the empty house, not even noticing when night fell.  

The house was eerily quiet, and Jiazhuo still hadn’t returned.  

I went downstairs to the kitchen. The thermos contained porridge, emitting a warm, comforting aroma.  

I ladled a bowl, sat at the dining table, and took a bite—but suddenly felt nauseous. I rushed to the bathroom and vomited.  

When I returned to the dining room, I poured out the remaining half-bowl of porridge and cleaned up the kitchen.  

I went upstairs, curled up on the sofa, and began to cry.  

Late at night, Simon called me. “Yingying, did you talk to your mom today?”  

“Mm, did you two have a fight? Why does she want to postpone the wedding?” My nose was stuffed, so I had to breathe through my mouth.  

“No, it’s much more serious than that,” his voice was dejected. “She wants to break up with me.”  

Simon sounded deeply troubled. “I don’t know why. Our relationship has always been harmonious.”  

“Yingying, I think your mom has been acting strange lately.”  

“Please come to Venice.”  

“I’ll book your ticket. I’ve already had my secretary call Lufthansa—there are still seats available in first class.”  

Reality had crushed me to the point where I couldn’t breathe. All I wanted was an excuse to escape for a couple of days. After talking to Simon, I went back to the room, packed a few clothes, and dug out my passport, stuffing it into my suitcase.  

As I dragged my suitcase downstairs, I hesitated, then dialed Jiazhuo’s number.  

I glanced at the clock—it was 5 a.m.  

He answered quickly.  

His low voice came through the line. “What is it?”  

I asked, “Where are you?”  

“Is there something?” He didn’t answer my question, only said, “I’m busy right now. If you’re fine, rest first.”  

“When will you be back?” I asked casually. For so long, I had carefully tried to please him, asking about his well-being, pouring my heart out, and thinking I was the happiest person in the world. But now that he had become so heartless, I suddenly felt fearless. “Is it really that easy for Second Master to dismiss me with just one sentence?”  

Jiazhuo calmly asked, “Then what do you want?”  

I sneered bitterly. “Is Second Master so unfeeling? Do you forget people so easily?”  

His voice weakened slightly with exhaustion. “Alright, Yingying, there’s no need for this.”  

Overwhelmed by sadness, I couldn’t help but blurt out nonsense. “Jiazhuo, why should we divorce? I’m already the wife of Laotong Group’s CEO. Our wedding photos turned out beautifully—why don’t we release a few to the media to boost your image?”  

Jiazhuo’s breathing quickened. “Yingying, stop being foolish!”  

He had always maintained absolute control over our relationship, coming and going as he pleased—it was utterly infuriating. I coldly said, “You’ve always been afraid to admit our relationship. Second Master can’t have everything his way. If I’m going to be cast aside, at least let me do it with some dignity.”  

“Jiang Yiyin!” He sharply cut me off. “Don’t act on impulse!”  

“No, do you hear me?! I forbid it!” he scolded me on the other end. “I said no!”  

It was rare to see the usually aloof Second Master so flustered. I hung up the phone and turned it off.  

I hailed a taxi and headed to the airport.  

The plane landed at Venice Treviso. Simon personally came to pick me up.  

The driver took us to his house on the island. Mom, wearing a silk robe, greeted me from the studio.  

“You two have a good talk,” Simon ushered me into the small living room upstairs, kissed Mom’s cheek, and went downstairs.  

“Mom,” I said, exhausted, feeling even more wronged upon seeing her.  

“You’ve just endured a ten-hour flight. Go freshen up first,” she pushed me toward the bathroom.  

After showering, I felt much better and changed into the comfortable loungewear Mom had prepared for me.  

She sat waiting for me on the velvet sofa in the studio.  

“Mom,” I walked over and held her hand. “What happened?”  

“Yingying,” her voice was very gentle. “Sit down. Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?”  

“Just a cup of coffee,” I said.  

She rang the bell, and the maid soon brought drinks and desserts.  

“Mom, what’s wrong?” I finally relaxed into the sofa. The warmth of the coffee drove away the chill in my body, and I began to ask, “Are you experiencing pre-wedding jitters?”  

“Yingying, there’s something I need to tell you,” Mom looked at me, her expression calm but tinged with a hint of reluctance. “They found a lump in my right breast. I went to the hospital for tests two weeks ago—”  

I stared at her wide-eyed.  

Her hand rested on mine, her voice steady. “It’s bad news.”  

I heard my own voice, numb and quiet after enduring so much suffering. “Can it be cured?”  

“Fifty percent chance, but the entire breast needs to be removed.”  

“Does Simon know?”  

“Not yet.”  

My mom—she had always been such a beautiful person.  

I covered my face and sobbed uncontrollably.  

Mom held my hand, gently kissed it, and pulled me into her embrace.  

“Yingying, perhaps this is karma,” she whispered softly.  

I abruptly lifted my head.  

She stroked my hair, murmuring to herself, “If this punishment falls on me, I hope it will bring happiness to my only beloved child.”  

Through the soft fabric of her clothes, I touched the softness of her chest—the place where I once found the sweetest comfort as a child. But now, demonic bacteria were raging inside.  

I clenched my teeth and said firmly, “Mom, then have the surgery. I’ll stay here with you.”  

She said indifferently, “Yingying, I’ve made peace with life and death.”  

I pleaded with her, “No, Mom, don’t leave me.”  

She smiled. “You’re married now, and Mom is old. One day, I’ll have to go.”  

I shook my head desperately. “No, not now, Mom. It’s not time. You’ll get better, Mom…”  

I clung to her sleeve like a madwoman. “Promise me you’ll get treatment.”  

“Alright, I promise…” She hugged me, soothing me gently.  

I couldn’t stay in Venice for long. After spending one night cuddled up with Mom, I had to leave without even adjusting to the time difference.  

The driver took me to the airport, and this time, Mom accompanied me. “Yingying, Simon doesn’t know about your situation back home. He specially arranged for you to come.”  

“I should have come,” I replied. “Communicate with him properly.”  

Before parting, I embraced her deeply.  

“Mom, I’ll come visit you again next time,” I repeated.  

She smiled. “Such a big daughter, still acting like a child.”  

I exchanged my boarding pass and, as I entered the gate, I turned back to look at her.  

She wore a beige collared shirt, black pants, and a delicate pearl necklace. Standing in the bright hall, she waved to me with a smile.  

Through the glass window, I saw her figure—fine lines at the corners of her eyes, but still the same elegant, beautiful woman.  

That was the last time my mother and I ever met.

I walked into the airport restroom and took out a pregnancy test I had bought at a store.  

Lately, my appetite had been poor, I often felt tired, and I was constantly sleepy.  

When I came out of the restroom, everything was clear—the test strip showed two distinct lines. I was pregnant.  

My heart trembled uncontrollably. There was no joy, only fear—an overwhelming panic that I couldn’t suppress.  

During the long flight, I wrapped myself in a blanket but still couldn’t stop shaking.  

The flight attendant came over several times, tucking the blanket tighter around me and bringing hot water. “Miss, are you feeling unwell?”  

I weakly shook my head. “No.”  

When we arrived in Beijing, I saw Tang Lechang waiting for me at the transit terminal.  

“Why are you back?” I wearily pressed my forehead, avoiding his familiar face. I had become numb to any upheaval.  

“My father’s been arrested, and the case has been transferred to the high court. They’re preparing for the trial. His wife and daughter have fled, and my mother asked me to come back and see him,” he replied.  

I nodded, too exhausted to engage with him.  

“You look terrible,” he touched my head. “Are you sick?”  

I shook my head, sat down on a chair, and turned on my phone after it had been off for three days.  

The phone immediately rang. When I answered, it was Su Jian’s voice: “Yingying, you’re finally reachable. Hold on, Mr. Lao wants to speak with you.”  

There was a knock on the other end, followed by some soft conversation, then silence.  

Jiazhuo’s voice came through, tinged with inexplicable anger: “Where are you?”  

After all I’d been through, he still spoke with such an overbearing tone. I couldn’t help but reply coldly, “What do you want?”  

His tone was stern, as if reprimanding a subordinate: “Come home immediately.”  

At that moment, the boarding announcement echoed through the hall.  

Jiazhuo listened for a moment, then asked, “Why are you going to Beijing?”  

“Traveling to clear my mind,” I snapped irritably.  

“Good, very good,” his voice wavered with anger. “You really have some nerve!”  

I hung up the phone directly.  

Our plane arrived three and a half hours later. When exiting the airport, Tang Lechang carried my suitcase, and I absentmindedly followed behind him.  

As we walked out of the international arrivals area and descended to the first-floor hall, I suddenly heard loud shouting: “They’re here! They’re here!”  

Then came a dazzling flurry of camera flashes. A swarm of reporters rushed toward us, surrounding us completely.  

I stared dumbfounded at the chaos before me.  

Tang Lechang leaned in and whispered, “What’s going on?”  

Before I could answer, microphones were already thrust in front of me. “Excuse me, are you Miss Jiang?”  

Reporters bombarded me with questions:  

“Miss Jiang, is it true that you’re already married to Lao Jiazhuo, the newly appointed CEO of Laotong Group?”  

“When did you get married?”  

“Jiang Corporation is also a well-known company in this city. Was this a business marriage?”  

“Where was the wedding held?”  

“Where was the wedding dress made? Is it a style not publicly available from a famous boutique? Many socialites admire your gown.”  

“Mr. Lao was seen wearing a wedding ring at public events over two years ago. Did you marry then?”  

“Miss Jiang has always stayed behind the scenes, but now that Mr. Lao has ascended to the position of CEO, why announce the marriage now? Is there something hidden behind this?”  

The noise around me was like an ocean of chaos. I was utterly stunned.  

The reporters then turned their attention to Tang Lechang, relentlessly questioning him: “Sir, are you related to Miss Jiang?”  

“Do you know about this?”  

“Miss Jiang, please say something.”  

“Miss Jiang…”  

I stood there, frozen like a statue. Tang Lechang placed a protective hand on my shoulder and tried to push through the crowd. “Excuse me, please make way.”  

Tang Lechang dragged me along as the reporters pursued us relentlessly. We were jostled so much that we nearly fell. All around, countless mouths opened and closed, suffocating me with their incessant chatter. Mr. Lao, Mr. Lao—he had already cast me aside. What did this golden child they spoke of have to do with me anymore?  

The buzzing noise continued in my ears: “Miss Jiang? As a prominent young lady, how could you agree to a secret marriage?”  

“Do you plan to host a banquet for guests in this city?”  

“Mr. Lao has always been admired by many socialites for his charm and wealth. Miss Jiang, how does it feel to have secured such a prestigious match? Do you have any romantic stories to share?”  

“Miss Jiang, do you love Mr. Lao?”  

I couldn’t take it anymore. Irritated, I snapped coldly, “I don’t know Lao Jiazhuo!”  

Tang Lechang grabbed my arm and quietly admonished me, “Yingying!”  

I shut my mouth.  

Tang Lechang shielded me, forcefully pushing through the reporters until we reached the car outside.  

When I got home and pushed open the door, several newspapers were spread out on the coffee table.  

I saw the sensational headlines—on the financial pages, entertainment sections, every magazine and newspaper—large spreads of photos from our wedding.  

White wedding dress, handsome groom, beautiful bride, elegant attire, fine wine, and a gathering of distinguished guests.  

The smiles looked so unreal.  

I slowly collapsed onto the carpet.  

I stared at the photos, my sluggish and confused mind processing them for a long time. Finally, I realized who was behind this.  

I picked up my phone and called Huihui.  

She didn’t answer.  

I mechanically kept dialing her number, again and again.  

After about ten calls, she finally picked up, hesitantly calling my name: “Yingying…”  

“Was it you?” I asked.  

“Did you take the photos from my phone?”  

Huihui hesitated. “You two seemed so happy together. With Mr. Lao ascending to his new position, it seemed like the perfect time to release the news…”  

Seeing that I didn’t respond, she cautiously asked, “I saw the news about you at the airport today. What happened between you two?”  

I couldn’t even begin to describe the exhaustion I felt inside.  

“Yingying?” Huihui called out on the other end. “I’m really sorry. Are you angry? Is Mr. Lao upset with me?”  

“Yingying, I’m sorry,” she pleaded. “Please don’t be mad. I’ll apologize to both of you…”  

I was utterly drained and simply asked, “Huihui, did they offer you a long-term, stable contract?”  

“Mm, my boss was very satisfied this time…” She repeated, “Yingying, I’m sorry.”  

“It’s fine,” I replied dispiritedly. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”  

I called Jiazhuo again.  

This time, I couldn’t get through.  

I slept for a day, and then a lawyer arrived at my door.  

“I’m Mr. Lao’s lawyer. My surname is Zheng,” he said, his bald head gleaming, his smile polite and courteous. “Miss Jiang, we’ve met before.”  

“Hello, Lawyer Zheng.” I opened the door wider and invited him in.  

Maintaining decorum, I asked, “Lawyer Zheng, would you like tea or coffee?”  

“No, no need…” He shook his head. “Miss Jiang, please sit down. I have something to discuss.”  

He pulled several documents from his briefcase. “I’ve been entrusted by Mr. Lao Jiazhuo to speak with Miss Jiang.”  

“What about?” I asked.  

He awkwardly smiled and pushed a thick stack of papers toward me.  

I took the documents he placed on the table and flipped through them page by page. At the end, I saw it—a divorce agreement, written in black and white.  

I felt a wave of darkness wash over me.  

Lawyer Zheng methodically laid out each document in front of me. “Mr. Lao has transferred ownership of units 1018 and 1020 in Lan Yun Garden, where you currently reside, to Miss Jiang. Additionally, Mr. Lao reserved a luxury villa in the central viewing platform of Sen Hai Haoting over a year ago under Miss Jiang’s name. The property spans approximately 40,000 square feet, fully paid for by Mr. Lao, and will be delivered in a year. Mr. Lao has signed all the necessary transfer documents; Miss Jiang only needs to sign her name. Furthermore, Mr. Lao will transfer a portion of his funds and shares to Miss Jiang, totaling approximately $200 million. For the next five years, Miss Jiang may only collect interest and cannot sell the assets. After five years, if Miss Jiang wishes to invest, Laotong Bank will arrange for a dedicated financial advisor to manage her portfolio. If you have any additional requests, please let me know.”  

What use did I have for so much money?  

He had already destroyed me. What purpose would money serve?  

Seeing that I hadn’t responded, Lawyer Zheng politely called out again, “Miss Jiang?”  

Only one thought came to my mind: “Where is Lao Jiazhuo?”  

“Miss Jiang, I don’t know,” Lawyer Zheng said, his gaze tinged with pity.  

“Once you’ve signed all the documents, please notify me to come and collect them.” He placed his business card on the table. “Here’s my contact information.”  

He stood up. “If you have no further questions, Miss Jiang, I’ll take my leave.”  

I tried to stand but found I had no strength. Struggling to hold back my emotions, I softly said, “I’m sorry, I won’t see you out.”  

Lawyer Zheng nodded and turned to walk toward the door.  

I buried my head in my knees, feeling like a dying animal, letting out a silent howl of despair.  

I kept calling Lao Jiazhuo’s number.  

Another life was growing inside me. Though I didn’t intend to use it as leverage, I felt he at least deserved to know.  

His private line was turned off, and another number went unanswered.  

Late into the night, his weary voice finally came through, heavy with exhaustion: “Hello…”  

I gripped the phone and softly said, “Jiazhuo, I need to tell you—the photos weren’t released by me.”  

He replied indifferently, devoid of emotion: “So, was it me?”  

I asked, “Don’t you believe me?”  

He sneered slightly. “The source of the photos was a journalist from New Weekly, Wei. Seems like you two have quite the camaraderie.”  

He had already figured out that Huihui was behind it. I was left speechless and could only say, “Jiazhuo, where are you? I need to see you.”  

“There’s no need,” he said curtly.  

Then added, “Talk to the lawyer if you have any requests.”  

His tone dismissed me as one might dismiss a dog.  

I begged him desperately: “Just ten minutes.”  

“We’ll see,” he coughed on the other end, then hung up.  

I went into the room and lay there for a while until dawn. I got up, changed clothes, and took a cold shower.  

I forced myself to drink some milk, then went directly to the Laotong headquarters building.  

I walked into the Laotong Building. The polished marble floors gleamed, and the people coming and going were impeccably dressed in suits and skirts. I hadn’t bothered to tidy myself up, wearing just a pair of jeans. The receptionist looked at me with a hint of disdain. She called up to the 32nd floor and politely informed me, “Miss, I’m sorry, but Mr. Lao left early this morning.”  

“Mm, I have an urgent matter,” I smiled at her. “Can I wait here for him?”  

“Yes, there are chairs over there where you can rest

I rubbed my numb legs and stood up, taking a few steps to stand by the corridor near the elevator.  

Jiazhuo’s gaze flickered toward me, his expression softening for just a moment.  

I hesitated, wondering if approaching him would be too impulsive.  

But he had already averted his eyes, walking past me without a glance.  

I stared at him as he approached, then watched his profile pass by, leaving me with only his back to look at.  

I stood there, unmoving.  

Jiazhuo paused in front of the elevator, standing there for a few seconds. Finally, he frowned and gestured to Su Jian beside him.  

Su Jian nodded, exchanging pleasantries as he ushered the other men into the elevator.  

Jiazhuo turned and walked toward me.  

His tone was sharp: “What are you doing here? Don’t you think the news is sensational enough?”  

I looked at his face—pale and startling—and despite everything, I still felt a pang of heartache and worry. It was utterly hopeless.  

In front of him, I always pathetically tried to guess his thoughts, wishing I could use every trick I knew to make him smile.  

I softened my voice: “I need to talk to you.”  

Jiazhuo avoided my gaze: “I’m busy right now.”  

I asked: “When will you have time?”  

He furrowed his brow: “Yingying, I’m very busy these days. Don’t make trouble for me.”  

I blurted out: “Too busy to even divorce?”  

His brow remained knitted: “If you’re unhappy, consider studying abroad. There’s no need to confine yourself to such a small world. The marriage registration was done overseas—I can even erase this part of your history. But causing such a public spectacle now, what good does it do you?”  

He had already thought everything through so meticulously. What more could I say?  

Jiazhuo looked down at me, his voice strained but calm: “If you stay with me, I’m too busy to care for your delicate feelings. You’ll only resent me, and we’ll end up as bitter enemies.”  

“Jiazhuo…” I gently tugged at his sleeve: “No, that’s not what I want…”  

He brushed my hand away: “Go home first.”  

I refused to let go, clutching his hand tightly: “Jiazhuo, listen to me. I have something important to tell you…”  

He suppressed his impatience, his voice low and stern: “Yingying, this is the company. Don’t be任性 (childish)!”  

He pushed my hand away with force, twisting my wrist painfully.  

I bit my lip and took a deep breath, managing to say: “Jiazhuo…”  

But he had already turned and walked toward the elevator.  

My legs gave way, and I leaned against the wall for support.  

Jiazhuo walked away without looking back. It seemed he truly didn’t care about my life or death anymore.  

I closed my eyes, holding back the flood of tears.  

At that moment, someone took my arm. A familiar, crisp voice said: “Yingying, get up.”  

I opened my eyes—it was Lin Baorong.  

Lin Baorong helped me into her car and handed me a tissue.  

My tears had dried up, and I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, forcing a weak smile at her.  

She asked: “What happened between you and Second Brother?”  

I opened my mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words. There were too many tangled emotions to untangle.  

“Don’t blame him,” Lin Baorong’s tone was gentle and comforting. “He’s been extremely busy these days. He’s been working like crazy, overwhelmed with emotions and work. Now that the patriarch has stepped down and the eldest son has irresponsibly abandoned his duties, he’s taken on full responsibility. To stabilize the situation, he’s been working almost 24 hours a day. And then this explosive news came out, with the media constantly chasing him about your relationship. Even as an outsider, I feel exhausted watching him. In front of the senior executives, he maintains some composure, but once he returns to the 32nd floor, his assistants are often scolded to the point of being pale with fear.”  

“One day, even Zhang Peter stormed out, cursing him as a tyrant,” Lin Baorong chuckled helplessly. “Only Su Jian and those who’ve followed him for years dare to say a word or two to him. Everyone else just keeps their heads down and works cautiously.”  

“I hired someone to investigate the source of those photos. That journalist was too bold to publish such private pictures. Jiazhuo was furious when he first saw the news. If it were up to me, I’d ensure she’d never work in Hong Kong media again. I even called the secretary of the Chief Secretary of the News Department, but he later said, ‘Forget it.’“  

“It’s also my fault,” I admitted guiltily. “Sister Lin, I caused this mess—”  

“Enough, I know it’s not entirely your fault. However—” Lin Baorong’s tone turned serious. “Yingying, you shouldn’t have said that at the airport.”  

I had already deeply regretted it and now felt even more ashamed: “I’m sorry, I was so angry…”  

Lin Baorong continued: “You know him. He appears gentle and refined, but deep down, he’s incredibly proud. You disappeared without a trace for days, and when the news broke, he couldn’t find you. Then you returned with that boy…”  

“Go home and rest for a few days. Let me handle the media side of things.”  

“Actually, making the announcement isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Marriage and establishing a family are natural for a man.”  

“You two need to find a way to move forward.”  

“You’re already married. There’s nothing that can’t be resolved.”  

Lin Baorong’s words were kind and soothing, but I gradually stopped hearing them.  

Lin Baorong summoned her driver and sent me home.  

I was so exhausted that I collapsed onto the sofa without even changing my clothes and fell asleep.  

It had been several days since I returned, and jet lag combined with my emotional turmoil had thrown my days and nights into chaos. I woke up once in the middle of the night, went back to bed, and slept deeply for who knows how long. When I woke again, I was groggily leaning against the headboard. At some point, I had turned on the TV.  

The curtains were drawn tight, and the room was pitch black, like the depths of the ocean.  

I glanced at the clock—it was already noon the next day.  

The financial channel was broadcasting rolling coverage of last night’s news.  

I forced myself to get up and drink a glass of water, then lay back down and watched TV for a while until my mind began to clear.  

At that moment, Jiazhuo appeared on the screen.  

He was representing Laotong Group at the celebration banquet for Yinjiang Company’s successful IPO.  

He wore a silver-gray suit with a black shirt and a Windsor knot tie, as dazzling as ever. As he passed through the interview area, the cameras zoomed in on his ring, and the media relentlessly questioned him about his marriage.  

He stared directly into the camera, his handsome, angular face cold and stern: “I don’t think my personal choice of accessories affects Laotong’s investment decisions or futures market fluctuations. Please ask professional questions, my friends in the financial press.”  

I stared at the screen, listening to his voice come through the microphone, word by word: “I’m sorry, but I know nothing about those photos.”  

His words were a bloodless, devastating blow aimed straight at me.  

I laughed softly.  

Yes, Lao Jiazhuo never loses. He’s brilliant, cunning, and unmatched. How could he possibly lose?  

I laughed dryly, like a fool, then pulled the blanket over myself tightly. I bit down hard on my fingers, suppressing the trembling spasms. After the pain subsided, all my strength drained away. I sank deep into the bed, unable to struggle anymore.  

I had secretly imagined many times over the past two years that we might separate.  

But now that it had actually happened, the pain was unbearable.  

I hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. I felt like I couldn’t hold on any longer. I truly had no strength left.  

I lay in bed for an entire day, neither eating nor drinking, unmoving. By nightfall, I got up and wandered around the house like a ghost. On the small round table in the living room lay the stack of glaringly white documents. I flipped quickly to the last page, signed my name hastily, pressing down so hard that the pen nearly tore through the paper.  

I glanced at the wet ink, then threw the pen onto the table. Even the sharpest pain was fleeting.  

On the table sat our photo together. We rarely took pictures—aside from those taken by the photographer at our wedding, there was only one other: the day we left Malaysia. One of Gary’s crew had taken it in black and white. Jiazhuo wore a linen plaid shirt, and I stood smiling in front of him. The pose wasn’t intimate, but it radiated a pure, indescribable happiness.  

We both loved this photo, so I had it printed and personally designed the frame. Our names were engraved on the back.  

I picked it up and hurled it violently at the far wall. The wooden frame struck the wall with a sharp crack, followed by the sound of shattering glass. The broken frame fell onto the carpet. I stared at it for a moment, then crouched down, brushing aside the shards of glass and tearing out the photo.  

I ripped apart my smiling face. The glass cut my fingers, and beads of blood emerged.  

At that moment, the excruciating pain in my heart eased slightly.  

For some reason, I became strangely fascinated by this sense of release.  

In a daze, I picked up a shard of glass and sliced open the skin on my wrist.  

Blood flowed out, and I moaned softly in relief. So this was it—when the pain reached its peak, all I wanted was escape.  

A small pool of blood spread, soaking the soft woolen carpet beneath me.  

My vision slowly blurred, and my strength ebbed away. I gradually collapsed onto the floor.  

I thought I might die.  

Suddenly, I felt a flutter in my stomach.  

I knew it was an illusion—it had only been a little over a month, just a clump of flesh and blood in my uterus.  

But a wave of unbearable sorrow and attachment washed over me. I struggled to crawl to the sofa, searching for something to wrap my wound.  

At that moment, a loud crash came from downstairs, followed by hurried footsteps and someone shouting: “Jiang Yiyin!”  

I saw Tang Lechang rush into the living room.  

He froze at the doorway for a moment, then exclaimed and ran toward me: “Yingying!”  

He dashed in, kicking aside the chair blocking my way, and lifted me into his arms.  

Tang Lechang placed me on the sofa, grabbed a piece of clothing, and pressed it firmly against my wound. Then he asked: “Where’s the first aid kit?”  

“Tang Lechang,” I murmured deliriously, still managing to ask: “Why are you here?”  

“Do you have a first aid kit?” he pressed my wrist tightly.  

“How did you get in?” I looked at him.  

“The elevator card hidden in your book—I kept it,” he spoke quickly and urgently. “Jiang Yiyin, damn it, where’s the first aid kit?”  

“Just a surface cut,” I mumbled. “The wound isn’t deep.”  

“You’ve lost a lot of blood.” He ignored me, rummaging through the living room before rushing into the study and retrieving a box. Kneeling in front of me, he examined my wound, disinfected it quickly, applied hemostatic powder, and wrapped my wrist tightly with gauze.  

He helped me up: “I’ll take you to the hospital.”

I vehemently protested: “Don’t take me to the hospital!”  

Tang Lechang finally came to his senses, his voice a mix of anger and fear. “You weren’t answering your phone! Thank goodness I came over…”  

He inspected me from head to toe, his gaze shifting into one of sorrow and reluctance. He pressed his hands firmly on my shoulders and shouted, “Have you gone mad? For a man? Have you lost your mind?! Is it worth it? Is it worth it?!”  

I burst into tears. “Tang Lechang, the pain is unbearable.”  

He asked, confused, “What exactly happened between you two?”  

“Aren’t you supposed to go back to studying?” I buried my head in my knees and sobbed uncontrollably. “Take me with you… please…”  

“Take me away!” I was already losing my mind. “I don’t want to stay here anymore! Take me away! I want to find my mom—”  

“Oh… even Mom can’t help…” I clutched my head in agony. “Just get me out of here, please…”  

Tang Lechang hastily pried my hands apart. “Be careful, don’t touch your wound—”  

“Tang Lechang, please,” I cried uncontrollably. “If I stay in this house for one more second, I’ll die. Please, I need to leave…”  

“Alright, I’ll take you to your mom’s place…” he asked, “Where’s your passport?”  

Tang Lechang went into the room. My suitcase from when I returned from Italy was still there. He rummaged through it, pulling out my passport, wallet, and dumped everything into the canvas bag I usually used for carrying design drawings. Then he found a coat and wrapped it tightly around me.  

“Can you walk?” he asked, then shook his head himself and lifted me up in his arms.  

His car was parked downstairs. We got in and sped toward the airport like the wind.  

In the ticketing hall of the airport, he helped me sit down on a chair, then rushed over to the counter. “The next available flight to Europe!”  

The ticketing staff asked, “Which part of Europe?”  

He shouted, “England, France, Germany! Monaco! Anywhere!”  

The ticketing staff stared at him as if he were crazy.  

Tang Lechang took a deep breath, calmed himself, and said, “Dubai. We need to transfer through Dubai.”  

He bought the tickets. Half an hour later, there was a flight to Rome.  

“Yingying,” Tang Lechang rested his hand on my shoulder. “I have cash and bank cards on me. Try to sleep on the plane. After we reach Dubai, I’ll take you to see a doctor.”  

It was already the end of May, yet I was still shivering from the cold. Tang Lechang helped me put on my coat, picked up the bag with one hand, and supported me as I stood up.  

We successfully entered the international departure area.  

I drank half a cup of hot milk Tang Lechang had bought for me, then curled up in the seat, unmoving.  

At that moment, my phone started ringing in my pocket—ringing incessantly.  

It rang many, many times. Tang Lechang picked it up and handed it to me. “Say something.”  

I pressed the answer button. Lao Jiazhuo immediately called out anxiously, “Yingying?”  

I didn’t respond.  

His voice was filled with panic he couldn’t suppress. “Yingying, is that you?”  

He shouted, “Where are you now? The hospital?”  

“Are you alright?”  

“Who are you with?”  

I remained silent.  

His voice hardened, resolute. “Where are you? Tell me!”  

I exhaled faintly, “I’m fine.”  

I heard hurried footsteps on the other end. His breathing was labored, followed by the sound of a car engine starting.  

“You can still talk, thank God…” His voice began to tremble. “Are you hurt? Where are you bleeding?”  

“Yingying, if you’re angry—” His fear was palpable. “Take it out on me, but don’t harm yourself.”  

I heard sharp honking from his car, then the sound of something heavy slamming onto the steering wheel.  

He shouted, “Did you hear me?!”  

Finally, I spoke. “I’m fine. Mr. Lao doesn’t need to worry.”  

“Yingying!” He choked, gasping for air. “Please, take care of yourself. Don’t do anything foolish…”  

At that moment, behind us, a plane took off outside the massive glass windows, its low roar filling the air.  

“Are you at the airport?” He hesitated. “Yingying, what are you doing at the airport?”  

I fell silent again.  

He insisted sternly, “Stay right there. I’m coming to find you.”  

“I’ve already signed the divorce papers,” I said coldly. “You don’t need to come.”  

“Lao Jiazhuo, stop pretending.” My voice was sharp and venomous, light yet cutting. “Everything has gone exactly as you wished.”  

“Yingying…” His voice trembled, tinged with a sob. “How are you? Where are you going?”  

I heard my own voice—soft, gentle, like the deepest confession to a lover I’d cherished for years, or the most reluctant farewell to a lifelong partner. Yet it was icy cold to the bone. “Lao Jiazhuo, I wish I had never met you in this lifetime.”  

My hand trembled, and the phone slipped from my palm, falling onto the chair, then bouncing onto the smooth marble floor.  

The back cover cracked open, but it kept vibrating.  

Tang Lechang picked it up and handed it to me. I was shaking violently, my fingers trembling as I tried several times before finally removing the battery.  

The phone finally went silent.  

I hurled it into the trash bin at my feet with all my strength.  

Then I closed my eyes and collapsed onto the chair.  

The boarding announcement echoed through the waiting hall. Tang Lechang pulled me up, but my legs were shaking so badly I couldn’t stand. He supported my arm and practically carried me to the boarding gate. Just as we were about to enter, a camera flash went off behind us.  

I no longer cared.  

At 10,000 meters above the ground.  

The plane hit turbulence and began to shake.  

The cabin temperature was 20 degrees Celsius, while the atmospheric temperature outside was -55 degrees Celsius. The surface temperature of the plane, heated by friction, was -28 degrees Celsius.  

The temperature difference was 75 degrees.  

If exposed to the elements, the human body would react within a minute.  

If I could break through the cabin wall and reach the clouds just outside the window, I wouldn’t even need to fall—I’d be dead for sure.  

I still love you so much, but all I want is to die in this moment.  

Let me disappear completely, taking all my memories with me.  

Goodbye, Lao Jiazhuo.  

I was dreaming.  

A faint, cold breeze swept across the vast plains of the Apennine Peninsula.  

Countless flowers, like a tide, covered the coffin holding her body. They didn’t let me see her final appearance.  

The priest’s murmured prayers drifted away in the wind.  

My gaze passed over the crowd dressed in black suits, and I saw a bird slicing through the thick clouds, disappearing into the horizon.  

Suddenly, I looked down and saw a pool of crimson blood beneath my feet.  

I felt no panic, no pain. I simply gazed at the steaming, hazy red with deep affection.  

Then my entire body jolted, and I woke up instantly.  

Opening my eyes, the images vanished. Before me was the fluttering purple curtain, revealing the old, worn window frame.  

January in England was damp and cold. The heating in this old building often broke down, leaving me numb with cold. I moved slightly, and a familiar, pounding headache from a hangover hit me.  

From the other side of the room came the luxurious moans of a man and woman entwined in passion. I saw that the door to the opposite room was ajar, revealing two tightly intertwined bodies.  

That was my roommate, Xiaolv, and her latest boyfriend—or rather, the man who paid for her company.  

When I first arrived in London, I met her among the tenants. A lone Taiwanese woman, friendless and family-less, she shared this cramped two-bedroom flat with me. Over the months, men of all kinds came and went from her room, sometimes fighting over a few euros.  

We never asked about each other’s pasts. We simply lived in our own isolated corners of this metropolis, surviving alone.  

I got up, wrapped myself in a coat, and quietly left.  

In the stairwell, someone was frying hot dogs on a small stove, the oily aroma wafting through the air.  

From the narrow spiral staircase, I caught a glimpse of the tip of the Tower of London in the distance.  

This was how I confirmed where I was.  

I no longer remembered how long I’d been in London.  

I simply had nowhere else to go.  

In the first month or two after arriving in London, I would feel my heart tighten whenever I saw a tall Asian man on the street, suffocating as if drowning. I would panic and quickly turn away, like a frightened bird.  

My range of movement was small, mostly confined to the block where I rented a room. This area was on the outskirts of London, inhabited by impoverished unemployed drifters and some illegal immigrants. In the drizzling rain, I grew accustomed to pulling my collar tight and walking with my head down, not knowing anyone, not needing to speak. The only time I interacted with others each day was when I went to the small bar down the street for a drink.  

One day, in a bar called Louise, a woman approached me.  

She greeted me and introduced herself.  

I ignored her, drinking silently.  

She was patient, talking to herself for a while. When I didn’t respond, she suddenly switched to Chinese.  

I glanced at her sideways. “Miss, could you buy me a drink?”  

“I’d be happy to,” she smiled, her tassel earrings sparkling.  

Only then did I notice her short haircut, the contours of her mixed-race face illuminated by the light.  

Emma Sue was the second person I knew in London after Xiaolv. She was an independent Western-style photographer.  

This area, Camden Town in Zone 2, was a famous rock and punk haven, so it attracted all sorts of eccentric artists.  

Emma bought me a martini at Louise that night.  

It was also that night that she invited me to be her model.  

“Why?” I asked.  

“Do you know? I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Emma’s smile was hazy under the lights, fine lines glinting at the corners of her eyes. “You come every night, silent, ignoring everyone who tries to talk to you, never saying a word. Even when you’re drunk, you remain restrained and composed.”  

“You have the expression of a woman, but your body exudes a purity like that of a maiden—thin, childish, as if your chest hasn’t fully developed.”  

Instinctively, I looked down at myself.  

Emma quickly added, “I don’t mean to offend you. Of course, you know, Asian proportions are naturally more delicate compared to European girls.”  

I shrugged indifferently and drained my glass.  

“I have a friend designing a new spring collection and asked me to find a model to shoot a series of photos.”  

“I’ve been searching for the right person to interpret them. Then I met you last month, and I realized those clothes were made for you.”  

I tucked her business card into the back pocket of my jeans and hopped off the stool. “I’ll think about it.”  

Later, I accepted the job. Emma was a decent woman, and the pay wasn’t too bad.  

The first day of work started at 6 a.m. When I arrived at Piccadilly Circus, the photography team was already set up.  

The clothes had no labels, but the quality of the fabric was extraordinary. I had owned some nice pieces before, so I guessed these garments must be from a well-known brand.  

The makeup artist set up a box by the roadside with a folding chair beside it. I sat down, and he combed out my long hair, lifting my face to examine it for a few seconds. He told Emma that my skin was so pale I didn’t need powder, then applied nude blush and bright red lipstick with his fingers.  

The early morning in London was bitterly cold, still cloaked in deep night at 6 a.m. After each shot, they gathered around to review the photos. I peeked at a few frames: the dim streets of Victorian-era London, the walking model a bright splash of spring. The soft silk garments hugged slender limbs, and beneath the elaborate attire was a cold, pale face—stiff, with eyes brimming with unshed tears, shimmering brightly.  

On the screen of the camera, the woman had a pointed chin, delicate features, and pure eyes. But upon closer inspection, there was a sense of restrained violence, as if she were ready to abandon the world at any moment.

I no longer recognized whether that was truly me.

They were deep in discussion, but I found it unbearably dull and wandered off to the side.

The shoot lasted nearly a week, with constant changes in location and setting. Emma’s demands were extremely strict, but I silently complied. If my expression or pose wasn’t right, I carefully analyzed it and tried again and again.

Wearing spring clothing in sub-zero temperatures, I was so destitute I didn’t even own a coat to keep warm. Emma lent me her overcoat, but during breaks, I still shivered uncontrollably.

One day, Emma hand-washed a black-and-white photograph and asked if she could publish it. I glanced at it—it was a candid shot taken by the photographer after work one day. In it, I sat on the steps wearing tattered jeans, a wrinkled cotton shirt, messy black hair, and remnants of makeup on my face, smoking a cigarette with my head bowed.

I stubbed out my cigarette, stood up, and said indifferently, “Do as you wish.”

After the job was done, Emma gave me her overcoat. In return, I gifted her a painting from my bedroom—it was the last time I had picked up a brush after leaving my home country.

It depicted a blurred, white, hollow figure disappearing at the end of a garden path beneath an arch of blooming roses. Beneath it, I had handwritten a line:

“Abandoning myself in forgetting you.”

When Emma learned it was my work, she seemed to love it deeply and thanked me sincerely.

Before we parted ways, Emma hugged me and handed me an envelope. “I have an old friend at the University of Konstanz—he’s an excellent psychologist. I’ve written you a letter of introduction. If you need help, you can contact him.”

Her expression was calm and serene, her gaze toward me unremarkable. She was the kind of woman who remained composed and unfazed by everything.

I accepted the letter and thanked her quietly. I wasn’t surprised that she had already discerned I was suffering from severe mental illness.

Emma disappeared from my life as swiftly as she had entered.

After returning from the shoot, I collapsed into bed and slept for days. When I woke up, I became even more silent. Every time Xiaolv came home and saw me sitting alone by the window, she would be startled.

“Yingying,” she pulled me onto the balcony and pointed to the tangled antennas and makeshift rain covers seven floors below. “Jumping would hurt a lot.”

I smiled faintly at the silent wind in the sky.

Xiaolv added, “And it would be ugly.”

I softly replied, “I know.”

The night before my mother’s surgery, she fell from the top floor of the hospital. Her body shattered like a broken powder compact; the doctors couldn’t even piece her back together.

Xiaolv clutched her chest and pulled me back inside.

After I returned to my deep-sea-like silence, I unexpectedly encountered someone from my past.

That night, as usual, I was at Louise. As I pushed through the crowd, someone grabbed my wrist.

I turned around to see a young face with blond hair and brown eyes.

I stared at him blankly.

The young man studied me carefully, his expression awkward. After a while, he cautiously called my name in English, hesitating: “Yingying?”

I had already recognized him but refused to speak, turning away instead.

He pushed through the crowd and chased after me, grabbing my hand and calling again: “Yingying!”

Finally, I snapped, “Let go!”

As soon as I spoke, his expression became certain, though he was utterly astonished: “Is it really you? What are you doing here?”

When Westerners are shocked, their eyebrows rise dramatically, and their clear eyes brim with question marks.

I ignored him, skillfully pouring myself a drink. The liquid slid down my throat, bringing a fleeting warmth to my icy body.

“Yingying, are you alone?”

“How did you end up in London?”

“Are you traveling?”

Finally, he asked hesitantly, “What about Mr. Lao?”

My hand trembled slightly.

I looked at the young man who had once accompanied me in the snowy forests of Shuli County, full of vitality as ever, while I had turned into rotting wood.

“Listen, Edward,” I coldly replied, “If you want, have a drink. If not, leave.”

When I paid and left the bar, Edward followed me outside.

Ignoring him, I kept walking. He continued to trail behind me—past neon-lit pubs, steaming streets, groups of drunken men, puddles of dirty water, and grimy alleys. I stopped at the rusted iron gate of a building, pulling out my keys.

“You live here?” His expression disapproved.

I sneered, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to pimp you.”

A few days later, when I went downstairs, I unexpectedly found the young man waiting outside.

“Can I pursue you?” he asked.

He handed me a bouquet of pink daisies.

“Go home,” I shoved the flowers back into his hands and quickly walked away.

I wandered aimlessly around the streets and finally decided to buy a train ticket. Edward’s appearance had made me inexplicably restless—I needed to leave as soon as possible.

When I returned, Edward was still waiting downstairs, this fool.

I pretended not to see him and walked straight upstairs.

“Yingying,” he nimbly squeezed into the door behind me, calling my name repeatedly: “Give me some time. Let’s talk.”

I walked into the narrow spiral staircase.

Edward followed. Suddenly, I turned around and cursed him fiercely: “Damn it, I’m not interested in you. Leave!”

I knew I was losing control of my emotions. Beneath my seemingly eternal calm and silence lay the potential for a complete breakdown at any moment.

Perhaps my ferocious expression frightened him, and he took a step back.

I kicked over a trash bin stacked in the hallway and ran up the stairs.

I rushed into my room, dragged a travel bag from under the bed, and began packing.

I only had two or three pieces of clothing with me, along with a sketchbook my mother had left me.

As I took off my clothes to change into a clean undershirt, Xiaolv came in. “Yingying, what’s wrong?”

“I’m leaving.” I pulled on a tank top and stuffed my dirty clothes into the travel bag.

“Where are you going?” Xiaolv asked, somewhat concerned.

We had lived together for over six months. Sometimes, drunk in the middle of the night, we would cry in each other’s arms. Even as strangers, we had developed a bond.

I smiled faintly at her but didn’t answer.

Xiaolv noticed the jade pendant around my neck and exclaimed, “How beautiful!”

I glanced down at it, then casually removed it and handed it to her. “It’s yours.”

Xiaolv happily accepted it, though she asked suspiciously, “Are you sure? It’s not a family heirloom or something?”

I replied indifferently, “No, just something I bought on the street. If you like it, keep it.”

Xiaolv kissed me joyfully and hung the pendant around her neck. “Thank you.”

Soon, there was a knock at the door—three sharp taps. Xiaolv went to open it while I wrapped myself in a blanket and went to sleep early.

In my dream, I smelled a pungent stench of burning.

I woke up coughing from the choking smoke and saw thick plumes billowing outside the window.

I jumped up, threw on my clothes, and ran out, shouting loudly at Xiaolv’s closed door next door: “Xiaolv!”

The naked couple inside was fast asleep, oblivious. I knew they sometimes used hallucinogens during sex.

I kicked Xiaolv awake, ran back into the apartment to grab a soaked towel, and rushed downstairs.

The wooden structure of the old building and the cluttered items fueled the fire, which spread uncontrollably.

The lower floors were in chaos—people running blindly in panic. Some were naked, others clutching their belongings. I watched in horror as a red-hot beam collapsed, crushing a woman beneath it. Screams of agony filled the air.

I crouched and crawled down the safety ladder. The floor was scorching hot, and I could smell my own skin burning.

Enduring excruciating pain, I struggled to crawl to the second-floor balcony. When I heard the firefighters’ shouts from the ladder outside, I collapsed, closing my eyes and passing out.

I woke up in the ambulance and was taken to the hospital.

The emergency room was packed with burn victims, and ambulances kept arriving with more. Soon, the corridors were filled with people—faces charred, moaning in pain, their condition pitiful.

Barefoot, I walked to the restroom to rinse myself with cold water. My arms were blistered and pale, and my swollen feet throbbed painfully as I stepped on the ground. Leaning against the wall, I slowly made my way back to the emergency room. After half an hour, a nurse wheeled me into an ambulance, and the doctor treated me.

