MPH - 5

Chapter 5: Do You Like the Snow in London?

During the New Year holiday, I was alone at home as usual. I drew the curtains, turned off my phone, and lay in bed reading. 

The outside world was still vibrant—shopping malls were offering crazy discounts, celebrities were promoting their festive blockbusters at cinemas, and classmates were throwing lively New Year parties. But I had no interest in any of it. 

I spent the day quietly by myself. In the evening, the landline suddenly rang. 

I walked into the living room to answer it. 

A woman’s voice came through: “Miss Jiang?” 

“Yes, this is me. May I ask who’s calling?” 

“This is Zhu Bichan, Mr. Lao’s secretary.” 

“Is there something you need, Miss Zhu?” I asked politely, though I couldn’t help but feel puzzled. 

Zhu Bichan spoke gently: “Miss Jiang, do you have some free time? Mr. Lao has instructed me to deliver your plane ticket to you.” 

I was stunned. 

“Miss Jiang?” Zhu Bichan called out on the other end. 

“I’m here,” I replied, snapping back to reality. 

“Mr. Lao said he regrets that you’ll have to fly to London alone for vacation. I’ve booked a ticket for 8 a.m. tomorrow. He will meet you at the airport in London.” 

I tried my best to conceal my surprise, maintaining a composed demeanor, and politely responded: “Thank you.” 

Zhu Bichan continued: “The driver will pick you up tomorrow morning.” 

I thought for a moment and said: “There’s no need to trouble yourself with delivering the ticket. Just have the driver bring it tomorrow morning.” 

“Alright. It’s very cold in London, so please pack plenty of warm clothes,” Zhu Bichan said in her mechanically sweet tone. “If you have any questions, Miss Jiang, feel free to contact me anytime.” 

I packed my thick waterproof coat and a familiar pillow into my suitcase and boarded the plane. 

Being in unfamiliar places always gives one a subtle sense of existence. The first-class cabin was comfortable and quiet. Though the long flight was tiring, from 10,000 feet above, the entire Greater London area was blanketed in silver-white snow—a breathtaking sight that erased all worries. 

At Heathrow Airport, heavy snow swirled outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Jiazhuo stood there, wearing a black cashmere coat and a light gray scarf, his arms open wide with a warm smile: “Do you like the snow here?” 

I dropped my luggage and rushed toward him, crashing into his embrace: “I love it! I love it!” 

He hugged me tightly and whispered softly into my ear: “Happy New Year.” 

All I could do was grin foolishly at him. 

“Alright,” he gently pulled away, but I clung to him, unwilling to let go. 

Jiazhuo led me out of the airport and into the waiting car. I excitedly gazed out at the snow-covered scenery. 

“Where are we going?” I asked. 

The road was slippery, and Jiazhuo drove carefully, answering briefly: “I have a house in Shropshire. The snow in the English countryside is even more beautiful.” 

By then, we had already left the city. Snow clung to the branches of tall deciduous trees in the suburbs, and people braved the cold to fish by the shimmering riverside. As we drove further, the population thinned, and at the end of the road, a deep red villa appeared before us. 

I spotted a small lake, its surface beginning to freeze. A wooden bridge stretched from the house to a small island in the middle of the lake. 

Workers were clearing snow from the road. As our car passed, a man in a hat suddenly looked up and waved vigorously at us. 

Jiazhuo honked the horn in response. 

The car stopped in front of the house—a charming Victorian-style house with four rooms. Snow covered the garden, pasture, and barn, and the roses beside the cobblestone path had withered. 

At that moment, someone emerged from a small wooden shed next to the house, opened the car door for us, and greeted respectfully: “Mr. Lao.” 

Jiazhuo got out and walked around to my side: “This is my driver, Dean.” 

Dean raised his face and smiled: “Nice to meet you, Miss.” 

He was a young Black man with a kind face, his bright white teeth flashing in his smile. 

Dean went to park the car. 

I followed Jiazhuo up the stone steps, pushing open the door as warmth enveloped us. 

A slightly plump British woman came out, wearing an apron and speaking in a loud voice: “Mr. Lao!” 

Jiazhuo smiled: “It’s good to see you, Mrs. Harris.” 

“This is Mrs. Harris, the housekeeper,” Jiazhuo introduced. 

Mrs. Harris curtsied politely to me: “Madam, welcome to London.” 

Her address made me blush slightly, and I smiled shyly at her. Jiazhuo chuckled and added: “Mrs. Harris makes excellent pudding and cookies. You’ll like them.” 

Feeling cheerful, I exclaimed: “I want to try them right now!” 

The blond-haired Mrs. Harris smiled warmly at us: “This is London’s first big snowfall of the winter. Snowy days are always wonderful.” 

Jiazhuo helped me take off my coat, and we sat down on the sofa in the living room. The fireplace crackled warmly, filling the room with heat. 

Mrs. Harris brought out some snacks and poured tea. 

Jiazhuo leaned back on the sofa, speaking in his usual calm tone: “There’s a small park not far from here. It’s about a ten-minute drive. The snowy scenery around it is beautiful. You can take a look around if you’d like.” 

“Do you have time off?” I asked. 

“Yingying, I still have work to do,” Jiazhuo replied apologetically. 

“Oh,” I murmured. He was always so busy. 

After eating my fill, I curled up contentedly in a recliner and dozed off. 

Jiazhuo stood up: “Yingying, you should sleep to adjust to the time difference.” 

He escorted me to my room, where Mrs. Harris had already prepared the bed. I took out my pillow from my suitcase and placed it on the bed. 

Jiazhuo smiled at me: “There’s a TV and computer in the study next door. It’s quieter here in the countryside. I hope you won’t find it too dull.” 

I collapsed onto the bed, wrapped in the soft velvet duvet, smiling even with my eyes closed: “How could I? Jiazhuo, you actually own an estate, like Pemberley from the 18th century!” 