Fortunately, the wet towel I had wrapped around myself during the escape protected me. I had crawled close to the ground, so aside from severe burns on parts of my arms and legs exposed during the crawl, the rest of my skin, including my face, was only mildly burned. However, the thick smoke had caused inhalation injuries, leaving my throat hoarse and unable to speak.

The next day, a nurse came to register me. Crowds of reporters flooded in. My face was wrapped tightly in bandages, leaving only my eyes visible.

“Elly Mores,” I rasped, giving a random name.

“Do you need us to contact your family?”

I shook my head.

After two days of sleeping with an IV drip, the nurse removed the bandages from my face on the third day. Lying in the stark white hospital room, surrounded by groans and complaints, I felt like I was going insane. I grabbed a coat from the duty room and slipped out the back door.

At St. Pancras Station, I bought a ticket and traveled alone to mainland Europe.

In my third year in Konstanz, I moved to a small town near Lake Constance on the German-Swiss border.

Konstanz is a beautiful little city. I rented a small house in a quiet neighborhood with a little garden surrounded by a fence. Toby loved it.

Toby was a mixed-breed sheepdog I adopted. He had been abandoned at the Lauchlingen train station, and I took him home, brought him to the vet, bought him dog food, and watched him grow to an impressive two feet tall.

He grew tall and strong, incredibly handsome.

In my first year in Konstanz, I visited Professor Modersak’s psychology lab every two weeks. Struggling with the demon inside me, I had almost lost all ability to function in daily life.

On better days, I would go out for walks along the lakeside paths. After adopting Toby, he would run joyfully ahead of me while I lazily trailed behind. Sometimes, I’d sit in a nearby café or learn a bit of German from the enthusiastic bakery owner.

But most of the time, things were terrible. When waves of despair crashed over me, I even hit Toby—with anything I could grab: a spatula, a hanger, whatever was at hand.

Yet he never cried or whimpered. After being hit, he’d let out a soft whine and run away, but he always came back. Then, with his big, wet, black eyes, he’d watch me collapse in tears in my room.

Under Germany’s animal protection laws, I was guilty of abuse, enough to lose custody of Toby. But he stayed by my side.

Eventually, I couldn’t bear to hit him anymore. I tried whipping my own legs instead.

Each time, Toby would stop me, then snuggle close, nudging my arms and licking my palms.

His personality mirrored my flaws—he was also solitary. Sometimes we’d sulk, but in our loneliness, we embraced each other.

My grandfather passed away from illness in the second year after I left my home country. My aunt hid it from me for a long time, but I eventually found out. That night, I knelt in the church for an entire evening.

None of my family were Christians. I wondered if my confession and prayers could reach him in heaven.

Under extreme emotional repression and pain, Professor Modersak suggested I turn to religion. Konstanz had a lakeside cathedral with Gothic vaults. In a corner beneath the dome, the organist had a devout and melancholy face. I sat in a pew, surrounded by hymns, and gazed upward as sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, moving slowly across the floor. The beast within me gradually calmed.

My condition slowly improved. During breaks, Professor Modersak occasionally chatted with me.

Emma contacted me after I began treatment, informing me that I was already in Germany.

She called me, complaining, “Yingying, when the fire happened, I had people search all the hospitals in London, but none had your name.”

“Emma, thank you for your concern.”

“Yingying, someone offered an astronomical price for the painting you gave me.”

“Emma, that painting belongs to you now. You have the right to do with it as you please.”

“But what if someone asks about the artist’s whereabouts?”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“Please, I didn’t even know where you were at the time.”

“That’s good.”

“Don’t you want to hear who bought it?”

“No, I don’t.” I hung up the phone and went out to play fetch with Toby on the grass.

The houses on this street are spaced apart, and the neighborhood is very quiet.

After regaining my ability to live independently, I entered a vocational school to study art history, which turned out to be rather useless. Through my professor’s recommendation, I started working a few days each month at an autism education and training center in Cannes, teaching the children there how to draw. I then collected their artwork for psychologists to analyze as part of their treatment plans.

Professor Modercack suggested that I could work. When I first came to Europe on a long-distance train, I had suffered burns that became inflamed and infected. A nurse who was in the same train carriage taught me how to dress my wounds and give myself injections. Professor Modercack runs a medical research clinic, and he suggested that I take some training courses. He said that if I were willing, I could become a great nurse at his clinic.

I smiled and told him I would think about it carefully.

In my earlier years, I never imagined that I would become a nurse. But now I feel like I’m adrift in a vast sea, having lost all sense of direction.

I began making friends at school. They invited me to gatherings, and I learned how to make potato and vegetable rolls with salad sauce and minced meat, which tasted surprisingly delicious.

“Yin, you should try to be happier,” said a tall and beautiful girl, always patting me on the shoulder.

I always smiled.

Their kindness accepted a Chinese girl who was used to silence, didn’t know how to make dumplings, and couldn’t sing “Jasmine Flower.”

On countless sleepless nights filled with homesickness and heavy snowfall, I sat by the window, drinking wine paired with vanilla cheese. The alcohol numbed me, bringing temporary relief until the gray-black sky slowly brightened.

If fate exists in this world, I wonder how it moves, forcing me to pay such a painful price.

I merely fell in love with a man I shouldn’t have.

Past memories.

I no longer dare to remember.

Not even the slightest detail.

I don’t dare let any thoughts slip or allow myself a moment of relaxation to indulge in memories of my homeland, the humid southern city where I lived for so long, or the lover I deeply cherished.

I don’t know if this counts as a form of psychological avoidance.

But at least I can heal.

In whatever form, I must heal.

Until my fourth year abroad.

Even later than I had anticipated.

In Zurich, I unexpectedly met Lao Jiazhuo again.

A senior from my time at the University of Konstanz, she had been working in Zurich after graduating with her master’s degree. A few weeks earlier, the Zurich government, together with a domestic cultural media company, had planned to jointly host an annual Chinese Cultural Festival. They needed Chinese girls to act as translators and host guests.

She had originally taken the job, but just a few days before the event, her husband suddenly fell ill and required surgery. In a rush, she asked me to replace her.

I told her honestly, “My vocabulary isn’t sufficient to fully translate classical culture.”

“It doesn’t matter. I have materials you can review. It won’t be a problem,” she reassured me, handing over a thick stack of papers. “Yingying, please help me out.”

I spent several nights studying words under the lamp, then took a train with a few other Chinese girls studying locally to Zurich.

When we emerged from the train station, Zurich was blanketed in heavy snow. We boarded the shuttle bus arranged for us and headed to the hotel.

The festival was held at a five-star hotel. A massive Chinese flag fluttered at the entrance, and since it coincided with the Chinese Lunar New Year, red lanterns hung in the lobby. The entire exhibition hall was decorated with ancient Chinese fans, folding screens, and calligraphy, exuding a classical atmosphere. Upon arrival, I reviewed the collaborating organizations: representatives from the Zurich State Government responsible for economic and environmental affairs, heads of the China-Switzerland cooperation management training program, and several high-tech and new energy development companies from back home. This was already a high-level business negotiation between China and Switzerland.

The staff introduced us to our team leader, a public relations manager named Sasha Ma who had come from China.

Sasha Ma led our group of eight people, mostly international students from nearby universities. We worked about seven or eight hours a day, mainly receiving guests at the front desk and accompanying important visitors. If anyone expressed interest in a project, they could negotiate directly with the relevant company representative. However, that task was handled by professional translators, so our main role was to smile and charm, occasionally translating when necessary.

On the first day, I embarrassingly hid in the restroom to check my notes, but somehow managed to get through it.

On the third evening, it was my turn to rest. I left the hotel and took a taxi to the airport.

At the departure gate, a tall and handsome man appeared, pushing a luggage cart with a familiar, radiant smile.

I waved at him with a smile.

Lechang Tang rushed forward, ruffled my wool hat, and lifted me up in a bear hug. “Yingying!”

I basked in his warm embrace. “Long time no see. How are you?”

Tang Lechang grinned. “It’s not easy to see you. I’m so glad you called me.”

He held my hand tightly, examining my complexion, then gently asked, “Yingying, how are you? Do you still need—”

I shook my head. “I’m fine…”

Four years ago, after Tang Lechang sent me to Venice, he returned to the U.S. to continue his studies. After my mother passed away and I left Italy, we lost contact for a long time.

Until Simon told me that the boy who had accompanied me last time had found his way to his house in Venice.

I eventually called him.

As soon as Tang Lechang answered, he insisted on coming to visit me, but I strongly refused. Still, he persisted.

At the time, I was taking medication that caused severe facial swelling. I didn’t want to see him. From initial silence to eventual emotional breakdowns, I screamed at him. He had only seen me lose control once, and it left a lasting impression.

Tang Lechang was studying at Georgetown’s School of Diplomacy, and though his coursework was demanding, he continued to email me. We met occasionally, about once a year.

The last time I saw him, I had passed my professor’s psychological evaluation and decided to move to Lake Constance.

He still called me from time to time.

After all these years and changes, the youthful romance we once shared felt like another lifetime. Yet, he continued to treat me with care and affection, like family.

He had seen me at my worst, most wretched moments, and because of that, I could now be honest and open with him.

I smiled at him. “I’m okay.”

He hugged me deeply, his voice trembling slightly. “Your strength makes me proud.”

My voice was sincere. “Tang Lechang, thank you.”

After graduating, Tang Lechang began working at the Belgian Embassy. On this trip, he had a car pick him up. As we drove toward the city, traffic was being controlled on the highway.

A nearby town was hosting the World Economic Forum.

Tang Lechang was accompanying officials invited to a forum meeting. After having dinner with me, he drove to Davos while I returned to work. We agreed to meet again in Zurich after he finished his duties.

He insisted on dropping me off at the hotel. As we got out of the car, the girls I worked with teased me upon seeing our close interaction. “Yingying, is this your boyfriend?”

I just smiled and moved on.

The evening before the closing ceremony of the cultural festival, deep winter snowflakes danced in the air. The buildings and streets near the hotel were covered in thick layers of snow.

I stood at the entrance of the lobby with Wenna, a beautiful girl from Dalian studying wind energy engineering in Germany. She was lively and outgoing, and we had been working well together.

We stood at the hotel entrance while Wenna, during a lull, told me about a French guy pursuing her. Suddenly, a ceremonial car from the organizing committee arrived. We straightened up and stood side by side, smiling at the door.

Two men stepped out of the car. I noticed the badges on their chests—a striking red-and-white diamond logo.

The man standing by the car glanced back at the hotel entrance. His face—I had seen it once and would never forget. It was Fengnian Liang.

I was overwhelmed with shock, my hands and feet growing cold.

The two men walked up the steps but didn’t come inside. Instead, they stood there, gazing into the distance.

A luxury sedan glided over the snow-covered road, pulling smoothly into the spacious driveway in front of the hotel. It stopped steadily downstairs.

Fengnian Liang stepped forward to greet them.

The uniformed driver got out and opened the rear door.

Someone else approached, holding a black umbrella.

I watched as the person stepped out of the car.

Time seemed to freeze, like a slow-motion scene from a movie.

A tall man in a dark gray coat emerged, his features distinct and sharp, his face unmistakably Eastern. An assistant took his briefcase, and they exchanged a few quiet words before walking up the red carpet.

I stared blankly at the approaching figure, feeling everything around me begin to spin slowly.

Wenna nudged me from behind, and I mechanically followed her in a slight bow. Her sweet voice echoed in my ear: “Welcome.”

Lao Jiazhuo glanced up absentmindedly, then froze mid-step.

His pupils contracted sharply, and he took a sudden step forward. Panicked, I retreated hastily, hiding behind several colleagues.

His usually calm face now showed an unusual urgency, his hand instinctively reaching out toward me.

It was almost a loss of composure.

The people behind him noticed his actions. Fengnian Liang stepped closer and softly called, “Boss?”

Wenna tugged at me, confused. “Yingying, what’s wrong?”

“Mr. Lao—” At that moment, a loud male voice called out from afar. A group of people hurried out from the glittering hotel lobby, their faces glowing with warmth. “We apologize for not greeting you sooner, esteemed guest.”

The men behind him enthusiastically echoed, “Welcome, welcome.”

Lao Jiazhuo stood frozen on the gleaming marble floor.

His assistant leaned in quietly, whispering a reminder.

Lao Jiazhuo snapped back to reality, his face devoid of emotion. He politely inclined his head and shook hands with the leading man. “Thank you.”

The CEO of the media company, along with the Consul General stationed in Zurich, surrounded Lao Jiazhuo, exchanging hearty greetings and laughter. Passersby couldn’t help but glance over.

A crowd escorted him into the hall.

I was pushed into a corner by the glass doors, my mind blank, struggling to suppress the urge to run away.

Then I heard a voice ask, “Excuse me, which floor has the coffee lounge?”

I turned around blankly.

“Miss?” Fengnian Liang stood in front of me, repeating his question in English: “Where is the coffee lounge?”

It took me a while to find my voice. My face stiff and cold, I replied, “I don’t know.”

I was wearing a suit and had a name tag pinned to my chest, yet my attitude was so defiant that Fengnian Liang frowned slightly.

At that moment, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Peter Zhang’s familiar face appeared before me. He winked at me, flashing a warm smile. “Little Yingying, long time no see.”

I looked at him indifferently, saying nothing.

Fengnian Liang’s expression grew even stranger. Turning around, he asked, “Peter, do you know her?”

“Let’s go,” Peter urged him.

Fengnian Liang looked puzzled. “Isn’t she a staff member? Why doesn’t she know anything…”

“Come on—” Peter scolded him. “If you don’t leave now, you’ll regret it later.”

The distinguished guest arriving on the final day of the exhibition turned out to be the current global president of Laotong Group. It was reported that Lao Jiazhuo would attend the closing ceremony the next day and deliver a speech. That evening, the organizers hosted a welcome banquet on the top floor of the hotel.

Sasha Ma specifically requested that everyone attend, counting it as overtime. There was no way for me to avoid it.

By evening, the staff solemnly handed each of us girls a cheongsam.

“What is this? It feels like we’re being dressed up as hostesses,” Wenna complained half-jokingly, but she still put on the cheongsam with a cheerful smile.

I slipped into the outfit, feeling tightly wrapped like a nut in its shell.

“Yingying, you look beautiful,” Wenna chirped, poking my chest. “How can you be so thin yet still have such a full bust?”

I just smiled at her without saying anything, poured a glass of water, and swallowed the pill.

It was only half a sedative.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. A girl’s voice came from outside: “Hey, Yingying, your handsome boyfriend is here.”

I stepped out of the room to see Tang Lechang rushing in. “Yingying, Laotong Bank is one of the cooperating institutions at this year’s Davos event. I heard his original schedule was to return to Hong Kong directly after the forum summit. I only just learned he was coming over.”

I simply listened quietly.

“Did you see him?” He glanced at me, hesitating before asking, “How was it?”

“Nothing happened,” I said indifferently.

“Still working tonight?” Tang Lechang looked at my attire.

“Mm-hmm.” I nodded, glancing at my watch. “About to start.”

“Alright, I’ve just finished work. I’ll go grab something to eat downstairs,” Tang Lechang said, seeing my calm demeanor and feeling slightly reassured. “Yingying, I’ll come find you later.”

It had been years since I’d attended such an occasion. My usual gatherings were casual affairs among classmates, where everyone wore loose clothing and devoured food heartily. Here, everyone was impeccably dressed, holding glasses of wine, speaking softly and elegantly.

I tried not to touch my wine glass.

Midway through the banquet, Sasha Ma instructed us girls to toast the guests from Laotong Group.

I mingled with the other cheerful girls as we followed Sasha Ma to a round table in a corner of the banquet hall. The boss was seated with several men on a sofa set. I scanned the group—there was no sign of Lao Jiazhuo, which eased my mind somewhat.

It made sense. Given his current status, such banquets likely didn’t require his personal attendance.

Laotong hadn’t sent many people this time, but those present were all senior management, polite and courteous. Peter Zhang wasn’t among them either.

One by one, the girls approached with radiant smiles, exchanged pleasantries, and toasted drinks. Finally, the boss pulled me forward: “Come, Miss Jiang, this is Liang Fengnian, the administrative assistant to the president of Laotong Group.”

Liang Fengnian finally recognized me, exclaiming in surprise: “Miss Jiang, it’s you!”

“Do you two know each other?” The boss, quick to jump on any opportunity, immediately became excited. “Meeting an old friend in a foreign land—a great joy indeed!”

I responded calmly and politely: “Not at all, Mr. Liang is a remarkable young man. I admire him greatly.”

Liang Fengnian glanced at me. This highly capable assistant of Laotong Group, who could handle both high-level meetings and taxi rides, seemed somewhat flustered.

The boss chimed in again: “Mr. Liang must return the toast to our beautiful Miss!”

Reluctantly, Liang Fengnian raised his glass once more.

I lowered my eyes as my glass was refilled.

“Miss Jiang, please drink at your leisure,” Liang Fengnian stammered, then raised his glass and drained it.

I walked away, holding my glass.

My hands were trembling.

I took a deep breath and managed to swallow half a plate of chilled caviar to steady my emotions.

After hiding in the shadows for a while, I was about to excuse myself to Sasha Ma when a commotion arose in the banquet hall.

Many people rushed forward to greet someone.

I turned my head briefly, then quickly averted my gaze.

It was Peter Zhang accompanying Lao Jiazhuo at the entrance of the spiral staircase.

I heard the girls beside me whispering about him, eager to approach and offer a toast.

I quietly slipped away, standing in a corner to examine a pot of orchids.

I stood behind the curtain, head bowed, listening to the laughter and clinking of glasses drifting from the hall, accompanied by delicate string music. The boss, trying to appear cultured, had arranged for a Chinese girl to play the guzheng.

A moment later, someone stood beside me, calling softly: “Yingying.”

My whole body jolted.

He moved closer, his faint, enveloping scent paralyzing my limbs, making me unable to move.

I wanted to flee, but the hall was filled with elegantly dressed figures. Struggling to control my emotions, I lifted my head: “Hello.”

He was much thinner than four years ago, but his presence was even colder, commanding like an emperor.

His gaze was fixed on my face, so intense and deep it felt as if he were burning a hole through me.

That gaze scorched my skin, and I turned my face away, refusing to look at him.

Neither of us spoke. We were strangers, unable to find words for small talk.

I turned to leave.

Lao Jiazhuo stepped in front of me and spoke: “Yingying, let’s go sit downstairs.”

“No need,” I said, already taking a step forward.

He grasped my wrist, his gentle yet authoritative voice brooking no refusal: “Yingying, you must talk to me.”

“She doesn’t have to meet anyone unless she wants to,” a hand rested on my shoulder, radiating comforting warmth. Tang Lechang’s voice cut clearly through the noisy background: “Unless she chooses to.”

Lao Jiazhuo looked at Tang Lechang beside me, his expression darkening.

Tang Lechang extended his hand gracefully: “Mr. Lao, nice to meet you.”

Lao Jiazhuo shook his hand briefly, coldly.

“Yingying,” Lao Jiazhuo spoke, addressing only me: “Let’s go sit downstairs for a bit.”

Tang Lechang said: “Yingying, if you don’t want to go, just tell him.”

Lao Jiazhuo remained silent, standing rigidly in front of me, his gaze never leaving my face. I had never realized how overwhelming and inescapable his presence could be.

The atmosphere grew inexplicably tense.

I saw Sasha Ma heading this way.

I said to Lao Jiazhuo: “Let’s go.”

Tang Lechang adjusted my shoulders gently: “I’ll wait for you in the guest room.”

I nodded.

Lao Jiazhuo’s expression grew even darker.

We took the elevator from the top floor down to the coffee lounge, silent the entire way.

We sat on a quiet sofa in the corner. A waiter approached, greeted us softly, and handed us menus. It felt like a vivid nightmare.

His eyes kept gazing at me, intermittently, yet persistently.

In the dim light, I glanced at him.

He was dressed formally for the banquet, impeccably groomed, his hair neatly styled, revealing a smooth, full forehead. His face, unchanged by time, was the same one etched into my memory countless times over the years. Four years had left no mark on him except for a greater sense of stability and strength. He was even more handsome and polished.

His face was a deadly poison, plunging me into despair again and again.

Inside, I was overwhelmed by turbulent emotions, but outwardly, I remained dull and silent.

Lao Jiazhuo spoke softly: “These past few years, where have you been?”

I didn’t answer.

“In Europe?” His hoarse, tender voice asked.

“Yingying?” He repeated.

I feared I would lose my mind at any moment.

“Mm,” I murmured vaguely.

“How have you been? Why are you here as a translator?”

I slowly opened my mouth: “Mr. Lao, I don’t owe you an explanation of my life.”

His expression dimmed slightly, his eyes swirling with unspoken emotions, but ultimately, he only said: “I’ve been looking for you.”

The world is vast, yet I couldn’t escape Lao Jiazhuo, no matter how far I ran.

A wave of sorrow washed over me.

Lao Jiazhuo reached out suddenly, grasping my hand resting on the table.

I stood up abruptly, staring at the painfully familiar ring on his left ring finger, and recited the lines I had rehearsed countless nights: “Is Mr. Lao here in Switzerland on business? Zurich is beautiful. Did your wife accompany you?”

His face turned pale instantly, and he fell silent, staring at me.

I sneered, pushed back my chair, and walked away.

I had spent all my strength resisting him.

Even if it hurt me deeply, I had to retreat at all costs.

Tang Lechang accompanied me back to the hotel room.

We sat in the room for a while. I smoked half a pack of cherry-flavored cigarettes before calming down slightly.

“Am I terrible?” I asked bitterly, looking at Tang Lechang. “After all these years…”

Tang Lechang said tenderly: “No, you’ve done well enough.”

We mixed ice into our drinks and emptied a few glasses, gradually relaxing.

“Yingying,” Tang Lechang suddenly looked at me. “All these years, I’ve wondered: Was it wrong of me to take you away back then?”

I had never heard him mention this before and was somewhat shaken: “Why would you think that?”

He gave a faint, bitter smile: “Maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Maybe he would have changed his mind…”

I placed my hand on his shoulder and said softly: “If he hadn’t come, I would have already died.”

I said solemnly: “I will always be grateful to you.”

Tang Lechang said: “Regardless, the milk has already been spilled.”

“Enough,” I nudged his chair. “Stop being so sentimental.”

Tang Lechang said: “Yingying, shall I take leave and escort you back to Cannes?”

“No need,” I replied. “I’ve booked my ticket in advance. It’s just over an hour’s drive.”

He had just received a call about urgent business and needed to return tonight.

Tang Lechang gave me some parting advice, put on his coat, and I escorted him downstairs.

I returned upstairs, took a sleeping pill with the lingering effects of alcohol, and collapsed onto the bed, falling asleep.

The next day, during the closing ceremony, Lao Jiazhuo, representing the Chinese financing side, delivered a brief speech.

We concluded our welcoming duties, and Sasha Ma dismissed us. I stood outside the hall corridor, hearing the enthusiastic applause erupt inside.

From afar, I glimpsed a tall figure in a black suit walking steadily onto the stage. Lao Jiazhuo bowed slightly, then smiled perfectly at the guests and cameras, exuding an elegance and grace that was unmatched.

I quietly turned and left, hearing his deep, melodious voice in the corridor: “Respected Consul General of Zurich and Liechtenstein, Mr. Liang Jianquan, and distinguished representatives of the business communities of China and Switzerland…”

This was the first time I openly stood in his professional setting.

Yet, we were now strangers separated by an insurmountable distance.

I passed through the classical, long exhibition hall, went upstairs, and returned to my room.

In the hotel room, some colleagues who had finished early gathered together, enthusiastically discussing their farewell dinner plans.

I packed my belongings into a suitcase, quietly crossed the corridor, took the elevator downstairs, hailed a taxi, and headed straight to the train station.

Half an hour later, I boarded the train and left Zurich.

I woke up in the morning, brewing coffee in the kitchen, when I suddenly heard Toby’s excited barking outside.

Then a man’s voice called out from beyond the garden gate: “Hey, hey, little Yingying! Help!”

Following the sound, I stepped outside. The house was usually empty except for me, so Toby rarely encountered strangers. Every time the mailman came, he would chase him with enthusiastic fervor, leaving the poor man fleeing in panic. Who could possibly be visiting at this hour?

As expected, I saw Toby bounding around the fence, chasing someone up and down. Amidst this lively dog-and-man scene, a tall, athletic figure turned around—it was Peter Zhang.

Standing on the porch, I called out: “Toby, come here.”

Toby responded and ran to my feet.

Peter Zhang straightened his clothes, circled around the garden, and walked up the steps to the front of the house, smiling brightly: “Hi, Yingying.”

I leaned against the doorframe, lips pursed, watching him.

His smile was familiar, as if visiting an old friend: “Why do you live so far out? The taxi driver had a hard time finding this place.”

I had no choice but to respond: “What brings you here, Mr. Zhang?”

He climbed two steps to stand beside me: “You left so hastily the other day in Zurich. You know Jiazhuo has been looking for you.”

I sneered: “He’s powerful now, with countless people vying to serve him. Why bother searching for someone like me?”

Zhang Peter looked at my sarcastic expression, momentarily masking his surprise with a composed demeanor. Casually, he said, “He really wanted to come himself, but work has been pressing too hard for him to leave. However, it seems that his sudden change of plans in Zurich wasn’t impulsive after all. Su Jian has been searching for you for so long, yet couldn’t match the intuition Jiazhuo had at the airport in just a fleeting moment...”

I stood still, arms crossed, watching him.

Zhang Peter shrugged. “The boss asked me to check if there’s anything I can help you with—”

He glanced at Toby. “Damn, it looks like your only need is to buy a chain to tie up this dog.”

Upon hearing this, Toby barked fiercely at him.

Peter glared at Toby. “Hey—”

Toby rolled playfully at my feet, clearly pleased with himself.

I spoke up. “Mr. Zhang, please leave.”

This CFO of Laotong Bank wasn’t so easily dismissed. Smiling smoothly, he replied, “Yingying, we’ve known each other for a while. You can’t treat an old acquaintance this way.”

I retorted, “What purpose does your visit serve?”

Peter asked, “When I arrived in Konstanz, I heard that you’ve been at the psychological treatment center at the University of Konstanz?”

I responded indifferently, “So what?”

A puzzled look crossed his face. “Yingying, are you unwell?”

I countered, “Don’t you already have access to that information?”

Peter sighed, “That stubborn German personality! That professor wouldn’t budge, insisting on protecting your privacy and refusing to provide any details. He only mentioned that you suffered from severe psychological issues, though temporarily recovered, you still require a long recovery process.”

I nodded calmly. “He’s right. That’s exactly the case.”

Peter was momentarily speechless.

I crouched down, hugging Toby’s head and nuzzling his nose.

“Yingying... I didn’t expect such a drastic change in you,” Peter sighed. “When I sent the investigation report back to Hong Kong, Su Jian told me he sat in his office for several nights. The only reason he hesitated to come was that he feared you wouldn’t want to see him.”

I patted Toby’s head. “Toby, let’s go inside.”

Peter took a step forward. “Yingying...”

I turned away indifferently and went back into the house.

Peter relented. “Alright, alright. I won’t mention him. But surely you can offer me a cup of tea?”

I opened the door wider, inviting him in. After serving him tea from the kitchen, I pushed open the back door of the house and sat cross-legged on a wide chair under the eaves, gazing at the lush greenery in the courtyard.

Peter held his teacup and walked around the living room. “No TV? Yingying, you’re practically living in the 18th century. What do you do for entertainment at night? Write letters by candlelight with a quill pen?”

I didn’t respond.

How could I tell him that every night, I only did two things: drink and read Shakespeare?

Cutting myself off from the noise and restlessness of the outside world brought me fleeting inner peace.

After drinking a cup of tea, Peter surveyed my house again, as if confirming something. “Yingying, isn’t the Tang kid with you?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Who said I’m with him?”

“Su Jian mentioned it,” he muttered. “Didn’t you two... that night?”

“He was just passing through, visiting me,” I said calmly.

Peter suddenly burst into laughter. “It’s better this way, much better. Now I can report back without seeing the boss’s sour face.”

I ignored his inexplicable cheerfulness and turned to watch Toby playing in the sunlight in the courtyard.

Peter didn’t stay much longer. Before leaving, he scribbled a string of numbers on a notepad in the living room, his tone sincere. “This is my number, unrelated to the boss. If you need anything, you can call me, Yingying.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

I watched him push open the wooden gate, turn to wave at me, then stride toward the parking spot across the street.

Memories surged forth, heavy and tumultuous.

When I returned from Zurich, I considered moving immediately, but later decided against it. I couldn’t run away forever.

Spring arrived quickly. My aunt came to visit and stayed with me for a week.

We drove around the lake area for several days.

On the evening before she left, we chatted on the porch in front of the house.

She asked, “Do you have enough money?”

I replied, “Yes.”

My aunt scrutinized my expression, then said, “Yingying, have you considered going back?”

I lowered my head, silent.

She sighed. “You’re the only girl in our Jiang family, yet you’ve wandered so far away.”

I gave her a faint smile.

With both exasperation and affection, she stroked my hair. “Yingying, take good care of yourself.”

I leaned into her embrace, just like when I was little, tightly hugging her waist and drawing warmth from her presence. After Mom left the Jiang family, there were many nights when I fell asleep holding onto her.

After my aunt left, one night I received a call from Lao Jiazhuo.

I wasn’t entirely surprised, having mentally prepared myself. Since Peter Zhang had been tasked with finding me here, it was natural that he would report back in detail. I just didn’t expect Jiazhuo to call personally. All past grievances had faded with time, yet he persisted in pursuing me. How unwilling was he to let me go?

He softly asked, “Yingying, may I come visit you?”

After a few seconds of silence, I finally answered, “There’s no need, Mr. Lao.”

“Yingying?” His voice carried my name, low and hoarse, tender and lingering.

I wasn’t deliberately cold; I truly had nothing more to say.

After about a minute, I hung up.

I didn’t dwell on his thoughts because I suspected my aunt might be facing difficulties.

A few days later, I called my uncle.

After some hesitation, he finally admitted honestly, “Yingying, I’m sorry. It’s because of me. My school has an exchange program with Canada, and your aunt is worried about home, so we’ve been unable to proceed.”

After Grandpa passed away, the Jiang family declared bankruptcy. The remaining factories along the coast were managed by a few uncles in the family. Dad sold the ancestral home and moved to Singapore with his wife and children.

Aunt Yun’s eldest brother in Singapore had some businesses, so they sought refuge there as a temporary measure. But indeed, there was no better path forward.

Grandma, adhering to the Jiang family’s traditions, refused to leave before the three-year mourning period for Grandpa ended.

My aunt worried about Grandma staying alone at home, so she hesitated to leave.

Sitting on the sofa, I stroked Toby’s fur beside me. “Uncle, thank you for telling me.”

When the golden leaves began to fall by Lake Constance, I finally started packing my belongings.

The small inheritance Mom left me had been spent during my four years of wandering. I barely had enough to cover the plane ticket.

I terminated my rental contract, gave the furniture to my neighbors, and bid farewell to Professor Modercack.

The hardest part was saying goodbye to Toby. I couldn’t bring him with me, so I entrusted him to a classmate for care.

It was Felix, a classmate I met in university. His family had a Golden Retriever, and Toby got along well with him.

I drove Toby to Felix’s house.

Toby’s round eyes seemed to sense something ominous, and he remained obediently by my feet.

I handed over his toys and a large bag of dog food to Felix, then crouched down to hug him, suddenly feeling an overwhelming ache.

Toby’s innocent, warm black eyes welled up with tears. He placed his paw on my shoulder and whimpered continuously.

I let go and stood up. Toby cried out pitifully, tightly biting onto my pant leg.

Felix pulled on Toby’s collar. “Hey, Toby, be good.”

As I walked out of Felix’s house, Toby followed me out persistently, lying by the iron gate and barking mournfully at me.

Tears blurred my vision as I turned away, but I forced myself to walk resolutely, shedding tears all the while.

In that moment, I extinguished the last trace of softness within me.

When the plane landed at the airport, the view outside was no longer the quaint German border town with its coniferous forests and red rooftops, but the gray-green tropical cityscape of towering buildings.

The airport corridor walls displayed large advertisements for Laotong Bank. I felt a chill run down my spine as I passed them.

At the arrival hall, I collected my luggage and dragged my suitcase out, where my aunt and uncle were waiting for me.

“Yingying, welcome home.” My aunt hugged me tightly, her eyes brimming with tears.

Even my uncle was astonished. To lighten the mood, he teased her, “Oh, oh—the Iron Lady sheds tears!”

Uncle drove us home.

Grandma waited downstairs, dressed neatly in silk with buttoned-up attire, as kind and gentle as ever, though her hair was now completely white. As soon as she saw me get out of the car, she approached, holding my hand, tears streaming down her aged face.

After selling the ancestral home, Grandma moved in with my aunt. But since both she and her husband were busy, they had no time to care for her. My aunt and I discussed hiring a caregiver for Grandma, as her health was gradually declining.

Once everything was settled, I proposed moving out to find a place of my own.

Grandma’s mindset remained traditional. “It’s unsafe for a girl to live alone.”

I softly said, “I’m used to living alone.”

My aunt gently persuaded her. “Mom, the neighborhood security is very good these days. If Yingying likes it, let her be.”

She sighed and said no more.

When I went house hunting, I found a nice two-bedroom apartment. The owners were a young couple relocating for work. My aunt accompanied me to see it and also thought it was great. However, I found the rent expensive. I had little money left. Though we grew up in relatively affluent circumstances, I knew my aunt rarely worried about finances. Having practiced legal aid for many years and with my uncle teaching at a university, their salaries were modest. After the Jiang family’s complete downfall, I knew they weren’t wealthy either.

Still, my aunt insisted on helping me rent it, so I reluctantly agreed.

I moved in quickly.

My aunt told me, “There’s one more issue. The school requires constant contact with Jiang Yihao’s guardian.”

Only then did I learn, “Dad didn’t take him along?”

My aunt explained, “Back then, finances were tight, and we could only take the younger ones.”

My aunt and I went to the school. Jiang Yihao was in his final year of high school at a boarding school but showed no interest in academics.

I sat in the teacher’s office and left my phone number.

A week later, at the same terminal, I watched my aunt and uncle’s plane take off.

After leaving the airport, I took a bus back to my apartment. One task after another awaited, leaving no time to rest properly. I drew the curtains, swallowed a sleeping pill, and fell into a deep sleep.

During the first few weeks back in the country, I struggled immensely to adjust.

I had grown accustomed to the quiet and comfortable life in Konstanz. In the mornings, I would rise in the breeze, open the backyard door, and see Toby leisurely strolling on the grass.

But now, all I had downstairs were 24-hour convenience stores, bakeries, hair salons, and bustling streets lit up even late into the night.

Sometimes, alone in the apartment, even the sound of a neighbor knocking on their door startled me.

Before bed, I drank a bit of alcohol, drifting off with a slight buzz. I noticed a new email on my laptop.

I opened the inbox—it was from Felix. He inquired about some of Toby’s habits I hadn’t detailed, conveyed greetings from a few classmates, and mentioned that after I left, someone had come looking for me at my old residence. They traced Toby’s whereabouts to him, but as I instructed, he hadn’t disclosed my whereabouts.

He attached a few photos of Toby.

I reached out and touched the screen, tracing Toby’s alert, upright ears. With half a glass of wine, I swallowed my pill, wrapped myself in a blanket, and fell asleep.

Aside from visiting Grandma every few days, I spent my time wandering the streets, frequenting supermarkets, department stores, roadside cafés, small restaurants downstairs, and tobacco shops. I interacted with different people, ordering meals, saying hello, please, thank you, and sorry. Walking through streets once familiar but now tinged with unfamiliarity, I had no intention of revisiting old memories. I simply forced myself to re-enter the rhythm of this city’s life.

Then, exhausted, I’d return home, clean up, and collapse into bed.

After two weeks of this, I decided to find work.

I retrieved Emma’s number.

Emma introduced me to a colleague in the fashion industry. The name on the card was Fredy Chan, Creative Director at a renowned fashion magazine’s photography studio. On the phone, his voice was very refined: “Yes, Emma mentioned you, Miss Jiang. Please come for an audition.”

I wore a plain white shirt, jeans, white canvas shoes, and went to the fifth floor of the building without makeup.

The floor displayed the magazine’s beautiful logo. Stylish young men and women came and went, occasionally carrying cameras and reflector boards, walking briskly. The walls were plastered with various posters.

Fredy’s office was located in Zone C. Aside from a light-blocking venetian blind, the rest were transparent glass walls. They embraced an open office environment.

Fredy wore a simple shirt, khaki pants, and white sneakers. Around 35 years old, his minimalist attire accentuated his composed demeanor, making him look incredibly stylish.

He stood up and led me to a set of beige sofas, then sat down across from me. 

After giving me a thorough once-over, his gaze was warm yet professionally scrutinizing. He finally said politely, “Miss Jiang, the photoshoot you did as the chief designer for Uihkjbjb several years ago was one of the most stunning works in the industry that spring. But after that dazzling debut, you disappeared for years. Now that you’re willing to return to work in the industry, we’re truly honored.”

Only then did I realize how high Emma had set the bar for me.

My first job under Fredy was shooting a print ad campaign for a domestic independent fashion designer’s winter collection. The brand wasn’t particularly famous among big-name labels but had gained an unusual following within niche circles due to its unique artistic charm.

The photoshoot took place in three indoor studios and two outdoor locations. 

I quickly agreed without any additional requests or conditions, focusing solely on the work.

I had no formal training, not even basic skills like walking positions in front of the camera. However, the staff treated me kindly, and eventually, my lack of cooperation with photographers became part of my style.

One evening, after finishing a day’s shoot indoors, I removed my makeup, packed up, and walked out. After bidding farewell to my colleagues and heading down the company building, I noticed a woman asking the receptionist in the lobby, “Excuse me, do you know where Miss Jiang Yiying works?”

I glanced over subtly. She was a slim woman wearing a light-colored business suit.

It was Wei Huihui.

Without changing my expression, I walked straight past her.

The receptionist shook her head—they didn’t know my Chinese name.

Huihui was quick-witted. She immediately asked about my English name: “YinYin Kwong—”

The girl at the desk pointed toward my retreating figure: “That’s her.”

Huihui hurriedly ran after me and called out from behind: “Yingying!”

I kept walking without stopping.

She rushed in front of me, studied my face carefully, and then exclaimed with surprise and delight: “It really is you—”

“Yingying,” she stepped forward and grabbed my hand. “It’s me, Huihui!”

I stared at her hand gripping mine, unmoving.

Huihui awkwardly let go.

I didn’t have the energy to reminisce about old times with her.

She tried to make conversation: “A colleague mentioned that Style recently signed a model. I saw your photo by chance—I thought it just looked like you, but it really is you! When did you come back?”

“You’ve mistaken me for someone else,” I said woodenly.

I walked past her, descended the steps, got into a taxi, and left in a cloud of dust.

The next day at work, I felt a bit uneasy, but fortunately, I didn’t see her again. I was too exhausted to deal with anyone—I just wanted to sink quietly into the deep blue sea and avoid meeting any old acquaintances.

Still, it seemed Huihui was still in the media industry, so it was inevitable we’d meet again. But it didn’t matter; this photoshoot was nearing its final stages. Once I finished retaking a few shots, I could wrap up.

I could always switch to another job.

Fredy called me into his office: “Would you consider joining us full-time?”

He reviewed the photos on his computer screen, nodding appreciatively. “You have a unique quality essential for this line of work. Even if you don’t continue modeling, you’d excel in other areas.”

I nodded calmly. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

I left his studio with the contract he gave me.

Before I had time to fully consider my future, I received a call from Simonini.

After returning to the country, I had contacted Simonini to retrieve my mother’s sketchbooks.

The only manuscript I had taken with me was lost in that fire. My mother had published two art collections during her lifetime, one of which was even titled Ying. 

In the end, I had been loved.

I needed to hold onto something; my hands couldn’t be empty.

Simonini brought me all of my mother’s published works. He invited me to Hong Kong—he had just purchased a rare set of jade at Sotheby’s and needed to attend a charity gala. Having no close friends locally, he sincerely invited me to join him.

When my mother passed away, Simonini had been devastated but still remembered to repeatedly ask me to stay in Italy. However, I insisted on leaving. This would be the first time I’d seen him since we parted four years ago.

We met at the hotel. Despite the years, he still maintained his impeccable manners, dressed elegantly, though he had aged significantly, with streaks of gray at his temples. He embraced me warmly: “Yingying, it’s such a relief to see you.”

After a nap, I accompanied him for afternoon tea. He had business to attend to, so I returned to my room to rest. Later, a stylist came to do my hair and makeup.

That night, a grand banquet was held at the Gold Coast Hotel, attended by the city’s elite.

I wore a pearl-colored dress that reached my ankles, paired with a pink fur shawl covering my bare arms. I walked into the banquet hall on Simonini’s arm.

People approached him to shake hands and exchange pleasantries, while I simply nodded and smiled.

As we paused near the entrance, I suddenly felt a cold, burning gaze from behind.

Then, the surrounding guests began to move forward. I turned to see Lao Jiazhuo in a sleek black suit, wearing a silver-gray tie, accompanied by a beautiful woman in a striking red gown. They entered the banquet hall gracefully.

The woman’s dress swayed elegantly, her shoulders partially exposed, her smile sweet. Beside her, Lao Jiazhuo’s slightly furrowed brow made his face appear even colder and more aloof. She clung tightly to his hand.

What a dazzling pair they made. Murmurs of admiration rippled around them.

Several people standing near Simonini greeted them: “Good evening, Mr. Lao—”

Lao Jiazhuo happened to pass by us. One of his entourage enthusiastically introduced him: “Mr. Lao, allow me the honor of introducing Mr. Simonini from Italy.”

He didn’t forget to flatter Simonini: “Yesterday, Mr. Simonini had the discerning eye to acquire that rare set of jade.”

The man then turned to Simonini: “This is Mr. Lao Jiazhuo of Laotong Group.”

Lao Jiazhuo extended his hand and shook Simonini’s courteously.

Then, the beautiful woman beside him stepped forward with a smile. Simonini, ever the gentleman, placed his hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheeks.

All the social formalities were observed. I prepared to leave, still holding Simonini’s arm.

Suddenly, the woman beside Jiazhuo spoke: “Mr. Simonini, aren’t you going to introduce your lovely companion?”

Simonini patted my hand affectionately: “My dear angel, Miss Yingying.”

Lao Jiazhuo’s stern face remained unsmiling, his brows furrowed as his gaze locked onto me, unwavering.

The woman beside him glanced at me and smiled politely: “Miss Jiang looks familiar.”

I gave a cold smile, understanding her veiled meaning. She likely recognized me as a minor celebrity from that fashion magazine—a model trading on beauty, relying entirely on the generosity of wealthy patrons for her attire.

I remained expressionless, saying nothing, exuding an air of icy detachment.

At that moment, Su Jian arrived with his two children.

The glamorous woman immediately brightened, bending down to shower kisses on the two little ones.

Su Jian stood beside Lao Jiazhuo and whispered: “Mr. Lao, Mr. Fengtai Jin is waiting for you.”

Lao Jiazhuo gave a slight nod.

As Su Jian passed by me with his children, he glanced at me curiously but didn’t recognize me.

I focused only on the two precious children beside him—both with rosy apple cheeks. The girl wore a white lace dress, and the boy a small vest and suit jacket. Likely twins, they were utterly adorable.

Su Jian already had children clinging to him. Time was indeed cruel.

Simonini exchanged a few polite words, then we moved away.

When we took our seats, Lao Jiazhuo’s table was a few tables away. As I leaned over to speak with Simonini, I noticed the woman beside him leaning close to whisper in his ear, laughing flirtatiously. She nearly rested her head on his shoulder.

Lao Jiazhuo sat upright, maintaining an immovable calmness. His stern profile, illuminated by shifting lights, appeared almost frozen.

After sitting for a while, Simonini patted my hand: “Yingying, I’m tired. Let’s go back and rest.”

He could tell I was impatient—a considerate old man.

I stood up with him.

Taking the opportunity, I glanced sideways and noticed Lao Jiazhuo had already left his seat.

The next day, Simonini flew to Shanghai on the mainland.

I took a bus home, and while crossing through customs at Luohu Port, I received a call from Lao Jiazhuo: “Yingying, if you’re interested in entering the industry, I can introduce you to a suitable agency.”

With one hand pulling my luggage through security and the other holding the phone, I replied: “Thank you, but no.”

On the other end, he asked: “When did you return to the country?”

His tone grew displeased: “What’s your relationship with that foreign man?”

I cut him off: “Mr. Lao, you meddle far too much.”

Years of wielding power had made his speech commanding: “Where are you living now?”

I replied coldly: “What’s it to you?”

I had only left a phone number at the company, omitting my address.

Lao Jiazhuo lowered his voice but remained firm: “Yingying, don’t be stubborn. If I wanted to find out, there are plenty of ways.”

I finally snapped back: “Hire a dozen private detectives to investigate me—what good will that do you, President Lao? You overestimate me far too much.”

Just then, a uniformed officer asked me to present my documents. Unable to free my hand, I simply said: “Goodbye, Mr. Lao.”

I hung up and retrieved my travel permit from my bag.

The start of a new week found me applying for a position at Style. I was hired as a full-time print model and part-time assistant.

For the next year or two, I still had some appeal to sell. With no other means of livelihood, what difference did it make what I did? Since Fredy believed in me, I decided to give it a try.

Once I fully committed to re-entering the industry, I found myself surrounded by colorful personalities. Though I wasn’t particularly popular in my small circle—I rarely spoke and spent my off-hours alone—my colleagues gradually realized I was simply quiet and actually quite easygoing. Sometimes, on outdoor shoots in the suburbs, a sandwich was enough to get me through the day.

Slowly, colleagues began to warm up to me, and photographers enjoyed working with me. The initially tense and oppressive work environment improved, and I gradually adapted.

Professor Modercack had said that if I could reintegrate into society and engage in appropriate social interactions, it would aid my recovery.

Over the years, the beast lurking in my heart had grown into a demon, feeding on the thorns and flesh of my soul. I cursed it, and it tormented me. It was time we came to an agreement.

On a Friday night, I was assigned to attend a business banquet with photographer Akka. It was the launch event for a high-end international electronics product. Our company had sent several top-tier models for product displays.

By the time we arrived at the venue, it was nearly eight o’clock. Aside from a few staff members repeatedly adjusting the lighting, everything was ready.

Akka quickly secured a good spot and began setting up his equipment. I had just finished helping him set up the tripod and switch lenses when a commotion arose at the entrance. I looked up to see guests arriving. Among them, a woman seemed vaguely familiar. Upon closer inspection, I recognized her as the one who had accompanied Lao Jiazhuo in Hong Kong.

Since starting work, I had seen her in newspapers—Guan Xinyi, a well-known socialite in the city and the only daughter of the president of Yanghe Hospital.

Surrounding Guan Xinyi were several glamorous women whose faces I didn’t recognize, but the flashing cameras trailing them suggested they were celebrities. They stood close, smiling warmly and holding hands, sending the paparazzi into a frenzy.

After the banquet officially began, on the dreamy sapphire-blue stage, Guan Xinyi was invited by the host to try out the product. She and the celebrity spokesperson enthusiastically praised the new product, exchanging playful banter. She then confidently walked across the stage, her steps light and graceful, earning enthusiastic applause.

I noticed her gaze occasionally flickering toward a seat in the audience.

Curious, I followed her line of sight.

In the third row from the left, tucked into a corner amidst a shadowy crowd, sat a man leaning slightly back in his chair, legs casually crossed, his tall, straight figure unmistakable.

In the dim light, the sharp contours of his face slowly came into focus.

Even if I were to see him ten thousand times more, my heart would still race uncontrollably.

I stared at that familiar silhouette, lost in thought for a long moment.

As if sensing my gaze, his eyes suddenly turned toward me, like sparks igniting in the darkness.

Flustered, I quickly averted my head.

At that moment, Akka tapped my shoulder: “Focus.”

I snapped back to reality and stepped aside to join him. “Okay,” I said.

Akka adjusted his angle, and I knelt down again to measure the light for him.

Halfway through the event, after handing out business cards and completing my tasks, I saw that Akka had taken enough photos to fulfill the assignment.

I gestured to him: “I’m leaving first.”

Akka asked, “It’s still early. Aren’t you staying for the cocktail party?”

I shook my head: “No, have fun.”

I felt exhausted and yearned to find a small restaurant for a bowl of noodles, then go home to take a shower.

After bidding farewell to my colleagues, I stepped outside. The exhibition area was bustling, with guests occasionally passing by in loud conversation.

The late April night still carried a chill. I tightened my collar, hunched my shoulders, and pulled out a cigarette from my pocket.

Halfway through the cigarette, I suddenly sensed something unusual nearby.

I glanced around. The area was eerily quiet; the people who had been walking about earlier had vanished without a trace.

Lao Jiazhuo stood in the shadows of a column behind me, silently watching me.

I continued smoking, ignoring him.

He abruptly took the cigarette from my hand, his tone displeased and tense: “When did you start smoking?”

I wiped my hands on my pants, hopped off the step, and turned to leave.

He blocked my path: “Yingying, wait.”

I tried to remain polite: “Mr. Lao, there’s nothing between us to discuss.”

He frowned, scrutinizing me from head to toe. Dressed in work clothes—a plain cotton shirt and khaki pants—with my hair tied back in a simple bun, my skin, neglected due to seasonal changes, was dry and flaky.

His voice grew hoarse: “Why are you working here? Why aren’t you designing anymore?”

I pulled away and started walking.

Lao Jiazhuo grabbed my arm: “I’ll take you home.”

His driver had already pulled the car up, stopping under the shade of trees along the driveway.

It was a long walk to find a taxi from here, and纠缠 further in such a public place wasn’t wise.

I nodded and walked toward the car.

Lao Jiazhuo opened the door for me, gently guiding my arm as I entered, then circled around to sit on the other side.

He asked: “Yingying, where do you live now?”

“Elly Garden on Anshun Road,” I muttered, closing my mouth and turning my head to look out the window.

The car sped along the wide road.

Lao Jiazhuo loosened his tie slightly, revealing an undeniable fatigue. He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes to rest.

As we entered the residential complex, the driver turned back: “Miss Jiang, which building?”

“I’ll get out here,” I said. “It’s a short walk.”

Lao Jiazhuo, who had woken up at some point, softly insisted: “It’s late. Let’s drive closer.”

The car stopped at the foot of my building. I pushed open the door: “Thank you.”

He followed me out of the car.

We stood under the dim glow of distant streetlights.

I looked at him—his white shirt collar slightly undone, hands in the pockets of his black trousers, his pale face and slender frame exuding both tenderness and intensity in his gaze.

In his eyes, I seemed to see the shadow of my eighteen-year-old self—bright-eyed, sweet-smiling, and innocently naive.

Time seemed to rewind.

He stared at me over and over, and I felt myself frozen, almost melting under his relentless gaze.

We stood silently for a long while. His hand moved as if to caress my cheek, and I heard a low sigh: “Yingying...”

My heart jolted, and I summoned the last shred of reason, dodging his hand: “I’m going upstairs. Thank you for tonight.”

“Yingying,” Lao Jiazhuo held my arm: “Peter told me about your years in Konstanz...”

I shook my head weakly, cutting him off: “Enough.”

His gaze flickered, filled with hesitation. After a long pause, he finally asked: “Why didn’t you stay with Tang Lechang later?”

Why does everyone keep asking me this?

Impatient, I replied: “When have I ever been with him?”

Lao Jiazhuo’s tone grew irritated: “If he couldn’t protect you, he shouldn’t have rashly taken you away.”

Anger surged within me. I yanked my arm free and coldly retorted: “Mr. Lao, you’ve got it wrong. It was you who abandoned me, not him who took me away.”

My words visibly shocked him, leaving him speechless.

I turned and walked toward the building.

He hurried after me: “Yingying, if you decide to come back, let me arrange better work for you.”

“Mr. Lao, what relationship do we have now?” I gave a cold smile and turned to go upstairs.

Early the next morning, as I was leaving for work, I saw him waiting downstairs.

“I’ll be returning to Hong Kong soon and won’t be back for about a week, so I wanted to see you again,” he said gently.

After being away from the country for years, I only learned upon returning that Laotong Group had moved its headquarters to Hong Kong two years ago.

“What do you want from me?” I confronted him directly. “I have nothing left.”

He spoke softly but firmly: “Let me take care of you.”

I stared at him, a slow, mocking smile creeping onto my lips: “President Lao, I can’t accept that.”

He looked at me, surprise mingling with concern in his expression.

I turned and pushed open the revolving glass doors of the office building.

I took the elevator to the fifth floor. The receptionist greeted me: “Miss Jiang, someone is here to see you.”

“Who?” I asked.

“A young lady,” the receptionist replied. “She’s come several times.”

I saw Huihui rise from her seat.

I invited her into the office.

Because Lao Jiazhuo had insisted on driving me, I arrived earlier than usual. None of my colleagues had arrived yet.

She sat on the sofa across from me: “Yingying, how have you been these past few years?”

I casually replied: “Fine.”

She studied my face carefully: “Really?”

I frowned, growing impatient: “How else should I answer you?”

“Tang Lechang said you were sick. Are you better now?” Her eyes suddenly welled up with tears. “You’ve changed so much, doing this kind of work... Your personality isn’t the same as before...”

I sat there, expressionless, staring at her.

It seemed as though years of suppressed emotions had burst forth, and she couldn’t stop talking: “When the news broke about Tang Lechang sending you abroad, I realized something was wrong between you two. At the time, I thought it didn’t matter if it was published. You left, and I went to your house to look for you, but your family wouldn’t say anything. I tried to contact Lao Jiazhuo, but I couldn’t reach him. His assistant said he was also looking for you—”

“Does Mr. Lao know you’re back?”

“He formally announced his marriage to the media later. I’ve always worried about how much it must have hurt you.”

“I called Tang Lechang many times. He scolded me harshly and refused to say anything. You disappeared for so many years...”

I looked at her kindly: “Huihui, how are you doing?”

Huihui lowered her voice: “I signed a stable contract, got promoted, and now I’m the deputy editor-in-chief.”

“That’s good,” I said, withdrawing my gaze. “If you’re seeking peace of mind, I’ll tell you this: I’ve forgotten the past and don’t wish to speak of it again.”

“No—” Huihui looked at me sorrowfully. “Yingying, you were my best friend. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Huihui, please leave.” I stood up. “If you’re here to reclaim our friendship, I can only disappoint you. The Jiang Yingying you knew no longer exists.”

Huihui’s eyes widened as if staring at a monster.

I opened the door: “Go home. Don’t come back.”

“Yingying—” Her eyes reddened.

“I need to get to work, Miss Wei,” I said calmly.

She dabbed her nose with a tissue: “Yingying, I’ll come visit you again. We’ll talk properly.”

I opened the door and escorted her out, nodding as I watched her take the elevator down.

My temples throbbed violently.

Damn headache.

They were trying to drive me insane.

When I returned from an outdoor shoot at noon, I saw a few new models crying in the office, complaining that Fredy was heartless.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Xiao Zhe, the graphic designer, shrugged: “Li Yan suddenly decided to shoot in Djibouti for his new project. Fredy sent a few people, but you know, the pay isn’t great, and it’s tough work.”

That afternoon, I spent a long time thinking in my office. Just before leaving work, I knocked on Fredy’s door and went in.

“Can I apply for the Djibouti job?” I asked.

He looked up, surprised: “Why? A few European designers are interested in you. We’re in talks.”

I said: “You’ve seen the scars on my hands and feet. I can’t shoot spring and summer collections.”

Fredy set down the photos in his hand, folding his arms: “Photos can be edited. If you stay in the country or in Europe, the conditions will be better.”

I said: “I want to go to Africa.”

He shrugged: “Alright.”

I took the Djibouti assignment.

When Lao Jiazhuo returned from Hong Kong, he happened to catch me dragging my luggage downstairs.

His face instantly paled: “You’re leaving?”

I maneuvered my suitcase around him.

Lao Jiazhuo hurried after me: “Yingying, where are you going?”

I replied coldly: “It’s none of your business.”

He grabbed my arm and shouted: “Jiang Yingying!”

I shook him off.

There was a hint of panic in his voice: “Yingying, you can’t leave again—”

He then forcefully turned me around, gripping my shoulders tightly, almost crushing my bones.

Through the thin fabric of my clothes, I could feel how cold his palms were, his body trembling slightly.

Lao Jiazhuo’s lips pressed into a deep line, his voice unusually stern: “Tell me, where are you running off to now? Europe? America? Or some remote island where I can’t find you?”

I stared directly into his eyes, my voice calm and cruel: “Mr. Lao, please let me go. If you continue to纠缠 me, I promise you’ll never see me again for the rest of your life.”

His expression shifted repeatedly, a layer of frosty anguish settling over his handsome face. The almost painful pressure on my shoulders began to ease.

Lao Jiazhuo slowly released me.

I walked to the side of the street and hailed a taxi.

I opened the back door, shoved my suitcase in, and as I sat down, I glanced at the rearview mirror by chance. Lao Jiazhuo stood on the roadside, motionless, watching me. He was only wearing a light gray shirt, his figure looking so thin and frail.

After a moment, he lowered his head, his hands hanging limply by his sides. As the taxi drove further away, only Lao Jiazhuo remained, standing alone, unsupported.

A wave of emotion surged up my throat, and I curled my knees up, hugging my body tightly.

I stayed in Africa for half a year.

From spring to autumn.

Since that night in late spring four years ago, my journey had been shrouded in a vast haze. After completing my photography assignment in Djibouti, I visited a school in a slum area and met Ding Jiuhua from Taiwan’s World Vision. He told me that their funding organization desperately needed volunteers. With some nursing knowledge, I decided on the spot to join the World Vision aid team, traveling deep into the African interior via Ethiopia.

We brought purchased medicine and food, responsible for caring for AIDS orphans and impoverished families in the project area.

Later, I stayed at a clinic in the Bulunga project area in Eswatini until new volunteers arrived.

At the end of September, my final stop on this trip was Nairobi, the capital of Kenya.

Nairobi is a bustling city with modern high-rise buildings, various bars, restaurants, and clubs. Some luxury hotels even featured world-class casinos.

Just a few hundred or thousand kilometers away, the poorest people in the world lived in villages. Elderly and children slept in mud houses, with only a tattered cloth for a blanket. Women clutched humanitarian relief forms, waiting to receive a ration of rice.

God loves all people.

But alas, too many are left without a way out; compassion cannot solve any problems.

In my hotel room, I immersed myself in hot water, thoroughly cleansing my body.

I had dinner downstairs; it was the first meal in months with fresh meat. I paired it with a glass of white wine. Afterward, I returned to my room and opened my email on the hotel computer.

Tang Lechang had written to me: “Yingying, I’m proud to hear you’ve decided to volunteer with World Vision deep in Africa. But remember to stay safe. I have a vacation in the fall. If you’re free, I hope we can meet when you return home. Regardless, I hope you’re happy.”

I sat alone on the terrace, the warm eastern African breeze stirring up waves of nostalgia.

My mouse slid, scrolling to the bottom of my inbox. I had kept an email there.

I stared at the computer screen for a long time, but eventually, I couldn’t resist clicking it open.

It was an email I had read countless times—an email Emma sent me after I left London.

“Dear Yingying, I’m very glad to hear you’re in Konstanz and have contacted Modercack. After the magazine came out, I returned to London intending to visit you, but I couldn’t reach you again. I was extremely worried. Now, knowing you’re fine, I thank God for His grace.”

“The day after your photo series hit the stands, Laotong Group’s PR department contacted the publisher immediately, earnestly asking me to find you. When I first met you, I thought you didn’t look like someone living in Whitechapel, East End. Yet, your demeanor was one of resigned self-destruction. I once privately told Nico that I wondered what misfortune had befallen you to become such a contradictory being—sharp yet opposing. I thought continuing like this wasn’t right for you. It’s good that family and friends are now seeking you out. However, before I could inform you, I heard about the fire. Afterward, I rushed back to London, but no one had seen you since.”

“A week later, two senior executives from Laotong Bank accompanied a young man to my studio—that mysterious visitor. Though I don’t follow financial news, I recognized him instantly. Such a beautiful Eastern man, like an unreachable cloud in the sky. Seeing him, I realized the man in your paintings was him. If I’m not mistaken, I think he was your lover. Yingying, a man of such elegance and grace is truly rare in this world.”

“I showed him your paintings. The moment he saw them, despite his restraint, he couldn’t contain his sorrow. At the time, he looked so ill and weary—it was clear to me how deeply he loved you.”

“Yingying, remember to keep love in your heart. Love is our final redemption and mercy.”

“May the Lord bless you.”

I raised my hand to cover my face, my tear ducts long dried up like a riverbed.

At the end of September, I boarded a plane back to China from Nairobi.

Africa is summer all year round, making one feel no change in seasons.

As the plane crossed the equator and returned to southern China, it was already early autumn.

Due to jet lag and a low fever, I slept for an entire week.

That day, I woke up near noon, finally feeling hunger. But there was no food left in the fridge. I washed my face, threw on some clothes, and went downstairs.

A champagne-colored luxury car was parked below.

Lao Jiazhuo stepped out of the car: “How many days have you been back?”

With my hands in my pants pockets, I sauntered toward the convenience store downstairs.

He scrutinized me, his face darkening, his brows furrowing again.

I had cut my hair short, my complexion sallow. Due to poor living conditions and hard work, I had lost weight, weighing only eighty-some pounds.

“Yingying,” Jiazhuo stood in front of me, “Don’t you know you should go to the hospital for a check-up?”

Weak from dizziness and hunger, I said, “Mr. Lao, why bother lowering yourself like this?”

Lao Jiazhuo said, “Go upstairs and change. I’ll take you to the hospital.”

Impatiently, I pulled my left hand out of my pocket, showing him the festering wound on my fingers: “No need to check. It’s been a month, and it hasn’t healed yet.”

Lao Jiazhuo’s face darkened. He abruptly grabbed my hand: “No need to change. Come with me.”

“Let go of me!” I struggled fiercely but couldn’t match his strength. Lao Jiazhuo directly shoved me into the car. I screamed angrily, “Lao Jiazhuo, get lost! Even if I get AIDS, I won’t die in front of you—”

His face changed color, and he sharply raised his voice: “Don’t curse yourself!”

Seeing his enraged expression, I closed my mouth and stopped struggling.

He still gripped my arm tightly, and I nearly cried out in pain.

The driver sat stoically in the front, eyes fixed ahead.

The car raced to the People’s Hospital building.

He dragged me into the outpatient building. Xu Feng went to register and returned with a medical examination form. Lao Jiazhuo immediately took me to bandage the wound on my finger. I told him it was just a small cut, but he ignored me, his face cold, and pushed me into the blood test room.

After enduring a series of detailed examinations, the nurse led me to a rest room next to the director’s office. Opening the door, Lao Jiazhuo sat comfortably on the sofa, calmly drinking water from a glass.

After waiting a quarter of an hour, the outpatient director entered with the blood test results. Lao Jiazhuo stood up and approached him.

The doctor flipped through the medical record: “The blood tests show no issues.”

He looked at me through his glasses: “Miss Jiang, have you recently lived or traveled in a malaria-endemic area?”

Lao Jiazhuo nodded.

The doctor continued: “Infrared cell tests detected Plasmodium parasites. Additionally, she has mild malnutrition.”

Lao Jiazhuo’s brow furrowed deeply again.

The doctor maintained a professional calm: “No need to worry too much. One or two courses of treatment will cure it.”

On the way back, the car stopped outside a high-end restaurant. The driver got out and returned with large, beautifully packaged food.

When the car stopped again in the residential area, it was evening rush hour. The flashy car drew curious glances from passersby.

Lao Jiazhuo got out, looking somewhat apologetic: “Yingying, I have to go on a business trip these next two days and won’t be able to accompany you to the hospital.”

I nodded and started walking upstairs.

“Wait—” He grabbed me and turned to take the bags from the driver: “If you experience chills or fever, go to the hospital immediately, or call me.”

He emphasized: “Do you hear me?”

“I can take care of myself,” I said.

“I’ve arranged for the driver to come. You must go for treatment on time.” His tone was commanding.

I turned and walked up the stairs.

Lao Jiazhuo followed me upstairs. When I opened the door, he spoke softly: “Yingying, I won’t disturb you. I’ll stay in the living room. Let me watch over you tonight. You’ve been running a fever these past few days, haven’t you?”

I stood by the door: “Mr. Lao, let me have a few peaceful days.”

He handed me the bags he was carrying. As I tried to close the door, his hand pressed against the doorframe.

He hesitated for a long time, then finally reached out to touch my cheek: “Rest well.”

The next morning, when I went downstairs, the champagne-colored car was quietly parked below.

Xu Feng saw me and got out of the car, bowing slightly: “Miss Jiang.”

He was Lao Jiazhuo’s dedicated driver, having come from Hong Kong early in the morning without serving his master.

I said helplessly: “Brother Xu, go back. Tell him there’s no need for you to come.”

Xu Feng politely replied: “Mr. Lao instructed me to ensure Miss Jiang goes to the hospital for treatment.”

I walked past the car toward the exit. He followed closely behind: “Miss Jiang...”

I turned and glared at him fiercely.

He awkwardly retreated a few steps.

Xu Feng drove the car, following behind the bus I took.

When I got off and entered the hospital building, Xu Feng discreetly followed, watching as I registered and entered the doctor’s office before turning to leave.

After finishing my IV in the infusion room and picking up some medication, I was about to leave when a nurse chased after me with my medical record: “Excuse me, are you Miss Jiang Yiying?”

I stopped and nodded: “Yes, I am.”

The nurse whispered beside me: “This is your detailed ultrasound report from yesterday. There’s an infection in your uterine appendages. It’s best to come in for a thorough examination.”

I nodded at her: “Thank you.”

I crumpled the paper in my hand and stuffed it into the back pocket of my jeans. Leaving the hospital, I headed to the boarding high school in the northern part of the city to switch metro lines.

The school teacher had called me last night. Jiang Yihao hadn’t attended class for a week.

Grandma had gone to Singapore to be with Dad, and there was no one left at home to look after him. This unruly brat! While I was in Africa, whenever I could contact the outside world, I always checked on him first. He even lied to me on the phone, saying everything was fine.

Arriving at the school, the teacher was also at a loss with him. Next year was the college entrance exam, but Jiang Yihao had completely lost interest in studying. The teacher gently mentioned to me that family care and supervision were crucial for children at this age.

I felt a pang of guilt. Indeed, I had neglected him.

Following the address provided by the teacher and classmates, I found an underground warehouse not far from the school. Pushing open the dusty door, loud music from instruments immediately blasted out.

Several young boys stood inside, surrounded by wires and guitars. Squinting against the backlight and dust, I scanned the room but didn’t see him. Irritated by the deafening noise, I shouted from the doorway: “Jiang Yihao!”

Their movements froze instantly.

Jiang Yihao lazily stood up from behind the drum set.

The boy playing bass looked at me and smirked: “Xiao Hao, is this your aunt—”

I glared at Jiang Yihao: “Come out.”

He still had neatly cut short hair, though his right ear now sported an earring.

I turned and walked outside to a quiet, deserted alley. Suddenly, I spun around, glaring at him with fiery eyes.

He said: “What do you want?”

I asked: “Why aren’t you going to class?”

He scuffed his sneakers on the ground and, after a while, muttered: “I don’t want to.”

I wanted to grab him by the ears: “Then what do you want to do?”

Impatiently, he retorted: “It’s none of your business. You’re not my mother.”

I raised my hand and smacked him on the head: “I’ll manage you if I want to—”

Startled by my violence, he exclaimed: “Hey, hey, hey, Jiang Yiying—”

I kicked his leg: “What do you plan to do? Are you just going to mess around like this?”

He ruthlessly grabbed my hand: “No one cares about me anyway. I’ll do whatever I want!”

The siblings fought in the alley.

Fuming, I yelled: “Has Dad told you? We don’t have money! Grandma needs care now, and they’ll bring you over later. Can’t you just stay here for a few days?!”

I scolded him harshly: “Can’t you pull yourself together? How old are you?! If you work hard and get into a decent university, I’ll earn money to send you to study in Singapore!”

“I don’t want to go!” he snapped back defiantly. “I’ll stay here in the country. Let them take Jiang Yihan and enjoy themselves. Stop meddling in my affairs!”

I screamed: “You’re the older brother! Yihan is still young. Can’t you be more sensible?”

“Why should they just abandon me? He’s their son too! Why did they take Jiang Yihan and leave me behind?!” The teenager shouted at me viciously.

I raised my voice and shouted back: “Why was I sent away just because your mother married into the family? Didn’t I spend five years alone in a boarding school?”

He looked somewhat stunned.

“What else do you want? You’re the eldest grandson. Grandpa and Grandma were overjoyed when you were born—” I grabbed his shirt and yelled, “Everyone in the family spoiled you! Why are you acting out like this?!”

The flush of anger on Jiang Yihao’s face faded, and he looked at me helplessly: “Hey, don’t cry...”

I hastily wiped away the tears from my eyes.

We went to eat.

At Dan Gui Xuan in Litchi Park, I ordered many dishes. Being still a child at heart, Jiang Yihao quickly forgot our earlier argument and started eating heartily with his chopsticks.

After dinner, I escorted him back to school. At the school’s back gate, he walked to the guard post, pulled out his student ID from his pocket, and was about to enter when suddenly, he turned around. He strode over and roughly opened his arms to hug me, calling out painfully in my ear: “Sister...”

I was squeezed so hard I could barely breathe. I patted his shoulder: “Go on in.”

He obediently replied: “Mm.”

We weren’t particularly close growing up, but at that moment, in this vast city, it was just the two of us relying on each other. The sense of loneliness made our blood ties feel suddenly stronger.

In September, I remembered that the six months’ rent my aunt had prepaid for me had expired over a month ago. I took a day off to go to the bank and transfer the rent into the landlord’s account.

That night, a woman called me: “Miss Jiang.”

Her voice sounded vaguely familiar: “Who is this?”

“I’m Ms. Qiao. Back in March, I rented the apartment to you—” she said gently.

“Oh, Ms. Qiao,” I recalled.

“Miss Jiang, there’s no need to transfer the rent to me anymore. I’m no longer the landlord.”

I was puzzled: “Why? When did the house change hands?”

Her voice was clear and clean: “Hmm, I’ve already sold it.”

I guessed as much: “May I ask who the current owner is?”

Ms. Qiao paused for two seconds on the other end, then continued in her usual gentle tone: “A Mr. Su came specifically to handle the transfer procedures with me.”

I hung up the phone, went into the room, made a few calls to real estate agents, and then packed my clothes into a suitcase.

The next afternoon, I dragged my suitcase out of the apartment I had rented for over half a year but lived in for less than three months.

It was still relatively comfortable and convenient, but I sighed silently.

In the drizzling rain of late autumn, due to the rush, I didn’t have the heart to carefully choose a new place. The taxi drove into a narrow alley and stopped in front of an old residential area.

Dragging my suitcase up to the fifth floor, I stood on the balcony that night and looked down. The streets were bustling with people. Next to the market by the street corner, there was a night market. Occasionally, the sound of shattering bottles pierced the night.

On Friday evening, I was crouched in the kitchen sink, busy dealing with a leaking pipe, when my phone rang multiple times in the living room. I went out to check and finally answered it.

“Yingying,” Lao Jiazhuo’s voice came through, sounding somewhat tired: “Move back.”

I said: “You can’t keep interfering in my life like this.”

His voice wasn’t very strong, but it was still commanding: “Let me say this again—move back.”

I hung up the phone directly.

The next noon, the stout landlady came to knock on my door: “Miss Jiang, I’m sorry, but I can’t rent the apartment to you anymore.”

“Why?” I hadn’t slept well the previous night and was still drowsy.

“Oh, a relative of mine suddenly needs to stay here,” she squeezed her plump body in: “Sorry about that. I’ll return your deposit. Please move out today.”

I stared at her fake smile and said nothing, returning to the room to pack my belongings, which I hadn’t yet sorted.

I carried my luggage downstairs and, unsurprisingly, saw the car parked at the dirty street corner.

Lao Jiazhuo saw me coming down the stairs, pushed open the car door, and stepped out.

He was wearing a beige casual suit. After last week’s autumn rain, the wind was a bit strong. He leaned on the car door and coughed softly a few times before slowly walking towards me.

He said: “Come with me.”

Xu Feng tactfully came forward to take my suitcase and put it in the trunk.

He grabbed my arm: “Get in the car.”

I stared at him coldly.

Unable to bear my gaze, he let go of my hand and said softly: “Yingying...”

I shook off his hand and turned to walk towards the street.

Lao Jiazhuo followed behind me.

The driver had no choice but to drive slowly alongside us.

Leaving the noisy alley, we walked onto the street. I crossed the traffic lights, buses whizzed past, I walked past a whole row of shops, and then through a small park. My head was pounding, but I truly had nowhere else to go.

I didn’t have many acquaintances locally. My aunt’s house was occupied by relatives from her husband’s side, and I didn’t want to bother her—they had worried about me enough already.

With Lao Jiazhuo’s power and influence, if he wanted to push me to the brink, how could I possibly resist?

The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. Suddenly, I tripped over the curb. I slipped and nearly fell, but Lao Jiazhuo swiftly caught me from behind.

Finally losing my patience, I blurted out angrily: “What do you want from me?”

He frowned, equally frustrated: “Move back in.”

“Lao Jiazhuo, what do you want?” I yelled at him: “What do you want to do to make me stop?”

He tried to remain calm: “Don’t be like this. Buying that apartment was only meant to make things easier for you.”

“You don’t need to treat yourself this way. The conditions here are terrible, and—” he furrowed his brows: “The work you’re doing is too exhausting.”

I asked sarcastically: “If I continue working, will you buy Style magazine too?”

He actually nodded, his tone indifferent: “If necessary.”

Truly, the son of wealth—he couldn’t possibly understand the hardships of ordinary life. I suddenly felt the vast chasm between us. Four years later, he and I had nothing in common anymore. This realization filled me with fear and unease. As I walked towards the crossroads, my words became incoherent: “This is who I am now, Lao Jiazhuo. Really, I think it’s fine. We have no connection anymore. You don’t need to worry about me.”

He remained as wise and composed as ever, his firm and cold voice reaching my ears: “Then I’ll make sure you don’t stay like this.”

My mind burned, my blood raced, and my emotions were on the verge of breaking. I couldn’t stand his relentless pressure anymore: “If you’re tormenting me because I carry my mother’s blood, seeking revenge gives you pleasure—”

My thoughts were chaotic: “Even so, I don’t deserve to die—”

He held my hand: “Yingying, it’s not like that...”

“Get away!” I pushed him away fiercely.

He roared: “Jiang Yingying, when will you learn to stop being so stubborn?!”

I screamed and covered my head, rushing forward.

The next second, I felt someone grab my shoulder harshly, then an arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me back forcefully.

Almost simultaneously, a massive urban SUV roared past, narrowly missing my feet.

The following cars braked sharply, and the road was filled with screeching brakes and honking horns.

I lost my balance and fell backward. He didn’t manage to catch me in time, and we both tumbled to the roadside.

Immediately, Lao Jiazhuo’s sharp rebuke reached my ears: “Are you insane? What were you trying to do?!”

I turned my head in panic, startled by the terror in his eyes.

The driver hurriedly opened the car door and ran over: “Mr. Lao, are you alright?”

Lao Jiazhuo snapped out of his daze: “Were you hit?”

When we fell, he had shielded me with his body. I crawled up from beside him, feeling a burning pain in my arm—it might have been grazed. I endured it, expressionless, and walked to the roadside.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Xu Feng helping him up. He leaned on his knees, standing by the roadside for a while before slowly straightening up.

Instinctively, I slowed my pace.

Lao Jiazhuo said behind me: “Move back in first. You can still pay me rent.”

I saw his face was pale, his lips colorless. Beneath his navy-blue cashmere sweater, the collar of his white shirt revealed his gaunt collarbones.

I rubbed my face vigorously and walked toward the car.

Lao Jiazhuo opened the car door for me, then slightly frowned.

One seat in the back was empty, while the other was piled with documents and his laptop. A dark coat lay in the middle—probably from a business trip, not yet unpacked, making it look a bit messy.

The backseat was spacious, like a sofa. There was no problem sitting down, but Lao Jiazhuo still said softly: “Wait.”

He held my hand and turned to call: “Xu Feng.”

Xu Feng came over and moved the items to the front passenger seat.

The ride was silent.

When the car stopped, Lao Jiazhuo quietly instructed: “Xu Feng, escort Yingying upstairs first.”

I got out of the car first, seeing him sitting in the backseat, showing no intention of getting up.

Xu Feng politely said to me: “Miss Jiang, please go upstairs.”

As I closed the car door, I suddenly turned back. I saw his usually upright body tremble slightly. He then raised his hand to support the front seat, lowering his head onto his hand. I couldn’t see his expression, only the back of his neck exposed outside the shirt collar.

My heart tightened. I hesitated for a moment, but the car door had already closed in front of me, blocking everything inside.

Xu Feng escorted me upstairs, placed my suitcase in the living room, and said: “I’ll go check on Mr. Lao.”

I couldn’t help but ask: “What’s wrong with him?”

Xu Feng’s face showed a hint of concern: “Probably back pain.”

I didn’t press further about why he suddenly had back pain, nodded at him, and walked into the room.

Lao Jiazhuo came upstairs about half an hour later.

His steps were slow, but his face showed no signs of abnormality.

I was sitting in the living room. Seeing him come in, I got up and walked into the room.

A moment later, he knocked and entered, holding a bottle of disinfectant and a pack of cotton swabs: “Where did you scrape your hand?”

When I fell earlier, my elbow had been grazed. Blood seeped through my clothes after I removed my coat.

I stood up: “I can handle it myself.”

He sat down in the chair next to me: “Roll up your sleeve.”

I insisted on not giving in: “I’ll do it myself.”

Lao Jiazhuo stopped talking and directly held my arm, pulling up the sleeve of my white cotton T-shirt.

The next instant, I heard a faint gasp. His movements abruptly stopped.

There was a silence like a disconnected phone line. After several seconds, he cautiously touched the skin of my arm.

A scar on my wrist wasn’t very obvious, but because my entire arm had been burned, crab-like scars irregularly snaked across my skin, looking somewhat ghastly at first glance.

“This is—” he seemed momentarily breathless, taking several seconds to say: “From that fire?”

I ignored him.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, then carefully disinfected a cut on my elbow with a cotton swab.

He asked softly: “Does it hurt?”

My tone was indifferent: “It’s nothing.”

After applying the medicine, he gently lowered my sleeve, his fingers lightly touching the grotesque scars. He muttered to himself: “Such a large area of injury... How painful those burns must have been. You used to be so afraid of pain...”

By the end, his voice began to tremble.

I was deeply unsettled by his overly emotional reaction.

So much time had passed that even the memories of those years had grown hazy. Why was he suddenly acting so sentimental now? Who was he putting on a show for?

I pulled my sleeve down abruptly.

His reluctant gaze swept over my skin again and again.

I sneered: “Mr. Lao, my legs are even more of a sight to behold. Would you like to take it all in at once?”

Lao Jiazhuo immediately raised his head, eyes wide, staring at me. For a fleeting moment, his expression was as if he’d been punched hard.

Seeing my half-mocking, half-cold demeanor, he pursed his lips and lowered his eyelashes, seemingly too heartbroken to speak.

I said: “Please leave. I need to rest.”

A shadow of gloom fell over his brow. After a moment of silence, he nodded: “Be careful not to let the wound get wet.”

He rose with some difficulty. I watched his back—his slender spine straight, that straightness—taut, as if it might snap at any moment.

Silently, I watched him walk out step by step.

But I still moved back in.

I needed to find a new job. I had daily expenses, and I wanted to give Jiang Yihao a slightly more generous allowance. Finding another place to live at this time wasn’t easy.

While I was in Africa, my contract with Style had automatically ended. When I returned, Fredy had called to invite me back to work.

But one evening, while I was buying something at the convenience store downstairs, a girl suddenly asked, “Are you the girl from the magazine?”

I looked blank.

She smiled: “You look a bit like the model in Li Yan’s latest ad.”

I quickly denied it, feeling guilty: “No.”

She laughed awkwardly: “Sorry.”

She whispered to her companion: “They look so much alike.”

This small incident led me to decline Fredy’s offer. I didn’t want to be a commercial model anymore. I didn’t want to be defined within the public eye. Living under others’ scrutiny, even in the smallest circle, felt too exhausting.

I also lacked the patience to work nine-to-five as a small company employee. I was used to a carefree life, changing jobs three times in just over a month—working as a cashier in a coffee shop and in a dessert bakery. My latest job was relatively satisfying; I worked at the Poly Grand Theater, responsible for cueing actors and doing odd jobs, occasionally even helping out as an extra.

Lao Jiazhuo would come by irregularly. Now living under his roof, I couldn’t stop him, nor could I resist him.

But I ignored him. Aside from tidying up the messy living room and kitchen, there was nothing else for him to do. Sometimes when I came home, I saw him on the sofa handling work on his laptop. Occasionally, if he was home during mealtime and I felt like cooking, I’d make food for him too. But I refused to eat with him—I’d usually sit alone in front of the TV in the living room with my bowl.

Resuming a normal relationship with him was too difficult for me.

Lately, I mostly worked nights. Lao Jiazhuo came several times during the day, only to find me gone all day. I worked until one or two in the morning, exhausted, and collapsed into bed as soon as I got home.

Lao Jiazhuo was extremely worried and repeatedly told me several times.

I remained unmoved, saying that this was just how I was.

Sometimes he angrily accused me of giving up on myself.

I always responded with one sentence: “What’s it to you?”

And every time, it was effective—he’d turn pale and have nothing to say.

But he quickly stopped arguing, only helplessly indulging me.

Later, Lao Jiazhuo somehow obtained my work schedule. I was usually busiest on weekends, so he started coming to pick me up after work at night, driving a more understated car himself.

That night, it happened to be raining. I didn’t want to ride in his car, but walking from the theater to the outside was quite a distance. Lao Jiazhuo offered to hold an umbrella for me, and in the end, we both caught colds.

There couldn’t have been a worse situation.

I even considered returning to Europe.

But Fredy didn’t want to give up on me. Occasionally, he’d offer me small gigs, mostly for niche brands, some destined for Southeast Asia, others for North America or Europe.

He had already accommodated me to the maximum extent possible, and I couldn’t disregard loyalty.

Later, for a coat shoot, I rolled up my sleeves, exposing my arms. Surprisingly, the photo editor didn’t retouch the images, and when they were published, a scar on my arm looked incredibly cool. Girls kept calling the magazine to ask how the scar was made up, and that issue sold exceptionally well overall.

Fredy was utterly exasperated by my lackadaisical attitude: “Yingying, if you focused on this, I guarantee you could become someone who influences this era.”

I sat in his office, sipping his rich Blue Mountain coffee: “I’m not interested.”

He looked at me with frustration: “It’s better than being a barista at a coffee shop.”

I lazily brushed him off: “I’m not young anymore. How can I compete with sixteen- or seventeen-year-olds?”

Fredy said: “There are plenty of people in this industry in their thirties still working diligently.”

I replied: “I entered this field purely by luck. My physical condition isn’t suitable.”

Fredy didn’t mince words: “It’s your own self-exile. Modern skin-grinding surgery can repair most of your skin.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Fredy quickly added: “If you don’t have the money for surgery, I’ll cover it, but you’ll have to pay me back from your earnings.”

I finally raised my hands in surrender.

He chuckled, slapping the folder in his hand onto the desk to scold me: “So unambitious!”

I came down from his studio and wandered the streets, watching the hurried pedestrians. Everyone was rushing, except for me, aimlessly unsure of where to go. Fredy was right—I had lost all patience and enthusiasm for life.

One night after showering, I turned on the living room heater, wrapped myself in a towel, and curled up on the couch drinking wine.

I became absorbed in reading, unknowingly finishing half a bottle of white wine. Feeling slightly tipsy, I prepared to wash my face and sleep when suddenly, there was a sound at the door. Dazed, I turned my head and saw Lao Jiazhuo pushing the door open.

I froze, remembering it was Wednesday and not expecting him to appear.

Seeing me in disarray, he said somewhat embarrassedly: “Sorry, I should’ve called before coming up.”

I set down my glass: “This is your house anyway.”

I shifted aside, and he sat next to me, loosening his tie.

The alcohol made my body feel light and relaxed. I said to him: “Want some?”

He shook his head: “I just drank during a business dinner.”

But then he nodded: “Where are the glasses?”

I fetched a glass from under the coffee table.

I poured him half a glass of wine, then curled up on the couch, hiccupping from the alcohol.

Lao Jiazhuo took off his watch and pulled out his phone, its screen flashing with notifications. He glanced at it briefly, then tossed it aside. Comfortably leaning back on the couch, his deep voice slightly hoarse, he asked: “Did you work today?”

I kicked off my slippers and curled up on the couch: “No, I rested.”

“Did you drink your milk?”

“It’s in the fridge. I’ll deal with it tomorrow morning.”

“Have you been seeing the doctor on time these past few days?”

“Almost better.”

This was already the politest attitude I could muster. He asked, and I answered, but I never inquired about his affairs.

Lao Jiazhuo held his glass, slowly drinking while looking down, saying nothing more.

We rarely had such a tranquil and harmonious moment.

My gaze inadvertently fell on my left hand resting unconsciously on the wine glass. A plain platinum ring encircled my ring finger, its whiteness contrasting beautifully with the shimmering wine. It was a scene of intoxicating luxury.

I found it unbearably irritating, so I stood up to retreat to my room.

Already a little drunk, I stumbled over his leg as I passed the couch. Lao Jiazhuo reached out and pulled me, causing me to fall onto him.

Almost simultaneously, he pinned me against him, lowering his head to accurately capture my lips in a kiss.

Instinctively, I resisted, but his body exuded a fresh, intoxicating scent. At the same moment, my body reacted faster than my mind, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him back.

There had always been a thorn in my heart, silently aching, making me want to recklessly confirm something.

I directly tore off his shirt and wrapped my arms around his waist.

My towel had already loosened. Lao Jiazhuo’s hands roamed my back, burying his head in my chest, inhaling my fragrance.

I skillfully undid his belt.

He pressed down on my hand: “Yingying—”

Our bodies were already burning, but he insisted on asking: “Do you know who I am?”

Unable to suppress a moan, my tone was clear: “Lao Jiazhuo.”

Hearing my answer, he yanked off my towel and pulled me down onto the couch.

Dazed, I muttered two words: “Turn off the lights.”

I didn’t want him to see my body.

After hesitating for a few seconds, he obediently turned off the living room lights.

We made love on the couch, then moved to the bedroom. The默契 between our bodies felt strangely unfamiliar, yet the sensation was deeply beautiful.

My body was unusually tense and sensitive. He teased me a few times, then leaned in to kiss me, his expression softly satisfied.

Low breaths echoed in the room, excitement coursing through our sweaty, entwined bodies. I ran my fingers through his hair, enduring wave after wave of intense pleasure until we both reached the pinnacle of physical bliss.

Lao Jiazhuo slowly withdrew from me. I lay on his arm, running my fingers over his shoulder blades, which felt sharp and bony.

Lao Jiazhuo turned his head to find my face, then gently kissed the tip of my nose.

I turned my head away from his tender lips.

His voice was faint: “Why?”

I asked: “Why what?”

Lao Jiazhuo murmured: “Why did you agree?”

I casually replied: “No reason. Didn’t you want it?”

His voice carried a trace of disappointment and bitterness: “Were you this unrestrained abroad?”

I retorted sharply: “Does your wife not satisfy you?”

Lao Jiazhuo paused before evasively answering: “I rarely see her.”

The thorn in my heart twitched painfully, stirring raw emotions.

I looked at his tender expression, unmoved, and pushed him away: “Go sleep in the guest room.”

Lao Jiazhuo seemed still lost in the haze of passion, raising his head with a puzzled look.

I tried to get up: “I’m going to take a shower. You go sleep in the other room.”

Lao Jiazhuo regained some clarity, his eyelids lowering to conceal a flicker of hurt.

I smiled at him: “Let’s call this one session worth half a month’s rent.”