I looked at him earnestly and joked: “Next, are you going to tell me you also have a horse-drawn carriage?” 

Jiazhuo sighed: “My lady, I’m not the Duke of York. If you want to ride in a carriage, there’s a nearby farm. I’ll arrange it for you.” 

I burst into laughter. 

Jiazhuo stood by my side, pulling the covers over me. His expression lacked my cheerfulness but was filled with tenderness: “Get some rest. We’ll play when you wake up.” 

I slept soundly and woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. When I stepped out of my room, Mrs. Harris greeted me. 

“Where’s Mr. Lao?” I asked. 

“Mr. Lao returned to London last night,” Mrs. Harris replied. 

He had left without leaving a single word for me. 

After breakfast, I heard a knock at the door. Soon, Mrs. Harris entered: “Madam, you have a visitor.” 

Curious, I walked out. A young man was entering through the doorway. 

He was Western, with sharp features and blond hair peeking out from under a white woolen cap. 

He bowed politely and addressed me in English: “Miss Yingying?” 

“Who are you?” I asked. 

“I’m Edward, your neighbor,” he said enthusiastically. “I heard that a distinguished guest had arrived, so I dropped by to visit.” 

Westerners are so friendly—fair skin, rosy cheeks, glassy brown eyes, and smiles as bright as a sunny winter day. 

I shook his hand and smiled: “Edward, nice to meet you.” 

I glanced at Mrs. Harris, who clearly knew him. “Edward, dear, I just baked a cake. Would you like to try some?” 

We sat down at the horseshoe-shaped dining table. 

Mrs. Harris served him hot tea and brought me a cup of hot chocolate. 

“What terrible weather! Transportation in central London has been disrupted, but the countryside is quite pleasant,” Edward said. Perhaps because he was young, he lacked the usual British reserve, exuding liveliness instead. His smile was as warm as the winter sun: “Is this your first time here, Miss Yingying?” 

“It’s my first time in Shropshire,” I replied shyly, as I often felt awkward around enthusiastic strangers. 

“Perfect! I was just out for a walk. The snow is beautiful. Would you honor me with your company to explore the nearby scenery?” he asked eagerly. 

Looking at his expression, I suddenly understood.

This spacious villa area had neighbors at least 500 yards apart. On such a cold morning, his claim of walking over was clearly absurd. 

I grew irritated and rudely asked: “How much did Mr. Lao pay you?” 

Edward looked surprised by my sudden anger and quickly replied: “No, no! My father is an old friend of Mr. Lao’s. He said a young girl from the East was vacationing here—” He seemed puzzled by the unpredictable nature of Eastern women and looked utterly innocent: “I’m on Christmas break. I’m just here to entertain the lovely Eastern Barbie—” 

I sighed and said: “Alright, alright, Edward. Please go back. I don’t need company.” 

Edward glanced at me, then at Mrs. Harris. 

Mrs. Harris chuckled: “It’s fine. Miss Yingying is just shy. Off you go, young man.” 

He politely excused himself and left. 

In the afternoon, the doorbell rang again. I opened the door to see Edward’s cheerful face. He lifted a bag in his hand: “I brought you some shortbread cookies. Won’t you try them?” 

I couldn’t bring myself to turn away such a polite and warm smile, especially since there was no one else to talk to here—I was so lonely. 

We ate cookies in the living room. 

Edward said: “Hey, the weather’s so nice. Don’t you really want to go out for a walk?” 

At that moment, Mrs. Harris walked in, shaking snow off her coat: “Goodness, a mischievous fox ran out of the bushes and covered me in snow!” 

She overheard our conversation and went to fetch my coat and gloves from the closet: “Young people, don’t stay cooped up indoors all day. Go out and enjoy yourselves.” 

I looked out the window. The world outside was crystal clear, with delicate icicles hanging from the branches. Such a beautiful scene—it would be a shame to waste it. 

The weather was sunny, and Edward and I strolled through the countryside, slowly taking in the breathtaking scenery. I hopped around in the snow, and Edward, full of energy, followed me as we darted through the woods, pointing out squirrel and fox tracks. We wandered until dusk, returning to the house where Mrs. Harris had prepared a hearty dinner. We enjoyed a feast. 

The next day, Edward arrived right on time. Today, he drove me to the park, teaching me how to ski and build snowmen. I joined a group of blond foreigners for a snowball fight, playing the entire day. 

Edward kept snapping photos of me. When we rested in the car, I munched on a sandwich while he reviewed the pictures. I leaned over and saw a slender figure on the screen—wearing a white wool hat, pink sweater, plaid skirt, and bundled up tightly, smiling like a fool. 

Edward suddenly murmured: “Yingying, you’re such a beautiful girl.” 

I froze, the cheese in my mouth suddenly tasteless. 

I quietly asked: “Am I not just a bother?” 

Edward, unaware of my melancholy, smiled and patted my head: “Hey, you’re a delightful bother.” 

By evening, when I returned home, Jiazhuo was still nowhere to be found. 

On the third day, Edward took me fishing by the river, teaching me how to break the ice. We caught several large salmon. 

On the fourth day, I woke up in the morning but refused to get out of bed. 

Mrs. Harris knocked on the door: “Sweetheart, it’s time to get up. Edward is taking you horseback riding at the estate today.” 

I sat up and asked: “What about Jiazhuo?” 

Mrs. Harris’ round face broke into a comforting smile: “Since he arranged these activities, you should happily accept his kindness.” 

I stared at her, then pulled the blanket over my head and flopped back onto the bed. 

Everyone in the world seemed to know that he had abandoned me in this remote wilderness, expecting me to pretend I was a princess enjoying myself. 

Edward came by at noon: “Darling, what’s wrong?” 

His concern was genuine. After spending a few days together freely, we had grown close. 

I lazily lay on the couch by the fireplace: “Edward, I’m fine. I walked too far yesterday, and my legs are sore. Please, let me be alone for a while.” 

He kissed my cheek and left. 