He suddenly widened his eyes, moisture gathering in them, rendered speechless by my words.

He lowered his head and remained silent for a long while before speaking, his voice weak: “Yingying, you always make me feel so defeated.”

I looked at him coldly: “Mr. Lao, that’s because I once cherished you too much.”

Lao Jiazhuo stared at me, his lips slightly pale, his voice trembling with suppressed pain: “Yes, you treated me too well.”

I smiled faintly: “So people shouldn’t be too naive.”

Lao Jiazhuo pulled me close, preventing me from seeing his expression, and whispered in my ear: “Yingying, you know, back then I wanted to keep you, but it was too late.”

My voice was icy and detached: “Weren’t you planning to send me away with a few mansions and billions in cash?”

I felt the person behind me tremble slightly.

He turned his face slightly and softly said: “I’m sorry. It was my fault.”

His voice lingered in my ear. I sat motionless, feeling my body being drained bit by bit, my soul slowly beginning to float away.

I was merely waiting for him to say one thing.

After all these years, the lingering heat of resentment in my heart, the stubborn refusal to let go, was waiting for his apology.

Waiting for him to bring closure to that past, to give an explanation to that once naive and stubborn fool, so I could move forward.

Hearing those three words now, I was left with nothing but an overwhelming void.

I knew I could finally truly abandon my past self, without a trace of attachment.

Lao Jiazhuo seemed to sense something and held me tightly. 

In the past, he had never been one to offer explanations. No matter how great the injustice, he bore it in silence. The old master had misunderstood him greatly because of this trait. In public, he was always eloquent and worldly-wise, but when it came to his own affairs, he was reluctant to say much.

As expected, I was met with silence.

Yet, Lao Jiazhuo continued to hold me without letting go.

After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse: “Yingying, ultimately, it was my mistake to lose you. No amount of apologies can make up for the past— but at least, don’t continue like this. You will get better. I’ve consulted the doctors; the scars on your hands and feet can be repaired with surgery. Though the recovery process might be tough, could you consider quitting your current job? Staying up late too often is bad for your health. Rest at home first, and once your body recovers, we can discuss what you want to do next.”

Listening to him, I almost wanted to laugh coldly. He was still stuck in the past, thinking I was still that eighteen-year-old girl.

I turned to face him directly: “And then what? What do you plan to do with me?”

Lao Jiazhuo frowned slightly: “What do you mean?”

I mocked: “After all this, after fixing my scars and mending my body, what do you intend to do with me?”

He fell silent, as if suddenly understanding my meaning, and was momentarily speechless.

Looking at the man before me, I felt no sense of revenge or satisfaction.

I understood that now, in his esteemed position, a successful man by societal standards, it was natural for him to settle down into marriage and have a happy family. Having a few affairs outside would only add to his charm. Now, wherever he went, countless girls would vie to be in his arms.

Without any emotion, I said: “Mr. Lao, I am not suitable to be kept in a golden cage.”

He softly said: “Don’t call me so formally.”

There was almost a hint of pleading in his voice.

I gave a faint smile and didn’t respond.

Many years ago, I called him Jiazhuo, deliberately coldly calling him Second Young Master when we were upset. Sometimes, in the Lao residence, I called him Brother Jiajun, and then back in our home, I called him Big Brother.

The gentle, even somewhat weak Lao Jiazhuo from many years ago, the young man with a clean, picturesque profile, the lover who kissed me under the study lamp wearing black-rimmed glasses, and even earlier, the man who smiled at me under the mulberry tree on campus—all had vanished with time.

After returning to the country, I occasionally read news articles praising him. Financial media lauded his strategic acumen and decisiveness, saying he surpassed even the old master. Whatever Lao Jiazhuo said could shake the entire Southeast Asian financial market.

Nowadays, no one dared to call him Second Young Master in social settings.

He was unique, a dictator.

He was the highest decision-maker of 137 branches of Laotong globally.

He was powerful, supreme, and invincible.

We had each walked too far down our separate paths. The faint affection under the moonlit wine and flower shadows had long dissipated in the light of the past.

He would never be, nor could he ever be again.

My own private Lao Jiazhuo.

I saw Lao Jiazhuo about once a week. He had a key and occasionally stayed over.

I kept condoms in the bedroom. Aside from that one unprotected time, I made sure to take emergency contraception afterward. Shamelessly, I became a man’s mistress.

It’s hard to explain my current state of mind. I once thought I would never want to see him again in this lifetime, yet I couldn’t resist the longing in my heart. In truth, I had become indifferent to many things. Life is unpredictable, even life and death are fleeting. Why should I worry too much about the future? Just take one step at a time.

Lao Jiazhuo remained consistent in his meticulous and persistent behavior. If he was in town, no matter how late or tired he was, his driver would bring him over every few days.

I had seen how busy he could get. This month, Xu Feng had taken a week off, and a young assistant I didn’t recognize had driven him. I couldn’t imagine how he managed.

He stayed in the next room, with no entertainment. We would sit on the couch watching movies, he reminded me to eat, and under the lamp, he extinguished my cigarettes. He was still very concerned about my frequent job changes.

During this time, my former colleague from Style, Akka, occasionally performed as a resident singer at an upscale nightclub open to members, mostly foreigners and celebrities. He introduced me to a few shows there. When Lao Jiazhuo found out, he was extremely displeased and strongly urged me to stop such work.

One night, he forbade me from going out late. I adamantly refused, and we had a big fight. That time, things got very tense between us.

Since he had so many complaints about me, there was no need for him to keep coming and making himself unhappy.

On Monday, he needed to return to Hong Kong for work. I gave him the cold shoulder and didn’t speak to him. Perhaps no one had given him such a look in years. He left angrily without eating breakfast.

That weekend, he didn’t come over. It wasn’t until the following Tuesday, nearly midnight, that Lao Jiazhuo called me from downstairs.

His voice on the phone was distant: “Yingying, are you asleep?”

I was a bit groggy: “Hmm, what is it?”

He asked softly: “Is it convenient? I’ll come up and sit for a while.”

I let him in. It was raining outside. He wore a thin suit jacket, his shirt untied. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his usually bright face showed signs of fatigue.

I was surprised: “Why so late?”

He nodded: “I had dinner with some clients at the hotel tonight.”

I poured him a glass of warm water: “Then why did you still come over?”

He looked at me but didn’t speak, his expression oddly dim. Then he lowered his head and took a sip of water.

I sat on the couch, yawning as I watched an artsy midnight movie.

Lao Jiazhuo sat on the couch for a while, then checked his watch: “I have to go. There’s a meeting early tomorrow morning.”

He stood up and put on his coat.

I got up to see him to the door.

As he opened the door to leave, he suddenly turned and stood firmly in front of me.

Lao Jiazhuo placed a hand on my shoulder and lifted my chin with the other. His thumb gently caressed my jaw, then he slightly leaned down and tenderly kissed my lips.

He was unusually affectionate tonight.

I slightly retreated, and he immediately pressed his hand against my waist, deepening the kiss.

He lingered on my lips, his tongue gently exploring, tenderly entwining with mine. I felt waves of numbness throughout my body.

I was somewhat stunned. Unless in bed, we had never been so tender and intimate, like lovers.

When I was nearly out of breath, he released me and pulled me into his arms, murmuring: “Today is my birthday, Yingying. I’m thirty-two. Half my life has passed, and I’ve achieved nothing.”

His tone, filled with deep exhaustion, was utterly desolate and disheartened.

I was completely stunned.

I hadn’t realized it was his birthday.

In the past, for his birthday, I would secretly start planning a month in advance, joyfully deciding on gifts, what to wear and which shoes to pair, and where to dine in the evening.

Lao Jiazhuo pressed me against his chest, and I heard the steady beat of his heart.

He sighed as if after a narrow escape: “Yingying, it’s so good that you’re still here.”

I opened my mouth, unsure what to say, and stiffly replied: “I forgot...”

He slightly loosened his hold and feigned spirit: “As compensation, give me a kiss back, okay?”

After hesitating for a few seconds, I tiptoed and lightly kissed his cheek.

Lao Jiazhuo looked down at me, revealing the first smile of the night. His brows slightly relaxed, and fine lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. He had aged too.

After the busy season in early October, theatrical performances entered a relatively quiet period. I was feeling tired and took a few days off to consider changing jobs. One day, while cooking soup in the kitchen following a recipe, I unexpectedly received a call from an old acquaintance.

Su Jian called me.

We met at a small bar at the street corner.

He placed a slender box on the table: “Feng Nian handed this to me this morning during a meeting. It’s from Mr. Lao for you.”

I opened it in front of Su Jian—it was a matte black Lamy pen.

I smiled and placed it beside me.

Su Jian puzzled: “Why go through the trouble of bringing a pen back from Berlin.”

I had lost a pen last week at work. It was a gift from Professor Modercack. I was frantically searching for it in my bag when he saw it at home.

I didn’t expect him to remember and buy another one just like it.

I casually asked: “Is he back?”

Su Jian replied: “Not yet. There’s an urgent matter in North America to handle. The gift was brought back by his assistant.”

I said: “If he’s so fond of bringing things back, he might as well bring afternoon tea sausages.”

Su Jian enthusiastically responded: “I’ve eaten those in Nuremberg. They truly are the best in the world.”

I smiled: “They’re not bad.”

Seeing my expression, Su Jian cautiously mentioned: “I’ve been to Germany a few times but haven’t had the chance to visit Konstanz.”

I calmly said: “You should consider traveling there. It’s a very beautiful place.”

Su Jian finally asked: “Yingying, how was your life abroad these past few years?”

I was silent for a few seconds.

Su Jian said: “Mr. Lao has always wanted to ask, but you strongly resist discussing this topic with him.”

I indifferently replied: “It’s all in the past.”

Su Jian earnestly said: “He cares about you deeply.”

I had to say: “Didn’t he send Peter Zhang to investigate? That’s my life.”

Su Jian’s professionalism was admirable: “But the information Peter gathered pertains to your whereabouts three years after arriving in Germany. For the year and five months prior—when you left the country bound for Dubai, but after arriving in Dubai, we lost all traces of you.”

Su Jian’s tone was meticulously calm: “From the time you left the country to when your photos were published in the photography magazine, there was a gap of one year and five months. During this time, Mr. Lao couldn’t find any information about you until the magazine was published and the PR department of Laotong discovered your photos.”

Su Jian paused: “Though it’s not surprising, considering the chaotic area you lived in London.”

I listened in astonishment, as if it were someone else’s story. Even the data was so precise—I had stayed in London for one year and five months. My own memory was already a blur.

Su Jian gave me a bitter smile: “You might not believe it, but in the four years and nine months since you left him, my entire job shifted from financial asset management—to civil and commercial investigation.”

I was puzzled: “Why?”

Su Jian answered: “After you left, Jiazhuo desperately wanted to find you. He transferred me from Laotong to search for you. You know, at that time, he had just taken over power. Many of the old ministers under the previous heir had objections, and there were many pressing issues to resolve. His energy was limited, and his health condition didn’t allow for it. Transferring me was an extremely unwise decision, but he insisted. He simply said, ‘Su Jian, you are my most reliable.’“

Su Jian said helplessly: “No one could refuse him at that time, so I had to follow his orders and search for you. But I’m not omnipotent. I investigated all the Italian businessmen who married Chinese wives, but none of them were your mother.”

I informed him: “My mother didn’t even have time to take her husband’s surname before she passed away.”

Su Jian nodded slightly, apologetically: “We didn’t know your mother had passed away at that time.”

I gave a bleak smile: “I never expected her to do that.”

Sympathy flickered in Su Jian’s eyes: “You know, Jiazhuo always avoided information about your mother. He didn’t even know where in Venice your mother remarried. You disappeared without a trace, and Jiazhuo was almost driven mad with despair. He threatened your father with the loan renewal funds of Jiang Corporation. Who would have thought your father was so stubborn that he preferred to end the business rather than tell him where you were. After you left, your father stormed up to the 38th floor of Laotong, slammed the table, and cursed him. After you left, relations between the two families deteriorated. Jiang Corporation collapsed overnight. By the time Jiazhuo wanted to salvage the situation, it was too late.”

I recalled vaguely. I remembered my father informing me indirectly that Lao Jiazhuo was looking for me.

At that time, I was in unbearable pain in Professor Modercack’s psychological lab, crying out desperately: “Dad, I never want to see this person again in my life.”

My father didn’t tell me anything, only comforted me repeatedly: “Alright, my good girl. Dad won’t let you see him.”

Ultimately, I was unfilial.

My hands trembled as I lit a cigarette.

Su Jian was slightly startled by my action.

Indifferently, I turned my head and lit the lighter.

Su Jian quickly regained his composure, lowering his head to drink half a glass of wine: “The only information we received later was from London, but it was the worst possible news. We were informed that you were very likely killed in a fire.”

“In the building where a rental apartment was registered under your name, the police found the body of an Asian woman wearing your jade pendant.”

“Though none of us wanted to believe it, the blood type and age matched. Although it was later confirmed that it wasn’t you, it was highly possible you were inside during the fire. The neighborhood was chaotic, and even the police couldn’t provide clear details—it was truly despairing.”

I had seen too many farewells. I hoped Xiaolv was doing well in the world with my mother. I nodded: “So it was such a dramatic play.”

Su Jian said: “Though he always held hope in his heart, at that time he was so terrified he nearly died.”

I decisively decided to end the topic: “Su Jian, persuade him not to look for me anymore.”

Su Jian persisted in convincing me: “Yingying, at least let him know that excessive speculation and self-blame will destroy him.”

I tried to end the conversation: “After my mother passed away, I lived in London for a while. Later, after the fire, I left England for Germany. You know the rest.”

Su Jian didn’t miss any detail: “Yingying, according to Edward, your condition in London was very poor.”

I gave a cold smile: “How much worse could it get? I’m still alive.”

Su Jian looked at me with some alarm.

I grew impatient: “In any case, there’s no need to bring up these old matters again.”

He urged: “Yingying, you can’t shut yourself off.”

I was already somewhat angry: “Su Jian, what do you want from me? He’s a married man now.”

Su Jian was silent for a moment, then slowly said: “I hope you don’t mind. Frankly, even I didn’t strongly oppose his marriage at the time.”

A chilling sensation crept over me.

Su Jian’s tone grew heavy: “The price he paid for that car accident was immense. Miss Qian’s father lost his life in that accident. From initial grief and despair, Miss Qian developed feelings for him and stayed by his side during rehabilitation. Jiazhuo felt guilty towards her and was deeply despondent. With the little energy he had left after work, he ignored almost everyone. Miss Qian just waited for him.”

I couldn’t help but ask: “His car accident—when did it happen?”

“It seems he didn’t tell you,” Su Jian softly replied: “On the day you left, at the airport highway exit, a car ahead suddenly changed lanes. He was driving too fast to avoid it.”

“Miss Qian patiently accompanied him for nearly two years. It was quite moving for us to witness.”

“At that time, after returning from London, he was once critically ill.”

“Later, when Miss Qian’s mother fell ill, she begged Jiazhuo to take care of her daughter.”

“The marriage was Miss Qian’s request.”

“He eventually agreed.”

I only asked one question: “How severe were his injuries?”

Su Jian said: “He was driving that Cayenne. The car flipped off the highway, all four airbags deployed. He suffered a serious spinal injury, spent half a year in the hospital, and underwent more than a year of rehabilitation.”

I remembered the fortune-telling that said we would have a prosperous husband and wife, but who would have thought our fates weren’t compatible.

My voice drifted calmly, with an enlightened serenity: “Su Jian, he should treat her well.”

After bidding farewell to Su Jian, the cold wind flipped the hem of my coat as I stepped out.

I thanked Su Jian for offering to drive me home, but chose to walk back alone along the long street.

That night, Lao Jiazhuo called: “Did you meet Su Jian?”

I curled up in bed, feeling cold: “Mm.”

He casually asked: “What did you talk about?”

I told him: “He promised to try to persuade you to let go and stop bothering me.”

Lao Jiazhuo heard this and paused before saying: “Let’s see him dare say a word to me.”

His tone was light, yet it sent a shiver down my spine.

It seemed Mr. Lao’s temper had grown considerably over the years.

I said: “Nothing else, I’ll hang up.”

“Wait,” he asked: “Yingying, why does your voice sound strange?”

I said: “It’s nothing.”

Lao Jiazhuo started lecturing: “Jiang Yiying.”

I had to say: “My throat hurts a bit.”

His voice softened on the phone: “Take your temperature. Every time your throat hurts, you get a fever.”

I brushed him off: “I know.”

He insisted worriedly: “I’m still in Macau. If you’re uncomfortable, see a doctor first.”

I started feeling unwell in the morning. My throat was swollen, making it hard to drink water. I wrapped myself in a blanket and lay in bed all day, but by evening, I hadn’t improved.

In the middle of the night, I began to shiver, goosebumps covering my skin, my temperature rapidly rising.

This was no ordinary cold or fever. I was familiar with this feeling, but recently, my malaria treatment had been optimistic, and the doctor said I was nearly cured.

I lay in bed, dizzy and disoriented. Suddenly, my phone rang.

With a pounding headache, I struggled to press the reject button, but it rang again.

I finally answered.

Lao Jiazhuo immediately asked: “Yingying, what’s wrong?”

I snapped irritably: “Are you crazy calling me in the middle of the night!”

He ignored my bad temper and patiently asked: “What’s wrong?”

I muttered: “None of your business.”

I tossed the phone under the bed.

My consciousness was fading. I don’t know how long I slept, but I vaguely heard some noise in the living room, then someone came in and put a coat on me.

Then a clean towel wiped my forehead, a familiar deep voice carrying a hint of warmth: “Yingying, are you alright?”

The emergency room lights were blindingly white at night.

Doctors and nurses bustled about. A stethoscope was placed on my chest, someone pressed my arm to insert a needle. He held me the whole time, his slightly cool body accompanying me through the doctor’s office, hospital corridors, elevators, into the room, and onto the soft bed.

After half a bottle of IV fluid, I regained some clarity.

Opening my eyes, I saw Lao Jiazhuo by my bedside. Seeing me awake, he held my hand and gave a faint smile: “Feeling better?”

After the episode, I recovered quickly, my spirits mostly restored.

“Why are we here?” I glanced around the tidy, elegant, spacious VIP ward, with a living room outside.

Lao Jiazhuo stood up and touched my forehead: “The doctor said to stay overnight for observation.”

I shook my head: “It’s nothing, let’s go home.”

He frowned and scolded: “You had such a high fever, why didn’t you call me?”

I remembered to ask: “Weren’t you in Macau? How is there a flight this late?”

Lao Jiazhuo hesitated, not expecting me to ask this, but calmly replied: “I took my own plane.”

I opened my mouth, unsure what to say next. Should I praise him for being unimaginably wealthy?

Lao Jiazhuo simply held my hand: “Are you hungry? I’ll go buy you some porridge.”

I said: “No need, you go back.”

He hesitated but didn’t know how to refuse me.

I added: “How can I sleep with you watching over me?”

He had no choice but to say: “I’ll sit on the couch outside. Call me if you’re uncomfortable.”

I closed my eyes and fell asleep. When I woke up, it was nearly noon the next day. I felt much better. Lao Jiazhuo came in to check on me, followed by a nurse.

He helped take my arm out from under the blanket. The nurse removed the IV, then checked my medication at the bedside. Lao Jiazhuo quietly walked out.

After a while, Lao Jiazhuo returned, his face somewhat solemn: “The doctor just told me they recommend a detailed uterine examination, but I haven’t seen you come for it?”

I was taken aback, then remembered: “Oh, right, I forgot.”

Lao Jiazhuo asked: “What exactly is the issue?”

I evasively replied: “I have hormonal imbalance and irregular periods.”

His expression was one of complete acceptance: “Then let the doctor take a look.”

I stuffed the pills in my hand into my pocket, opened the door, and headed out: “Another day.”

Lao Jiazhuo stopped me: “The doctor said it might affect fertility.”

I indifferently said: “I’m not interested in having children.”

Lao Jiazhuo gently persuaded: “You’ll eventually get married.”

I coldly looked at him: “I don’t plan to marry, nor am I interested in having children.”

Lao Jiazhuo softly said: “Be obedient, go for a check-up.”

I ignored him and walked out: “I’m going home.”

He grabbed my wrist: “Yingying.”

I angrily said: “Let go!”

Lao Jiazhuo’s tone carried a threat: “Do you believe I’ll drag you in?”

I yanked my hand free: “Lao Jiazhuo, you’ll regret this.”

I was taken to the department, changed clothes, disinfected, and wheeled into the examination room.

I lay under the machine while the doctor examined my private area and carefully observed the images. I noticed the doctor’s expression change slightly.

I got dressed and came out.

The middle-aged woman in the white coat softly said: “I need to speak with Miss Jiang privately.”

Lao Jiazhuo said: “There’s no need.”

I stood aside, seemingly indifferent.

The doctor said: “Based on Miss Jiang’s symptoms, signs, and related test results, especially the ultrasound, we currently consider a diagnosis of uterine fibroids.”

Lao Jiazhuo asked: “How is it treated? Does it require surgery?”

The doctor removed her mask and replied: “Surgery is recommended, removing the fibroid via laparoscopy.”

She looked at me, then at Lao Jiazhuo, and finally asked: “Also, sorry to ask, has Miss Jiang undergone an abortion before?”

The room fell deathly silent, the smell of disinfectant particularly sharp.

The reopened wound made me feel a slight sense of shame.

Lao Jiazhuo’s face instantly turned to stone.

I told Lao Jiazhuo: “You go out.”

The color drained from his face bit by bit.

Lao Jiazhuo forced a breath, his voice tight: “Sorry, could you repeat what you just said?”

The doctor gently explained: “Miss Jiang underwent an abortion, causing some damage to the uterus. If you plan to have children, it’s advisable to make plans while you’re young.”

Lao Jiazhuo’s voice was eerily calm: “Roughly when was this?”

The doctor thought for a moment: “Judging by the cervix, it was a surgical abortion, probably a few years ago.”

His face turned completely ashen, his lips trembling, unable to speak further.

“Doctor, sorry, I’ll come another day.” I put on my clothes and walked out of the hospital.

When I reached the hospital gate, someone grabbed me from behind. He was breathing slightly heavily from walking fast.

Catching his breath, he called my name: “Yingying.”

“You’re overthinking. It’s not your child,” I coldly said.

He was still partly in a daze: “Let’s go home first.”

The car stopped downstairs. We went upstairs, and he brought me clean clothes to change into. Half-persuading, half-coaxing, he dissuaded me from taking a bath, bringing a warm towel for me to wipe my body, then had dinner delivered.

I ate a little in the room. Lao Jiazhuo came in to collect the dishes.

He methodically handled everything, his face pale but calm. He concealed his emotions so well; I didn’t know if he believed my explanation.

I was still weary and felt drowsy after eating.

At around nine o’clock, Lao Jiazhuo brought in water and pills.

When I took the glass from him, I glanced up at him.

He lowered his gaze, avoiding my eyes, then gently caressed my cheek: “Sleep well. I’ll be in the next room.”

I took the medicine and went to bed early. In the middle of the night, I suddenly woke up.

The room was pitch black, filled with a faint smell of tobacco. I pushed aside the blanket and got up.

Standing at the bedroom door, I saw a vague figure on the living room sofa.

He sat motionless, completely unaware that I was standing by the door. His hand rested on the armrest, his index finger pressed against his chin, maintaining a fixed posture, lost in deep thought.

Feeling thirsty, I fumbled around but couldn’t find my cup, so I reached out to turn on the living room light.

The moment the light came on, Lao Jiazhuo’s body trembled, but he didn’t turn to look at me. Instead, as if unable to bear the bright light, he raised his hand to cover his eyes.

In that instant, when I saw his face, a thunderous shock reverberated through my mind. I was utterly stunned.

He was crying.

The liquid streaming down his face was like a flash of lightning cutting across a pristine field.

I had never seen him cry in my life.

My heart raced as I quickly turned off the light again.

Not knowing what to do, I wanted to escape back to the bedroom and continue sleeping.

“Come here,” Lao Jiazhuo suddenly spoke, his voice low, tinged with a slight nasal tone.

After hesitating for a long time, I slowly shuffled over to him.

He reached out and pulled me into his arms, gently holding my stomach with both hands.

His face buried in my hair, resting against the back of my neck.

I shifted uncomfortably: “What’s wrong—”

“Yingying,” he suddenly called my name, his voice soft and faint: “How far along were you?”

A shiver ran through my body, and he held me tighter.

His cold breath quivered in the air: “How far along? Was it a boy or a girl?”

I struggled to speak: “I didn’t mean to do it. I just couldn’t keep it.”

I closed my eyes, desperately trying to suppress the dark memories surging up: “It was too early to know if it was a boy or a girl.”

Lao Jiazhuo’s voice choked with emotion: “Yingying, what have I done? What have I done to you?”

His voice was strained, barely holding back sobs, even his breathing trembling with pain: “God—”

I felt warm liquid trickle down the back of my neck.

I numbly let him hold me as he gradually quieted down, though his body occasionally twitched.

I was held in his embrace. This embrace, which once exuded a steadfast, warm, fresh scent, had been my sweetest haven many years ago. But now, it was only filled with an overwhelming sense of despair.

We had finally driven each other into a corner with no way out.

Lao Jiazhuo, unwilling to leave me alone, postponed his work and stayed in town to accompany me for two days. By the next day, I was completely fine, and in the evening, he wanted to take me out for dinner.

He drove me to a dazzling restaurant in the city.

I hadn’t eaten in such places since returning, so I casually threw on a coat and followed him inside. The waiter led us to an elegant private room.

Halfway through the meal, his phone rang.

Lao Jiazhuo glanced at it and answered: “Yes, Su Jian.”

He placed the spoon in his bowl: “What is it?”

He lightly furrowed his brow: “Yingying and I are having dinner.”

After listening for a few moments, he glanced at me, pressed the table as if wanting to excuse himself, but then sat back down.

“Yes, tell her I have urgent business to attend to.”

“Where is she now?”

“I’ll go over.”

I kept my head down, focused on drinking my soup, not paying attention to his words, and asked: “Is it urgent?”

He hesitated for a few seconds before honestly replying: “She came over from Hong Kong.”

I froze for a moment and looked up: “Who?”

Lao Jiazhuo fell silent, his pale face slightly flushed. I had never seen him look so flustered and uneasy.

I realized the next moment.

He awkwardly explained: “Sorry, she came over unexpectedly.”

Without a word, I stood up.

He hastily grabbed my hand: “Yingying, finish eating first.”

I pulled back my chair, trying to remain polite: “Don’t worry about me. You go ahead.”

Lao Jiazhuo was at a loss, carefully observing my expression. He followed me as I stood up: “Let me take you home first.”

At that moment, his phone rang again.

Impatiently, I placed the napkin down and walked toward the door. He followed me down the elevator, pushed open the revolving door, and his car was parked in the VIP spot right outside. The valet eagerly greeted him.

Mr. Lao Jiazhuo’s ride, under the glittering night sky, was an elegant shade of dark gray. Strangely, at this moment, I wondered if she had ever sat in that car, in that seat.

I stopped on the steps outside the entrance, feeling a bit nauseous in my chest. Suddenly, I realized my current mindset was no different from that of a jealous woman.

Lao Jiazhuo was at a loss, softly calling my name: “Yingying…”

His brows betrayed his suppressed anxiety. Finally, I couldn’t bear it anymore and reluctantly got into his car.

Lao Jiazhuo drove very steadily. When we arrived, he got out to open the car door for me: “Don’t think too much.”

Without looking at him again, I turned and went upstairs.

Lao Jiazhuo came over that night, and it wasn’t very late—only a few hours since we parted downstairs.

He placed a bag on the coffee table: “Yingying, you didn’t eat enough for dinner. I brought you some late-night snacks.”

I said sarcastically: “Mr. Lao, how does it feel to enjoy the blessings of having both a wife and a mistress?”

He said somewhat gloomily: “I’m sorry you’re upset. I didn’t know she would come over. It won’t happen again.”

I gave a faint smile: “Seems like your wife doesn’t get treated very well either.”

Lao Jiazhuo fell silent for a moment, then softly told me: “We’re in the process of getting a divorce.”

I retorted sharply: “Isn’t Mr. Lao worried about dividing the enormous family assets?”

Unwilling to elaborate, he simply said: “The lawyers will handle it.”

I couldn’t help but sneer: “Another innocent fool.”

He gazed deeply at me but remained silent.

I returned to my room and caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror—dull skin, hormonal imbalance, my features now cold and harsh, devoid of any trace of my former sweetness.

I couldn’t see what redeeming qualities I had left that made him so reluctant to let go. I didn’t need his pity.

Unable to sleep at night, I got up and leaned on the balcony, smoking.

Jiazhuo came out of the room: “Yingying, go back inside and put on a coat. It’s too cold out here.”

I turned my head and took a deep drag, the sharp tobacco filling my lungs with warmth.

He went back inside to fetch a coat, draped it over my shoulders, and quietly stood beside me.

At three in the morning, the world was silent. The horizon of the city glowed faintly red from neon lights.

We sat on chairs, a small round table placed on the balcony.

Jiazhuo went to the kitchen and poured me a cup of hot coffee.

I was already calm: “I heard from Su Jian that when you had the car accident, her father passed away, yet she still took good care of you?”

I didn’t understand what someone who had gone through such a tragedy might feel, but Jiazhuo’s face was peaceful: “I collided with a car that suddenly changed lanes in front of me. Her father was the driver. That was the result of the accident investigation.”

Surprisingly, I found myself speaking kindly to him: “Since you’re married, treat her well.”

Jiazhuo remained silent.

My mood was bleak: “What does this situation mean now?”

He said: “I’ll protect you.”

I replied: “You’re not short of a weekend lover.”

He furrowed his brows: “Yingying, you know I cherish you. There’s no need to belittle yourself like this.”

I mocked with a laugh: “Are you saying that you made a huge mistake, and only after losing me did you realize how much you cherished me? Are you regretting it now, realizing you love me?”

He paused for a moment.

I gave a cold smile, stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray on the table, stood up, and walked away.

“Yingying, there’s one thing I realized too late,” Jiazhuo suddenly spoke behind me. His deep, somber voice rang clearly, each word striking my eardrums: “I can’t lose you.”

I opened the sliding glass door and went back inside.

He sat alone on the balcony all night.

I slept in the room, hearing intermittent, faint coughs in the latter half of the night.

In the morning, I got up to find warm porridge in the kitchen, with pills and a glass of water on the dining table.

He had already left.

It was a workday when Jiazhuo left. I quit my job at the theater and rested at home for two days. Then I received a call from Tang Lechang, who finally had a long-awaited vacation and said he was coming back to visit relatives.

I spoke bluntly to him: “Your dad is already in jail. Who are you visiting?”

Tang Lechang told me: “He’s out now, retired in a local unit back home.”

I felt comforted: “That’s not bad.”

Tang Lechang grumbled discontentedly: “Heartless. Looks like you’re also visiting relatives.”

Tang Lechang informed me of his flight number and arrival time. Having nothing to do at home, I took the subway to the airport to pick him up.

Tang Lechang came out cheerfully pushing a luggage cart, his handsome face as usual giving me a big hug.

Seeing his bright smile lifted my spirits.

We took a taxi back to the city. He asked: “Shall we stay at your place?”

I laughed: “Dream on. We’re staying at a hotel.”

After dropping off our luggage at the hotel, we went out for dinner.

Amidst the clinking of glasses and plates, old memories resurfaced. We ate and chatted until both of us were slightly tipsy, continuing our meal until the city lights began to shine.

Tang Lechang should have been tired from the long flight. After settling the bill, we stood on the street: “I’m going back. You go rest and adjust to the time difference. See you tomorrow.”

Tang Lechang insisted on seeing me home.

The taxi drove through the city streets. I felt drowsy, leaning my head on Tang Lechang’s shoulder, not even realizing when the car stopped.

Until Tang Lechang nudged me awake, his gaze half puzzled, half astonished.

I glanced out the car window, my heart skipping a beat.

Under the streetlight downstairs, a conspicuous car was parked, a tall figure leaning against it.

Tang Lechang said nothing, got out of the car, and walked straight toward him.

I nervously followed him out.

By my side, Tang Lechang asked unhappily: “Yingying, what’s going on?”

I didn’t know what to say.

Tang Lechang continued: “Why is he here?”

Before I could answer, Tang Lechang strode directly up to him: “Mr. Lao, nice to meet you.”

Lao Jiazhuo was also surprised but still politely nodded at him.

Tang Lechang employed diplomatic language: “May I ask what brings you here, sir?”

Lao Jiazhuo had no choice but to say: “I came to check on Yingying.”

Tang Lechang smiled politely: “How thoughtful of you. We just returned from dinner.”

Lao Jiazhuo remained composed: “Thank you.”

Tang Lechang’s words turned sharp as a blade: “May I ask, Mr. Lao, in what capacity are you thanking me?”

Lao Jiazhuo’s face stiffened.

At this point, there was no turning back. I stepped back and stood still.

Cold fury flickered in Tang Lechang’s eyes: “May I ask, Mr. Lao, what right do you have to stand here?”

Lao Jiazhuo met his gaze with unwavering honesty.

Tang Lechang took a large step forward and suddenly swung a punch at his chest. Lao Jiazhuo, caught off guard, staggered slightly, furrowed his brows, and steadied himself.

Tang Lechang grabbed the collar of Jiazhuo’s shirt, gritting his teeth in anger, glaring fiercely at him: “What do you think you are? Abandoning her after seducing her! How dare you still bother her now! She spent so many years alone in Europe. If you abandoned her back then, why are you here now? What? Want to reconcile with your ex-wife?”

Tang Lechang sneered mockingly: “Mr. Lao, with your busy schedule, you must have forgotten. If you remember even a bit of what you did to her, how dare you show your face to her today!”

Lao Jiazhuo kept his brows slightly furrowed but remained silent, letting Tang Lechang vent his anger.

Tang Lechang pushed him away and then lunged forward, punching hard into Jiazhuo’s abdomen. This time, Jiazhuo didn’t dodge. He staggered backward several steps, slamming heavily against the car with a loud thud.

I rushed over to pull Tang Lechang back: “Lechang, that’s enough!”

Tang Lechang stopped, placing a protective hand on my shoulder.

Lao Jiazhuo maintained his calm and indifferent expression, lowering his eyes to avoid looking at us. He slowly straightened up, leaning on the car, and pulled out a tissue to dab at his bleeding lip as he coughed softly.

He stood with his back to us, his hand trembling slightly on the car door.

I hesitated, wanting to go check on him.

Tang Lechang stubbornly pulled me back, giving me a glare.

The three of us stood there in an eerie silence.

After a while, Lao Jiazhuo steadied himself against the car door, turned around, and acted as if nothing had happened. Standing firmly, he looked at me gently and said: “Yingying, I’ve already made an appointment with the doctor for you to go to the hospital tomorrow morning for another check-up. If needed, we can schedule the surgery soon.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Tang Lechang immediately pulled me back: “Please stop harassing her.”

Tang Lechang dragged me toward the building.

He followed me into the living room, glanced around, and noticed the open doors of the master bedroom and guest room, understanding the situation immediately.

Feeling exhausted, I collapsed onto the sofa: “Sit wherever you like.”

Tang Lechang didn’t ask further questions. He fetched a glass and poured me some water, sat for a while, and then bid farewell.

I watched him wave at me from the doorway and leave with his tall, elegant figure. He had always protected me, never asking about my reckless affairs since my return. When did he become such a thoughtful and considerate person? Having a friend like him was truly a blessing. The girl who would eventually be by his side would surely be very fortunate.

In the morning, I turned on the news. The financial channel was broadcasting breaking news: A high-ranking official from a well-known city commercial bank was implicated in a scandal. The banking regulatory commission issued an urgent notice requiring banks to effectively prevent and control operational risks and intensify supervision over trust plans. Financial institutions were in a state of panic.

Tang Lechang came early to knock on my door. I turned off the TV and opened the door for him.

He brought in steaming breakfast.

We sat at the small kitchen table, sipping our porridge. Tang Lechang asked: “Yingying, what did that man mean yesterday when he said you need to go to the hospital?”

I busied myself sipping soy milk, mumbling vaguely: “I have a minor health issue.”

Tang Lechang immediately said: “I’ll go with you to the hospital.”

I changed the subject: “Let’s go to Beizhou Island today, come back in the evening for coffee at Nanjue, and then visit the school, okay?”

Tang Lechang complained: “Yingying—”

I said: “I swear, it’s not a big deal.”

He insisted: “We’ll go to the hospital first.”

I replied: “As soon as you leave, I’ll go right away, so hurry up and leave.”

He persisted: “Why don’t I go with you?”

“No, I don’t want you to see me like this.” I tugged at him: “You’re back after so long; let’s not talk about these unpleasant things.”

Tang Lechang pouted and refused to budge, sitting stubbornly on the sofa.

I had no choice but to shake his hand: “Alright, let’s have fun today and talk about it tonight when you come back, okay?”

He frowned: “You must go tomorrow.”

I pinched his eyebrow: “Okay.”

We spent a joyful day outside.

The next morning, I went downstairs and passed a cobalt-blue car when suddenly I heard a honk.

Then a soft, feminine voice called out: “Yingying.”

I turned my head and saw a radiant woman stepping out of the car. She wore a short trench coat, her long curly hair flowing gracefully. Her face was familiar.

I stood still, puzzled.

She smiled faintly but deliberately scolded me: “The older you get, the less polite you become. Don’t you even greet your elder sister?”

It was Lin Baorong.

I was somewhat surprised but still greeted her: “Elder Sister.”

She smiled warmly: “You’ve grown up, and you’re prettier now.”

I forced a smile.

I stood a few steps away, feeling distant.

Lin Baorong elegantly approached me: “That reserved nature of Second Brother’s—he treasures you like a precious gem. I only found out you were back just before the New Year, but you left again. If it weren’t for him coming to see me this time, who knows how long he would have kept you hidden.”

I politely asked: “Elder Sister, what brings you here?”

Lin Baorong spoke warmly: “I came to take you to the hospital. I should have come yesterday, but there was an unexpected inspection at work. The top executives had to personally handle the reception, and we were all swamped.”

I gently declined: “It’s too much trouble.”

Lin Baorong looked at me carefully, sighed, and said: “Yingying, I still consider you family.”

I lowered my head, feeling a warmth in my heart.

Lin Baorong asked: “Where is that handsome boyfriend of yours?”

It seemed Lao Jiazhuo had told her everything.

She patted my arm: “Let him come along.”

Lin Baorong and I went upstairs together. When Tang Lechang arrived, she drove us to the hospital.

As we walked from the parking lot to the hospital building, we saw a tall, refined man in a white coat standing in the lobby. He waited for us to approach and smiled: “Here you are.”

Lin Baorong introduced him casually: “This is my boyfriend, Ma Wentao.”

I smiled at him, and Tang Lechang shook his hand: “Dr. Ma.”

Dr. Ma led us directly to the director’s office.

After the physical examination, I was admitted to the hospital, and the surgery was scheduled for the day after tomorrow.

Dr. Ma reassured me: “Don’t worry. In a week, you’ll be up and about.”

Lin Baorong and Tang Lechang accompanied me during the surgery.

I was wheeled into the operating room, given anesthesia, and woke up in the ward feeling calm. My abdominal wound was bandaged, with only slight pain.

After the surgery, I could be discharged in three to five days. The doctors and nurses were professional and kind. The VIP ward was fully equipped. Tang Lechang visited every day, making the days pass pleasantly.

On the third afternoon, Lin Baorong came over: “Yingying, Second Brother visits you every night. When will you see him?”

I flipped through a magazine slowly, not intentionally avoiding him, but he usually came late when I was already asleep.

Lin Baorong spoke frankly: “Second Brother has many flaws, the most annoying being that he keeps everything bottled up inside. For years, he hasn’t forgotten you. No one in the family dares to mention you because he changes color whenever your name comes up. It’s his own fault for suffering. But now, with the eldest doing nothing, Second Brother has to manage everything, running back and forth between two places day and night. Yingying, give me face and let him see you. He won’t rest easy until he does.”

I looked up and muttered: “Tell him not to come anymore.”

Lin Baorong immediately said: “Then tell him yourself.”

She took out her phone and dialed. When the call connected, she listened and asked curiously: “Liang Fengnian?”

She quickly asked: “Why are you answering? Where’s Boss?”

I heard Lin Baorong say: “Where is he?”

“Alright, I’ll call the main house.”

She redialed, and just then, a nurse came in. Lin Baorong gestured to me, talking while walking out: “Uncle Guo, it’s me, Baorong.”

After a while, Lin Baorong returned and told me: “Yingying, he can’t make it tonight.”

I nodded but didn’t say more.

Lin Baorong praised me: “Yingying, your composure is impressive. You’ve changed a lot. Seeing how Second Brother is treated now, I’m sure he’s suffered silently many times.”

I sensed her underlying meaning and simply asked: “What’s wrong with him?”

Lin Baorong paused for a few seconds, her confident demeanor dimming slightly: “This afternoon at the main house, he collapsed from exhaustion. The family doctor discovered his injuries, alarming the matriarch. Nurses are now watching over him as he receives IV fluids.”

She smiled at me, masking her concern: “With the Lao family’s status, he, being the youngest son, should be taking good care of his health. Yet, he’s the busiest, working tirelessly. Just the other day, he joked about how exhausting his job was and urged me to submit my resignation so he could marry me off sooner.”

Lin Baorong sighed: “Maybe I’m getting old, but seeing him like this makes me reluctant to leave.”

My eyes misted over.

Lin Baorong asked: “But I’m curious, where did those injuries come from?”

I looked up and calmly told her: “Tang Lechang hit him.”

Lin Baorong nodded, simply saying: “If he can’t even keep his own wife, he deserves it.”

In the quiet night, a bedside lamp illuminated the room.

I lay in my bed, closing my eyes with a sense of peace.

Tang Lechang had already returned to Belgium for work. Before leaving, he asked me: “Yingying, you still love him, don’t you?”

I covered my face and remained silent for a long time before softly replying: “I want to forget him.”

Tang Lechang looked at me with a faint sadness but said nothing.

Perhaps he already understood that I might never have the strength to love someone again.

I sat alone on the bed, lost in thought, when the phone on the cabinet suddenly rang.

I picked up the phone, and Lao Jiazhuo’s voice came through: “Yingying.”

I responded with a simple syllable: “Hmm?”

Lao Jiazhuo asked: “Are you discharged?”

I said: “Yes.”

His voice was somewhat blurred over the phone: “I had an urgent business trip yesterday and couldn’t come to pick you up. Sorry about that.”

I replied: “It’s alright.”

During my hospital stay, he did manage to visit once. However, Tang Lechang happened to be in the room at the time. The atmosphere among the three of us was awkward, so I stayed silent while Tang Lechang focused on playing games on his laptop. Even with Jiazhuo’s usual composure, it must have been uncomfortable for him.

He only stayed for a short while before Tang Lechang found an excuse to send him off.

Recently, he seemed to be out of town, but somehow, Lao Jiazhuo had gotten into the habit of calling me every day.

I didn’t know where on Earth he was, but he always called at an appropriate time, never too late, usually before I went to bed.

Sometimes his voice sounded weary.

In the middle of the night, I heard the faint sounds of a meeting room, an assistant speaking softly in English as they brought him coffee, and then the background gradually quieted.

Our conversations were mundane.

He only asked if I had eaten on time.

He reminded me to rest early.

Or perhaps advised me not to smoke while reading on the couch.

One night, he sounded a bit drunk: “Yingying, after my divorce, will I have a chance to win you back?”

I told him: “Mr. Lao, you’re drunk.”

He lost his usual composure, his voice filled with anguish: “Jiang Yiying, you belong to me. Since you were six years old, you’ve been mine.”

He clenched his teeth: “Even if you go to the ends of the earth, you’re still mine, Lao Jiazhuo’s.”

I sneered: “Just give me your corpse as a gift when I die.”

He coughed softly on the other end: “Yingying...”

I hung up the phone.

He was pushing me too hard, and it ended badly.

In the following days, Lao Jiazhuo didn’t call me again.

From the very beginning, I was clear that there was no reason for our relationship to continue.

It could start anytime, and it could end just as easily.

When December arrived, the city was set to host a major sports event next year. The government planned to renovate the cityscape comprehensively. The neighborhood where I lived was located next to the first green belt, and the government required modifications to rooftops, windows, and air conditioner guardrails.

The staff had been promoting the renovations in the neighborhood for several days, and the property management office issued documents for homeowners to sign.

I couldn’t find him.

I called the headquarters of Laotong, and the secretary said he was on a business trip. Since returning to the country, I never dialed his private number.

I had no choice but to call Su Jian.

Su Jian said he had been extremely busy lately.

I briefly explained the situation to Su Jian.

Su Jian said: “Mr. Lao will return tomorrow night. I’ll ask him first.”

A moment later, Su Jian called me back: “Yingying, I need to deliver some documents to him. Mr. Lao would like you to come along. He has work in the mainland the day after tomorrow morning, but he plans to stay here for a short while. He wants to see you.”

I hesitated: “Is it convenient?”

Su Jian calmly replied: “It’s fine. He’s taking his private plane.”

We arrived at the airport in the evening. I absentmindedly followed Su Jian through the bustling crowd of travelers with their luggage. I looked up at the planes taking off and landing beyond the massive glass windows. We entered the waiting hall, and Liang Fengnian approached from afar.

Su Jian nodded slightly at him.

Liang Fengnian stood beside Su Jian and directly said: “Mr. Lao canceled the meeting in Shanghai. He asked you to give the documents to me. Bian Zong has already flown from Hong Kong to attend on his behalf.”

Su Jian sensitively asked: “What happened?”

Liang Fengnian glanced at me.

Su Jian gestured that it was alright.

Liang Fengnian whispered to him: “He said he was feeling tired.”

Su Jian’s expression changed slightly: “You’ve been with him for so many years. You know his temperament. If his body wasn’t truly unwell, how could he possibly say…”

Liang Fengnian had no choice but to say: “Now that he’s back, let him rest.”

Su Jian gently scolded: “You all should be more careful.”

Liang Fengnian helplessly said: “This week has been packed with affairs. We couldn’t do anything about it.”

At this moment, Liang Fengnian’s phone rang. He answered and listened to just one sentence before his face suddenly changed, and he shouted into the receiver: “Call an ambulance—”

Su Jian immediately rushed toward the entrance at full speed.

I ran after him.

In the dim light of night, the faint lights on the tarmac flickered. A private business jet was parked on the runway. Its sleek white body bore only the diamond-shaped logo of Laotong on the tail.

I followed Su Jian running up the boarding stairs.

I finally understood why he needed a private plane—no matter how comfortable the first-class cabin was, it would still be too difficult for him because his health was truly deteriorating.

The cabin lights were soft and bright. On the left, there was a square conference table that could accommodate four people, next to it a set of sofas, and behind that a small dining area and bar.

Lao Jiazhuo sat by the conference table, wearing a white shirt and a silver-gray vest over a suit. His assistant was helping him stand up. His face was pale, and his body was already swaying precariously. Su Jian quickly stepped forward to support him, laying him down semi-reclined on the sofa. Then, with practiced hands, he undid his shirt, tilting his head back to keep the airway open.

I leaned closer to him. His lips were cyanotic, drenched in sweat, and his consciousness seemed to be slowly slipping into a coma.

Su Jian urgently said: “Yingying, give him some oxygen!”

I looked around and saw a portable oxygen pillow behind the sofa. I quickly removed the rubber tube connected to the bag, tore open a disposable nasal cannula, checked the oxygen flow, lubricated it with a cotton swab dipped in cold water, then gently lifted his face and carefully inserted the cannula into his nasopharynx.

I carefully observed his reaction. There was no coughing or sneezing, so I secured the rubber tube to his upper lip with adhesive tape.

All of this took just over a minute. After finishing, I realized my whole body was trembling.

Lao Jiazhuo’s labored breathing slightly improved.

I gently held his hand and called his name: “Jiazhuo?”

He weakly squeezed my hand in response.

I tried to calm myself and examined his symptoms—palpitations, chest pain, accompanied by difficulty breathing.

Severe chest pain could trigger a sense of impending death in the patient.

I had never known the specifics of his condition.

Liang Fengnian came in from outside, his steps hurried: “The car is here. Let’s take him to the hospital.”

Su Jian nodded.

The airport car led the way on the runway, and the driver had already brought Jiazhuo’s car inside.

Su Jian and Liang Fengnian supported him, almost carrying him into the back seat.

Su Jian said: “Yingying, come here.”

He pushed me into the seat beside him, then closed the door and loudly instructed: “Xu Feng, drive carefully!”

The car sped off like an arrow released from a bow.

Su Jian and Liang Fengnian’s cars closely followed behind.

He endured the pain, weakly leaning on me. I squeezed the oxygen bag, freeing one hand to hold his hand. My words trembled lightly: “Jiazhuo—”

His voice was faint: “It’s okay…”

The car raced like lightning. Every minute felt like an agonizing eternity. About twenty minutes later, the cars rushed into the city hospital.

Lao Jiazhuo was still conscious, holding my hand the entire time.

He was wheeled into the emergency room. The director of the thoracic surgery department had already arrived and was instructing the nurses to consult with the cardiac surgery department. After being resuscitated in the emergency room for fifteen minutes, Lao Jiazhuo was immediately taken to the operating room.

The lead surgeon had already washed his hands and prepared to operate. The assistant doctor came to discuss the pre-operation details. Su Jian signed the papers; he was very calm, as if handling such situations was not new to him.

Watching the light above the operating room, I felt the chill of life and death seeping through every inch of my body.

Su Jian supported my shoulders and guided me to a chair to rest. He consoled me: “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”

I was still in shock, staring wide-eyed at him, my lips still trembling.

Su Jian looked at me with pity: “Yingying, calm down.”

I sat on the chair, wringing my fingers, enduring each passing second.

An hour later, Lao Jiazhuo was wheeled out and taken to the ward. A tube was inserted into his chest, with pinkish fluid flowing out.

It was blood from a ruptured chest vessel.

I stood by the bedside and checked his vital signs. His anesthesia state was relatively stable, and signs of awakening had appeared.

Su Jian stayed for a while, patted my shoulder, and softly said: “Don’t worry too much.”

Su Jian stood up and walked out.

I blankly watched over him until the late hours of the night, when exhaustion overtook me, and I curled up on the couch and fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up to find myself lying in bed. Outside the suite, the doctor was talking to Su Jian. The doctor suggested transferring the patient back to Hong Kong for treatment.

Liang Fengnian had already arranged the transfer early in the morning. Su Jian asked if I wanted to go along.

I shook my head.

Liang Fengnian said: “Miss Jiang, go with him to take care of him.”

I replied: “I’m not a doctor or nurse. What use would I be?”

Su Jian patted Liang Fengnian’s shoulder, signaling him to stop talking.

At this moment, the nurse knocked and softly said: “Mr. Su, Mr. Lao is awake and wants to see you.”

I stood up from the sofa, hesitating for a moment, overcome by a sudden fear.

Su Jian went into the ward first.

After a while, Su Jian came out and told me: “Yingying, Mr. Lao says to go home and rest. I’ll send a driver to take you home.”

I froze for a few seconds before coldly replying: “I’m no longer eighteen. Don’t dismiss me so casually. Please have him tell me anything personally.”

Liang Fengnian, who was signing documents nearby, looked up, his face visibly changing color.

Su Jian remained composed. He gently said: “Wait a moment.”

He went in and then came out to tell me: “Wait a bit. The nurse is giving him an injection.”

Ten minutes later, the nurse came out: “Miss Jiang, Mr. Lao requests your presence.”

I went in. He was lying semi-reclined on the hospital bed. The oxygen mask had been removed. His face was pale, his pupils and eyebrows dark, his features sharp and distinct, like a delicate ink painting.

However, the usual strong vitality in his demeanor had vanished.

I stood before him.

Lao Jiazhuo reached out and pulled my hand, gesturing for me to sit down.

I had no choice but to sit beside him.

His breath was faint: “Yingying, I’ll come back to see you after a while.”

He breathed heavily a few times, furrowed his brows, and said: “I’ve already instructed Su Jian to handle the house matters.”

I nodded at him.

Lao Jiazhuo added: “Take good care of yourself.”

I murmured: “Okay.”

He suddenly coughed softly, pressing his chest with effort, still wanting to speak.

I hastily held his hand: “That’s enough.”

Lao Jiazhuo held my hand, his eyes filled with deep sorrow and desolation.

After a while, he softly said: “Go back.”

I deeply looked at him once more, then stood up and walked out.

As I walked out and closed the door behind me, I felt my knees go weak, and I collapsed at the ward entrance.

Su Jian was sitting on the sofa outside, talking to Liang Fengnian. He called out: “Yingying!”

My palms pressed against the ground, but I struggled to get up, lacking the strength.

Su Jian hurried over to help me up.

Su Jian lowered his voice and asked: “Are you alright?”

My limbs felt disobedient, and I bit my lip, shaking my head.

I felt afraid.

That deep-rooted, uncontrollable fear surpassed any lonely night I had woken up from during my long nightmares abroad.

It was the overwhelming sense of loss that could never be recovered.

I had harbored the most malicious thoughts—I wished he wouldn’t fare well, I wished he would suffer as I did.

But I never imagined he would quietly pass away.

No matter where I was in the world, I knew he was there, alive in this world.

Even at eighty, I could still cherish the face I once loved.

I never thought he could leave first.

Perhaps coming back was a mistake.

I didn’t see Lao Jiazhuo again for more than two weeks.

Since becoming the highest leader of Laotong Group, he had become even more low-key than before, rarely attending any public events, including large-scale external activities of Laotong Group. Generally, Su Jian or other executives handled the media. Su Jian had been promoted to Asia President before the New Year because the current CEO had moved up from the Asian headquarters. As a key figure under Lao Jiazhuo, Su Jian had successfully taken on this significant position without disappointing expectations.

I hadn’t called him. There was a cold calmness in my heart. He would surely receive the best treatment in Hong Kong. All I could do was quietly pass each sunrise and sunset.

Unable to focus on anything, I spent my free time at the library.

That day in the reading room, I noticed a girl at the neighboring table. She wore a white trench coat and had her hair tied in a ponytail. In front of her was a large stack of outdated newspapers and magazines, likely a media student working on an assignment.

As I lowered my head, I caught sight of a newspaper headline among the pile. The paper was somewhat faded, the large black font bearing a familiar name alongside a shocking image of a car accident scene.

Suppressing the jolt in my heart, I softly asked the girl: “May I borrow this to take a look?”

She smiled and nodded.

I gathered the newspapers and magazines from that day and the following issues, flipping through them page by page, reading each word carefully.

The events of four years ago surged back like a tidal wave, and I felt the blood in my body turn cold inch by inch.

How could I forget that day? How could I possibly not remember it—the vast, empty hall where sunlight couldn’t penetrate the clouds, me collapsing in despair on a chair in the waiting lounge, enduring the nausea in my throat and the piercing pain in my heart, experiencing the most bewildering and chaotic afternoon of my life.

Years later, returning to the same place on another gloomy, gray afternoon, I finally had the courage to face that day. But what I didn’t know at the time was that on that very day, Lao Jiazhuo also endured one of the most painful trials of his life.

The newspapers didn’t show pictures of the victims, only capturing the accident scene after the police arrived.

Even so, the remaining bloodstains and the heavily scratched ground revealed the horrific traffic disaster.

Professionals analyzed in the newspapers, saying that the Cayenne driven by Lao Jiazhuo likely collided with an oncoming vehicle or rear-ended a vehicle traveling in the same direction. The car broke through the guardrail and flipped off the highway, with the front-right side sustaining a severe impact, damaging the suspension, hub, and causing the tires to burst.

The entire car became a pile of luxurious scrap metal.

The driver of the Prius in front died on the spot, Lao Jiazhuo was injured and sent to the hospital, and the accident also caused two chain-reaction rear-end collisions, fortunately without any casualties.

The news shocked the entire city. It wasn’t just the severity of the traffic accident but also the fact that the individuals involved were prominent figures.

A swarm of media rushed to the hospital.

Laotong Group mobilized a large number of security personnel to surround the VIP ward on the top floor of the hospital building, with impenetrable preventive measures. All attending doctors remained tight-lipped.

By the afternoon of the next day, Laotong Group quickly held a press conference. The relevant authorities from the police attended and explained the results of the accident investigation. The primary responsibility for the accident lay with the vehicle in front for illegal lane changing, but Lao Jiazhuo’s speed exceeded the maximum driving limit, making him partially responsible for the accident. Laotong Group also invited hospital personnel to attend; the attending physician in a white coat briefed the media on the condition, stating that Lao Jiazhuo suffered spinal compression injuries, but the realignment surgery was timely, and he had already passed the most critical 24 hours of his life.

On the same day, a certain newspaper’s supplement also published a blurry photo of Tang Lechang escorting me out of the country. However, given that all media attention was focused on this traffic accident, there wasn’t much reporting on this matter.

As the press conference concluded, the subsequent newspapers showed that this news gradually faded from public view.

I pressed my hand on the table, deeply inhaling and exhaling, trying to calm my emotions. No wonder the driver mentioned his back pain last time.

The girl beside me leaned over and glanced at a photo of Lin Baorong addressing the reporters.

The girl smiled and said: “Laotong Group always handles crisis PR perfectly.”

I raised an eyebrow slightly and looked at her.

She continued: “Even though Mr. Lao Jiazhuo didn’t appear in the media for nearly three months, it seemed he was orchestrating everything behind the scenes. Laotong Group’s operations ran smoothly, and they even successfully completed the largest acquisition in the industry in recent years—Laotong spent 70 million acquiring all of Guoxing Bank’s assets in Shenzhen and Hong Kong. When Mr. Lao announced the restructuring plan on Shi Jing Avenue at the Laotong Building—it was Mr. Lao’s first public appearance since the car accident—Laotong Bank’s market value increased by nearly a billion overnight.”

The young girl’s expressions were rich, her tone fluctuating dramatically, ultimately letting out a long sigh of admiration.

I politely nodded.

The girl curiously asked: “Are you studying this field too? Why are you interested in this?”

There were still ripples in my heart, and I didn’t know how to respond, so I forced a smile at her.

I pushed the newspapers back, softly saying: “Thank you.”

Then I returned the books to the shelf and slowly walked down the stairs.

It wasn’t until after the New Year that I saw him again.

That day, I got off the bus. The weather was too cold, so I hunched my shoulders and slowly crossed the passage between floors.

A familiar car was parked downstairs, and a tall, slim figure stepped out of the car.

He wore a coat, but his noticeably thin frame was still evident, and his face was almost devoid of color.

I softly said: “Why don’t you come inside? It’s too cold.”

His face instantly warmed: “Hmm, it’s alright.”

He came to pick me up for dinner.

During the meal, I asked about his health, and he simply brushed it off with a brief “I’m fine.” Knowing he wouldn’t elaborate, I didn’t ask further.

After dinner, Lao Jiazhuo drove through the city bathed in lights and stopped in the bustling downtown area.

He led me to stand outside a luxury women’s clothing store, and I stopped, puzzled, looking at him.

Lao Jiazhuo said: “Go inside and take a look. You have to try things on to know what you like.”

I laughed and shook my head: “I don’t need to buy clothes.”

He slightly lowered his head to appraise me: “I’ve noticed you always wear these two pieces.”

I said flatly: “It’s enough.”

Lao Jiazhuo insisted: “Yingying, I remember before…”

I bitterly smiled. Before—the bright, spacious house, the open wardrobe, a cabinet full of youthful-style clothes, accessories, and shoes. Even slightly stiff fabric was unacceptable. Before.

What did the past matter?

After winter set in, I only had two cotton coats, black and gray. One of them was a gift from Emma in London years ago, which I had worn for many years, the cuffs frayed into lace.

“Mr. Lao, if you find it too shabby, there’s no need to go out with me.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Lao Jiazhuo said.

I turned and walked away.

This matter had to be dropped.

The next afternoon, when Lao Jiazhuo returned from going out, he handed me a pure white large bag and softly said: “Wear something warm, okay?”

I looked at him, sensing his displeasure.

He added: “Consider it a New Year’s gift. Please accept it.”

I had no choice but to reach out and take it.

A flicker of joy appeared on his face.

I casually placed the clothes on the edge of the sofa.

A week later, when he came over again, he found the bag untouched on the sofa.

I stood in the kitchen boiling water for coffee. He looked at me, his expression gradually darkening, but ultimately, he said nothing.

I wandered around the house as if nothing happened. Lao Jiazhuo quickly composed himself. With nothing left in the fridge, he drove me to the supermarket on the first floor of the department store.

When Lao Jiazhuo drove me, he usually didn’t use a driver. When we went out, Xu Feng would drive another car behind us.

That day at the supermarket in the department store, an incident occurred.

I followed behind Lao Jiazhuo. He wore a simple yet high-quality dark blue coat, and I was half a step behind him. Our demeanor showed no intimacy whatsoever. But as we walked down the escalator with our bags, a man suddenly raised a camera in front of us.

The sound of the camera clicking and the brightness of the flash stood out sharply amidst the bustling crowd.

Almost in the next instant, Lao Jiazhuo swiftly pulled me over, using his body to shield my face.

Xu Feng immediately stepped forward to handle the situation.

Lao Jiazhuo held my hand and calmly quickened his pace, entering the elevator to the underground parking garage.

He tightly gripped my hand, dragging me along at a fast pace until we reached the car.

Lao Jiazhuo stopped, looked back, then reached out to touch my hair: “It’s alright now.”

My confused thoughts gradually cleared, and I felt the bag in my hand grow unbearably heavy, unable to take another step.

Lao Jiazhuo took the items from my hand and placed them in the car, then opened the door and helped me sit inside.

Sitting in the car, I slightly raised my head, unable to see a ray of sunlight.

I curled up, an overwhelming sense of fatigue washing over me.

Seeing my expression, Lao Jiazhuo gently said: “Yingying...”

He reached out to embrace me.

Instinctively, I pushed him away.

He said: “Did it scare you? Don’t worry, it’ll be alright.”

I rested my head against the car window and slowly said: “Let’s go back.”

On Wednesday night, Jiang Yihao ran out of school.

I took him to eat at Lizhi Corner Park.

At the dinner table, Jiang Yihao hesitantly called me: “Big Sister...”

I held my chopsticks indifferently and replied: “What is it?”

He ingratiatingly said: “Our band wants to hold a campus performance before the end of the semester, but the drum I rented last week broke. I want to buy a better jazz drum...”

I glanced at him: “Do you really like playing the drums?”

He looked at me, gauged my expression, and still nodded.

I asked: “Do you want to seriously learn?”

He nodded again, this time firmly.

I said indifferently: “Then buy one.”

His eyes lit up: “Really?”

I thought for a moment and added: “I’ll find a teacher to assess you. If you truly have potential and talent, I won’t object.”

Jiang Yihao was so delighted he nearly overturned his cup.

“Wait—” I sternly changed the subject: “I have conditions.”

“You go to tutoring classes and catch up on the lessons you missed.”

“And on weekends, practice English with a tutor.”

I harshly commanded: “You must go to university. Take the exams for Singapore or domestic schools—you choose.”

Jiang Yihao’s expression fell, and he sullenly said: “Alright.”

Without showing any emotion, I poked a piece of fish belly and calmly said: “What?”

Jiang Yihao immediately affirmed: “Okay!”

After dinner, the two of us went to a music store. Jiang Yihao lingered in front of the dazzling row of drum sets, his excitement overflowing.

I leaned over to take a look; the price tags were not cheap.

Jiang Yihao truly knew nothing of worldly worries.

I gave a slightly bitter smile. We once lived a life with drivers and servants. The younger generation of the Jiang family had always been accustomed to luxury, so how could they understand the hardships of daily life?

I couldn’t let my father’s eldest son suffer.

Jiang Yihao went back to evening study, and when I returned home, I checked my savings account. Since coming back, I hadn’t been serious about work and hadn’t saved much money.

Buying him an imported jazz drum, enrolling him in college prep classes, and hiring a tutor for English—all of these expenses added up significantly.

By the time Jiang Yihao finished high school and left the city, I would have no reason to stay here. I had to abandon my own thoughts.

The next day, I started flipping through the newspaper to look for a job.

I applied to several companies and eventually became an office clerk at a Hong Kong-registered trading company.

When Lao Jiazhuo came over on the weekend, he asked: “Didn’t you always dislike the nine-to-five grind?”

I had stared at spreadsheets for too long during the day, and my vision was blurry. Lazily, I replied: “Life forces us.”

I yawned and went to take a shower.

The salary for clerical work was too meager, so I quickly found another part-time job. An educational institution was hiring English oral teachers, two evenings a week. The school was near Nanda. That evening, after class, I unexpectedly ran into Wei Huihui on the long street outside the east gate.

She was wearing a winter skirt and boots, buying a hot drink at a small shop.

Huihui quickly spotted me and waved, calling loudly: “Yingying!”

Standing beside Huihui was a man in a blue T-shirt and black cotton jacket. Upon hearing her, he immediately turned around.

He scrutinized me for several seconds before striding over and patting my shoulder: “Jiang Yiying, it’s really you!”

He laughed heartily: “Why have you lost so much weight?”

I had already recognized him. He had gained some weight, but his round face still bore the same amiable smile as before.

It was our drama club leader from university. That night, I followed Huihui and the leader to Nanjue. Several people stood up in the coffee shop, and to my surprise, they were all familiar classmates from university. They were slightly astonished to see me but quickly reacted, eagerly crowding around to pinch my arm affectionately.

I hadn’t seen them in a long time, but it was clear they often met after graduation. They chatted about their current situations with familiarity.

After graduating, the leader returned to his hometown in Hunan for half a year, decided to resign and move south, finished his graduate studies at our alma mater, and became a teacher in the drama department of the art academy.

During the gathering, they talked about how the leader was leading a graduating class to stage a pretty good play.

They planned to perform it publicly at Qingyi Small Theater.

Their enthusiastic smiles and cheerful tones reminded me of the happy times of the past.

In the following week, a few of our old friends accompanied the leader and dozens of students from his class, using the most direct and traditional methods to promote their upcoming play.

Those young people with beautiful appearances stood on the streets near artistic bars, holding tickets and earnestly asking passersby: “Are you interested in plays? Would you like to support theater?”

If I didn’t have to work overtime too late, I would come over to help them sell tickets. Huihui did too.

Then we spent time at a small pub late into the night.

That period turned out to be the most fulfilling and joyful time since my return to the country.

There were no lingering nightmares, no oppressive gray emotions. I worked with my own hands, supported myself, and lived a clear and simple life. Though frugal, I felt incredibly grounded.

Except for that person.

What was his usual life like?

Three years ago, he purchased a seaside mansion in Shek O, docked his Shineseeker yacht at the Hong Kong Island Causeway Bay Yacht Club, and bought a private business jet worth tens of millions of US dollars. These were all hot topics in Hong Kong’s fashion media. The handmade shirts he casually left on the sofa had exquisite embroidery on the cuffs. He was of noble status, richer than royalty, yet so out of place in my humble two-bedroom world.

Now, his phone number appeared on my mobile screen.

His deep voice came through the phone: “Yingying, why are you still not home so late?”

I walked a few steps away and softly replied: “Hmm.”

That night, Lao Jiazhuo waited for me in the living room until I returned, soaked in rain, my legs weak, but my spirit very satisfied.

He took a towel to dry my hair. My hair and clothes were damp with cold, and he couldn’t help but turn his head and cough a few times.

I took the towel from him and went into the bathroom.

He leaned against the doorframe, carefully examining my face: “It’s rare to see you so happy.”

In fact, I hadn’t told him much since I returned.

I don’t understand how attentive one has to be to read the subtlest emotions of another person.

Two weeks later, “What Are You Talking About When I Talk About Flying” had its premiere at Qingyi Small Theater.

After work that day, I rushed over. The sky was still drizzling with cold winter rain, and there were already audiences entering the somewhat old wooden doors of the theater with their tickets.

I helped out for a while and then stepped outside to smoke.

Beside the ticket booth, on the promotional wall, there was a large poster for this performance. Standing under the eaves, I squinted slightly to examine the colors and design of the picture.

Below the title, the copywriter used lyrics written by a band that graduated from Nanda ten years ago and now holds a significant position in China’s pop music scene.

Against a gray-purple background, I saw the line of poetry wet by the rain.

“In the vast wilderness of time / I am not afraid of loneliness, in my finite youth / Loving you has made me immortal.”

Raindrops fell on my eyebrows, and an overwhelming sense of desolation surged in my heart.

Relying on intuition, I slowly turned my head and saw the imported Benz parked by the roadside across the street from the theater.

Behind him was a gray wall, the car’s color faintly illuminating his black coat as he stood alone in the rain.

The driver was getting out of the car to open an umbrella for him.

He waved for Xu Feng to return to the car and stood quietly under the streetlight, watching me.

I stood on the other side, separated by a street, colorful umbrellas, and hurried pedestrians, unmoving, looking at him.

The cigarette between my fingers was extinguished by the rain.

Half a lifetime seemed like a long, absurd play by Ionesco.

I don’t know how long I stood there before I heard Huihui calling my name behind me. She came to my side and was slightly surprised to see Lao Jiazhuo.

She whispered: “Is he waiting for you?”

I told her: “I’ll be back soon.”

I walked through the rain towards him and said: “Go back. We might be very late.”

Lao Jiazhuo said: “Can I go in and take a look?”

I led him in through a side entrance and took him to a seat in the back row.

By then, the audience was mostly seated, the lights dimmed, and the warm-up band on stage sang a folk song softly with guitar accompaniment.

I told him: “Feel free. If you don’t like it, you can leave first.”

His hair and collar were damp, and he covered his mouth, coughing softly a few times: “You go ahead. Don’t worry about me.”

I nodded and walked down the steps, helping the actors change costumes, proofreading scripts, maintaining order, and running around backstage. In the midst of it, I passed by the corner where Lao Jiazhuo sat. In the darkness, I only saw a shadow.

A shadow sitting alone in the dim small theater.

Who was Lao Jiazhuo? A favored son of heaven who enjoyed every luxury. Even a random card drawn from the front compartment of his car was a membership card to a top-tier club. Yet now, this man who frequented extravagant places sat quietly in the narrow, cramped small theater, watching the naive performances of young university graduates.

Halfway through the show, I found some time and went to his seat, moved the chair aside, and sat next to him.

He turned to look at me, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

That smile illuminated the fine dust, drawing a ray of light in the darkness.

I remembered many years ago when he came to watch my performance at school—it was a sweet time when my heart bloomed like flowers.

Back then, I was a naive girl who basked in his love and thought loving him was the greatest honor in the world. He was a young, handsome man who prioritized me in everything and was content after work with a bowl of hot soup. Those days were wonderful; the world was as pure and clean as summer sunlight under the trees.

Years later, we sat silently in a dark corner, impassively watching the joys and sorrows on stage. Our own story was no longer mentioned by anyone.

We sat in silence in the dark until the curtain closed and reopened, until enthusiastic applause erupted, and the actors came out to bow repeatedly to thunderous applause.

When the lights came on during the dispersal, we followed the crowd out. One of the familiar students from the leader’s class happened to pass by us and cheerfully said: “Sister Yingying, is this your boyfriend?”

I shook my head, my expression ambiguous, unsure if it carried a hint of indifference.

Lao Jiazhuo reached out and held my hand in the dark.

Late at night, we got home, and I felt a splitting headache. I pushed open the door and rushed to the sink to vomit.

Lao Jiazhuo was somewhat startled and quickly followed me in: “Yingying, what’s wrong?”

I splashed water on my face and mumbled: “It’s nothing. Sometimes this happens when I’m too tired.”

These days, I worked during the day, attended classes at night, and stayed up late with them at the theater, sleeping too little.

He reached out to support my waist and gently patted my back, his tone filled with concern: “How could you get so exhausted?”

Lao Jiazhuo waited until I threw up only clear water, then carried me back to the living room sofa.

I collapsed on the sofa, covering my face, unwilling to move anymore.

Lao Jiazhuo tried to pry open my fingers: “Yingying, your complexion is bad. Let me see if you’re sick.”

I buried my head in my knees and said abruptly: “I forgave Huihui. We reconciled.”

Lao Jiazhuo pulled me closer to him: “Hmm?”

I muttered: “I don’t want to carry the past with me anymore. It’s too tiring.”

He said: “Give it to me.”

I asked: “What?”

Lao Jiazhuo softly but firmly replied: “Give me your burden. I’ll take you away.”

I stared at him blankly, then smiled bitterly.

I said: “Lao Jiazhuo, can you go back to Hong Kong? Please don’t come anymore.”

He was silent and didn’t respond to my words.

I said: “I’m leaving here.”

He raised his hand, cupped my face, pinched my chin, and looked deeply into my eyes: “Yingying, tell me, do you still love me?”

I stammered: “The cost of loving you is too high. I can’t afford to love you. What I want is not something you can give.”

Lao Jiazhuo said: “Yingying, I’ll handle it. The legal process will take some time, but I won’t let you suffer anymore.”

I said: “I don’t care about your divorce. We can never go back.”

For a moment, he seemed slightly puzzled.

I repeated: “I’m leaving. I don’t want to continue like this with you anymore.”

Lao Jiazhuo furrowed his brows: “What if I don’t let you go? Yingying, don’t run away from your heart.”

I couldn’t face his intense gaze: “Please, let me go.”

Finally unable to bear it, Lao Jiazhuo gritted his teeth and said firmly: “I’ll give you freedom. What do you want me to do?”

Pain uncontrollably surfaced on his face: “Jiang Yiying, you can’t be so selfish, always running away when faced with problems. How am I supposed to endure the next four years?”

His hands dug deeply into my arms, his eyes filled with pity, helplessness, and a touch of resentment: “Tell me, what should I do?”

I opened my mouth, speaking incoherently: “Go back to Hong Kong, live well with your wife. You’ll forget me soon.”

It was as if he had been struck heavily in the chest, his face turning pale and desolate.

After a long while, he let go of me in despair, turned his face away, and said calmly, though futilely concealing his fatigue: “I knew it. Just this one sin is enough for me to die ten times in front of you.”

“What Are You Talking About When I Talk About Flying” was performed at Qingyi for a week, with an average attendance rate of about 60% per show. Considering the current state of the theater environment and the actors’ fame, it was considered a good achievement.

On the last performance night, I left early. Outside the theater, Zhang Peter honked at me.

I was surprised: “What are you doing here?”

He jumped out to open the car door for me: “I came for a meeting and happened to be nearby, so I came to see you.”

I got into Zhang Peter’s car, and he asked: “Shall I take you home or do you want some late-night snacks?”

I had left early because I was tired, so I told him: “Home.”

He nodded, started the engine, turned the steering wheel, and smoothly merged into the glittering traffic of the night.

Suede was playing in Zhang Peter’s car. His fingers tapped lightly to the melody, and he glanced at me: “Did you argue with him again?”

I raised my eyes: “What’s wrong with him again?”

A teasing smile spread across Zhang Peter’s broad-featured face: “Little Yingying, don’t be so heartless. Remember how you used to fuss over him? Even a small cough would make you worry endlessly, making us envy him to death.”

I looked at him without saying anything, my expression somewhat stiff.

Zhang Peter said helplessly: “I’ve seen him several times already. After meetings and socializing late into the night, he would go home, take a quick shower, and still insist on driving over here. Isn’t it exhausting for a king to visit every night without melting your heart?”

I coldly said: “I can’t bear such profound favor.”

Zhang Peter thought for a moment and replied: “Previously, I thought you were too inexperienced, especially disliking how he spoiled you recklessly. Now that you’ve grown up, I kind of miss the old you.”

Zhang Peter suddenly lowered his voice, with a slightly pleading tone: “Just help us subordinates out, okay? His health has been fluctuating recently. Last night, his back pain was so severe he couldn’t even stand. This morning, he endured the pain to attend a meeting. The annual financial report showed a total capital adequacy ratio of 11.34%, the non-performing loan rate across Asia was as low as 0.2%, and earnings per share were $4.06—”

Zhang Peter smirked: “What use is it to him? When the meeting room door opened, everyone was smiling, but he sat gloomily in his seat. Never seen a boss with operating income exceeding billions still so unhappy.”

I listened motionlessly, then suddenly asked him: “Peter, do you have money?”

My topic changed so abruptly that he raised an eyebrow: “What for?”

I said: “Lend me some.”

He naturally responded: “Why not ask Jiazhuo?”

I turned my face: “Forget it if you won’t lend.”

“Lend,” Zhang Peter pulled out a checkbook from the car’s front cabinet with one hand: “How much do you need?”

I thought for a moment and said: “Twenty thousand?”

He said: “Such a small amount?”

When Lao Jiazhuo came over on the weekend, perhaps as Zhang Peter said, his health hadn’t recovered. I glanced at his face; his complexion was pale with a hint of green, clearly not in good shape.

I was curled up on the sofa reading a book and shifted my body to make some space for him: “Do you want some water?”

He nodded.

I got up to pour him a glass of warm water.

When he reached out to take the glass, I saw several small needle marks on the back of his hand, a patch of bruising that looked somewhat startling against his fair skin.

I frowned slightly and asked him: “Do you want to apply something?”

“What?” He asked, somewhat puzzled, then noticed my gaze fixed on his hand and awkwardly put down the glass: “It’s nothing.”

I coldly said: “You should still apply something. It would be embarrassing if people thought you come over every night to be abused by me.”

Lao Jiazhuo paused, understanding my implication.

He looked up at me: “If you need money, why didn’t you tell me?”

Standing in front of him, I uncomfortably said: “I will pay him back.”

Lao Jiazhuo suddenly asked: “Tell me, why don’t you draw designs anymore?”

I really didn’t want to talk about this topic: “I can’t draw anymore.”

I turned to walk into the room.

Lao Jiazhuo stood up and grabbed my wrist.

With a somewhat cold tone, he said: “Does using my money make you feel ashamed?”

I glanced at him: “What right or identity do I have to use your money?”

He coughed lightly and said with some difficulty: “Yingying, can you lower your pride just a little for me?”

I calmly said: “Mr. Lao, all I have left is this little bit of pride. Besides that, I have nothing.”

He furrowed his brows slightly, his tone filled with bitterness: “But to see you like this... to see you suffer so much, every time I think about it, I...”

I interrupted him: “I’m doing well. Thanks to your care, I haven’t paid rent for more than half a year.”

Hearing this, he stared at me for a few seconds, then let go of my hand, but his body suddenly swayed.

Afraid he might fall, I instinctively reached out to support him.

He raised his hand to his forehead, suppressing his faint anger: “Can you stop saying things to provoke me?”

His body was dizzy and unsteady, so he sat back on the sofa, placing his hand on his chest, breathing weakly.

I reached out to touch his chest; his heartbeat was very weak. I turned to call a doctor.

He stopped me, caught his breath, and struggled to say: “No need... just a bit tired.”

He lay on the sofa, closed his eyes, and leaned into the cushion, unable to speak anymore.

He held my hand for more than ten minutes until his breathing gradually stabilized. When he opened his eyes and saw me by the sofa, he raised his hand to touch my face.

I quietly said: “Jiazhuo, I know what I’m doing. You really don’t need to take care of me anymore.”

He murmured: “How can I bear it, Yingying? How can I bear to see you struggle so much...”

I said: “Mr. Lao has always been resolute and strong. When did you become so sentimental?”

He gazed at me with deep eyes, silently watching.

I calmly said: “That part of our lives is over. We each have different destinies. You know best your current status and responsibilities. You cannot neglect your health for anyone. I don’t want to be involved in your life anymore. You know, between us, the entire world is completely different now.”

Listening to this, tears almost welled up in Lao Jiazhuo’s eyes.

He said: “You consider Peter a friend and are willing to ask him for help but not me. But, Yingying, you know how much I want to take good care of you...”

He started coughing again, his complexion growing darker. I was really afraid he might faint in front of me.

I stopped this topic: “Alright.”

I extended my hand: “Your complexion is bad. Go lie down in the room.”

He struggled to stand up with the help of the armrest, his back visibly stiff.

When he lay down on the bed, I loosened two buttons on his black shirt. The slightly open collar made him look even thinner, his handsome face almost transparent.

I couldn’t help but soften towards him, lowering my voice: “Get some rest.”

In the middle of the night, I quietly pushed the door open. Lao Jiazhuo was sleeping deeply. He had taken painkillers before bed, had no fever, and was just in a deep sleep, probably because he was too tired.

The next day was Sunday, and unusually, I didn’t sleep in. I got up early to cook breakfast in the kitchen.

Lao Jiazhuo woke up and ate breakfast with me. I found his pills in his bag, poured water, and helped him take them.

In the morning, I worked on data on the sofa, and Lao Jiazhuo sat beside me asking: “Do you need help?”

I accidentally pressed the wrong key and almost deleted several files. For heaven’s sake, I wouldn’t dare ask Mr. Lao Jiazhuo to do such small accounts worth a few thousand dollars. I made him a cup of vitamin effervescent tablets. As he sat there, he leaned on me and fell asleep again.

In the evening, he woke up, feeling much better, and suggested taking me out for dinner.

I asked: “Aren’t you going back to Hong Kong?”

He hesitated and said: “I want to stay for a few days.”

I asked: “No work?”

He replied: “This week is a bit freer.”

Lao Jiazhuo stayed at home for four days. I got up early to go to work, and he woke up too, packing my keys and phone into my bag and seeing me off. At six, when I finished work and walked out of the office building, I saw him getting out of the driver’s seat.

Every day, I cooked meals.

He didn’t eat much, but his mood seemed good.

During this time, Su Jian and Liang Fengnian each came once, bringing documents for him to sign.

At home, we didn’t have much fun. I was used to years of solitary living and didn’t talk much. Sometimes he had work to do, so we mostly sat quietly together, each busy with our own things. The only thing he consistently did was to come over and extinguish my cigarette under the light.

Sometimes I went to a café at night, and he patiently accompanied me.

Perhaps to others, we seemed like an ordinary couple in love.

Only I knew how unreal this feeling was.

It felt like an affair.

On Friday night, I was making salad in the kitchen when I heard him on the phone in the room. His tone was somewhat muffled, with brief responses—it must have been his wife.

They seemed to be talking about holidays, asking him to come home.

He returned to Hong Kong the next day.

On the weekend, Fredy called me.

Because I had previously asked him if there was any suitable work, he informed me that a shop in Hong Kong had contacted him about me, but he thought it wasn’t suitable for my style and was also afraid I wouldn’t agree due to its commercial nature, so he hadn’t promised them. Now he asked if I wanted to consider.

Seeing the name on the commercial advertising contract in Fredy’s office, I was flattered.

That brand had a large store in Tsim Sha Tsui’s New Sun Plaza, encompassing fashionable jewelry, luxury clothing, and women’s accessories, with excellent sales reputation among socialites and wealthy women.

Fredy said the new spring collection was luxurious, not perfectly matching my temperament, but apparently, the designer specifically requested my name, and the offered compensation was quite tempting.

In the current situation, I had nothing to complain about.

Two days later, I officially joined the salon studio located in Dragonair with a group of colleagues.

On the third day of shooting, during a makeup break, I quietly asked an assistant sitting next to me: “Who is that girl?”

Following my gaze, she looked very surprised: “You don’t know her?”

Assistant Xiaocheng pointed to the gauzy dress I was wearing, worth over ten thousand: “This—”

She pointed to a whole row of luxury dresses hanging beside the studio: “These—and those bags, they’re all hers.”

I was astonished: “She’s the boss? So young, looks about twenty, and owns twenty-four stores.”

Assistant Xiaocheng smiled enviously: “Miss Qian’s family is wealthy. These few stores are just for her amusement.”

An ominous feeling suddenly rose in my heart, “She is...”

Xiaocheng continued: “Just by marrying Lao Jiazhuo, half of Hong Kong respects her.”

The blood in my brain suddenly dropped.

For a moment, everything went black.

The makeup artist applied eyeshadow above my eyelids.

I closed my eyes accordingly.

Actually, I had seen her in the studio on the first day of shooting. I felt someone’s gaze intermittently on me, but seeing a quiet and well-behaved girl, I didn’t pay much attention.

It turned out I had been unknowingly scrutinized three hundred times while in plain sight.

This unexpected encounter left me panicking like a thief.

For the next half day, I didn’t know what I was doing. My poses were stiff, and there was a constant buzzing in my ears. Several times, I even bumped into the light shield.

The photographer kept frowning and finally waved to end the day.

Miss Qian was invited upstairs by the creative director to review the samples. When she finished work, she came down to greet the photographer and a few models, speaking softly and very politely.

As she passed by me, I took a closer look. The girl was very young, dressed like a college student with straight bangs and long straight hair, wearing a white sweater and pink skirt, looking cute and charming.

She didn’t appear to have any business acumen.

I glanced again, and my heart skipped a beat, as if hearing the sharp crack of breaking ice.

From the corner of my eye, her profile was the shadow I saw in the mirror four years ago.

In a flash, I suddenly understood.

No wonder one time when the stylist gave me bangs and braided my hair into a bun, the girl who delivered clothes from their shop jokingly said to me: “Miss Jiang, you look much younger like this, a bit like Mrs. Lao.”

Her tone seemed like a great compliment.

At the time, I thought it was absurd and lightly laughed it off.

Turns out it was true.

Turns out they weren’t joking.

I felt like I had fallen into an icy abyss, my teeth chattering, my whole body as if frozen.

Turns out it still hurts.

Turns out after all those years, I could still feel such overwhelming pain.

He married a carbon copy of Jiang Yiying.

Lao Jiazhuo truly loves Barbie dolls all his life. Breaking one doesn’t matter; he turns around and marries a prettier, more exquisite replacement.

My vision blurred, and I hastily grabbed a chair.

Aka came over and asked: “Yingying, are you alright?”

I shook my head.

I hid in the bathroom, washed my face with cold water, and smoked two cigarettes. The person in the mirror looked lost, like a female ghost.

I slapped my cheeks hard twice, barely gathering some energy, and slowly walked out.

I picked up my bag and walked out of the building, seeing Qian Jing standing on the steps. She had no airs and greeted me warmly: “Miss Jiang, you’ve worked hard.”

I hurriedly forced a polite smile: “Not at all.”

She smiled: “Is Miss Jiang going home now?”

I nodded at her, my throat feeling like it was on fire.

She revealed a sweet smile: “My husband is picking me up. Would you like a ride?”

I already saw a luxury car slowly entering the driveway.

The driver got out and opened the door. I saw the elegant man sitting neatly in the back seat.

Lao Jiazhuo wore a gray cashmere sweater, his coat placed beside the seat, slightly tilting his head while talking on the phone intently.

As if sensing something, he suddenly looked up.

In that instant, his usually calm expression changed color.

His first reaction was to raise his hand and get out of the car.

But the next moment, Qian Jing had already sat in the car, affectionately holding his arm.

He abruptly came to his senses, his gaze fixed on me standing on the steps.

I believe my expression was very calm and restrained.

Otherwise, Qian Jing wouldn’t have been oblivious, only chatting happily with Lao Jiazhuo.

The driver returned to the front seat and started the car, carrying the intimate couple away.

Slowly driving past me.

I took the subway home, my steps unsteady, feeling dazed.

I opened the door and returned home. His shirt was still on the sofa, his tablet on the coffee table, and the kitchen he had cleaned.

The room still smelled faintly of fresh air.

I fled out like I was going mad.

After wandering aimlessly on the streets with nowhere to go, I hailed a taxi to Lonely.

Since returning to the country, I had been much more restrained, almost never going to bars. When I occasionally wanted a drink, I usually went to Lonely.

It was a place run by a familiar friend.

I pushed the door open, and a man stood behind the bar wiping glasses. With a tall figure and enchanting eyes that seemed flirtatious even without a smile, he said: “Beauty Yingying, long time no see.”

I sat on a high stool: “Fei Fei, give me a drink.”

Fei Fei was my first makeup artist when I entered the industry. He was somewhat famous in the circle, rumored to be someone who played very freely, without any taboos.

He was an extremely handsome man.

Indeed, I could tell that beneath his promiscuous exterior, he seemed to be hiding a heavy heart. But we still joked around as if nothing was wrong. Our relationship was close, like siblings.

He brought the drink to me: “What’s wrong with you? You look absent-minded.”

I raised my hand and poured the entire liquid into my throat.

Then I pushed the glass back to him.