As dusk gradually fell, the world became eerily silent. 

Mrs. Harris checked on me a few times: “Miss Yingying, would you like to have dinner?” 

I replied: “No, I’m not hungry.” 

Finally, I couldn’t resist calling him: “Jiazhuo, I don’t like Edward. Can you find someone with an Eastern face instead?” 

He seemed busy, quietly giving instructions in English to someone nearby. After a pause, he replied earnestly: “I don’t have any reliable young Asian friends in London.” 

I shouted: “Then just leave me alone! Why do you care what I do?” 

As night fell, I dozed off on the couch, half-asleep. I thought I heard the sound of a car engine outside and bolted awake, rushing to the door and flinging it open. 

The driver stepped out of the front seat and opened the rear door. My heart was pounding wildly. 

A dark figure emerged from the car. In the dim light, I could only make out his tall silhouette. I strained my eyes, watching him approach the house. Finally, the soft yellow light under the eaves illuminated a handsome face. 

God, it was him. 

Jiazhuo stepped onto the porch. Seeing me leaning against the doorway, he smiled faintly, then coughed lightly. 

Noticing how thinly he was dressed, I quickly moved aside to let him in: “It’s cold outside. Why are you dressed so lightly?” 

He pulled out a handkerchief to cover his mouth, coughing heavily: “I was in a meeting and came straight out. I didn’t expect it to be so cold.” 

My heart softened instantly. 

“Tired of Western food?” He sat on the sofa, looking at me: “You didn’t eat anything today?” 

“No…” I murmured softly: “Jiazhuo, I missed you so much.” 

“I’ve been busy with work. Forgive me for leaving you alone,” he said gently. 

Lao Jiazhuo always had a way of effortlessly dismantling my carefully practiced defenses. 

In front of him, I was forever a mischievous child. 

I lowered my head. 

“I had my assistant order dishes from a Chinese restaurant. The staff is warming them up in the kitchen,” he said kindly. 

The food arrived quickly—four dishes and a soup, all aromatic and beautifully presented. Jiazhuo sat at the table, setting out bowls and chopsticks for me. I said: “I want to drink wine.” 

Jiazhuo turned to the servant: “Bring a bottle of Lafite wine from the study.” 

The aroma of the food filled the air, and I couldn’t help but take a deep breath. 

Seeing my mood improve, Jiazhuo leaned back in his chair, visibly relaxing. 

I ladled soup for him: “Jiazhuo, you need to eat more.” 

He obediently drank the soup, then reached for the wine. I grabbed his hand: “You’re coughing. Are you really going to drink?” 

He murmured: “Just a little. It’s fine.” 

I let him have his way. 

We ate and drank, the Lafite wine smooth and fragrant. Overindulging, I began to feel the effects of the alcohol. 

With a flushed face, I gazed at his clear features and impulsively leaned over to kiss him: “Jiazhuo.” 

He was usually composed, but now slightly tipsy, he didn’t pull away. 

I kissed his neck, clumsily licking his earlobe. 

His body tensed, and he grabbed my hands, trying to endure: “Yingying, stop.” 

“No,” I stubbornly insisted, undoing the buttons of his shirt and rubbing against him, my warm breath brushing his face. 

Jiazhuo finally let out a low groan and lifted me up. 

I sat on his lap, and we kissed passionately, intensely. His lips were soft and warm, and I wrapped my arms around his waist, stroking him and inhaling his intoxicating scent deeply. 

Jiazhuo carried me to the bedroom, where we continued to embrace and kiss. 

He removed my clothes, kissing my neck. When his gaze fell on the jade pendant on my chest, he paused momentarily. 

I clung to him tightly, my fingers tangled in his black hair, giving him no chance to hesitate. 

His hands roamed over my body, and our bodies fit together perfectly, as if we had been intimate lovers for years. When he entered me, pain surged through me, and tears streamed down my face. 

Jiazhuo knelt down, gently kissing my tears: “Shh, don’t cry.” 

After the passion subsided, I rested on his shoulder. He helped me sit up and replaced the sheets to cover my body: “Don’t catch a cold.” 

I watched as he cleaned himself, then calmly instructed the servants to prepare hot water, his expression suddenly distant and composed.

He turned back and sat on the edge of the bed. I had already put my clothes on. 

He gazed deeply at me, a fleeting look of pain crossing his face: “Yingying, I’m sorry.” 

He was apologizing, but even now, his stance remained as clear as ever. 

My heart ached, and I interrupted him directly: “Jiazhuo, there’s no need to apologize. I wasn’t drunk at all. I was completely sober. I seduced you. I wanted to make love with you.” 

Jiazhuo said with a pained expression: “No, it was my inability to control myself. It’s my responsibility.” 

I asked: “Jiazhuo, even so, can’t you like me?” 

He looked at me, guilt and sorrow in his eyes, but remained silent. 

That silence pierced me deeply, and I began to cry softly: “Didn’t you say you liked being with me?” 

He clenched his teeth and murmured: “Jiang Yiying, I told you from the beginning not to believe what I say.” 

I sobbed pitifully, still unwilling to accept it, and finally shouted at him: “Didn’t you say you liked me?! Didn’t you say you’d always be with me?!” 

I cried miserably: “You said you’d never leave…” 

He calmly gripped my shoulders, his voice cold and firm: “Yingying, you were young then. Now you’ve grown up. Surely you understand that words spoken in childhood don’t count.” 

I abruptly raised my eyes to meet his, tears shimmering. In his gaze, I saw a crystal-clear clarity. 

He had always known. He had always remembered. He understood everything perfectly. He knew it was her—the little girl who had once gotten lost in his family’s garden and later insisted on marrying him years later. 

That afternoon, the sunlight was tranquil, and the air was heavy with the fragrance of flowers. The banquet had ended, and only the servants were left tidying up the mess in the distant garden. 

The aloof and eccentric little girl was hiding under the rose trellis. He walked out from the garden corridor—a strikingly handsome youth—and smiled: “Whose princess has been left in the garden?” 

I wore a white chiffon dress, and my black leather shoes were dusty. 

The Lao family mansion was hosting a birthday banquet. My father was busy entertaining guests with his newlywed wife. 

I was tired, but there was no mother to take me home anymore. 

“Whose child are you?” he asked. 

I sniffled stubbornly, refusing to answer. 

“So you’re still a child, crying like this,” he said. 

“I’m not a child,” I muttered, biting my lip and looking up at him. 

He smiled faintly, as if he had anticipated my response. 

He went back to the kitchen and brought me an ice cream. 

As I ate the ice cream, he stood beside me: “Can you tell me who you are now? I’ll take you home.” 

I pouted and shook my head: “I don’t want to go home.” 

The sun above was scorching. He frowned, jumped over the fence, and carried me across. 

He led me through the flower beds and hid deep within the woods of the Lao family garden. 

He asked: “What’s troubling you?” 

I replied: “Mommy has gone far away.” 

He nodded, unsurprised. In this circle, uncles and aunts brought new partners every day. 

I complained: “I don’t want to go home anymore.” 

“How about coming to my house?” he teased, a rare smile breaking through his usually melancholic demeanor. 

“How can I go to your house? Your mommy isn’t my mommy.” 

“Marry me, and you can come to my house,” he laughed. 

“Will you leave? Will you abandon me?” I asked, seriously considering the possibility. 

He continued to smile: “No, you’re so adorable. Everyone loves you.” 

I burst into tears: “Mommy loved me too, but she still left.” 

“Shh…” His voice was incredibly gentle: “I will never leave as long as you behave.” 

His smile was enduring and tender, etched deeply into my heart, stretching endlessly through my life, filled with longing and melancholy. 

That day, my aunt discovered I was missing and searched for me at the Lao residence. I was sleeping soundly, my head resting on Jiazhuo’s arm. 

I still remember dreaming of the deep red fishtail palm fruits, the fragrant blooms of the mock orange, and the boy who promised me a lifetime. 

“Do you know?” I asked. 

“You’ve always remembered?” Tears fell from my eyes. 

“Do you know it was me?” I cried out loudly. 

Pressed by me, he could only nod. 

I raised my hand to cover my face tightly. 

All my pretense of nonchalance, all my carefully concealed composure, was nothing but a clumsy performance in front of him—a complete joke. 

“Yingying,” Jiazhuo began, his tone tinged with a strange sadness: “I hope you see a bigger world, meet more people. You’ll realize I’m nothing special. I’m just an illusion, a mere fixation. In truth, I’m not worth your devotion.” 

I sobbed and asked: “If you knew it was me, why did you marry me?” 

“It’s not like that,” he said slowly: “Marrying you was something I decided as an adult. I made it clear to you from the start—our relationship is merely a transaction. It has nothing to do with our childhood. I never intended to reminisce with you. In fact, if I had known it was you standing in the garden that day, I would never have walked out of that corridor.” 

The boy under the flower trellis I had cherished in my heart had grown into a young man with a weary, indifferent gaze. Standing before me, he coldly and quietly expressed his regret. 

Jiazhuo murmured: “Yingying, we have no future together.” 

His soft voice struck me like a sharp sword, splitting my body apart. I felt all the blood in my veins drain away, and the world shattered into darkness before my eyes. I had no courage left to face him. I threw off the covers, jumped off the bed, pushed open the door violently, and ran out. 

Jiazhuo couldn’t react in time to grab me. 

I rushed out of the house, ran through the garden, blindly following the riverbank. I was terrified of facing him, of hearing his voice. A profound despair overwhelmed me, and all I wanted was to escape. 

Running barefoot in the snow, I didn’t feel the cold. I was wearing only a thin layer of clothing. 

It was 3 a.m., and the temperature outside was -12°C. 

Jiazhuo hurried after me. 

I stepped onto the wooden bridge by the lake, crying as I ran, my vision blurred. I felt utterly hopeless. 

“Yingying,” he called out from afar, his voice filled with fearful pleading: “Calm down—” 

Panicked, I kept retreating. The bridge swayed slightly, and I lost my balance, slipping into the icy water. 

I heard Jiazhuo scream in anguish: “Yingying!” 

In my final moments of consciousness, I saw someone running toward me from the riverside, stumbling and nearly falling. 

In my entire life, I had always seen the elegant Second Young Master, the noble and aloof Lao Jiazhuo. Never had I seen him so utterly discomposed. 

Jiazhuo… it’s over. No matter how much I cherish you, it’s useless. No matter what, you still refuse me… Let it all end. I won’t bother you anymore, nor trouble you again… I closed my eyes, letting myself sink. 

Suddenly, a pair of firm hands grabbed my arms from behind and pulled me out of the water with great effort. 

I opened my eyes and saw Jiazhuo’s anxious face. 

He coughed and urgently asked: “Are you alright?” 

I gasped, suddenly regaining clarity. The freezing river water had stiffened my entire body. I desperately pushed him toward the shore, crying: “I can swim! You go up, you go up—” 

The ice around us cracked with a crisp sound. Jiazhuo shielded me in his arms, holding me with one hand while swimming toward the shore with the other. 

The icy water rippled around us, chunks of thin ice colliding constantly. Jiazhuo used his arms to break through the ice, gritting his teeth and silently moving toward the shore. 

Though the river was only a few meters wide, it felt like an eternity. 

He pulled me by the hand, lifting me onto the shore. 

I clung to a branch on the riverbank and crawled up the embankment. My wet clothes clung to my body, and I trembled uncontrollably from the cold. My legs gave way, and I collapsed on the ground. Then, staggering, I ran toward Jiazhuo: “Jiazhuo, you…” 

He leaned weakly against a wooden post, panting softly, one hand on the ground, his head bowed, not answering me. His lips were tinged with purple, and his face was pale and ghastly.