Fei Fei whistled loudly, drawing the attention of several female customers in the venue.

He flamboyantly winked a few times before turning back to mix my drink and asking: “Where’s Aka?”

I muttered: “He has something to do and can only return tomorrow.”

I held my glass and curled up on the velvet sofa in the corner, quickly getting half-drunk.

Fei Fei came over and nudged me: “Your phone has been ringing for a long time.”

I vaguely looked at the number on the screen and pressed it off.

I continued to bury my head in drinking.

Fei Fei hugged me: “Alright, Miss, are you trying to bankrupt my shop?”

By the end, I was almost unconscious.

Vaguely, I remembered Fei Fei lifting me up. He had a small house behind the shop.

He seemed to have thrown me on the sofa, and then I remembered nothing.

I was woken up by knocking.

The sunlight outside the curtains had already begun to show faint light, and the intense headache from the hangover hit me.

The knocking continued incessantly.

With my eyes closed, I heard Fei Fei curse under his breath as he walked out of the room.

I turned over and continued sleeping.

Fei Fei’s slightly frivolous voice came from the door: “Sir, what is it?”

A moment later, Fei Fei returned to the living room, bent down, and said to me: “Yingying, someone is looking for you.”

Fei Fei brushed the hair by my ear, lowered his head, and kissed my lips: “Dear, you’re much prettier when you’re sober, fresh like a lily covered in morning dew from the garden.”

After my gaze moved past his shoulder, I saw a man’s cold, piercing gaze.

I panicked and pushed him away.

Fei Fei raised an eyebrow and went back into the room.

I scrambled up in a fluster.

Only then did I realize I was wrapped in a blanket. My coat from last night had been removed, leaving me in a chiffon strap dress, which was now disheveled.

I jumped off the sofa, and a piece of underwear fell to the floor with my movement.

God, how drunk had I been last night?

I looked around; my coat was still missing. I pulled the straps to cover my chest and walked barefoot to the door.

Lao Jiazhuo stood at the door, his face cold and unmoving as he watched me approach.

He was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday afternoon—a gray cashmere sweater under a dark gray overcoat. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale, and he looked extremely haggard.

My mind was muddled: “Looking for me?”

His eyes showed a hint of disgust: “What did you do here all night?”

Drowsy, I lazily replied: “Don’t you see it already?”

His face darkened: “Do you know what you’re doing?”

His gaze swept over my body, inexplicably filled with hatred: “A one-night stand? Separated by just a few hours, if you need a man, couldn’t you wait for me a few more hours?”

Sometimes, words can hurt more than poisoned knives.

Hatred surged within me like splattered blood, making me want to kill him.

I bit my teeth and coldly said: “Mr. Lao, how can you say that? Are you allowed to enjoy the benefits of having both a wife and concubine, but I’m not allowed to have a little fun once in a while?”

Lao Jiazhuo exuded a chilling anger like thunder, his hands trembling slightly. Suddenly, he took a step towards me.

I fearfully stepped back.

But the next moment, his movements suddenly stopped.

He glared at me fiercely, his face pale, his eyes burning with cold flames of anger, his chest rising and falling violently.

We faced each other like enemies.

After a while.

Finally, he said nothing, turned around, and strode away.

During the New Year’s Eve holiday, I took Jiang Yihao, who was on winter break, back to our home in Singapore.

Perhaps because it had been a long time since we last met, or maybe because he was still sulking, Jiang Yihao behaved rather formally and distant at home.

Aunt Yun noticed but didn’t know what to do, so she secretly shed tears of heartache.

Father couldn’t bear it anymore and brought it up at the dinner table: “Why don’t you transfer back to Singapore for middle school?”

Jiang Yihao awkwardly said: “No, Sister takes good care of me. I want to finish high school here before considering it.”

Jiang Yihan tugged at his brother’s sleeve and sweetly said: “Brother, Sister will come too...”

Aunt Yun followed: “Alright, when you come to university, Yingying will come too. Being together as a family is better than anything.”

To ease the atmosphere, I patted Jiang Yihao’s head and laughed in agreement.

Jiang Yihao finally nodded at his mother, squeezing out a word: “Mm.”

Aunt Yun smiled and served him some dishes. The dinner table finally became lively.

Actually, I agreed that Jiang Yihao should finish high school before coming back. Transferring schools required a process. If he interrupted his current senior year, adapting to a new school would also take time.

Our current house, an 80-square-meter three-story building at the end of Roland Road, only employed a Filipino maid to take care of Grandma. Dad worked as a supervisor at the factory, and Aunt Yun usually shopped and cooked at home. In her spare time, she played mahjong with a few Malay women from across the street.

The Jiang family lived a solid life.

I stayed at home for over a week, accompanying Aunt Yun to the market every day and visiting the library in my free time. The eleventh floor of the National Library had a design exhibition, and I often spent my afternoons there. Often, when I looked up, the Ferris wheel outside the large glass windows was already bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, and the afternoon would pass in the blink of an eye.

During the New Year, Orchard Road hosted a grand parade with days of festive celebrations, including flower floats and lion dances. We three siblings often went out to play. Several times passing by Beach Road, we saw the Raffles Hotel standing at Beach No. 1. Its huge white European-style buildings against the blue sky were particularly dazzling.

I recalled my brief stay in the suite last time, being sent away by Lao Jiazhuo in the morning. Passing through the archway surrounded by lush flowers, I still remembered looking back at the fountain in the courtyard.

Back then, fearless due to youth, even though I felt like the sky was falling from sadness, my heart loving him was still fervent.

Regrettably, looking back now, it felt like a past life, so distant that even his face at the time was somewhat blurred.

After he angrily left Fei Fei’s house last time, I quickly left town. For a month, I had no news from Lao Jiazhuo.

I knew he was truly angry that day.

Considering his years of being the supreme ruler sitting above ten thousand people, issuing orders that no one dared to disobey, how could he have endured such disrespect from an unruly woman?

His patience must have reached its limit.

One afternoon, I was at home when Father came back and handed me a newspaper.

I took it and glanced at it—it was a local English financial newspaper in Singapore. The headline read: “Chairman of Laotong Group’s marital troubles caused stock market turmoil yesterday.”

There was an attached divorce statement issued by Qian Jing through her lawyer, phrased appropriately and sincerely, stating they were parting ways amicably due to irreconcilable differences, generously wishing each other well, showing the grace of a dignified family.

I flipped a page. Lao Jia hadn’t made any statements. Except for Lin Baorong attending a banquet where the media relentlessly questioned her about the division of substantial assets, Lin Baorong only politely praised: “Miss Qian is a good person. She just wasn’t suitable for Mr. Lao. After their separation, they remain friends. All procedures are following legal processes without any disputes. Please give them some private space, dear media friends.”

I skimmed through it briefly, pushed the newspaper aside, and smiled at Father, shaking my head.

Father patted my head, said nothing, and went outside to trim the flowers.

On the fifth day of the Lunar New Year, Jiang Yihao and I returned to the country.

After celebrating the New Year, Jiang Yihao seemed to have become much more mature. He helped drag my luggage cart, waved goodbye to Aunt Yun and Dad who came to see us off, then put his arm around my shoulders and walked into the security checkpoint.

He quietly read books and listened to music along the way, while I focused on sleeping.

The plane arrived in Hong Kong at five o’clock in the afternoon.

We stood by the luggage carousel. Jiang Yihao picked up the luggage, pushed the cart, and we walked out. I took out my phone and turned it on.

A call came in immediately.

I looked at the number, hesitated for a moment, and pressed the answer button.

Lao Jiazhuo’s voice was always deep and moving, but his tone was somewhat urgent. He bluntly asked: “Yingying, have you exited the airport?”

I quickened my pace to catch up with Jiang Yihao. The noise on his side was also somewhat chaotic.

I slightly raised my voice and answered: “Yes.”

He immediately asked: “Who are you with? How many people?”

I kept my head down and followed Jiang Yihao, puzzled: “With my younger brother. Why?”

He sternly said: “Don’t come out. Stay where you are. I’ll arrange for you to use the VIP channel.”

Only then did I realize something was wrong. I looked up and found it was already too late.

At the entrance of the airport passage, arriving passengers scattered in a hurry. Reporters had already rushed towards us and surrounded us.

Jiang Yihao whispered: “Sister, what’s going on?”

I said: “Don’t answer any of their questions. Just leave.”

Before I could say more, sharp voices exploded around us.

“Are you Miss Jiang Yiying?”

“What are your thoughts on Mr. Lao’s divorce?”

“Hong Kong media reported that you and Mr. Lao have been cohabiting. Is this true?”

“Is Mr. Lao willing to abandon his marriage, indicating that your old flame has reignited?”

“Miss Jiang, please say something…”

A familiar scene—I was regressing. How did I keep getting trapped in such situations again and again?

I tightly closed my mouth, dragged Jiang Yihao, and walked forward silently with a cold face.

But no matter how hard I tried, cameras and microphones kept waving around us. We were surrounded by a dense crowd, making every step difficult.

My patience was about to run out. Suppressing my anger, I looked up and suddenly saw a familiar, slender figure hurriedly appear at the entrance.

Lao Jiazhuo’s cool face, white shirt without a tie, thin suit jacket slightly fluttering. He still held his mobile phone, walking briskly into the hall.

The reporters almost simultaneously noticed him, and the scene instantly descended into chaos.

Bodyguards behind him jogged to keep up with his pace, forcefully pushing through the crowd to reach us.

Lao Jiazhuo stood by my side, placed his hand protectively on my shoulder, and said in a low voice: “Ignore them. Follow me.”

He shielded me on the side. Xu Feng came forward to push Jiang Yihao’s luggage cart.

The four tall, strong bodyguards were intimidating, forming a wall that separated the mass of reporters.

We broke through the crowd.

The highest authority of the Laotong dynasty made his first public appearance after the marital change, appearing at the airport to escort his ex-wife.

Tomorrow’s newspapers would surely sell out.

I lowered my head and walked forward, learning to ignore everything.

Lao Jiazhuo firmly supported my shoulder. The faint, fresh scent from his shirt collar strangely calmed me.

Reporters kept shouting around us, asking increasingly bizarre questions.

Jiang Yihao suddenly raised his head and stubbornly replied, “My sister married Mr. Lao at eighteen, and they truly loved each other.”

Lao Jiazhuo’s lips instantly lifted slightly.

I looked up and saw a gentle smile play on the lips of the person beside me, and I really wanted to go up and slap Jiang Yihao: “You little rascal, you know nothing about love.”

Three cars are neatly parked in the driveway.

The driver pulled back into the back seat, and Lao Jiazhuo supported my arm as he escorted me into the car.

He closed the car door on my side, calmly turned around, and patted Jiang Yihao’s shoulder: “Are you alright?”

Jiang Yihao shook his head at him.

Lao Jiazhuo smiled and said: “Let’s talk about it when we get back.”

He walked around to the other side and got into the car. Several bodyguards blocked the photographers from following us. The leader of the group, a stern-faced man in black, stood by our car and shouted at the approaching reporters: “That’s enough, everyone.”

His fierce appearance made those who had rushed over stop in their tracks.

The driver started the car, and several vehicles sped away.

The car drove out of the airport and merged into the highway traffic. Lao Jiazhuo leaned his head against the backseat and pinched the bridge of his nose with his hand.

I turned my head and only then noticed the heavy fatigue on his face.

In a hoarse voice, he said: “Yingying, I’m sorry.”

At this moment, his phone rang. He turned his head to answer the call for a while, then spoke to me again: “A familiar journalist from a newspaper called Sister today at noon, but I happened to be out of town. I hurried back but was still a bit late.”

I asked: “How did the reporters know I was coming back?”

He slightly furrowed his brows and said: “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

I indifferently smiled: “Such dramas were fine when I was eighteen or nineteen, but now I really can’t handle them anymore.”

Lao Jiazhuo said: “Today’s photos won’t appear in the newspapers.”

I nodded: “That’s best.”

His voice was still hoarse: “Sister will notify all major media outlets to restrain their reporters. If any tabloid paparazzi find you, don’t bother with them. Call me, and I’ll handle it.”

I said: “Our luggage...”

Lao Jiazhuo replied: “They’ll bring it back.”

I coldly said: “Mr. Lao, I have no desire to be involved in your family affairs.”

Lao Jiazhuo’s eyes showed some remorse: “It won’t happen again.”

After dropping Jiang Yihao off at school, Lao Jiazhuo took me home.

He had to return to Hong Kong. After seeing me upstairs, he gave me a few instructions and left in a hurry.

In the following days, I returned to work as usual.

Life went on normally.

I no longer read gossip magazines, and I never watched news or finance programs on TV, so I didn’t know what was happening outside.

Since our hasty meeting at the airport, Lao Jiazhuo hadn’t come over during this time, probably to avoid suspicion.

Or perhaps he was still angry. One night, he called me and asked if anyone had bothered me.

I said no.

He asked what I was doing.

I said I was watching TV at home.

On the other end, he sneered and actually said: “Hmm, don’t you have many boyfriends?”

Hearing this tone, it seemed he was genuinely jealous.

For some reason, I patiently explained: “I didn’t really have a one-night stand.”

“Hmm,” he responded indifferently: “If you did, do you think that kid from the Ji family could still be wiping glasses in his shop?”

Hearing his deadly tone, I immediately became nervous and quickly asked: “What did you do to Fei Fei?”

Lao Jiazhuo irritably said: “You like to stay out drinking all night; what could I possibly do to him?”

I immediately retorted: “Mr. Lao, my life is none of your business.”

From his end came a muffled sound—the heavy placement of a glass cup on the table.

Then the sound of pills rolling inside a plastic bottle being angrily thrown into a drawer.

Lao Jiazhuo was silent for a few seconds.

Then he suddenly said: “One day, you’ll drive me to death.”

His low voice through the phone receiver sounded like an expression of helplessness mixed with tenderness.

My heart suddenly trembled.

I hastily hung up the phone.

In March, after the Lunar New Year, my aunt called me and said she and her husband would be returning to the country soon.

Surprised, I asked: “Didn’t you say the research project would take two years? Why are you coming back early?”

My aunt said: “Old Wei has had some health issues.”

I sensitively asked: “What’s wrong?”

My aunt said: “We’ll talk when we get back.”

The day my aunt and uncle returned was a weekday. After work, I took a taxi to the border checkpoint.

Their flight arrived in Hong Kong, and they checked into an apartment hotel in Wan Chai.

I knocked on the door, and my aunt opened it. I opened my arms and hugged her.

My aunt comfortingly called me: “Yingying...”

I asked: “Why not go home?”

My aunt forced a smile at me. Only then did I notice the worry on her face.

My aunt led me into the small living room of the suite: “Come in and talk.”

I asked: “Where’s Uncle?”

My aunt softly said: “He’s sleeping inside.”

At this moment, Uncle pushed open the door and walked over, smiling as he patted my head.

Uncle’s smile was broad and optimistic, but his complexion wasn’t good.

I already sensed something was wrong and looked at my aunt, asking: “What’s wrong?”

Uncle held my aunt’s hand and told me: “Yingying, there’s a problem with my stomach. It’s been diagnosed as cardia cancer.”

I remained unusually calm, probably because I still held onto a glimmer of hope.

With clear eyes, I asked: “What stage is it?”

Uncle looked at my aunt, then slowly told me: “Localized ulcer type, stage two.”

My aunt said: “We’ve already had tests done in Canada. His family and he himself insist on coming back for treatment.”

During the day, my aunt and I carefully reviewed and researched relevant hospital information. After discussing with Uncle, we decided to stay in Hong Kong for medical treatment. Surgical treatment is still recognized as the preferred treatment for cardia cancer. If surgery is needed, the comprehensive oncology center at Yanghe Hospital remains the best option within our consideration.

That night, I talked with my aunt and asked if she had enough money.

She said she could manage the surgery costs and told me not to worry.

Looking at the worry on her face, I understood. Even if the surgery was successful, the possibility of cancerous changes in the remaining stomach after distal gastrectomy would still exist. Therefore, the cost of post-treatment and medication would be an unpredictable and expensive amount.

But we couldn’t plan that far ahead. For now, we could only do everything possible to focus on the surgery.

We chatted intimately in the small living room.

As my aunt spoke, she suddenly covered her face: “He used to stay in the lab all day, always having gastric ulcers. I was always running around outside. It’s my fault for not taking good care of him...”

I understood her fear of the sudden loss that she felt powerless to prevent.

I held her arm, feeling sympathetic, and couldn’t help shedding tears with her.

The next day, Uncle’s younger brother came, and together they accompanied Uncle to Yanghe Hospital.

My aunt discussed with the family and decided to stay in a regular ward.

I didn’t say much.

I returned to the mainland for work. In the afternoon, I specially detoured to the market to buy groceries, then hurriedly cooked shrimp porridge, which my aunt loved, and brought it to the hospital in a thermos after finishing work.

At the ward door, I happened to meet my aunt returning with hot water.

When we entered, an elderly patient in the neighboring bed was loudly cursing his unfilial children in pain.

The sharp voice and vulgar language made me frown repeatedly.

Uncle, wearing a white hospital gown, lay in bed and smiled reassuringly at us.

I placed the thermos on the cabinet and went out to find a nurse to stop his disturbance.

Taking advantage of my aunt coming out, I couldn’t help but quietly say to her: “Let’s change rooms.”

I told my aunt: “Resting well and preparing for the surgery is more important than anything.”

My aunt agreed.

Uncle was transferred to a semi-private ward on the 32nd floor that day.

In the following days, there were rounds of routine checks and radiation treatments.

Uncle’s parents had passed away, and his only younger brother was married, so they couldn’t provide much help. Usually, my aunt and I took turns staying at the hospital. Following the doctor’s advice, we carefully considered and used the best medications available.

After a week, the bills signed were like flowing water.

On Saturday morning.

I stood on the sidewalk, watching the bustling traffic, and couldn’t help but take a deep breath of the fresh morning air.

Last night, I came to the hospital to accompany Uncle, letting my aunt go home to get some sleep.

This morning, my aunt came, and she hurriedly sent me home to rest.

Thinking about things to do today, I bought a drink and stood at the subway station looking at the map.

Fifteen minutes later, I stood in front of the plaza on the G floor of Prince Tower, No. 71, Kaiyuan Road, Kowloon Bay.

In front of the towering building with glass curtain walls, the striking red-and-white diamond logo of Laotong Bank was prominently displayed, occupying the entire ground floor of this massive building.

Walking into the clean and bright lobby, the manager immediately greeted me with a smile.

Standing behind the counter, I pulled out a Laotong bank card from my pants pocket.

Last night, I withdrew all the cash I had on hand, including the money I prepared to repay Zhang Peter, but still found it insufficient. From the deepest corner of my wallet, I pulled out this card, which was the one I used when I worked for Emma in London. She had transferred my salary into this card.

I had never taken it out to use.

I said: “There are 2,000 pounds in my account. Please exchange it into Hong Kong dollars and withdraw it.”

The lady sitting behind the counter swiped the card on the machine and typed on the computer screen a few times.

She glanced at the computer screen, suddenly widened her eyes, and turned to stare at me.

Her investigative gaze was half surprised and half envious. After a while, she asked: “Are you Miss Jiang Yiying?”

I nodded.

She maintained a polite smile and said to me: “Please wait a moment.”

The next moment, she jumped up from her chair as if she had seen a ghost and rushed toward the back of the counter.

I stood there, puzzled.

Soon, a middle-aged man in a suit hurried out from inside.

The man pushed open a glass door and walked towards me: “Are you Miss Jiang?”

He slightly bowed: “This way, please.”

I followed him into the private VIP financial area.

An opulent corridor stretched out, the space incredibly vast. He led me to the innermost room, where an elegant set of European-style sofas and crystal chandeliers reflected sunlight, constantly sparkling.

He introduced himself grandly: “I am the deputy manager of the Kowloon Bay branch, Mr. Peng.”

“Mr. Peng, nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.

He added: “The general manager happens to be out today, so I will assist Miss Jiang. I hope Miss Jiang doesn’t find it impolite.”

I quickly said: “Mr. Peng is too kind.”

I sat down on the sofa.

A beautiful female employee came over to pour tea.

The teacups and delicate dessert plates served were all elegant English bone china.

Mr. Peng sat across from me, leaning forward politely and asked: “How may I assist Miss Jiang?”

Without changing my expression, I said: “I want to withdraw 2,000 pounds in cash.”

He paused slightly, surprised for a few seconds.

I casually said: “Can’t you handle this transaction here?”

He immediately said: “Of course, of course, it’s just that the amount Miss Jiang requested—surprises me a little.”

I became somewhat interested: “Then how much should I withdraw?”

He playfully smiled: “That depends on Miss Jiang’s mood?”

I calmly said: “Oh, then I should ask—how much can I withdraw?”

Mr. Peng thought for two seconds and professionally said: “The amount Miss Jiang can withdraw might not be enough even if we took out all the cash from several branches in the Kowloon area.”

He humorously added: “Of course, we generally recommend VIPs to make purchases by card.”

I smiled: “I don’t have that much money.”

He laughed: “Miss Jiang loves to joke.”

He gently pushed a finely crafted bank card onto the table—I hadn’t used it in years. It was brand new, pure white, with a gold edge and a subtle, flowing luster.

He said: “Miss Jiang naturally knows where she got this card.”

I nodded without showing any emotion.

He stated: “This is—Mr. Lao Jiazhuo’s supplementary card.”

He spoke with reverence: “Everyone in the entire group knows that all the shares and funds Mr. Lao holds in Laotong Group have two percent of their income transferred annually into this bank card. And the card Miss Jiang holds—this is the only supplementary card Mr. Lao has signed and issued globally without any spending limit.”

Why did Lao Jiazhuo have to put on such a heartfelt show in front of all the subordinates of the group? It would only become gossip for others to talk about over tea. I had no interest in these business matters, and after staying up all night at the hospital, I felt even more exhausted. All I wanted was to forget everything and get some sleep.

I maintained politeness: “Mr. Peng, I am just an ordinary customer of your bank. There is an offshore remittance in this card. Please check it for me and exchange it into Hong Kong dollars for withdrawal.”

Peng tactfully took the order and left.

He soon returned, respectfully handing me an envelope filled with a stack of cash.

I picked up a pen from the table to sign, then stood up and politely said to him: “Thank you.”

A group of people humbly escorted me to the door.

Power truly makes people live and die by it. I absurdly shook my head and slowly walked back to the hotel along the street.

Back at the hotel, I collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep.

Just as I was half-dreaming, Lao Jiazhuo called.

With a voice full of drowsiness, I asked: “What is it?”

Lao Jiazhuo asked: “Yingying, are you short of money?”

“No,” I impatiently replied.

His voice remained calm and composed: “You haven’t entered any LTB bank in the world these past few years. You even preferred borrowing from Zhang Peter rather than withdrawing from this account. Now, why are you withdrawing these few thousand dollars? Tell me what happened.”

I lied with my eyes closed: “I just don’t have any money. I lost everything at Happy Valley on Wednesday.”

He didn’t want to waste time chatting nonsense with me: “Where are you? At the company or at home? I’ll come find you tonight.”

“I’m neither at the company nor at home,” I yawned repeatedly. “Mr. Lao, I’m very tired. Let’s talk another day.”

The next day, Sunday, the school held a college entrance exam mobilization meeting. I went to Jiang Yihao’s school and talked to the teacher about the recent situation at home. I said I wouldn’t be in town recently and wouldn’t have much time to take care of him, so I asked the teacher to look after him more.

The teacher mentioned to me that the Shenzhen-Hong Kong Youth Chinese Cultural Exchange Center was hosting a learning activity. The school had exchange student spots available and suggested letting him go to Hong Kong to study. Since he was preparing to apply to foreign universities, getting used to an international teaching environment might be better for his development.

I quickly thanked her.

I came down from the classroom and found Jiang Yihao in the school.

I directly told him the teacher’s suggestion, but Jiang Yihao immediately rejected me.

I got angry: “If you don’t agree, I’ll go take care of Auntie. Who will look after you if you’re here alone?”

He muttered something back.

I raised my voice: “Take care of yourself? I haven’t been able to keep an eye on you for just over a week, and how many tutoring classes have you skipped?”

He shouted at me: “Sister, stop bothering me! Uncle is sick now. Go take care of Auntie first. Just leave me alone.”

Angry, I reached out to hit him: “You know to care about family members, huh? Can you be a little more sensible and let me worry less?”

Jiang Yihao blocked my hand with force, wincing in pain.

Young people really have abundant energy. With one swing of his arm, I staggered back a step.

There were a few steps in front of me. I stumbled and fell heavily onto the cobblestone ground face-first.

Jiang Yihao panicked and tried to grab me but accidentally pushed hard on my back instead. This made me fall even harder, hitting the ground face-first.

Jiang Yihao screamed: “Sister!”

Unable to move, I whimpered: “How much do you hate me?”

Jiang Yihao jumped off the steps and lifted me up. I felt warm liquid flowing into my eyes.

Jiang Yihao turned pale with fright, flustered, picked me up, and rushed through the teaching building, placing me on the bed in the school infirmary.

The doctor took out disinfectant: “Ah, there’s a cut on your forehead. Let’s bandage it.”

Jiang Yihao hopped around me: “Ah, is it serious? Should I take her to the hospital for a check-up?”

The doctor impatiently pushed him away: “The wound is shallow; nothing serious. Stop making a fuss. Just some skin abrasions; apply some red medicine.”

With a bulky gauze bandage on my forehead and purple-red medicine on my cheeks, we walked out of the school.

Jiang Yihao pouted: “She wasn’t good-looking to begin with, and now it’s even worse.”

I pinched his ear: “Good thing your sister doesn’t plan to get married. Otherwise, you’d be dead.”

Jiang Yihao looked at me pitifully, not daring to move.

When I took the bus back, my eyes stung, and tears wouldn’t stop flowing.

At first, it was just physiological pain causing uncontrollable tear ducts, but later, I started crying for no apparent reason.

I lowered my head, feeling utterly miserable.

Unfortunately, someone was sitting next to me.

I quietly sniffed, and suddenly, the person beside me handed over a tissue.

I silently took it and murmured, keeping my head down: “Thank you.”

The bus passed through the city’s dazzling lights and the lush greenery that remained unchanged throughout the seasons.

I finally began to relax in the night breeze.

When I got off the bus, there were fewer pedestrians in the small alley at night. The shadows of the shop signs loomed.

I walked slowly, feeling a creepy sensation on my back.

A shadow was always following me at a distance.

I clenched my fists, stopped abruptly, and turned around fiercely, yelling menacingly: “Sir, why are you following me?”

He hastily raised his hands: “Miss, I just—happen to be going the same way.”

He stepped forward and asked: “Miss, may I help you?”

I ignored him.

He still followed me.

I warily glanced at him.

The tall man had broad and upright features, not looking like a bad person.

Finally, he helplessly said: “Miss, please don’t be so defensive. I’m a police officer.”

He took out his credentials from his pocket.

I glanced up.

Intern Inspector of the Hong Kong Police Information System Headquarters, name — Yuan Chengshu.

He kindly asked: “Are you from the mainland? Do you have a place to stay? Shall I call you a taxi?”

I said: “Officer Yuan, your credentials are temporary. They sell official ones at the Meilin Night Market stalls for ten dollars each.”

He stared at me for a second, then burst into laughter.

His usually stern face became quite handsome when he smiled.

I shrugged and turned away.

Sure enough, he turned left on the street behind me.

Back at the hotel apartment, Auntie was still at the hospital.

There was a long list of missed calls on my phone, all from the same number.

I removed the battery from the constantly vibrating phone and went to take a shower.

After my shower, the phone had run out of power and automatically shut down. Recently, running around and suffering from severe sleep deprivation, I climbed into bed, wrapped myself in the blanket, and just before falling asleep, I suddenly remembered the person who had been calling me all night.

Thinking of him rushing between two places these past six months, I remembered opening the door to him in the middle of the night, my vision blurred by sleep. The dim yellow light of the corridor illuminated his weary face.

Thinking of his arrival, my heart suddenly tightened.

Before sleeping, I thought randomly for a while, struggling until midnight when the bedside phone suddenly rang loudly.

I almost jumped awake.

On the other end, Auntie’s voice trembled slightly: “Yingying, come to the hospital.”

I grabbed the clothes by the bed: “I’ll be right there.”

At four in the morning, taxis were nowhere to be seen on the streets. I ran two blocks before finally hailing one.

I kept urging the driver to speed up along the way.

When I rushed out of the elevator, Auntie saw my face and only managed to say hurriedly: “Yingying...”

I immediately said: “I accidentally fell. It’s nothing. How is Uncle?”

Auntie said: “Complications led to a sudden increase in abdominal fluid accumulation—he’s now in the operating room for puncture and drainage...”

I held her hand: “Don’t panic.”

I helped her sit by the operating room door. After calming her down a bit, I quietly got up to pay.

When I returned, I saw the doctor come over and tell Auntie: “It’s best to operate as soon as possible. We can’t delay anymore.”

Auntie anxiously asked: “Is Dr. Guan Yongkang the chief surgeon?”

The on-duty doctor shook his head apologetically: “Director Guan is abroad on an inspection tour and won’t be scheduling elective surgeries during this period.”

Auntie’s expression showed despair as she clung to the last hope: “When will he return?”

The doctor in the white coat politely said: “At least two weeks.”

Auntie collapsed onto the white bench, covering her face with her hands.

My poor Auntie.

In the early morning, Uncle was wheeled out, and I stayed outside with Auntie.

People are extremely vulnerable at times like this. Any slight movement from Uncle in the ICU made her panic as if the world was ending. I watched my once-strong Auntie, who had always been resilient in my memory, now in such panic and distress over her beloved one’s suffering.

To share life and death together is undoubtedly a kind of bittersweet blessing.

Sadly, I thought, even during the best times with Lao Jiazhuo, I never had this kind of blessing.

By nine o’clock, the doctor came to check on Uncle and announced that his condition was temporarily stable. After 24 hours of observation, he could be transferred back to a regular ward.

We breathed a slight sigh of relief.

During the day, a caregiver came, and I let Auntie go to the accompanying room to rest.

I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window outside the ward and drank a cup of strong, bitter coffee.

Gazing at the vast sky for a long time, I contemplated our current helplessness. Setting down the cup, I steeled my resolve, pushed open the door, and walked out.

I exited at Admiralty Station, fearing that hesitation would dampen my impulse. Gritting my teeth, I headed straight to Laotong headquarters.

The towering skyscraper reflected a lonely light. The lobby floor, polished to a mirror finish, was a black-and-white diamond-patterned Laotong logo.

Taking the public escalator into the bank hall, the expansive view was breathtaking. The modern-style spiral staircase, the orderly and quiet hustle of employees in formal attire moving back and forth between corridors.

At that moment, I slightly raised my head.

A beam of light fell from the atrium, perfectly combining light and space.

This was a building that combined commercial concepts and artistic essence to an astonishing degree of perfection.

Uniformed security politely stopped me at the entrance.

After multiple layers of registration, I arrived at the reception desk in the lobby and explained my purpose to the beautiful young lady seated behind the counter.

They looked at me as if I were an alien.

I looked down. Last night, when I went out, I wore a gray cardigan and cashmere pants. My attire was decent, but my face was swollen like a pig’s head.

Standing at the counter, I said to the receptionist: “Please make a call upstairs...”

The three of them exchanged glances, showing hesitation.

At this moment, I heard someone calling me from afar: “Miss Jiang—”

I turned my head and saw Liang Fengnian hurrying down from the elevator.

The three young girls behind the counter simultaneously stood up: “Mr. Liang...”

Liang Fengnian nodded to them.

Seeing my appearance, Liang Fengnian twitched his lips, but maintained his gentlemanly demeanor the next moment: “Mr. Lao is busy. Please follow me upstairs first.”

The elevator went directly to the 38th floor.

Liang Fengnian settled me in the waiting room outside the corridor, summoned a female secretary to bring me tea, and softly said: “He knows you’re here. He just has guests inside. Please wait a moment.”

I nodded.

Liang Fengnian pointed to the assistant’s office at the end of the corridor and said: “I’ll go do some work first. Call me if you need anything.”

I finished a cup of tea and waited for about fifteen minutes, seeing several tall Westerners walk down the corridor.

I looked up from the magazine as they passed by, politely nodding at me.

At this moment, the secretary walked in and knocked on the door.

After a while, she came back with a smile and said to me: “Miss Jiang, please come in.”

Following the secretary’s directions, I walked down the glass corridor and turned into another vast space. In the middle of the two closed doors at the end was an intricate and rustic pattern, presenting a perfectly cut Laotong logo.

I gently pushed the door open, and what greeted me was a whole wall of floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The European-style gauze curtains were half-drawn, revealing the lush trees atop Victoria Peak in the distance.

The moment the door moved, Lao Jiazhuo called out: “Yingying—”

I looked over at the sound of his voice; he was sitting behind a large desk, busy signing documents with his head down.

I saw that the entire office was as spacious as a palace. To the right of the entrance was a living room area with sofas, while a large modular desk occupied the left side. Warm-colored wood, black-and-white lacquer, smooth lines, and simple designs adorned the space, with elegant golden accents perfectly showcasing the owner’s noble elegance.

Even with a professional critical eye, every detail of this interior decoration was meticulously crafted. Perhaps material things absorbed the essence of people; entering this space, one could feel it matched someone’s temperament perfectly.

Lao Jiazhuo signed several documents with his head down before finally looking up at me.

The next moment, he immediately stood up: “What happened to your face?”

He pushed his chair aside and walked towards me.

Lao Jiazhuo helped me sit on the sofa, then turned to press a button on the phone: “Fengnian, have the secretary department send in a first-aid kit.”

Sitting on the sofa, I noticed behind the desk was a white TV wall with light-colored threads, behind which extended a large space with an outdoor garden platform and a small golf course.

He got up to pour me some water.

The indoor temperature was comfortable, and he only wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up halfway. His demeanor as he turned around was incomparably elegant.

I stared blankly as he bent over the water dispenser, focused on pouring water. Even his back exuded a natural sense of stability and grace. I couldn’t help but lower my head silently, only to see that my shoes had left a gray mark on the expensive carpet. Recalling the receptionist’s expression earlier, I finally understood—I was truly an alien visitor in this exquisite world.

Lao Jiazhuo returned to my side: “What are you thinking about?”

Remembering the purpose of my visit, I shook my head and forced a smile at him.

He glanced at his watch and said: “Yingying, I have a meeting in fifteen minutes. Wait for me here.”

He emphasized: “Hmm?”

I nodded.

The secretary brought in a white box.

He carefully brushed aside the hair on my forehead, examined the wound, and asked: “Have you changed the bandage?”

I shook my head.

He frowned: “How did it happen?”

I mumbled through a mouthful of water: “I accidentally tripped.”

With one hand supporting the back of my head, his fingers lightly pressed on my cheekbone.

I hurriedly grabbed his hand: “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

He deeply furrowed his brow and sternly said: “Let me see.”

I had no choice but to let go.

He gently peeled off the bandage, applied medicine to the wound, and re-applied antiseptic to the abrasions on my cheek.

I slightly closed my eyes, letting him handle it, hearing his somewhat displeased tone: “What girl doesn’t cherish her appearance? I’ve never seen anyone like you who gets bumps and bruises every other day.”

I said: “It’s nothing, it’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

Lao Jiazhuo handed me the TV remote: “I’ll be back soon.”

After he closed the door, the office became as quiet as the deep sea. Sitting there, I didn’t know when I leaned against the sofa and fell asleep.

When I vaguely woke up, the curtains were drawn, and a thin blanket covered me. Lao Jiazhuo sat at the desk in front of the computer. Seeing me awake, his refined face revealed a faintly indulgent smile.

He said: “Awake?”

I asked: “What time is it?”

He replied: “Half past seven.”

I had actually slept for more than four hours without any awareness.

Thinking about daring to sleep so soundly in his office, I was probably the first.

Lao Jiazhuo came over and touched my hair: “How did you get so tired?”

I rubbed my eyes and tried to get up.

He held my hand affectionately: “Don’t touch the wound!”

I sat up straight and took a big sip of water, finally fully awake.

Lao Jiazhuo said to me: “I know about your uncle’s situation. Professor Guan and his assistant will return from the U.S. the day after tomorrow.”

He comforted me: “I consulted with the dean. Yanghe’s oncology center is very experienced in clinical surgeries. You don’t need to worry too much.”

I bitterly smiled: “I owe you a huge favor again.”

He was slightly annoyed: “When will I have the honor of being the person you think of when you need help?”

Nowadays, when asking for help, I lowered my stance: “Mr. Lao, I’ve come to ask for your assistance.”

His tone softened as he scolded me: “I was away on business last week and just returned yesterday. I’ve been gone for only a week, and you’ve managed to get yourself into this state. If something happens, can’t you call me?”

I quickly changed the subject: “Mr. Lao, why don’t we talk about how you expect me to repay your efforts?”

Lao Jiazhuo’s expression hardened, and he stood up in front of me, coldly saying: “I’ll have Fengnian take you home.”

Just one sentence made him so angry. When a person reaches the highest position, their temper indeed gets worse.

I insisted: “I can’t keep troubling you like this.”

He coldly asked: “Do you have to be so calculating? How do you plan to repay me, with your body?”

I indifferently replied: “A worn-out shell, already decayed, yet Mr. Lao doesn’t seem to mind.”

His imposing demeanor suddenly diminished. He turned his head, coughed softly a few times, and then said: “I’m really afraid of you.”

I stared at him motionlessly.

Lao Jiazhuo walked a few steps away, sat on the sofa a few steps away from me, leaned his head back on the chair, and pressed his temples: “To be honest, Yingying, I hope you’ll stay by my side. I don’t need you to do anything. I just want to see you every day.”

A layer of weary grayness tinged his brows: “If possible, please stay in Hong Kong and don’t leave—wait until your uncle recovers at least.”

He managed to prop his elbows on the sofa, looked firmly into my eyes, and said: “Do you understand what I mean?”

I nodded.

He thought for a moment and added: “From now on, no more smoking. If you want to drink, you must get my permission first.”

I pondered for a few seconds and nodded again.

His gaze lingered on my face several times, holding back repeatedly, but he still said it: “Move in with me.”

I interrupted him: “Mr. Lao, the ink on your divorce papers isn’t even dry yet. There’s no need to rush to find someone to warm the house, is there?”

Lao Jiazhuo firmly stated: “You still love me. Why are you unwilling to stay by my side?”

I stubbornly replied: “What if I fall in love with someone else?”

He immediately shook his head: “That won’t happen.”

I explained to him: “One’s life doesn’t revolve around loving just one person. There will be different stages of emotions. Eventually, I will fall in love with someone else.”

His expression was one of calm indifference, his tone flat: “I’ve never understood what it means to have different stages of relationships. For me, once I commit to someone, it’s that person for life.”

I asked: “What if I’m someone who goes through different stages?”

He seemed pained, pressing his temple and lowly said: “I don’t know.”

I fell silent.

The vast office was left with only a dim, quiet stillness.

His face remained hidden in the shadows for a long time before he finally slowly spoke, his voice deliberately restrained and rational: “Yingying, if that day really comes, if there really is someone who can make you happier, I will let you go.”

I deliberately pushed him to his limits, but when he finally said those words, I felt extremely uncomfortable.

Lao Jiazhuo reached out and touched my earlobe, his voice trembling slightly: “Yingying, let me hold you.”

He leaned over and pulled me tightly into his arms.

I was completely enveloped in his embrace. He rested his chin on my shoulder and contentedly sighed softly.

I heard his somewhat ethereal, hoarse voice: “You don’t know. These past few years, every day I wake up feeling like the whole world is empty.”

I couldn’t help but quietly reach out and hug his back.

There was a hint of sadness in the air.

Lao Jiazhuo released me and feigned ease: “Alright…”

He reached out and touched my eyes: “Now tell me, where did the injury on your face come from?”

I shrugged: “I got into a fight with my brother, and he pushed me, causing me to fall accidentally.”

He chuckled: “You’re both grown-ups, and you still fight like children.”

He lifted my arm, picked up the suit jacket from the sofa, and reverted to his authoritative self: “Come on, let’s go check on your uncle first, then have dinner.”

A couple of days later, I returned to the mainland and unexpectedly saw Jiang Yihao chewing chips and watching TV in the room.

I threw my bag aside and asked: “Why did you run out of school?”

He pulled his legs off the coffee table and sat up straight: “School’s over now.”

I collapsed onto the sofa.

Jiang Yihao obediently ran to the kitchen to get me a drink.

I took the orange juice he handed me and looked at him: “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he sat beside me: “Sister, um…”

I remained silent, giving him a sidelong glance.

Unable to withstand my gaze, Jiang Yihao honestly started explaining: “Here’s the thing—I got the application form from the teacher yesterday, filled it out, and submitted it. The teacher is waiting for you to go and complete the transfer procedures.”

I was surprised: “I thought you didn’t want to come?”

Jiang Yihao said: “Brother-in-law talked to me.”

I turned to glare at him darkly: “Who’s your brother-in-law?”

Jiang Yihao raised an eyebrow and asked me: “How many men have you married?”

I angrily gulped down a mouthful of soda and turned away, refusing to acknowledge him.

After thinking about it for a moment, I turned back and asked: “What did you guys talk about?”

Jiang Yihao glanced at me, changed the TV channel, and lazily said: “This is a matter between us men.”

I cursed under my breath and went to my room to sleep.

As spring was about to end, Uncle underwent a subtotal gastrectomy and regional lymph node dissection at Yanghe Hospital. After resting for half a month post-surgery, his condition was basically under control.

During Uncle’s more than a month stay at Yanghe, except for about a week when Lao Jiazhuo was on a business trip, he managed to visit every other day. Even Guan Yi came several times. One surgery even caught the attention of the hospital’s administrative high-ups.

Auntie remained polite but cold towards Lao Jiazhuo. On the first day he visited, she frankly told him: “The favors our Jiang family owes you don’t necessarily have to be redeemed by Yingying.”

Auntie told him: “Mr. Lao, I appreciate your kindness, and I will find a way to repay you.”

Lao Jiazhuo stood in front of the ward, gently saying: “Yingying doesn’t need to redeem any favor from me. It’s my fault for not taking good care of her.”

He was usually very polite and considerate towards Auntie and Uncle in the hospital. Auntie, who had a sharp tongue but a kind heart, eventually felt too embarrassed to speak coldly to him.

On the day Uncle was discharged, I checked the hospital bill and wrote an IOU for Lao Jiazhuo.

When I showed it to him, the expression on his face was priceless.

I insisted that he sign and accept it.

He was so angry that his face turned pale, and he almost crushed the pen while signing.

Auntie and Uncle temporarily returned to the mainland to recuperate and then decided whether to return to Canada to continue their research project.

In accordance with my agreement with Lao Jiazhuo, I stayed in Hong Kong.

Previously, I had asked Hui Hui to help me look for a place. Coincidentally, a friend of hers was going to train at an overseas headquarters for half a year and sublet a small apartment on Sai Yeung Choi Street South in Mong Kok to me.

Rent in Hong Kong was as expensive as gold, so I was content with this fully furnished, clean, and tidy one-bedroom apartment.

When Lao Jiazhuo found out I had moved, he called me at noon that day: “Yingying, why did you look for another place?”

I politely said: “I’ve already complied with your request to stay in Hong Kong. What more do you want?”

Lao Jiazhuo gently suggested: “If you don’t want to move in with me, I have another house on Ho Man Tin Hill Road. Would you like to move there?”

I calmly replied: “Mr. Lao, I don’t like houses that are too big.”

His tone became somewhat low: “If I’m away, it’s not safe for you to live alone.”

I sneered: “There are seven million people in Hong Kong. It’s not only me who lives alone. Not everyone needs to depend on others to live.”

At this moment, his assistant whispered something beside him, and Lao Jiazhuo said helplessly: “Let’s talk after work.”

Perhaps realizing he couldn’t persuade me, Lao Jiazhuo came over after work, looked around the room, sighed, and started tidying up the scattered items.

The next day, workers delivered a batch of new appliances.

Lao Jiazhuo naturally treated this place as his new home. Every day after work, he would come back and quietly enjoy a bowl of soup at a small round wooden table in the kitchen.

Since I had already agreed with him, I no longer had the energy to fight him for three hundred rounds. I could only treat the presence of this man in my 120-square-foot suite with a normal heart.