I watched as he leaned forward and spat out some icy water, then weakly clutched his chest, coughing painfully. His expression of agony frightened me, and I knelt beside him: “Jiazhuo, how are you?” 

A sudden gust of cold wind swept through, and he involuntarily inhaled sharply. Jiazhuo turned his head, seemingly choking, and began coughing violently into his chest. Amidst the intense coughing, he hurriedly raised his hand to cover his mouth—but it was too late. 

I saw a startling streak of crimson spill from the corner of his lips, dripping onto his long, pale fingers, and falling in droplets onto the snow-white ground. 

I was utterly horrified, my soul nearly scattering. In panic, I tightly embraced him, supporting his collapsing body as it slowly sank downward. 

After that, my memories grew hazy. 

I remember seeing the lights in the house turn on, servants rushing out and shouting loudly. I saw Mrs. Harris running toward us in a hurry. 

And then… I remembered nothing more. 

---

I woke up in the hospital. 

The smell of disinfectant filled the air. The ward was spacious, with a bouquet of pure white lilies on the cabinet. Mrs. Harris sat by my side: “Thank God, you’re awake.” 

My mind was still foggy, and I asked groggily: “Where am I?” 

“The hospital,” Mrs. Harris replied, her voice still trembling with shock. “Thankfully, you’re alright. You fell into the lake…” 

“Lake!” I bolted upright, grabbing Mrs. Harris’s arm urgently: “Where’s Jiazhuo?!” 

“Stay still, darling—” Mrs. Harris pressed down on my hand gently, trying to calm me. “Mr. Lao is fine. You need to rest now.” 

I had no strength left. My hands and feet were frostbitten, my skin red and swollen with large blisters that throbbed painfully at the slightest touch. 

A nurse came to change my IV drip. 

Lying in bed, I struggled to stay awake, staring blankly at Mrs. Harris without moving. 

She looked around helplessly, then finally said: “Mr. Lao has been transferred to a hospital in London. My duty is to take care of Miss Yingying. I don’t know where he is either.” 

“Phone,” I said hoarsely. “Give me a phone.” 

Mrs. Harris reluctantly left the room and returned with a mobile phone. 

My hands were wrapped in bandages, my fingers stiff. It took great effort to scroll through the contacts until I found Jiazhuo’s number. 

I dialed, but the call wouldn’t go through. 

I pressed the buttons repeatedly for a long time before finally giving up. 

Lying in bed, all I could think about was his face as he collapsed in front of me. Tears streamed endlessly down my cheeks. 

Mrs. Harris sat in front of me, wiping her own tears, unsure how to comfort me. I refused to eat or have my wounds treated. 

A nurse came to inject me with a sedative. 

I fell into a deep sleep. When I opened my eyes again, Mrs. Harris was sitting there, her eyes red: “Miss Yingying, for God’s sake, you must take care of yourself.” 

I gave a faint, bitter smile, closed my eyes, and let the nurses do their work. 

---

That evening, there was a knock at the door of the private ward. 

I had already sent Mrs. Harris home to rest. This was a high-end hospital room, so I didn’t expect anyone to disturb me. 

“Come in,” I called out. 

The door opened, and a middle-aged man walked in—black hair, yellow skin, thick eyebrows, broad eyes—an Easterner. 

My heart leapt. I propped myself up on my elbows. 

“Miss Jiang,” he stood near the bed but didn’t approach, maintaining a polite distance with visible restraint. 

He introduced himself: “I’m Zhang Peter, Mr. Lao’s administrative assistant.” 

I nodded at him. 

“Mr. Lao instructed me to visit Miss Jiang,” he said. 

“Where is he?” I gritted my teeth, fighting back tears. 

Zhang Peter didn’t answer, only saying: “Please rest well, Miss Jiang.” 

“Where’s Jiazhuo? I want to see him.” 

“Miss Jiang, focus on recovering first. Mr. Lao will meet you when necessary,” he replied in a formal tone. 

He was all business, refusing to engage further. 

I thought of Su Jian and asked: “What about Mr. Su?” 

His eyebrows arched slightly, deliberately provoking me: “Mr. Su is busy handling affairs domestically and can’t leave. If Miss Jiang needs anything, please let me know.” 

I was so frustrated I almost cursed, refusing to speak to him any further. 

---

I stayed in the hospital for a week. My wounds gradually improved, but Zhang Peter continued to monitor me daily. I ignored him, and he seemed content to focus on his reports. 

“Mrs. Harris, I’d like some pine nut beef rolls,” I told her one morning. 

Mrs. Harris beamed: “Darling, I’ll go make them.” 

Zhang Peter hadn’t shown up yet that day. After Mrs. Harris left, I avoided the nurses and ran out of the hospital, hailing a taxi: “Take me to London.” 

The driver turned around: “Miss, this is a taxi, not the Eurostar.” 

Damn Brits and their sense of humor. 

I opened the car door: “Then take me to the nearest train station.” 

At the station, I bought a ticket for the next available train to London. Boarding the train, I sat down and began carefully studying a map of London, marking the locations of several major hospitals. My heart raced with anxiety, but thankfully the train was fast. Less than an hour later, I stepped out of Waterloo Station. 

Before I could even take in my surroundings, I immediately spotted a stern-faced figure standing near the exit. 

Zhang Peter. 

He strode toward me with a mocking tone: “If Miss Jiang wanted to tour London, she could’ve just told me. No need to trouble herself with taking the train.” 

I turned and ran, but he grabbed me firmly. 

“Sorry,” he muttered curtly, dragging me forcefully and shoving me into a nearby car. 

The car headed straight for the hotel. 

While he checked in at the lobby, I ignored him and turned to walk outside. 

Zhang Peter reached out to grab me, but I jumped back fiercely: “Don’t touch me!” 

He sneered: “Since you’re able to run and jump, it seems Miss Jiang has recovered. I might as well book a flight to send you back home.” 

“I’m not going back,” I glared at him venomously. 

“Don’t be foolish!” Without hesitation, he dragged me into the elevator and to the door of the suite. 

“Hey, hey—Peter,” a familiar voice suddenly spoke up behind us: “Be a little gentler.” 

I turned and saw Su Jian, dressed in a suit. 

“How did you get here?” Zhang Peter asked. 

“I wasn’t reassured,” Su Jian replied lightly, frowning slightly. 

As Zhang Peter pushed me into the luxurious suite and roughly forced me onto the sofa, I collapsed onto the soft cushions, momentarily dizzy. 

Seeing this, Su Jian chuckled: “If Mr. Lao knew how harshly you were treating her, you’d be in trouble. You know how much he dotes on her—it’s like laying twenty mattresses of silk just to find a single pea beneath.” 

Zhang Peter snorted: “Love blinds reason.” 

Su Jian smirked faintly. 

Suddenly, I fell silent. 

---

In the afternoon, Su Jian came over and noticed the exquisite lunch delivered by the restaurant remained untouched on the table. 

He sat across from me: “Yingying, isn’t it to your liking?” 

I sat numbly on the sofa and shook my head. 

He sighed: “We haven’t taken good care of you. Mr. Lao will blame us.” 

At his words, I looked up at him and forced a smile: “I’m sorry. I did eat a little, but my appetite isn’t good.” 

Su Jian softly consoled me: “Don’t worry too much.” 

“Is he very ill?” I whispered, unconsciously twisting my hands on my knees. 

Su Jian fell silent, unsure how to respond.

I sat restlessly in the suite all day. The five-star hotel room was equipped with every possible entertainment facility, and the staff kindly suggested I visit the café downstairs or take a stroll through the nearby shopping mall. But I paid no attention, sitting motionless on the sofa, staring blankly at the wall.

By evening, Su Jian knocked and entered, holding a phone. He silently mouthed to me: “Mr. Lao.” 

I abruptly snapped out of my daze, my hand trembling slightly as I took the phone and placed it to my ear. 

Jiazhuo’s voice was still familiar—deep and calm—but weak: “Yingying?” 

“How are you?” I choked up the moment the words left my mouth. 

“I’m fine,” he said softly. “Listen to me. Go back first.” 

“No, let me see you,” I pleaded. 

He coughed faintly, his voice frail: “I don’t have time.” 

“No, Jiazhuo, I won’t go back—” I began to cry. “Let me see you—” 

“Yingying, listen to me—” His voice grew urgent, trying to comfort me. “Don’t cry…” But before he could finish, he suddenly started coughing violently. I heard the sharp sound of medical equipment on the other end, and then the call disconnected. 

I stood frozen in the room. Su Jian took the phone from my hand and tried calling several times, his brow furrowing more with each attempt. 

When Zhang Peter returned that night, he snapped at me: “Jiang Yiying, all you do is cause trouble for him! What else can you do?!” 

Su Jian grabbed him: “Calm down!” 

“Sorry,” Zhang Peter muttered reluctantly and walked away. 

I overheard their hushed conversation outside. 

“How’s the company doing with you gone? Any movement from the boss?” 

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine.” 

“But… he’s so sick…” 

Su Jian sighed deeply. 

I collapsed onto the bed, biting the sheet tightly, tears streaming down my face. My mind kept echoing the same thought: It’s my fault. It’s my fault. I clung to him relentlessly, argued with him, said hurtful things, made him catch a cold and fall ill. He had already clearly rejected me. What face did I have to keep pestering him to see him? 

Two days later, I boarded a flight back to my home country. 

Jiazhuo stayed in London for nearly a month. 

After returning, I called that number countless times, but it was always switched off. 

During the day, I worked as an assistant at the company, handling miscellaneous tasks. At night, I wrote my graduation thesis. Every night, I was so exhausted that I collapsed into bed. I poured all my effort into distracting myself from thoughts of him. My professor was surprised by my active thinking, and as he looked at the design sketches I submitted, even his usually stern face softened slightly: “Jiang Yiying, you are the most talented student I’ve seen in recent years.” 

“But—” he quickly added, bluntly stating: “You know, no builder will ever use your designs.” 

I had already anticipated this, so I replied cleverly: “That’s why I’m only using it for my graduation project, isn’t it?” 

The renowned master of interior design gazed at me and said: “A smart young person.” 

As I quickly jotted down his revision suggestions, I responded: “Thank you, Professor.” 

Walking out of the academic building, the winter rain drizzled down. The usually bustling campus felt somewhat desolate. My mind lingered on the professor’s words. For my graduation design, I had chosen an extremely challenging European-style villa—a ten-thousand-square-foot mansion with sea views. The focus of the design was the joy of integrating humans with nature. To fully blend the outdoor sea views with the interior, I spent countless hours constructing the indoor perspective and framing for just the living room. I repeatedly adjusted the proportions of the interior space, striving to ensure every view was picturesque. I wanted the house to feel like a warm family home, so the details were filled with quaint childlike charm. The seemingly eclectic furniture arrangements were meticulously crafted to perfection. 

I knew that such bold and innovative designs required expensive materials. If used for commercial purposes, the cost estimates would never pass. 

But none of that stopped me from throwing myself into my work to numb my pain. I pulled all-nighters continuously, spending long hours in front of the computer drafting designs until my eyes often blurred. Exhausted beyond measure, I collapsed on the couch one afternoon and drifted off into a restless sleep. 

Perhaps heaven took pity on me—I actually dreamed of him. In the dream, his features were cool and distant, wearing a white shirt, the familiar image I knew so well. For some reason, I was sulking and ignored him, my face cold. He didn’t speak either, only gazing at me deeply. Annoyed, I turned to leave, but he seemed worried, taking a few steps forward as if to chase after me. However, he stumbled weakly, clutching his chest and slowly collapsing in front of me—Jiazhuo! I screamed his name in panic and woke up with a start, drenched in cold sweat, tears still lingering in the corners of my eyes. 