Lao Jiazhuo often had social engagements in the evening. If he had time to come home for dinner, he would call me in advance. If I was in the mood, I would go downstairs to buy groceries and spend a long time in the kitchen making ginger shredded meat crab.

Though we didn’t reach the level of mutual respect, Lao Jiazhuo was extremely patient and gentle with my frequent temper tantrums. We managed to live an ordinary life filled with everyday烟火.

Because of a pipe modification, the landlord came to check one night.

Mrs. Wang greeted me with a smile when she entered: “Miss Jiang.”

She saw Lao Jiazhuo inside and revealed an ambiguous smile on her round, plump face: “You have a friend here?”

Lao Jiazhuo stood up politely from the dining table and said: “Hello.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I casually mumbled something.

Lao Jiazhuo came to my side and gathered me in his arms: “I am family.”

Lao Jiazhuo led her into the kitchen to look at the previously installed section of the water pipe. After she inspected it, she came out smiling and chatting: “Not bad. You’ve only been here for a few weeks, and it already feels like home.”

I glanced at the room. There were dirty sheets piled on the washing machine, a vase with wilted gardenias, a red-eared slider turtle crawling on the floor, and the smell of food wafting from the kitchen.

After seeing off the guest, Lao Jiazhuo came back and gently held my hand.

I had rested for a while after coming to Hong Kong.

The bustling streets of Causeway Bay, the glittering lights of Victoria Harbour below the Mid-Levels villas—this metropolis, flourishing yet desolate, had nothing to do with my life. Even facing him every day, I never paid attention to Laotong’s financial news.

If the landlady knew that this man goes to work every day in a suit to the 38th floor of that skyscraper on Queen’s Road Central in Admiralty, would she think we were crazy to rent a place here?

After living together, our life was very peaceful, and we rarely made love.

Perhaps because of my age, I wasn’t very interested in sex, and Lao Jiazhuo was tired after a day’s work. Sometimes I could feel his needs, and if I wasn’t particularly unwilling, I would enjoy the warmth of our intimacy under his caresses. I didn’t know if Lao Jiazhuo found it joyful, but frankly speaking, our life could be considered dull.

Most nights, he just had to hold me while sleeping.

After promising to quit medication, I often suffered from insomnia. In the middle of the night, I would wake up to see a serene face sleeping beside me.

In the deep darkness, his fair face, straight nose, and slightly furrowed brows.

He was always very tired.

Holding me in his arms, his chin resting on my forehead, with a slightly tense possessive posture.

In those deep, ocean-like nights in the room, there were moments when I even forgot where I was.

But the sky always brightens, and we always wake up, then gather our spirits and put on our masks to go out and fight the long, disheartening life. Every morning, the sunlight shone in, the blinding tropical sun like a scorching knife blade dipped in icy water, reminding me with a piercing pain that time had already shattered everything into pieces. We had lost all chances to restore life to its original form.

Lao Jiazhuo placed a stack of cash in the drawer, a whole bundle of thousand-dollar Hong Kong bills. I spent very little; if I needed money, it was mostly for taking care of his daily meals.

Lao Jiazhuo wasn’t very picky about food, but he ate very little.

Over the years, his body had become increasingly delicate, and with the pressure of work, he remained very thin.

I had to study recipes online and try to make light, nutritious dishes every day. If we didn’t talk about certain topics I didn’t want to mention, the time under the lamp was peaceful and pleasant.

One day, I suddenly remembered to ask: “Who designed the Laotong building in Hong Kong?”

He was lazily resting on the sofa and looked at me when he heard this: “Jim Peirson.”

I recalled the perfect introduction of natural light inside the building: “What about the interior part?”

Lao Jiazhuo thought for a moment: “The lobby and atrium were done by Matt Forest from Jim’s office. The conference room part—”

He looked at me and smiled: “Hmm—it was an old friend of yours.”

I asked: “Who?”

He answered: “Alston Ron.”

I was speechless. Indeed, it was an old acquaintance, the one who marked my graduation design with red crosses.

Students always harbor grudges against teachers. I asked: “Why did you hire him?”

Lao Jiazhuo comforted me: “He is a top figure in the local interior design industry.”

I complained: “Why didn’t you just continue to hire foreign designers?”

Lao Jiazhuo said: “Well, it’s like this—I have some private data to consult with him.”

I waved my hand: “No, no. After this, won’t he become even more arrogant? When he taught, his eyes were always looking up, often saying—I worked with so-and-so on the Kuala Lumpur exhibition hall design...”

Lao Jiazhuo laughed and pulled me close: “Yingying, don’t bury your talent. Have you considered returning to design?”

I immediately sobered up, shook my head, and said: “Let’s talk about it later.”

Lao Jiazhuo watched my expression, his eyes filled with subtle doubt. He stared at me for a while but ultimately chose not to ask further.

He took the towel from my hand and wiped my half-wet hair, softly saying beside me: “Hmm, working is tiring. Do as you please.”

I usually woke up late in the morning. By the time I woke up, he had already gone to work. That day, while tidying up the room, I saw his shirt and trousers on the sofa.

The space in the house was limited, and there was no wardrobe in the room. I only had a few clothes, which I casually threw into storage bins.

Naturally, Lao Jiazhuo wouldn’t be so casual. His assistant usually brought him clean clothes, and he generally remembered to let the driver take away the used ones.

Perhaps he forgot today in his haste.

After finishing mopping the floor and organizing the scattered books, I stood in the living room for a few seconds and still decided to tidy up those two pieces of clothing, bringing them into the bathroom to soak in a basin and wash by hand.

When he returned at night and saw the clothes fluttering gently in the wind on the balcony, his expression was slightly surprised: “Yingying, did you wash my clothes?”

“Mm,” I hid in the corner playing with the turtle Jiang Yihao had entrusted me with due to his transfer: “I washed them by hand. I checked the material and thought they could be hand-washed, but they need to be ironed once dry.”

The person behind me was momentarily speechless.

I squatted down and turned my head to look at him. His face showed an inexplicable expression of gratitude.

When I stood up, Lao Jiazhuo suddenly hugged me from behind and gently said: “Yingying, shall we move to a bigger house?”

My back stiffened.

I silently broke free from him and turned back into the room.

I went to the kitchen to check on the stew. After dinner, I lowered my head to clean the kitchen, tidy up the room, focus on feeding the turtle, and then went to the bathroom to shower.

We hadn’t spoken.

Lao Jiazhuo helped me wash the dishes and then sat on a chair by the balcony door, lost in thought. While I was tidying up the sofa, his phone kept flashing beside him. He frowned and looked at it for a while before finally answering.

It was about work matters.

His voice was eerily calm: “Hmm?”

He directly instructed: “I know, forward it to President Su for approval.”

He listened for a few sentences, then calmly said: “Didn’t I say to have the actuaries prepare the risk assessment report before submitting it?”

The other end said something unknown, and his tone became even calmer: “Do you want me to do it now?” 

I was drinking water nearby, and my hand holding the cup trembled slightly.

This is how he is—when he’s angrier and more troubled, he becomes even more polite and composed, his tone so cold it could make you shiver all over.

He frowned and spoke softly for a few sentences, then hung up the phone.

Lao Jiazhuo returned to the living room and opened his laptop.

I took a bath and went into the room.

I read until I felt sleepy, resting my head on the edge of the bed and dozing off. In my daze, I felt Lao Jiazhuo come in.

He sat by my side: “Yingying, are you asleep?”

I opened my eyes and shook my head.

We were silent, facing each other.

Lao Jiazhuo said softly: “Yingying, you don’t talk to me much anymore.”

I closed the book and looked at him quietly.

He smiled with slight difficulty: “Sometimes I wish you were still like before, getting angry with me. When you first came back, I could at least feel your emotions. I would rather you argued with me and made me angry, but now, I’m actually very afraid.”

I gave him a faint smile and said: “To be honest, I’ve found that I’m not as infatuated with you as I used to be.”

He gazed at my face, and sadness slowly crept into the corners of his eyes. His deep voice was weak: “I was never worthy of your infatuation. I am just a man, perhaps even slightly inferior to ordinary men in some aspects.”

I sneered thinly: “There’s no need to belittle yourself. Mr. Lao is a model of success in Hong Kong’s industry.”

He shook his head helplessly, reached out to turn my shoulder, and pulled me into his arms.

I heard his slow heartbeat and comfortably rubbed my cheek against his shirt, feeling his slightly cool hand gently hugging my back.

I felt sleepy and slowly closed my eyes in his embrace.

On Saturday afternoon, Lao Jiazhuo told me: “I’ll pick you up for dinner tonight.”

When I received his call, I asked: “Why?”

He said: “It’s Su Jian’s banquet. I told him to talk to you.”

A moment later, Su Jian called: “Yingying, our little one is having a birthday, it’s a family gathering. Please come and join us with Jiazhuo.”

In the evening, Lao Jiazhuo came home to pick me up.

His car was parked by the roadside downstairs.

Lao Jiazhuo smiled faintly: “Yingying, I want to introduce someone to you.”

He walked a few steps ahead, then pulled someone out of the car.

I was completely surprised.

It was a boy about four or five years old, wearing blue work pants and lively black eyes.

Lao Jiazhuo led him to me.

I looked at Lao Jiazhuo, silently asking, who is this...

He nodded.

This was Jiajun and Qixuan’s child.

I squatted down and smiled at him.

With a tender and crisp voice, he said: “Little auntie.”

I tapped his nose: “I’m not your little auntie.”

He chirped: “I knew it! Little auntie is just pretending.”

I pretended to be angry: “Who said that?”

Xiao Ha laughed: “Mommy said it. It’s because uncle misbehaved and made auntie angry.”

I forced a smile: “That’s not true. Your uncle is very good.”

Xiao Ha looked at my expression, then turned to look at Lao Jiazhuo and suddenly said: “Uncle, the world is a fine place and worth fighting for.”

Xiao Ha hugged my arm affectionately: “Auntie, uncle will try harder.”

I was speechless. It seems the Lao family will become increasingly cunning and profound with each generation.

Lao Jiazhuo picked up Xiao Ha with one hand and held my hand with the other, acting as if nothing was unusual: “Let’s go.”

I asked Lao Jiazhuo: “Who taught him that?”

Lao Jiazhuo said: “He has an early childhood education teacher.”

I said: “Is it necessary to teach such profound things?”

He leaned on the car window and smiled faintly at me: “It’s not bad for the men of the Lao family to have ambition early on.”

Idiot, I cursed in my heart.

Xiao Ha was lively like a sprite, constantly talking next to Lao Jiazhuo in the car. His soft childish voice melted hearts. Whatever he asked, Lao Jiazhuo answered patiently and meticulously. It was clear they had a great relationship.

The car arrived at Su Jian’s house in Xiangmi Lake.

The European-style villa was brightly lit. Due to the party, the trees in the garden were adorned with twinkling colored lights. The entire house was decorated warmly and full of childlike fun, with cartoon characters hopping around and playing with the children.

After entering the house, Xiao Ha immediately ran to the younger twin sister.

Most of the guests dressed casually—it was a family banquet.

As we entered the hall, Su Jian greeted us immediately.

Beside him was an older man who came forward to shake hands with Lao Jiazhuo: “Mr. Lao, I’m glad you could come.”

Lao Jiazhuo nodded: “Uncle Ming, there’s no need to be so formal.”

Su Jian said to me: “This is my father.”

The elder laughed heartily: “Make yourself at home.”

Su Jian smiled at me: “Yingying, you haven’t met my wife yet. Let me introduce you.”

He turned to a woman in the crowd: “Papa, come here!”

A woman responded and walked over with a smile.

Lao Jiazhuo whispered in my ear: “Su Jian’s wife is one-quarter Gypsy. Her profession is divination and astrology expert.”

At this moment, the woman linked arms with Su Jian. She wore wide pants and loose clothing, her face showing a shy smile.

Su Jian said to her: “This is Miss Jiang Yiying.”

Then he turned to me: “Yingying, this is my wife Zhou Caixuan. She likes friends to call her Papa.”

Papa was a brunette with beautiful features, long eyebrows, and bright eyes.

I smiled faintly and stepped forward to kiss her cheek.

After exchanging greetings, Papa suddenly said to me: “Miss Jiang, let me see your wrist.”

Lao Jiazhuo encouraged me with a smile.

I extended my hand.

She touched the bones of my wrist and confidently said to me: “Miss Jiang, you will be blessed with many descendants.”

I was momentarily stunned, then quickly masked my emotions and smiled at her: “Really?”

Lao Jiazhuo held my hand, warmth passing through his palm. He said to Papa: “She will be glad to hear you say that.”

Su Jian changed the subject: “Dear, the children are waiting. Let’s go.”

Lao Jiazhuo teased me: “Yingying, don’t take it to heart. You don’t know what she said to me the first time I met her at their wedding. It almost scared Su Jian to death.”

I forced a smile: “Hmm.”

Before I could ask further, Guan Xinyi came over to greet us.

Guan Xinyi seemed to be a close friend of theirs. She joked: “Second Master finally decided to bring his beauty out to entertain guests.”

Lao Jiazhuo smiled at her.

I sincerely thanked her: “Miss Guan, last time my uncle was in the hospital, thank you for taking care of him.”

She laughed: “We’re all good friends. No need to be so formal.”

I felt somewhat uneasy, but fortunately, everyone’s attention was on the children. They sang, played games, and cut the cake. The guests were informal, warm and friendly like a family.

By midnight, the tired children were gradually taken away by nannies.

The men were drinking and smoking cigars on a small sofa on one side of the hall.

Lao Jiazhuo picked up the drowsy Xiao Ha and had a maid accompany him home. When he returned, he said to me: “Yingying, I’ll go sit with them for a while.”

I nodded.

Lao Jiazhuo caressed my cheek, smiled at me, and then walked away.

I watched him walk over, pat Zhang Peter’s shoulder. Zhang gave him a seat, and Lao Jiazhuo sat down in their circle with a smile.

I slowly sipped a glass of wine.

Suddenly, someone beside me spoke: “Do you know? He has been living a secluded life these past few years. I’ve seen him quite a few times, but I’ve never seen him smile like this.”

I turned my head at the sound and saw Guan Xinyi sitting on a chair behind me. Some of her heavy makeup had worn off, making her features appear younger.

Out of politeness, I replied: “Really?”

She swirled her wine glass, slightly tipsy: “If you truly love someone, even seeing them frown will make you feel heartbroken.”

Given my position, I didn’t know what to say.

Guan Xinyi started talking about the past: “When I returned from the U.S., he had been in Yanghe Hospital for half a year. With the help of physical therapists, he began rehabilitation. It was extremely difficult. Every day, he gritted his teeth and repeatedly did back support exercises, used crutches, and practiced standing... That was when I started to like him. Even though he was despondent and desperate, he still showed immense perseverance to endure pain that ordinary people couldn’t bear.”

“When he was in the hospital, Qian Jing would silently wait outside. Lao Jiazhuo rarely let her stay by his side, so I didn’t expect them to get married later.”

She smiled at me: “You know, seeing his wife as Qian Jing made me think I still had a chance. Even though he was a proud and solitary man, I believed I had some confidence to win him over.”

She smiled dreamily: “Until I saw you, I realized why I never had a chance.”

I quietly listened to her talk.

“I’ve always wondered, what kind of woman does a man like him want?”

“Seeing you in person made me understand—he wants a simple and clean girl.”

“You know, he is so adept at strategy, surrounded by the business circle, negotiating, operating, and focusing on profit 24 hours a day. Sometimes, people can lose themselves in such an environment.”

“But with you, he can return to his true self.”

I silently looked at the beautiful woman in front of me. She had a smile on her lips, but there were tears in her eyes.

I thoughtfully considered what she said. Her words made sense, but I no longer felt that person was me.

Four years ago, Jiang Yiying might have been considered pure, but today, it’s better not to mention it.

I poured her some wine: “Let’s drink a little more.”

Guan Xinyi said: “Yingying, I really can’t dislike you. I heard that he’s currently living with you in the Mong Kok apartment?”

I nodded.

She was surprised: “You haven’t been to his residence?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” she leaned over to whisper in my ear: “His duplex units C-type single and double numbers in Langcheng Bay, that’s home.”

I told her: “I didn’t know. He hasn’t mentioned it to me.”

Guan Xinyi immediately smiled: “I haven’t been invited inside either. His old back injury flares up occasionally, and the doctor recommended regular physical therapy. His therapist is a doctor at our hospital. I followed the doctor in once.”

After sharing her thoughts, Guan Xinyi felt very relaxed, continuously pulling me to drink. Unexpectedly, our alcohol tolerance was evenly matched. By the end, we both felt a bit tipsy and light-hearted.

On the way back, Lao Jiazhuo kept holding my arm to prevent me from falling.

In the car, he asked: “What were you and Guan Xinyi talking about so happily?”

I hiccuped from the alcohol and mumbled: “I thought she was cute. Why didn’t you choose her back then?”

Lao Jiazhuo remained silent.

I turned to look at him.

He rested his head against the backrest, half of his face buried in darkness. After a long while, he said softly: “Jiang Yiying, do you really think I want to choose another wife?”

I smiled and said: “Whatever makes the second master happy.”

He assumed I was drunk and ignored me.

I did feel a bit dizzy. After coming home and taking a shower, I struggled to collapse onto the bed and fell asleep.

This night seemed unusually long.

I slept until my whole body was exhausted, but I couldn’t wake up.

My soul drifted back to the vast plain with a slight cold wind.

A little child in white shirt and blue pants giggled at me and then ran ahead.

My heart overflowed with soft joy, and I quickly chased after that toddling little figure.

In the blink of an eye, that little figure suddenly disappeared, and before my eyes was a sea of crimson red.

I stepped on the ground, and thick blood splattered around. Desperately, I knelt down and picked up a pool of hot blood.

Cold sweat drenched my back.

Someone gently shook my shoulder, and a low, hoarse voice called out to me: “Yingying, Yingying...”

I woke up in a cold sweat and saw a slightly worried face in front of me. For a moment, I couldn’t even recognize who it was.

Lao Jiazhuo’s gaze at me slowly extinguished the fiery light in his eyes, turning into a dark coolness.

He said: “Yingying, it’s me.”

I covered my face with my hand and said in a hoarse voice: “Sorry, I woke you up.”

He held my shoulders: “It was just a nightmare. Don’t be afraid.”

Thinking about the scene in the dream, I felt my heart shatter with pain.

Lao Jiazhuo patiently rubbed my back over and over again.

He whispered to comfort me: “Yingying, it’s okay. I’m here...”

I clutched the hem of his clothes, pulling myself out of the dream.

After I calmed down a bit, he dried my sweat and gently embraced me.

I didn’t fall asleep.

Lao Jiazhuo’s chest was slightly warm, and he placed me in a comfortable and reassuring embrace.

We sat silently in the darkness.

“Yingying,” Lao Jiazhuo’s voice came softly from behind, comforting yet tinged with a hint of sadness: “If you’re willing, we can have another child.”

Later that night, I slept soundly in his arms. By the time I woke up, it was almost ten o’clock. Lao Jiazhuo had a slight fever when he got up and was still sleeping in the room.

While I was heating milk in the kitchen, the doorbell suddenly rang loudly.

I went to answer the door, and a small figure squeezed in and quickly hugged my thigh: “Little auntie!”

The maid stood at the door, rubbing her hands and smiling at me: “Miss Jiang.”

Lao Jiazhuo walked out of the room: “A Xiang, what is it?”

I opened the door: “Come in and talk.”

A Xiang said: “Second Master, Miss Qi Xuan hasn’t returned, and there’s no one at home. Little Ha insisted on finding you.”

I led Little Ha into the house. He looked around and shouted happily: “Turtle!”

The Brazilian turtle crawling on the living room floor looked around for a few seconds, then quickly retracted its head. Little Ha’s chubby little fingers nearly crushed Jiang Yi Hao’s turtle.

After the maid delivered Little Ha and returned to the mansion, I accompanied him as he tormented the two turtles on the floor, flipping them over and over.

After a while, he got tired. I picked him up and sat on the sofa, giving him juice to drink.

Little Ha suddenly said: “Auntie, what happened to your hand?”

I was wearing a short skirt and T-shirt, and the scars on my arms were clearly visible.

Lao Jiazhuo had just changed into a shirt and walked out. His gaze dimmed slightly when he saw me. He turned his head, coughed lightly, and said: “Little Ha...”

I began making faces to scare him: “The turtle bit it. If you keep pinching its head, it will bite you.”

Before I mentioned it, Little Ha immediately climbed off the sofa and ran to Lao Jiazhuo, coquettishly pleading: “Uncle, let the turtle stick its head out so I can see...”

Lao Jiazhuo originally squatted down to pick him up but was hit by the child running into his arms. He didn’t catch him steadily, holding him with one hand while supporting himself with the other and sitting on the floor.

I hurriedly stood up and hugged Little Ha: “Uncle isn’t feeling well.”

Little Ha seemed very sensitive about this. He immediately looked up at Lao Jiazhuo.

Lao Jiazhuo stood up and patted his head: “I’m fine.”

I whispered: “It’s rare to have a weekend without work. Have breakfast and sleep a little more.”

Lao Jiazhuo nodded in agreement, then said to Little Ha: “Didn’t A Xiang say she brought the art homework your teacher left for you? You need to finish your homework first.”

Little Ha obediently nodded. Lao Jiazhuo approvingly smiled and went to the kitchen to drink milk.

Little Ha placed the notebook he brought on the coffee table and took out a box of crayons.

I watched from the side.

He enthusiastically colored a picture book like a chaotic mess, painting colorful dots on ladybugs and sticking red antennae on bees.

Finding it amusing, I reached out and took a blue pen.

On the blank space of the zoo page, I gently raised my wrist and drew an arc.

Little Ha’s attention was completely drawn. He stared at me intently.

Thirty seconds later, he clapped his hands and exclaimed: “Little auntie is so amazing! She can draw an elephant with four legs!”

I was amused by him. Little Ha could only draw flat images; all animals had only two legs.

At this moment, Lao Jiazhuo’s phone rang. When he came out to answer it, he saw this scene, and a faint smile appeared in his eyes.

I held the child’s hand and taught him how to draw trees and houses. Little Ha was very smart. After teaching him simple strokes once, he could already imitate them quite well. Then we played with clay, and the two of us had so much fun that we didn’t realize the morning had passed.

At noon, the driver and maid from the Lao family mansion delivered a large box of sumptuous meals.

The maid served Little Ha’s meal, and Lao Jiazhuo was still sleeping in the room.

Afraid that sleeping too long would upset his stomach, I went into the room to call him. He responded groggily: “Hmm?”

I asked: “Are you feeling better?”

He nodded.

I said: “Get up and eat something.”

I walked into the bathroom in the bedroom.

Lao Jiazhuo was already sitting on the bed. He called out to me in a deep voice: “Yingying.”

He said: “Come here.”

I asked: “What for?”

He emphasized: “Come here.”

I stood in front of him.

He asked: “What happened to your hand?”

He reached out and touched my cheek. My whole body burned, and my hands trembled violently.

Lao Jiazhuo was somewhat surprised: “What happened?”

I tried to control the steadiness of my voice: “It’s a psychological issue. I get like this when I draw.”

I stayed in the bathroom for a long time, repeatedly washing my face with cold water, barely suppressing the nausea in my chest. Suddenly, I wanted to smoke a cigarette badly.

Lao Jiazhuo waited at the door.

He said: “Yingying, you need to overcome this psychological barrier.”

There was no room for negotiation in his tone; it was a command.

From that day on, I started practicing drawing again. At first, it was just random doodles with Little Ha. After Qi Xuan finished her work in Hong Kong and took him back to the United States to reunite with his grandparents, I began to focus on regaining my professional skills—spatial proportions, opening and closing levels, lighting and angles, harmonious contrast of color textures. I practiced computer-aided design software again.

Perhaps the approach was too aggressive. In the first few days, I experienced severe psychological stress—dizziness, insomnia, nausea, and loss of appetite.

The result of stubbornly refusing to give up was that after a week, I was staggering when I walked.

Lao Jiazhuo was very worried.

I finally started seeing a psychologist once a week.

At night, I attended design courses. When I faced architectural drafts again, I felt a trickle of sweet spring water slowly emerging from the dried-up well in my heart.

After a week, I raised my hand at home and said to Lao Jiazhuo: “I seem to be feeling a bit better.”

He had just come back from work and was drinking a glass of water. He looked up with a slight joy: “I knew you could do it.”

I smiled.

He held my hand and gently kissed my arm.

I felt something unusual in my heart, pulled away, and turned back to the kitchen.

I made a cup of herbal tea in the kitchen and came out to see Lao Jiazhuo already leaning on the sofa with his eyes closed, resting. My mental state had been unstable recently. I often became extremely excited at night and lethargic during the day, causing him to lose sleep as well. A faint shadow of fatigue appeared under his eyes.

A month later, I entered the office of DDSA Design in China with a recommendation letter from my teacher.

I knew that Lao Jiazhuo had a hand in this, but what use was it for me to insist on meaningless pride in society? I would prove myself with my work achievements.

At DDSA’s office, I started with client consultations. Before project initiation, I conducted detailed communications and visits with every high-end client, then moved on to concept execution. Later, when a luxury villa community near Hong Kong Island was developed, the company assigned Claudio Nardi, and I was called under his wing as a design assistant.

Nowadays, I leave early and return late every day. Every morning, I get up early and prepare myself meticulously in front of the mirror, dressing smartly and energetically heading to work.

Occasionally, if I had to work overtime at night, Lao Jiazhuo would wait for me at home.

Sometimes, if I was too late, he would wait for me at the street corner downstairs. When I got out of the taxi, carrying a big bag and hurrying across the sidewalk, I would see him standing by the roadside, hands in his pockets, looking somewhat nonchalant.

One day, he suddenly said to me: “Yingying, you look very beautiful now.”

I was somewhat speechless and couldn’t help but touch the remaining makeup on my face. I was just wearing the most standard white shirt and blue pants in the office, and after a day of hard work, I looked like I had aged ten years. Mr. Lao Jiazhuo’s taste was indeed peculiar.

I smiled and walked into the kitchen to find something to eat.

Lao Jiazhuo fetched bowls and chopsticks for me and reminded me: “No matter how busy you are, remember to eat.”

When I officially started working on design projects, Lao Jiazhuo was away on a business trip for a week.

I was very rusty at drawing. Claudio Nardi was extremely strict at work, and his requirements for the details I handled were very vague and abstract. He wasn’t very satisfied with my initial draft, which increased my pressure, making it even harder for me to draw.

I had no choice but to carry my drafts and laptop with me twenty-four hours a day, modifying any detail I thought of at any time and place, practically driving myself mad.

On the night Lao Jiazhuo returned, I fell asleep in the living room. My laptop was still on, my hair was messy, and various templates and needle pens were scattered around me. The floor was littered with torn-up papers.

The house was a mess, like a garbage dump.

He sat beside me: “Yingying?”

I opened my eyes, somewhat confused.

He asked: “What’s wrong?”

“Hmm, nothing.” I got up and hastily tidied the desk, wrapping the instant noodle cup in newspaper and throwing it into the trash bin.

He frowned: “Did you eat this for lunch or dinner?”

As I busied myself, I answered him: “Lunch.”

He pulled me up, pushed me into the room, and found some comfortable clothes for me: “Change your clothes.”

I asked: “Why?”

He said: “I’ll take you out to eat.”

I held my head: “I need to draw. The boss wants it tomorrow.”

He said: “Let’s eat first. You need to fill your stomach to have energy. At worst, you can stay up late tonight to finish.”

I was indeed hungry and obediently changed my clothes.

The driver had already gone home after picking him up from the airport. Lao Jiazhuo drove me out himself.

The car stopped outside a dazzling restaurant. We had a private, spacious room with a glass window overlooking the glittering sea view of Shenzhen and Hong Kong.

The food was quickly served.

Lao Jiazhuo was clearly jet-lagged and had a poor appetite, while I ate voraciously.

Soon, several empty plates piled up in front of me. I picked up a napkin, wiped my mouth, and leaned back in the chair contentedly. I remembered to tell him: “Little Ha called you a few days ago, begging you to take him to the big house next time you come back.”

He nodded, his pale face revealing a faint smile of exhaustion.

I casually asked: “Which house is he so obsessed with?”

Lao Jiazhuo said: “Hmm, it’s in Senhai Haoting. Little Ha’s birthday parties in China are always held there, and all the kids like it.”

He said: “Would you like to go see it sometime?”

I wasn’t very interested: “We’ll see.”

He nodded and didn’t say anything more.

“Yingying, look,” he pointed outside the glass.

I looked in the direction he pointed and saw a dazzling arc of light sweep across the top of a distant building.

Excitedly, I sat up straight, eyes glued to the angle of the shimmering light.

My sluggish brain finally started working, and I suddenly slapped the table, stood up, and said: “Let’s go home!”

I brewed a large mug of strong coffee and sat back down at the computer.

Lao Jiazhuo came out after taking a shower. I was flipping through things, unable to find a usable pencil.

Lao Jiazhuo sat beside me and said helplessly: “Give it to me.”

He took the pencil that I had tortured into baldness from my hand, took out a pencil sharpener, and began sharpening it for me attentively.

I bit an automatic pencil and mumbled: “You should go to sleep.”

He said: “Don’t mind me, do your work.”

At three in the morning, I finally finished everything and collapsed with relief.

In the morning, I walked out of Nardi’s office triumphantly, thinking about how he stared at my design draft for thirty seconds before his thin lips finally uttered the words “it’s all right.” I felt incredibly satisfied with life.

A colleague nearby said: “Yingying, can I borrow an HB pencil?”

I smiled and responded cheerfully. Returning to my desk, I opened my pencil case and froze.

A row of neatly arranged hard pencils, sharp tips, smooth bodies, brand new like soldiers in formation.

The colleague leaned over, exclaiming: “Wow, professional craftsmanship!”

Someone else said: “Yingying, can I borrow one too? I just ran out.”

I smiled and pushed them onto the desk: “Take them.”

I couldn’t help but shake my head. Mr. Lao Jiazhuo was indeed impeccable; even sharpening pencils resulted in perfect shapes.

That night, I accompanied a few clients to dinner and saw the champagne-colored car parked downstairs at the restaurant.

I paid attention to the license plate—it was his car, probably here for business as well.

I had work to do and no time to think about other things. At the table, I was busy exchanging toasts, ensuring the foreign guests were satisfied. The brand wanted to open a new flagship store in a certain city on the mainland, and our company was competing for the commercial shop design.

Finally finishing the meal at nearly ten o’clock, we escorted the distinguished guests downstairs, and the driver came forward to pick them up.

I finally breathed a sigh of relief.

A colleague patted my shoulder beside me: “Yingying, shall I give you a ride?”

Beyond his shoulder, I saw a young man in a light blue suit walking towards us.

I politely smiled at the colleague: “Looks like it won’t be necessary.”

After bidding farewell to my colleague, Liang Fengnian approached and said: “Miss Jiang.”

I nodded politely: “Mr. Liang.”

Liang Fengnian asked: “Miss Jiang, have you finished your work?”

I said: “Is there something?”

He whispered: “Mr. Lao is a bit drunk tonight. Please take care of him.”

I was puzzled: “The driver can take him home.”

Liang Fengnian looked troubled: “Miss Jiang, he just instructed not to go to your place tonight. But he lives alone now, and his health condition is worrying.”

I asked: “Isn’t there any maid at home?”

Liang Fengnian shook his head helplessly: “No one else can get close to him.”

I couldn’t refuse anymore, so I nodded and followed him to the parking spot. As we walked, I asked: “Who needed him to personally entertain?”

Liang Fengnian hesitated: “Just mentioned, Hong Wu Ye.”

“Who?” I asked, and after a moment, I recalled who this person was.

Years ago, the young and reckless Jiang Yiying seemed to have met this sinister and bloodthirsty man once.

I wondered: “Laotong does legitimate business. How did they get involved with him?”

Liang Fengnian rarely showed anger on his face: “Recently, Laotong has a cooperative investment in his territory. He has been deliberately making trouble. Even when Mr. Lao personally negotiated with him, he didn’t show any respect. It seems we don’t need to tolerate this anymore.”

I asked: “Isn’t Mr. Lao quite influential in both black and white circles? Why is Mr. Hong being so disrespectful?”

Liang Fengnian spoke too quickly: “It’s because of Miss Qian...”

Realizing his slip of tongue, he awkwardly said: “Sorry, ask the boss yourself.”

I didn’t speak anymore, keeping this matter in mind, and followed Liang Fengnian to the parking spot.

Liang Fengnian bent down to open the car door and softly said: “Mr. Lao, Miss Jiang happens to be here.”

Lao Jiazhuo sat in the back seat, pressing his temples. Hearing this, he looked up.

I walked around to the other side and opened the car door.

Lao Jiazhuo’s voice was somewhat weak: “Yingying, would you go home with me?”

I sat beside him: “I’ll go back later.”

He reeked of alcohol mixed with tobacco. Perhaps feeling unwell, he furrowed his brows and stopped arguing with me.

The car stopped in a luxury real estate development on Langcheng Bay Road.

Lao Jiazhuo reached out to push open the car door and then instructed the driver: “Xu Feng, send Miss Jiang home.”

I ignored him and got out first, heading towards the elevator.

Lao Jiazhuo helplessly followed.

I slowed down and turned to look at him. He wore a black shirt, his tie already removed. Even though he was drunk, his steps were only slightly slow, but his eyes were red, and his complexion was extremely pale.

As we stepped into the elevator, I couldn’t bear to watch and finally reached out to support his arm.

The moment the door opened, Lao Jiazhuo’s body visibly tensed.

A wall lamp lit the entrance.

I first noticed the living room arrangement—a double-layer chandelier on the ceiling and a wall of dark-patterned stone under the stairs.

Instinctively, I reached out to touch the right wall—the position of the main light switch was exactly the same.

Parts of my memory that had become blurry overlapped with reality, every smallest detail vividly highlighted. I even remembered the rabbit doll with a mocking smile on the back of the sofa.

At this point, Lao Jiazhuo acted as if nothing was wrong: “Come in.”

I followed him inside.

He softly said: “Make yourself comfortable.”

Then he walked upstairs.

I stood in the living room, looking at this familiar house where I could walk around with my eyes closed. Memories of four years ago rushed back with overwhelming force, almost sweeping me away.

I didn’t have the energy to speculate further because I heard noises from upstairs. I quickly went upstairs. On the right side of the second-floor living room was his bedroom—now accompanied by the sound of a flushing toilet and violent vomiting.

I waited outside the door for a while until the water sounds subsided. I turned the knob and saw him lying on the floor, gasping for breath.

“Jiazhuo?” I called: “Are you okay?”

Lao Jiazhuo supported himself against the wall with one hand and pressed the other on his chest, kneeling on the tiles, struggling to breathe.

I reached out to help him up. He leaned on my arm and stood up, staggering back into the room.

I found clean clothes for him to change into, then went downstairs to the kitchen to make honey water to sober him up. When I returned, I saw him lying on one side of the large bed, his thin figure curled up into a ball.

I picked up the blanket he had crumpled into a mess and walked over, leaning down to call him: “Jiazhuo?”

Only when I got closer did I see his face clearly, and my heart skipped a beat.

Lao Jiazhuo’s face was as pale as frost, his hands tightly pressing on his rapidly beating heart. He gritted his teeth, arching his body to endure the pain in his stomach. Cold sweat seeped from his temples, wetting his hairline.

Panicking, I set down the water glass and rushed to the bedside phone: “I’ll call a doctor!”

He reached out to stop me, stubbornly shaking his head: “No need, I have medicine…”

I opened the third drawer of the bedside table and, unsurprisingly, saw it filled with bottles and jars of medicine.

I quickly checked the labels, poured out a few pills, then rushed out to pour a glass of warm water.

After much effort, I managed to get him to take the medicine. He leaned against the headboard with his eyes closed, but suddenly jumped off the bed barefoot and staggered toward the bathroom—vomiting everything out, including the medicine.

I changed his clothes again and put the dirty clothes and sheets into the laundry basket.

I carefully wiped the cold sweat from his body, angrily throwing the towel onto his face: “So difficult to take care of! Give you back to Miss Qian!”

Lao Jiazhuo, barely conscious, opened his eyes weakly, grabbed my wrist, and bit down hard.

He truly had no strength; the bite on my wrist was as light as a kiss. I exclaimed: “Hey!”

Lao Jiazhuo rested his head on the pillow for a while before struggling to say faintly: “You dare.”

After another round of medication, I helped him lie back under the covers, warming my hands to massage his stomach. Exhausted to the extreme, he finally fell into a deep sleep.

After折腾 (struggling) all night, I was dead tired and plopped down onto the carpet beside the bed.

Leaning my head against the bed, the person on the bed emitted shallow, slow breaths. I gazed at this warm, spacious bedroom, everything arranged as it used to be—even the cup he drank from hadn’t changed, and the bedsheet was a dry, light gray tone.

Only then did my eyes notice that a bedside table on the other side of the bed had been slightly moved. In its original position stood a white oxygen concentrator.

His respiratory disease likely included hypoxemia, and doctors would recommend home oxygen therapy.

Looking at the humidifier bottle and transparent tubing still connected to the machine, it felt as if a hand squeezed my heart, throbbing painfully.

The bitterness in my heart kept surging, and I hurriedly turned my head.

Finally, I saw that painting in his room.

A clean, pure white frame, a white hollow figure disappearing at the end of a rose arbor path.

Staring at the indistinct purple hue on the canvas, waves of sadness slowly welled up within me.

Dazed, I stared at that wall, not knowing how long had passed, and eventually drifted off to sleep beside him.

In the morning, half-asleep, I felt the person beside me wake up. Carefully, he disentangled my limbs wrapped around him and got out of bed.

Lao Jiazhuo tiptoed out and went to the guest room to take a shower.

I lay there for a while, unable to fall back asleep, so I got up and left the room.

Lao Jiazhuo had just finished his shower, his hair half-wet, wearing a bathrobe, walking out of the opposite guest room.

His face was as pale as paper, his whole figure slim and sharp. After the passionate ardor of his youth had faded, through these years of neglect, I had almost forgotten how heart-stirring a handsome man he originally was.

But the person in front of me didn’t look well. He leaned on the wall, stumbling at the corner, nearly falling.

I asked: “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head and walked into the dressing room next to the bedroom.

I had slept too late last night and was still a bit dazed sitting on the edge of the bed. I heard his low coughing from inside.

I went over. Lao Jiazhuo, with his back to the door, leaned on the wardrobe, covering his mouth with one hand, coughing so hard that his shoulders trembled slightly.

He leaned on the cabinet, unable to catch his breath, and was a bit unsteady on his feet.

I hurried to support his arm: “Are you dizzy?”

I pulled him away from the wardrobe and let him sit on a nearby loveseat. Touching his body, I felt how cold he was, so I fetched a blanket to wrap him up, then dried his hair for him.

Familiarly, I opened the middle door of the wardrobe, where rows of various shirts were neatly hung. I took out clothes, selected a matching tie, opened a small drawer, took cufflinks from the left compartment, then trousers and a belt.

Lao Jiazhuo rested on the sofa, closing his eyes to recuperate for a while. Feeling better, he stood up and took the shirt from my hand.

Casually, I asked: “Did your wife tidy this up for you? It’s very neat.”

His fingers brushed past mine, leaving a fleeting chill on my warm skin. After a brief pause, he answered softly: “No, she always lived in the Stone House in Tai O. We’re not together.”

I said: “Then who takes care of these trivial matters for you?”

He stood in front of the mirror, buttoning his shirt: “I have a personal assistant, but I usually take care of most things myself.”

He had an important meeting early this morning. He kissed my cheek and hurried out to work.

I sat on the sofa for a while, lost in thought. The door to the study connected to the bedroom was half-open, with the morning light filtering in. I saw our photo on the small bookshelf.

It was the group photo that I had once torn up, now meticulously repaired and restored.

From a distance, the soft light blurred and softened our features, erasing any traces of past fractures.

Even our smiles showed no cracks.

I pushed open the door to the study and went in. His study was just as it used to be, neatly organized and tidy. The computer on the desk was new.

On the right, there was an open file folder. I glanced at it and pulled out a photograph.

It was—me standing outside the hotel during the Zurich Arts and Culture Festival, wearing a suit with a slightly awkward smile.

There were only a few photos in the folder: one of me walking with Toby on the streets of Lake Constance, another from my graduation ceremony at the University of Konstanz. The angles weren’t great, making it hard to see my face clearly.

But the edges of the photos were worn and whitened, likely from frequent handling.

Where did he get these photos? I never knew.

A strange intuition struck me, and I opened the drawer below.

Sure enough.

No need for a detailed look—it contained all my commercial photography works, from my first in London to the latest under Fredy’s guidance, arranged by year and date. Even unpublished negatives from the photographer’s camera were here.

As I was about to close the cabinet, I noticed a white bag on the side.

Inside was another set of photos, vivid and clear, featuring only two people.

It was Tang Lechang and me.

We were both dressed in white, with a backdrop of green gardens and white banquet tables. In one photo, I held a small bouquet of lily of the valley, standing next to him under a pink flowering tree.

I remembered that he had visited me in Konstanz and happened to attend a friend’s engagement ceremony.

In the photos, we both looked young and happy. What stood out was the intimacy between us—a closeness born from long-term interaction without any barriers.

Looking at these photos, even I felt a bit nostalgic for Tang Lechang.

This brand-new bag seemed oddly out of place in the cabinet.

For some reason, I didn’t like having these photos in his possession. Before closing the cabinet, I took the bag.

I still had to go to work today, so I quickly got ready and left.

Just before leaving, I glanced back. The entire house carried his presence—an invigorating yet cool scent, unmistakably that of a bachelor’s residence.

He had replicated our former home exactly and moved it to Hong Kong.

Hearing that he had lived alone here all these years, I was shocked.

With his poor health and temperament, if he fell ill in the middle of the night with no one to care for him, I couldn’t imagine how he managed.

He seemed unable to forget the past; how should I face him?

Lately, I often recalled our past, full of tenderness and affection, but inevitably also remembered the wrongs and hurts. The tug-of-war of memories left me feeling weary and disheartened.

I left Lao Jiazhuo’s place, already late for work today.

As I walked out of the building, a black car across the street suddenly started and drove past me. Through the half-open window, I saw a man inside holding a camera.

I called Lao Jiazhuo from the taxi: “I just left your place, and there are paparazzi taking pictures.”

He lowered his voice in the conference room, calm and metallic: “Did they bother you?”

I replied: “No.”

He simply instructed: “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”

Today, I needed to pick up Claudio Nardi returning from a business trip at the airport, discuss the case with him on the way, then return to the company for a meeting. The day flew by in a flurry of activity.

Lao Jiazhuo called me in the evening: “Yingying, I have something to deal with tonight and won’t be back. Take care and rest well.”

The next morning, as I got into a taxi to go to work, I glanced back and saw a car silently following behind.

In the afternoon, someone from downstairs called up: “Miss Jiang, there’s a delivery for you.”

I signed for the package from the courier. Glancing at it, I saw that the sender’s name and phone number fields were blank. Without showing any emotion, I slipped the bag into my large drawing bag.

That night, Lao Jiazhuo returned, talking on the phone as he pushed the door open. His stern and pale face, his calm and self-controlled voice: “That’s all for now.”

He hung up and saw me sitting on the sofa. His expression instantly softened.

I focused on the computer screen and said nothing.

He loosened his tie and went to pour himself a glass of water.

Lao Jiazhuo sat beside me, relaxing against the sofa: “Yingying, you need to stop taking things from my study.”

His tone was gentle, even teasing.

But I found it strangely ironic.

Now that he had achieved success and secured a high position, perhaps he considered that incident in his career as a minor issue. He never understood its impact on me. It was the biggest mistake I had ever made, and the beginning of the collapse of my once innocent world.

I calmly said: “Mr. Lao sending people to track others doesn’t seem very honorable either?”

He paused, then said: “Don’t worry, they know their limits and won’t disturb you.”

I closed my laptop: “I’m not important enough to warrant protection.”

He said: “Yingying, I don’t want the media to bother you.”

I asked: “Is that all?”

Lao Jiazhuo looked up at me, somewhat sensitive: “What have you heard from where?”

I told him: “Tell those people to back off, and I’ll return the photos to you.”