I sat in the living room for a long time, deep in thought, before finally picking up the phone. I dialed Jiazhuo’s number again—it was still switched off. I called the president’s office at Lao Tong Bank. 

The receptionist answered politely: “Vice President Lao isn’t in the office.” 

“When will he return?” I asked tentatively. 

“May I ask who’s calling and what this is regarding?” the secretary inquired patiently, though her tone carried a hint of caution. “Do you have an appointment?” 

Thinking quickly, I said: “I’m looking for Mr. Su Jian.” 

“Mr. Su Jian…” she hesitated for a moment. 

I quickly followed up: “My surname is Jiang. Please tell Mr. Su Jian I need to speak with him.” 

Fortunately, someone picked up the phone shortly after: “This is Su Jian.” 

My nose tingled with emotion: “Mr. Su.” 

“It’s me,” he replied gently. 

I was overwhelmed with thoughts, unsure where to begin. 

“Mr. Lao returned to the country last week,” Su Jian finally said. 

“He’s in town?” 

“Yes,” Su Jian’s tone carried a faint trace of pity. 

“Thank you. That’s all,” I said, my heart sinking to the bottom of my stomach, unable to hide my sorrow. 

“Yingying,” Su Jian called out to stop me. “There’s a lot of accumulated work at the company. He’s just very busy.” 

Su Jian cautiously defended him: “His health hasn’t fully recovered yet—handling work has been tough—” 

“How is his health?” I asked anxiously. 

Su Jian paused for a moment before answering carefully: “He spent two weeks in the ICU.” 

Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. 

In the evening, Jiazhuo called. 

“Yingying,” he called softly, sounding relatively energetic. “I’m busy with work, but I’ll be home in a few days.” 

After such a long time, hearing his voice again, I bit my lip hard to keep from crying. 

“Yingying?” Jiazhuo’s voice came softly from the other end. 

“Mm,” I finally spoke: “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I swear I won’t bother you anymore.” 

For countless sleepless nights over the past month, these words had echoed repeatedly in my mind. I hoped that when I finally said them aloud, they would sound carefree and magnanimous. But as soon as the words left my lips, they carried a trace of resentment. I still couldn’t maintain composure; I still wasn’t gentle and considerate enough. It was because I wasn’t good enough. 

I softened my voice: “Please don’t avoid me.” 

Without the courage to hear his response, I hung up the phone immediately. 

Then I sat in the living room for the entire afternoon. 

At night, Tang Lechang invited me out for drinks. I put on a loose, dark coat and went out, looking like a witch. 

He teased me: “You look awful.” 

My face fell as I slumped into my seat, muttering: “Why do you have time to find me? Didn’t you just get a girlfriend?” 

He shrugged: “We broke up.” 

People are truly fascinating. After I clearly rejected Tang Lechang, we somehow became good friends. Aside from his slight narcissism, I found him otherwise decent. 

He frequently changed girlfriends but only thought of me when he was lonely and wanted someone to drink with. 

My mood was low, and as soon as the alcohol arrived, I downed several glasses in quick succession. 

Tang Lechang’s handsome brows furrowed as he pressed down on my hand: “Hey, I’m the one who needs comforting. Why are you drinking so recklessly?” 

The alcohol hit me hard, and I felt dizzy as I stared at him: “Tang Lechang, how can you love so many people?” 

His handsome face lit up with a radiant smile, slightly indignant: “Who says I’ve loved many people? Those girls—they were just playmates.” 

He leaned closer to me, his beautiful eyes and delicate brows expressive: “Do you understand? Playmates.” 

I shook my head woodenly. 

He patted my head: “Silly girl.” 

“I want to fall in love with someone else too,” I murmured, covering my face.

He was completely startled: “Hey, hey, don’t cry.” 

I muttered sullenly: “I won’t cry anymore.” 

Tang Lechang sat silently beside me as we drank glass after glass. Then, he suddenly asked with concern: “Was that cup of tea not to your liking?” 

At the time, I had told him he wasn’t my cup of tea. 

I shook my head: “No, he’s a rare treasure. I’m not worthy of him.” 

My tone was filled with despair. 

Tang Lechang suddenly reached out and touched my face, his gentle voice tinged with frustration: “Your rosy cheeks have turned pale. Jiang Yiying, sometimes I really wonder what kind of charm he holds over you? To leave you so lost and broken.” 

I thought of all his good qualities, my smile distant: “He has three heads and six arms, capable of anything.” 

Tang Lechang froze, a fleeting trace of pain crossing his eyes. He smiled faintly and gently pulled me up: “Let’s go home.” 

We hailed a taxi by the roadside, and Tang Lechang insisted on dropping me off first. 

When the car stopped at the foot of my building, Tang Lechang helped me out of the taxi: “Hey, are you alright?” 

The cold night breeze hit my face, sobering me slightly. I feigned nonchalance and waved him off: “I’m fine. You can go now.” 

Then I staggered toward the building. 

Halfway there, my steps suddenly halted. 

A figure stood under the building, hands in his coat pockets, having no idea how long he’d been there in the biting wind. 

After a month apart, he had grown much thinner, but his spirit seemed strong, his gaze piercing even in the darkness. 

I instinctively turned my head—Tang Lechang’s taxi had already driven away. 

My head was spinning, but I managed to steady myself and walk up to him, keeping my eyes fixed on the tips of my shoes. 

Jiazhuo said calmly: “Is that your boyfriend?” 

I didn’t respond. 

His tone was devoid of emotion: “I’ve said before that I don’t object to your friendships, but you must consider the elders’ feelings and not be too ostentatious.” 

The second young master truly was magnanimous. I replied coldly: “Thank you.” 

“Do you enjoy getting drunk in front of men?” he suddenly remarked, his words icy and mocking. 

It felt as if an icicle had pierced through my heart, a sharp pang of pain surging through me. 