His tone cooled: “Yingying, don’t try to negotiate with me.”

I sneered slightly: “Do you really enjoy looking at the photos of me and Tang Lechang?”

Lao Jiazhuo fell silent.

He furrowed his brows slightly, then after a while, said: “When you were so intimate with him back then, do you know how I felt?”

I casually said: “No wonder Mr. Lao quickly remarried.”

A trace of embarrassment appeared on his face.

Lao Jiazhuo clearly didn’t want to talk about it: “Yingying, I’m concerned about your safety, so I had them follow you. Be careful these days.”

I said: “After returning to the mainland, I never knew I had offended anyone.”

Lao Jiazhuo said: “I’ve encountered some trouble recently. Sorry to involve you.”

I reached over and took out a stack of newspapers from beside the sofa: “Is this it?”

The front page of the supplement featured a large photo of me leaving Lao Jiazhuo’s apartment in the morning.

The bold red headline portrayed a dramatic love triangle involving Lao Jiazhuo, me, and Qian Jing.

His expression changed: “Where did you get this?”

I said: “Suppressing such news must have cost a lot of effort. Since someone has carefully orchestrated a show for me to watch, why does Mr. Lao go to such lengths to hide it from me?”

He angrily asked: “Who gave it to you?”

I handed him the delivery slip: “I received it at the office.”

He took it, glanced at it, and his tone returned to calm: “I’ll have someone investigate this thoroughly.”

I said: “Mr. Lao, I don’t want to become a headline. If the media catches you leaving my apartment again, I fear I won’t be able to live peacefully anymore.”

Lao Jiazhuo tried to reassure me: “Yingying, it’s just a few photos taken by reporters. It can be handled.”

I finally couldn’t help but say: “Is it because Miss Qian still harbors feelings for you and turned bitter out of love?”

His face suddenly froze: “Who told you?”

I said: “Since I’m involved, I think I have the right to know the truth.”

He said: “It’s none of your business. Just focus on living your life.”

I coldly said: “If it’s none of my business, I don’t want to see any unrelated people in my life tomorrow morning.”

Lao Jiazhuo tried to remain patient: “Yingying, can’t you bear with it for a bit?”

I looked into his eyes and said, word by word: “Everything else can be endured, but this one thing cannot.”

Lao Jiazhuo understood the meaning behind my words, and the brilliance on his handsome face dimmed instantly.

His face remained impassive: “Go to bed early today. I’ll come by tomorrow.”

I sat motionless, watching him pick up his coat and leave, closing the door behind him.

The lean, straight back beneath the navy-checked shirt exuded a deliberately restrained calmness.

I knew I had touched his bottom line and angered him, but that was also an insurmountable chasm in my heart.

At the beginning of June, Jiang Yihao returned to the mainland to take the college entrance exam. To show my concern, I told him I’d drive him to the test.

Since moving to Hong Kong, Lao Jiazhuo had left a car for me downstairs, but I had never driven it.

I called him for permission and went downstairs to fetch the car.

Parked in the garage was a white convertible Volkswagen, the kind all girls love.

I drove Jiang Yihao to school. He stayed in the dormitory these days. I visited Auntie and Uncle, had dinner, and returned to Hong Kong via the Northern Ring Expressway in the evening.

At the Bay Checkpoint, I momentarily forgot to switch from right to left lanes. Suddenly, a jeep ahead crashed straight into me.

Seeing the blinding headlights, I hastily turned the steering wheel and hit the brakes. The car still heavily scraped the rear door of the SUV and collided with the roadside guardrail, stopping with a loud bang.

Thank goodness I braked in time; otherwise, I don’t know where I would have crashed.

I was dizzy from the shock. Before I could gather my thoughts, a man jumped out of the other car, opened my door, and shouted angrily: “Miss, do you even know how to drive!”

I quickly got out to assess the situation. I had hit a Honda CR-V, with one door scratched and the rear wheel slightly dented. They were driving straight, so the fault was indeed mine.

I hurriedly apologized: “Sorry, sorry.”

The two cars were parked diagonally on the road, lights flashing. This stretch of road was wide and empty, with no vehicles passing by, only the night wind rustling through the trees on both sides.

Three men got out of the other car. The man in black in front of me continued to berate me: “Do you even have a license? Can’t you tell left from right? If you can’t, why are you driving in Shenzhen and Hong Kong!?”

I ignored his provocations and said: “Would you like to settle this privately or call the traffic police?”

The two men behind him slowly approached.

The man in black blocked me, his anger turning sinister: “We’re in a hurry. Give us 30,000 yuan, and we’ll settle this privately.”

I sneered: “Sir, I think I’ll call the police.”

A strange smile appeared on the man’s lips in the darkness. He reached into his pocket: “Call the police? Watch yourself, bitch.”

I saw the hard object in his pocket.

Seeing the lights of a car approaching in the distance, I slowly backed away towards my car: “Sorry, let me move the car first so it doesn’t obstruct traffic.”

The man grabbed me fiercely: “Trying to run?”

Caught off guard, my forced calm shattered, and I screamed in fear.

For a moment, I closed my eyes, waiting for the pain that didn’t come. The movements behind me seemed to pause.

I heard a man’s voice, deep and steady: “Sir, please don’t be rude to the lady.”

I turned around to see the man in black being restrained by another man. The newcomer was tall, with dignified features, pressing the man’s hand against the car.

The two companions behind the black-clad man were about to approach.

The man in black signaled them to stop, then raised his hands: “Sir, don’t meddle. This lady hit my car, and I’m discussing compensation with her.”

I said: “Please send me the insurance claim bill.”

The man behind continued to shout: “We’re in a hurry! How much time have you wasted and how much loss can you afford?”

“Since you’re in such a rush, why are you still纠缠 (entangling) with a girl?” The tall man stood in front of me like a tree. He pointed at the electronic surveillance system on the highway: “What was your speed?”

He sniffed: “Driving under the influence?”

He calmly asked: “Are you sure you still want to claim compensation?”

The group of men cast a sinister glance at me: “Consider yourself lucky.”

The three men got into their car, and the SUV roared past us.

I sighed in relief: “Thank you.”

He said: “You’re not in a state to drive anymore. I’ll notify the shop to handle it.”

We stood there until the auto repair company towed the car away.

He patted my hand: “Let’s go. I’ll give you a ride.”

After hitting someone’s car, I was thinking about whether I should call Lao Jiazhuo, so I hesitated, standing there.

Finally, he couldn’t help but ask me: “Miss, have you forgotten me?”

I fished out my phone from my bag and said indifferently: “I remember, Inspector Yuan.”

He smiled joyfully: “You remember, I’m honored.”

I was uninterested: “Last time it was dark and I was all bruised up. Thanks for recognizing me anyway.”

His expression remained natural: “You’re unforgettable.”

I smiled: “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He responded generously: “Naturally.”

I pressed the screen of my phone; the call went unanswered.

Yuan Chengshu dropped me off at the subway entrance, but I insisted on getting out.

He stopped the car and escorted me out. Yuan followed me and asked: “Could you leave me a phone number?”

I forced a smile: “It’s unnecessary.”

He sincerely said: “I mean no harm.”

I politely declined: “Which police district are you in, Mr. Yuan? I might send you a thank-you letter.”

He laughed heartily and didn’t press further: “Be safe on your way home.”

Just as I stood at the door, it suddenly opened. Lao Jiazhuo hurried out, almost bumping into me.

“Yingying—” Seeing it was me, he coughed lightly and then pulled me into his arms: “If you hadn’t come back soon, I would’ve gone out to look for you.”

There was a hint of anxiety on his face, and he still held the car keys in his hand.

I said: “I’m fine.”

Lao Jiazhuo pulled me inside: “Were you hurt?”

I shook my head.

He calmed down and asked: “What exactly happened?”

I handed him a piece of paper with the license plate number I had noted earlier: “Check this car’s license plate.”

Understanding, he stroked my hair: “Rest for a while first.”

He turned to make a phone call.

I went into the room to change clothes, then drank a bowl of soup in the kitchen. I noticed the four dishes and a soup brought by the maid were still untouched on the table.

It was nearly ten o’clock at night. I asked: “Didn’t you have dinner?”

Lao Jiazhuo came in and sat at the dining table, pulling my hand: “Sorry, I should’ve picked you up. You were frightened.”

I said: “It’s alright. I met a kind person.”

I got up to pour him some soup.

He took it: “Do you know that gentleman?”

I said: “No, I don’t know him.”

He quietly said while holding the spoon: “Thank him properly.”

I brushed it off: “I thanked him.”

Lao Jiazhuo didn’t speak anymore. The only sounds were the crisp clinks of dishes on the table.

“Yingying—” After dinner, I sat in front of the TV. Mr. Lao Jiazhuo finally calmed down and began lecturing: “How good is your driving skill that you dare to drive at 120 km/h before even entering the highway?”

I knew I was just taking advantage of his protection. If it weren’t for his orders to ensure my safety, how could my little Beetle outrun the Range Rover following behind?

Lao Jiazhuo probably received reports from his subordinates, learning that I had accelerated recklessly, causing them to keep their distance and eventually lose track of me. He called me several times in anger, but I didn’t dare answer. Later, I got into an accident on the way back.

I refused to compromise: “I told you I don’t want anyone following me.”

He turned my shoulders to look at me: “What if you encounter such a situation again?”

I said: “I’ll be careful.”

“You!” A hint of anger flickered in Lao Jiazhuo’s eyes.

He slammed the glass in his hand onto the table: “Then let me drive you, okay?”

After narrowly escaping danger, my mind felt a bit light-headed: “Tsk, Mr. Lao Jiazhuo protecting a flower—something every girl in Hong Kong dreams of.”

Seeing my poor state of mind, Lao Jiazhuo stopped talking to me. He picked me up and carried me towards the bedroom: “Go take a bath and sleep early.”

The next morning, after I sluggishly got up, washed, applied makeup, and changed clothes, Lao Jiazhuo hadn’t left. He was sitting in the living room, checking his watch as I walked out.

He took my hand and pulled me downstairs, then pushed me into the car.

The car stopped in front of the company building. The driver handed him a bag from the front seat, and he passed the paper bag to me: “Breakfast.”

I took it: “Thank you.”

“Jiazhuo,” I said as I got out: “Let me live the life I want.”

“I’ll have the driver pick you up after work,” he said calmly.

Early in the morning, his persistence made me angry: “I’ll walk myself. I don’t need anyone.”

He remained calm: “Let’s go to work first.”

At the end of the workday, as I walked out of the building, his car was parked by the lane. The driver got out to open the door and respectfully said: “Miss Jiang.”

Colleagues, both familiar and unfamiliar, looked on curiously.

Lao Jiazhuo was in the backseat working on a tablet. He looked up when he saw me standing aside: “Get in.”

I sat in, feeling very unhappy and saying nothing.

As the car drove on the road, he spoke first: “Want to have dinner together?”

I sneered: “Not afraid of being photographed?”

He gently said: “No.”

I asked: “Don’t you have any engagements tonight?”

He replied: “I always have time for a meal.”

I said: “I don’t want to eat. Let’s go home.”

He probably sensed my anger and didn’t bother me anymore.

After dropping me off, Lao Jiazhuo watched me go upstairs, then the driver took him away.

When Lao Jiazhuo returned that night, I directly told him: “Enough.”

He looked at me: “As long as there’s any danger to you, it’s not enough.”

I lowered my tone: “I still want to continue working at the company.”

He said indifferently: “Things will get better after some time.”

His emotionless, low voice carried the tone of an unquestionable command. I was almost driven to exasperation: “Are you trying to force me to quit and sit at home twenty-four hours a day?”

“Yingying—” His face hardened, fatigue mingled with a touch of ruthlessness: “You are the person by my side. Don’t be too任性 (willful).”

I opened my mouth and finally said: “Has Mr. Lao ever considered whether I want to be the person by your side?”

His expression slightly changed.

I pushed him away and went into the room to sleep.

The next morning, he didn’t insist on driving me. I took a taxi to work and walked briskly across the sidewalk without looking back.

An uneasy truce formed between us.

One night, feeling restless in the house, I changed into sneakers and went downstairs for a run.

Yuan Chengshu called me.

I asked: “How did you get my number?”

He said: “A determined person always finds a way. Where are you now?”

I said: “Swinging on a swing in the central park.”

I glanced over; two shadows were still silently following me.

He said: “Want to grab a drink to cool off?”

I said: “No.”

“Alright,” he chuckled on the other end: “Beautiful girls always have the right to refuse.”

After calling me several times, Yuan Chengshu finally realized I wasn’t playing hard to get but was genuinely indifferent. I had no interest in making new friends.

When he chatted with me again, he consoled me like an old friend: “You’re a young and lovely girl. Why live such a quiet and封闭 (closed-off) life? Save this lifestyle for when you’re sixty.”

A faint sense of desolation welled up in my heart.

Other girls at twenty-five—what were they doing? Dressing up prettily, dating different boys. They hadn’t necessarily driven sports cars on Tung Tau Wan Road or sipped coffee while enjoying the night view atop Victoria Peak. Just watching the fireworks over Victoria Harbour during the Symphony of Lights in July with a lover was enough to make one envious.

When you’re young, any foolish thing you do feels beautiful.

But what am I doing? My entire life has been controlled by one man, leaving me utterly hopeless about love.

In the sweltering July, I officially started handling projects independently at DDSA’s office. Running around frequently, I even got a bit tanned. I hurried to buy more sunscreen at the mall before the weekend.

By the end of August, I took on the exhibition design for Luisa Via Roma’s flagship store. Working with a design team, I was busy不分昼夜 (day and night).

I barely saw Lao Jiazhuo except at night, and by then I was too exhausted to talk. If I wasn’t in the mood, we didn’t spend much time being intimate. He didn’t object much to my work, only suggesting I didn’t need to work so hard.

What I didn’t say was that I wanted to earn money to pay him back.

If I kept taking on design projects consecutively, the income wasn’t bad. With some savings, repaying the medical expenses wouldn’t be impossible.

If I were independent and free, whether loving him or someone else, perhaps life would be different.

After a month of busyness, the boutique art retrospective exhibition for Luisa Via Roma’s flagship store finally opened at New World Centre.

I had been setting up the exhibition a week in advance. The exhibits aimed for quality over quantity. I used the fewest partitions, shelves, and display windows to achieve maximum utility and artistic effect. Whether glass or silk, every surface complementing the exhibits matched the texture of the displays. The detailed designs of the partition walls and display windows were简洁流畅 (simple and smooth), and the models’ logos and architectural features reached the极致美感 (ultimate aesthetic) I pursued.

That day, I oversaw the exhibition hall. The brand’s Asia-Pacific general manager came up to congratulate me. After chatting for a while, I left a design assistant in the hall and wandered off.

I was admiring a black-and-white diamond-encrusted bracelet in the display window when a man approached.

He passed by me, then turned back, looked at me for a few seconds, and greeted me: “Miss Jiang?”

I looked up. The man was in his thirties, dressed impeccably, slightly ostentatious, and seemed familiar.

I had work to do today and assumed he was a client, so I greeted him politely and inquiringly: “Hello.”

The woman accompanying him suddenly widened her eyes in surprise: “Isn’t she the one who… with Second Young Master Lao?”

The man opposite nodded, wearing a somewhat ambiguous smile.

My memory has always been good, and at this moment, I recalled him. He was originally one of Jiajun’s aides. I didn’t know if he still worked at Laotong. I had no desire to interact with him, so I politely smiled and prepared to leave.

He deliberately tried to chat: “I just learned that this exhibition was designed by Miss Jiang. Miss Jiang is truly talented and beautiful.”

I politely responded: “You flatter me, sir.”

The woman chimed in: “That day, the second young master foolishly let go of such a beauty. He truly lacked vision. Now he obviously regrets it. Miss Jiang’s charm is naturally unrivaled.”

My smile became strained.

The man said: “I heard that the second young master has taken Miss Jiang back. With such powerful connections in Laotong, why does Miss Jiang need to work so hard?”

I couldn’t help but interject: “Excuse me, unless it’s related to this exhibition, I must take my leave.”

The man stepped aside slightly and smiled: “The Jiang family is also prestigious. Does Miss Jiang really have to be with him in such a disreputable manner?”

I gritted my teeth and turned to leave.

The woman tugged at the man’s shoulder: “Enough. The Jiang and Lao families already had a falling out in the past. Their only precious daughter was toyed with and abandoned by a man. It’s said that even his ex-wife took her own life because of it. The Jiang family fell so low they couldn’t even stand in their hometown anymore. Miss Jiang naturally wouldn’t feel comfortable chatting with you.”

Secrets from social circles always get talked about in such an unflattering way.

I stopped in my tracks: “What did you say?”

Her smile was charming, even carrying a hint of admiration that seemed both real and fake: “I heard long ago that Miss Jiang deeply loved Second Young Master Lao. She didn’t hesitate to betray her family for him, not caring even when her mother was avenged by him personally.”

My hands were trembling, and my voice was heavy: “Please don’t talk about my parents recklessly.”

The man sneered: “Second Young Master Lao is known for being ruthless, not leaving even bones behind. How could Miss Jiang be a match for him? Following him, enduring some humiliation is nothing; she naturally enjoys all the wealth.”

In the end, my composure wasn’t enough. My lips quivered in anger: “Stop talking nonsense!”

This volume, though not loud, was enough to draw the attention of the elegantly lingering guests around us.

I turned to leave.

At this moment, someone gently pulled me aside: “Sir, bullying a young lady doesn’t seem like a very clever move.”

I held back my tears, lowered my head, and walked out.

Yuan Chengshu caught up with me, then took me to the elevator and to the rooftop of the annex building.

I stood alone, looking at the skyscrapers, the strong wind blowing, silent for a long time.

After staring silently for a long while, I finally turned to him with a smile: “You always seem to appear at the wrong time.”

Yuan Chengshu looked at me quietly, then suddenly said: “Don’t smile like that.”

I retracted my smile, returning to a face of indifference—this was my only weapon.

He said: “I’m not that magical. Today, I came specifically to find you.”

He hesitated before saying: “It seems your mood isn’t good. Unfortunately, I don’t have any good news for you.”

I said: “How much worse can it get?”

Yuan Chengshu said: “That person who crashed into you the other day—I reviewed the data. The car owner wasn’t him. The surveillance footage shows the same vehicle has stopped multiple times under your office building.”

I sighed and said: “Do you have a cigarette?”

Yuan Chengshu took out his cigarette case, opened it, and handed it to me.

I took the lighter from him, rested my hand on the railing, smoked, and looked down at the forest of stone below.

I said: “How did you know I was here?”

He replied: “I called your office to ask.”

I said: “Thank you today.”

Yuan Chengshu asked with concern: “Are you facing some difficulties? Let me see if I can help.”

I smiled faintly: “So many people survive in this world. Who doesn’t have difficulties?”

After finishing the cigarette, my phone rang.

I glanced at it—it was the design assistant’s number.

“Let’s go,” I extinguished the cigarette butt.

Yuan Chengshu said: “A girl your age, how can you have such heavy burdens?”

“I just didn’t expect—” I gave him a desolate smile: “I fell, and getting back up is so hard.”

Yuan Chengshu’s expression was calm and kind: “Keep moving forward. Setbacks will pass.”

When work ended in the afternoon, I received a call from Lao Jiazhuo: “Yingying, how was your day?”

I didn’t want to talk, so I just hummed.

I held the phone: “I might be late.”

I turned my head and said to the other end: “That’s all for now.”

Yuan Chengshu was driving attentively. Seeing me hang up, he turned and smiled at me.

I said to him: “I’m not free.”

He remained composed: “As far as I know, you’re single.”

I smiled and didn’t speak anymore.

That night, Lao Jiazhuo waited for me in the living room: “Why so late?”

I threw my handbag down and sat on the sofa, feeling all my strength drained. I managed to say: “Had dinner with friends and came back.”

He pushed aside his laptop, came over, took off my watch, loosened my hair, and supported my shoulders, letting me lie comfortably in his arms: “Tired to this extent.”

I got up silently, pushed him away, went into the bathroom to take a shower.

After the shower, I went into the room, turned on the air conditioning, and lay on the bed silently.

But in front of my eyes, scenes of that man’s ambiguous and disdainful smile kept playing like a disordered movie stuck on repeat.

“The Jiang family is also prestigious. Why does Miss Jiang have to follow him in such a disreputable manner?”

“I’ve heard long ago that Miss Jiang deeply loved Second Young Master Lao. She didn’t hesitate to betray her family for him, not caring even when her mother was avenged by him personally.”

Like a fine needle, it pricked my head, causing waves of pain.

I sat motionless.

When Lao Jiazhuo came in, the cold air hit him, and he couldn’t help but cough lightly: “Yingying, why is it so cold?”

I searched for the air conditioner remote.

He raised his hand to touch my forehead: “What’s wrong?”

I turned my face: “Nothing, just a bit tired.”

I pulled the blanket over my body.

The next morning before going to work, I powdered my face in front of the mirror and heavily brushed on some rouge. Finally, the person in the mirror regained a bit of color.

Today at the exhibition hall, I was distracted, but fortunately, everything went smoothly. In the evening, there was a fashionable banquet hosted by the organizers, inviting many influential figures from various fields.

I felt my head and limbs were somewhat heavy, so I found an excuse to decline and went home.

The house was quiet. I turned on a desk lamp, lay on the sofa, and soon drifted off to sleep.

I didn’t know how long I slept, but I was startled awake by the sound of the door opening. I struggled to sit up.

Lao Jiazhuo pushed the door open.

He came in, turned on the big light in the living room, glanced at me, his pale face showing no expression.

I looked at him with some confusion.

He walked up to me, placed several newspapers on the table in front of me, and asked condescendingly: “Yingying, what’s going on?”

I had been at the exhibition center since early morning and hadn’t been to the office, so I didn’t know what news was in the papers. I picked them up to read.

That page happened to have a photo. The background was the restaurant where we had dinner last night. Yuan Chengshu had supported me as I stepped down the stairs—a mere two-second incident—but the photo made it look like we were arm in arm, leaving ample room for speculation.

The accompanying headline and text were about Lao Jiazhuo remarrying his ex-wife after divorcing twice, making their relationship mysterious. There was also sensational gossip about Miss Jiang having an intimate dinner with a mysterious man.

I didn’t know what to say.

His tone was somewhat angry: “Can’t you be more discreet?”

I couldn’t help but defend myself: “We’re just ordinary friends having dinner. Why should we hide?”

He said: “Having dinner is fine, but couldn’t you avoid the paparazzi?”

I coldly said: “I’m not as professional as Mr. Lao. I’m not doing anything bad or shameful. I never pay attention to whether someone is following me to take pictures.”

Seeing that I showed no remorse, Lao Jiazhuo’s face turned icy.

He was furious, like steel that refused to be forged: “I’ve spent so much effort recently suppressing these news stories, and you choose this critical moment to go on a date with someone?”

I’d had enough. I stood up and shouted at him: “If they love taking pictures, let them take as many as they want! It’s not like they’re taking pictures of you! Mr. Lao enters and exits with luxury cars and countless bodyguards—they won’t capture you!”

His anger sank deeper: “And you dare to talk back to me! I’m only worried about your safety!”

I felt a gush of blood flowing painfully from my heart. I screamed at him: “Everything I have now is thanks to you!”

My voice was loud, carrying inexplicable hatred, and even Lao Jiazhuo was stunned.

I threw the newspaper aside, kicked the coffee table, and walked out.

“Yingying, can’t you consider me a little?” He grabbed my hand: “I wanted to pick you up for work, but you resisted fiercely, giving me dirty looks. Now, it’s just a friend you’ve known for a few days—he picks you up and invites you to dinner, and you’re so willing? Be reasonable. How can I not be angry?”

I looked deep into his eyes, burning with unpredictable fire. I never forgot, nor dared to forget, that the gentle and elegant Lao Jiazhuo was ultimately a decisive ruler who could turn clouds into rain.

Word by word, with a questioning tone, he asked: “Does my presence embarrass you?”

I slowly spoke: “Mr. Lao, I’m very grateful for your help, but please understand—I, Jiang Yiying, haven’t submitted myself to you.”

The flame deep in his eyes slowly extinguished. He turned his head and coughed lightly.

I felt like I was surrounded by ruins, my tone inevitably sorrowful: “Until when do you plan to keep me locked up? I’ve changed. Our past can never return. Now, I’m already too stubborn. Do you love me, or do you love the Jiang Yiying from four years ago?”

Lao Jiazhuo’s face grew paler and paler: “Do you think I don’t see my own heart? Do you think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

I calmly expressed my disappointment: “If you feel you owe me and are compensating me, or if you still want to regain the feelings from the past, I can tell you—it’s impossible. Then there’s no need for us to continue like this.”

He gritted his teeth, his voice trembling: “Haven’t I done enough? Am I still letting you have wild thoughts?”

I numbly said: “I’ve lived half my life in your shadow. I yearn to break free from you.”

The moment those words left my mouth, I knew I had gone too far.

Lao Jiazhuo stared at me, his expression momentarily calm after the heavy blow, then slowly a trace of incredulous pain emerged.

He moved his feet as if wanting to come over, but the next moment his figure abruptly froze.

He took a deep breath and hastily spoke: “Let’s not argue.”

He directly turned and walked towards the door.

Only when his tall, slim figure disappeared at the doorway did I awaken from the surrounding silence. I pushed the door open and chased after him.

From the window of the staircase, I saw his car still parked downstairs. I rushed towards the elevator.

I waited for a while before the elevator came down. I rushed in and furiously pressed the buttons.

The moment the elevator doors opened, I squeezed out, ran through the corridor, and exited the lobby of the apartment building.

I stood in front of the glass door, looking out onto the street, but my steps froze instantly.

I had already seen his figure. Lao Jiazhuo leaned against the wall at the bottom of the steps. I saw him dialing a phone.

His left elbow rested on the wall, barely supporting the phone, while his right hand tightly clutched the front of his shirt. The dim light from the nearby streetlamp clearly illuminated his pale face and the beads of cold sweat on his forehead.

His brows were deeply furrowed, his expression as cold and rigid as stone, enduring immense pain with sheer willpower to keep himself from collapsing.

Almost immediately, the car door opened, and Xu Feng rushed out, his steps hurried: “Mr. Lao?”

Xu Feng carefully helped him into the back seat.

I pushed open the revolving glass door but could only stand on the steps of the building, chilled to the bone, watching the car speed away.

In the evening, dark clouds loomed over the city, and a tropical cyclone warning hoisted a No. 3 signal. Pedestrians hurried their steps to return to their warm homes before the typhoon arrived.

I stood by the street for a while, trying to hold back, but eventually turned and walked straight towards the car behind me.

The two men in the car immediately got out and greeted me awkwardly: “Miss Jiang.”

I was feeling bitter and pleaded with them: “Can’t you stop following me?”

The man in front of me, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, spoke politely: “Miss Jiang, we won’t disturb you.”

I told him: “I’ll have a meal and take public transport home. There won’t be any trouble. Please go back.”

The man said: “Mr. Lao will blame us.”

I said: “If you don’t say anything and I don’t say anything, how would he know?”

He said: “Miss Jiang, please understand. We can’t afford to slack off. The consequences are unbearable.”

Indeed, all of Lao’s subordinates were loyal and capable.

I thus stopped talking, turned around, and slowly walked alone on the street. I didn’t want to go home because the house felt too empty.

At the Italian restaurant on the high floor, just as the appetizer salad was served, the heavy rain finally poured down in torrents.

I slowly finished my dinner, then leaned my forehead on my hand, watching the skyscrapers through the curtain of rain.

Below, vehicles merged into a river of flashing lights.

Jiang Yihao had already returned to Singapore for summer vacation. My aunt would accompany her husband to Canada next month; she told me they were considering immigrating.

The Italian restaurant was sparsely populated. The waiter secretly flipped through his phone at the bar out of boredom. The piano music sounded somewhat desolate amidst the rain.

Alone, on this typhoon night, I watched the heavy rain submerge this enormous city.

Sometimes, loneliness is truly indescribable.

At nearly ten o’clock in the evening, I paid the bill and went downstairs. As I absentmindedly pushed open the revolving door, I was completely stunned.

A champagne-colored Mercedes-Benz was parked in front of the building, the windshield wipers continuously brushing away the rain.

Almost simultaneously, the car door opened, and the driver stepped out with a black umbrella. His voice echoed slightly in the wind and rain: “Miss Jiang.”

My steps hesitated slightly.

At this moment, the rear door opened, and Lao Jiazhuo’s pale and handsome face faintly appeared in the rain. The driver hurried over to shield him from the rain.

Lao Jiazhuo got out of the car and took the umbrella from the driver.

He slowly walked toward the awning of the building. The heavy rain soaked the hem of his pants, but he remained as elegant and composed as ever.

Standing in front of me, he spoke in an ordinary tone: “Such a heavy rain, and you’re still dawdling outside.”

He took my hand, and we walked side by side to the car.

After closing the car door, the wind and rain outside were blocked. The spacious back seat was comfortably warm. Lao Jiazhuo handed me a box of tissues: “Dry the rain from your hair.”

He turned his head, covering his mouth with a tissue, and coughed while lowering his head.

Lao Jiazhuo wore dark green coarse cloth pants and a white casual shirt. Only his pants were wet from the rain, turning a large area a darker color.

I said: “How could you come out in such heavy rain?”

He helplessly replied: “Isn’t it because someone kept not returning home?”

Before I could say anything, he raised his hand to his chest, frowning and coughing even more painfully.

I couldn’t help but reach out to gently rub his chest. He held my hand, rubbed it against his cheek, and leaned back tiredly with his eyes closed.

At this moment, his phone rang. He closed his eyes, unwilling to move. I took it out of his pocket for him. He glanced at the screen and then answered: “Cough, cough, Zongwen.”

Dr. Yang’s voice was so loud that I could hear it clearly: “You went out again in such heavy rain?!”

Lao Jiazhuo closed his eyes again, only slightly frowning with a blurred tone: “Mm.”

Yang Zongwen asked: “Are those two bottles of medicine finished?”

Lao Jiazhuo said: “Almost.”

Yang Zongwen scolded: “Your ‘almost’ means not even one bottle is finished, right? In this kind of weather, do I need to come over and finish it for you? Can you be a little more obedient when you’re sick?!”

Lao Jiazhuo said: “You don’t need to come tonight.”

Yang Zongwen asked: “What?”

Lao Jiazhuo calmly said: “Let’s do it tomorrow.”

He ended the call and looked at me somewhat embarrassedly: “Let’s take you back first.”

I pressed his hand: “Aren’t you still sick? Let’s go back to your place first.”

He nodded and didn’t object anymore.

The car stopped in the underground garage, directly going up from the first basement floor. The sound of the violent wind and rain seemed distant like a backdrop.

Lao Jiazhuo found me a clean towel after entering the house: “Did your clothes get wet?”

Today I wore a suit with shorts and a chiffon blouse. Only my shoes were wet. I shook my head and said to him: “Go upstairs and change your clothes.”

His body was obviously weak. Even climbing the stairs made him start panting slightly by the second floor.

He had endured the onset of his illness at my house a few days ago and had likely been sick these past couple of days.

Lao Jiazhuo walked into the dressing room. At this moment, Yang Zongwen called again. I answered it.

He was surprised: “Is that you, Barbie Ying?”

I said: “Dr. Yang, he’s inside changing clothes.”

Yang Zongwen asked: “Are you with him?”

I simply replied: “Yes.”

Yang Zongwen said: “That’s great. I don’t need to come over then.”

I asked: “How has his condition been these past two days?”

Yang Zongwen directly said: “The palpitations were severe the day before yesterday. He hasn’t been able to rest well, and his physical strength is overly depleted.”

I softly acknowledged.

Yang Zongwen didn’t forget to remind me: “Keep an eye on him tonight. If he has a fever, call me.”

Lao Jiazhuo stood at the bedroom door: “Yingying?”

I placed his phone on the coffee table: “It’s Dr. Yang’s call. Go lie down.”

He nodded and turned back to the bedroom.

I went in, washed my hands, dried the moisture on my clothes, and then quietly entered the bedroom. Lao Jiazhuo was already half-lying on the bed. His laptop on the sofa was still on, and a few documents were on the bedside table. He lay there with his eyes closed, exuding an indescribable fatigue.

Beside the bed was an IV stand with two bottles of medicine hanging. One bottle was untouched, while the other had the needle removed, only half finished.

I pulled his hand out from under the blanket: “Let’s finish the remaining medicine.”

He rested his hand on the edge of the bed, compliantly letting me handle him.

I tore open a disposable needle package, reconnected it to the bottle, and rolled up his sleeve. Only then did I see that the back of his left hand was bruised and purple from multiple injections. I switched to his right hand, which wasn’t much better. After careful disinfection, I cautiously inserted the needle.

He used his other hand to touch my face: “Always making you take care of me.”

His gaze and voice were too tender. I couldn’t bear it and forced a smile.

Lao Jiazhuo said: “Yingying, the rain is too heavy. Stay here tonight.”

I nodded to reassure him, then went downstairs to heat a glass of milk and brought it upstairs for him to drink slowly.

Lao Jiazhuo handed me the empty glass.

I sat on a stool in front of him and said: “You have everything you want, and I only make you angry.”

He really had no strength. His eyelids fluttered, and his voice was barely audible: “If you say fewer words like this, I’ll get angry less.”

I softly said: “Don’t I make you sick enough by arguing with you?”

Lao Jiazhuo, who had his eyes closed, heard me speak and struggled to sit up, patting the space beside him: “Yingying, come here.”

I sat beside him: “What is it?”

His expression was calm: “Don’t overthink it. My body occasionally acts up like this. It’s not your fault.”

I opened my mouth: “I...”

He didn’t let me continue speaking, only resting his head on my lap: “Alright, let me sleep for a while.”

I slightly propped up my arm to make him more comfortable, then quietly watched the IV drip, hearing his long, soft breaths. The tenderness between us grew warmer. He always slept deeply by my side.

Years later, these quiet and peaceful moments we spent together felt to me like sliding into a beautiful but dangerous abyss. Being by his side gave me a sense of impending doom.

The office clock struck seven. I finally put away the large rolls of draft paper on the desk, quickly shut down the computer, picked up my bag, and headed out.

I returned home, washed my hands, and went into the kitchen. Opening the pile of ingredients on the dining table, I buried myself in cooking until eight o’clock when Lao Jiazhuo came in, followed by Yang Zongwen carrying a white medical kit.

For the past few nights, Lao Jiazhuo had returned to my place, lying in bed receiving IV drips for several days. His body had regained some strength.

The chef from the Lao family mansion prepared various soups and nutritious tonics daily. The maids delivered them one by one, almost wanting to nourish him twenty-four hours a day.

His appetite was poor, and with his busy work schedule, he preferred relying on nutrient solutions when sick. I picked out what he liked and tried every way to coax him into eating.

After Yang Zongwen learned that I had some medical knowledge, he only sent over the IV fluids and prescriptions via the driver, occasionally coming over at night to check on him.

These days, after work, I went home on time, taking care of his health and doing almost nothing else.

Yang Zongwen came into the kitchen, greeted me with a smile, and then went into the room to perform routine checks on Lao Jiazhuo. A while later, he came out, not waiting for my invitation, and sat at the small dining table in the kitchen, savoring the lotus shark fin soup with relish.

Years later, he didn’t hesitate to praise: “Little Yingying, you’re becoming more and more suitable as a homemaker.”

I sat on the sofa, lazily smirking at him.

Lao Jiazhuo walked out: “Yingying, why aren’t you eating?”

I said: “I’m not hungry.”

The kitchen smells made me dizzy, and I had completely lost my appetite.

He touched my cheek: “You’re busy enough at work. Let the maid cook.”

I didn’t respond, only pressing his shoulder: “You eat first with Dr. Yang.”

The two men comfortably leaned back in their chairs. Between the clinking of chopsticks and cups, they exchanged a few low whispers.

Under a simple fluorescent light, viewed from the living room, Lao Jiazhuo’s slightly thinner face after his illness still portrayed a picturesque silhouette.

The lingering low-grade fever subsided after several days. His spirits improved slightly. These afternoons, the driver sometimes brought him back to rest. Liang Fengnian brought documents daily to pay respects. This illness stirred quite a commotion.

Lao Jiazhuo soon resumed work as usual.

But I knew something was wrong with me. In the morning, as I exited the subway station, bright sunlight shone down, and my vision was filled with double images. My temper became increasingly irritable, and at night, the slightest sound woke me up with a start.

Then I couldn’t sleep all night.

Signs of my psychological illness were recurring.

I forced myself to work, but the impact was already very evident—I couldn’t draw.

Only drinking or taking sedatives helped a bit. I had quit smoking and drinking before, but these days, with two urgent design projects, I had to drink a little at night and try to work overtime in the office.

One night, Yuan Chengshu waited downstairs at the company: “Jiang Yiying, why don’t you answer my calls anymore?”

My emotions were unstable, and I couldn’t be pleasant to him, so I directly said: “Mr. Yuan, we shouldn’t meet again.”

His thick eyebrows furrowed slightly, pondering: “Are you worried about being photographed again like last time?”

He brought it up himself: “It was my oversight last time. I’m sorry I didn’t take good care of you.”

Even though I was upset, I couldn’t lash out at him and helplessly said: “I don’t mind. I just don’t want to burden you.”

Yuan Chengshu said: “It doesn’t matter to me. Can’t we just have a meal as ordinary friends?”

I said with immense fatigue: “Mr. Yuan, I’m very sorry.”

Yuan Chengshu observed my expression and didn’t press further: “Shall I send you home?”

I shook my head, unwilling to speak anymore.

Yuan Chengshu walked to the roadside to hail a taxi for me: “Remember my number. Call me if you need anything.”

I returned to my messy home.

Lao Jiazhuo had already departed for Europe a week ago to attend a financial conference. Worried that his health hadn’t fully recovered, the private family doctor accompanied him.

At night, I turned off the drawing software on my computer and went to the balcony to smoke.

These days, I had been thinking about him and me—what should we do? The feeling of heartache and reluctance, coupled with sadness, repeatedly tore at me. I couldn’t bear it anymore.

This was not beneficial for either of us. I decided to bring up separation with him.

Recently, several designs I participated in were exhibited, earning me some bonuses and commissions. Today, I withdrew all my salary in cash from the bank and borrowed some money from Huihui, gathering the amount and writing a check.

He definitely wouldn’t accept it. After I leave, I’ll send it to him.

Since my return, he had taken meticulous care of me over the past year, showing deep affection. I was not ungrateful, but I couldn’t keep being so indecisive, loving and hating, staying by his side.

Before things turned cold and irreparable, separating would be better for both of us.

Every day, I went to work, drew, and slept, stubbornly clinging to this thought, not daring to think about anything else.

The night Lao Jiazhuo returned, his late-night flight arrived in Hong Kong, and he came directly over. I stood on the balcony, watching him open the door and search for me inside the house.

Seeing me there, he called my name across the living room, then bent down to change his shoes and went into the room to change clothes. From outside, I could still hear his faint coughing.

Lao Jiazhuo pushed open the sliding glass door of the living room and walked out. He came to stand beside me, his tone tinged with displeasure: “Jiang Yiying, what did you promise me?”

Thinking about the impending separation, I was distracted and responded: “What did I do?”

He frowned and plainly stated: “I don’t like smelling smoke on you.”

Lao Jiazhuo scolded me a bit: “Have you learned to drink every day after work? Didn’t I ask you not to drink so much? You’ve held on for so long, and now you want to give up again?”

I looked up at him, my lips stiff, my voice rough: “Stop worrying about me.”

Lao Jiazhuo’s expression froze.

My throat tightened, choking back tears, my face wooden and cold: “Let’s break up. Don’t come here anymore.”

His gaze burned into my face, his eyes filled with complete surprise and disbelief.

I avoided his eyes, biting my lip and somewhat neurotically repeated: “Lao Jiazhuo, let’s break up. Don’t come here anymore. If you stop coming, we’ll never see each other again in a place like this.”

Lao Jiazhuo suddenly grabbed my shoulders: “Yingying, do you know what you’re saying?”

Like a lone brave knight heading toward an inevitable death, I said without emotion: “Let’s break up.”

But Lao Jiazhuo remained calm and composed. His pale face didn’t change much; he just quietly looked back at me and said: “I disagree.”

His tone carried an undeniable firmness, as if speaking to me or perhaps to himself: “I won’t separate from you. Why should we break up? Unless you tell me you no longer love me, I will never let you go.”

Looking at his current imposing demeanor, I only felt sadness in my heart.

Lao Jiazhuo suddenly pulled me into a tight embrace, his voice trembling slightly: “Yingying, I missed once; I won’t miss again. I won’t let you leave again.”

I let him hold me tightly. His warm chest, the fabric of his shirt brushing against me with a slight coolness—this was the happiness I had longed for. Years later, he brought it to me with deep affection, but now, I no longer dared to accept it because I lacked confidence and preferred to do without.

He lowered his head slightly, puzzled, trying to find some clues from my expression: “What happened while I was away on this business trip?”

I shook my head and broke free from his arms.

I leaned on the balcony, looking at the glittering neon lights amidst the sea of steel and concrete, and suddenly asked him: “Do you know how my mother died?”

His face showed a hint of surprise, but he honestly replied: “I found out later.”

Years later, before parting, I finally asked him the question that had been buried deep in my heart: “Why did she call you?”

Lao Jiazhuo said: “With Su Jianjing’s approval, they published ads in all the newspapers in Venice City to find you.”

So that’s how it was. I didn’t understand Italian, and at the time, I completely shut myself off. Plus, my mother was in the hospital, so I never paid attention to the newspapers.

My voice was eerily calm in the darkness: “When did she call you?”

Lao Jiazhuo seemed to want to comfort me. He coughed lightly: “Yingying...”

I fixed my gaze on his face, asking without compromise: “When?”

He said: “August.”

I asked: “What date?”

Lao Jiazhuo’s expression slowly took on a layer of desolation: “August 27th, three weeks and one day after you left.”

I asked: “Where were you then? At the hospital?”

He said: “I was still in the hospital. Her call reached Fengnian at the assistant’s office of Laotong.”

All the bones and muscles in my body tensed, but my voice was light and drifting: “What did she say to you?”

Lao Jiazhuo was silent for a moment but still answered: “She said she wanted to find you. She told me everything I did was to comfort my mother’s soul in heaven... Yingying, I’m sorry. My attitude and emotions were bad at the time. I didn’t know she was sick...”

I asked indifferently: “And then?”

Lao Jiazhuo was as calm and pale as a prisoner heading to execution: “I said you must come back, back to me. If you want to leave, don’t leave so ambiguously. If you’re a responsible person, you should come back and finalize our divorce procedures with me.”

No wonder I had tried so hard to hide it from her with a forced smile. In the end, I couldn’t keep it hidden.

Lao Jiazhuo spoke as if accepting his fate: “She said she was the one who ruined you.”

I looked at the city lights, feeling an endless longing: “She fell from the building on the night of the 28th. That day, I was too tired and went to rest. The nurse went out for a while, and she left alone, with no one by her side.”

Lao Jiazhuo’s hand trembled slightly. Fear appeared on his face as he pulled me into his arms: “Let’s go inside and talk.”

I trembled all over, my body limp as he dragged me into the house: “Lao Jiazhuo, I never want to see you again in this life.”

Tears streamed down my face: “Lao Jiazhuo, let’s break up. I’ll live well in the future. I’ll fall in love with someone else. Let’s forget everything and live easier lives.”

He could see that my mental state was unstable. Suppressing his emotions, he gently consoled me: “Alright, stop crying...”

My trembling voice mixed with sobs: “Please, just go.”

Lao Jiazhuo was overwhelmed by my crying. He picked me up and placed me on the bed in the room.

He squatted by the bed, reaching out to stroke my cheek. His eyes were deep with ocean-like sorrow: “Yingying, calm down for a moment.”

He walked out and closed the door behind him.

I sat on the edge of the bed, tears streaming down, but my throat felt choked, unable to make a sound. The tears stung my nasal cavity and throat with pain.

On the bedside table lay an oval template. Out of habit, I reached for it and unconsciously began cutting my leg with it, feeling nothing.

I had no more tears to shed and gradually quieted down.

After a while, the door opened softly. Lao Jiazhuo stood at the doorway.

The next second, he urgently called out: “Yingying!”