I lowered my head and clenched my teeth. My head was spinning, my body feverish. Since I had already lost all dignity in front of him, I refused to utter another word in defense. 

Finally noticing something was wrong, Jiazhuo reached out to steady me. 

I recoiled like a frightened rabbit, stumbling backward and bumping into the wall. I crouched down, unwilling to get up. 

Jiazhuo stood before me, observing my expression, and said slowly: “Do you want me to carry you or piggyback you upstairs?” 

I muttered: “I’ll walk myself.” 

I needed to quit him—quit his affection, quit his warmth. 

I absolutely could not sink any deeper, or it would be the end of me. 

With unsteady steps, I walked upstairs, Jiazhuo quietly following behind me. 

I went straight into my room and closed the door. Just as I turned back, I saw him leaning against the doorframe, gazing deeply at me. Perhaps it was the alcohol making me see things, but for a fleeting moment, I caught an overwhelming sadness on his face that he hadn’t managed to conceal. 

---

Our lives returned to a calm, placid state. 

I behaved properly, treating him with respect and distance. All those small gestures of warmth, affectionate actions, and playful tricks were gone. I even spoke to him in hushed tones. When he came home late from work, at most I’d knock on his door and say simply: “Jiazhuo, there’s soup left in the kitchen.” 

Winter was bitterly cold, and I had evening classes several times a week. On many occasions, I returned late, my nose red from the cold. 

Jiazhuo sat in the living room: “Working overtime until this late?” 

“No, I had class tonight,” I replied, keeping my head down as I changed my shoes. 

He nodded and went upstairs. 

The next evening after class, Jiazhuo’s car was parked outside the academic building. He stepped out gracefully and opened the car door for me, saying indifferently: “I happened to be nearby and thought I’d pick you up on the way.” 

We moved through the bustling traffic of the city. 

I sat beside him, my blurry reflection visible on the car window. His intoxicating presence was so close, yet felt impossibly distant. 

I no longer had the courage to sneak glances at him, as I used to. 

I bit my finger, feeling suffocated, waves of sorrow washing over me. 

Jiazhuo glanced at me, then resolutely turned away, sharply turning the steering wheel and flooring the accelerator. The car sped through the night with a roar. 

Picking me up after class happened only that one time. Whenever I had evening classes afterward, Brother Xu would come to fetch me, but Jiazhuo never showed up again. 

That long, endless winter—I dressed lightly, letting the cold wind pierce through me, bringing a numbing sense of calm. Gradually, I grew accustomed to this temperature. I began learning how to wrap my heart in layers, shrinking it smaller and colder until it became a hard, impenetrable core. 

One night, I received a call at home. There was an error in the design data submitted to the boss earlier that afternoon, and the printed copies were all garbled. 

“Yingying, do you have a backup?” the secretary asked anxiously. 

“Yes,” I thought for a moment. “It’s locked in my office drawer.” 

“Could you come over? President Wang is holding an urgent meeting tonight and needs the design plans.” 

I glanced at the clock and reluctantly agreed: “Alright, please wait a moment.” 

I hastily threw on my coat, pushed open the door, and headed out. 

Jiazhuo heard the commotion and came out: “You’re going out this late?” 

“Mm,” I replied, keeping my head down. “There’s an emergency at work.” 

“Do you need me to drive you?” he asked. 

“No, no,” I quickly declined. “It’s only nine o’clock. It’s still early. I’ll take a taxi.” 

“It’s raining outside. Take an umbrella,” he reminded me. 

I nodded and headed downstairs. 

When I arrived at the company, I retrieved the backup drawings and corrected the data errors on the computer. As I exited the elevator, the damp, cold air hit me, and I couldn’t help but shiver. 

Pushing open the revolving glass doors, I was surprised to see Jiazhuo’s car parked outside the building. 

I walked over and saw him talking on the phone through the car window. 

Noticing me, he immediately got out and opened the car door: “Get in. It’s cold and rainy.” 

“Why are you here?” I frowned at him, taking in his black wool coat and deep blue plaid shirt underneath. 

His complexion was pale: “Qi Xuan and Jiajun had an argument. I just received a call from Qi Xuan, so I came to pick you up.” 

“Oh,” I replied, my fleeting joy vanishing without a trace. So that was it. 

He started the car and handed me a tissue: “Wipe the rain off your face.” 

I dried my hair and face: “What was the argument about?” 

“I don’t know,” he said, his worry evident. “She turned off her phone when I tried calling her again.” 

Just then, his phone rang. Jiazhuo answered: “Brother?” 

“Qi Xuan can be a bit willful at times,” he said, gripping the steering wheel with concern. “Her call earlier came from a noisy background. I’m worried she might be out alone at night.” 

Whatever Jiajun said on the other end made Jiazhuo frown. He responded with restrained irritation: “Brother, I don’t want to interfere in your personal affairs, but I hope you respect your wife. She’s pregnant—with your child.” 

“If you know you already have a wife, you shouldn’t have women calling you in the middle of the night,” he said coldly. “I’ll contact you later.” 

He slammed the phone onto the dashboard. 

Seeing his angry expression, I didn’t know what to feel. 

“What do we do now?” I asked. 

Jiazhuo gripped the steering wheel tightly, visibly frustrated: “What do you think we should do?” 

“Go home,” I replied flatly. 

He glanced at me. 

“Her friends or relatives—perhaps they know where she might go. Brother Jiajun should know. Let’s go home,” I continued. 

Jiazhuo’s face hardened: “She’s alone on such a freezing cold night…”

“Jiazhuo, it’s not your place to interfere,” I said bluntly. “Qi Xuan is already married. Her affairs are her husband’s responsibility. Besides, she knows she’s pregnant. She’s an adult and should know better.” 

Jiazhuo looked at me, his expression shifting slightly. 

I met his gaze calmly. I wasn’t without sharp words—it was just that I had always been reluctant to say anything harsh to him. 

His face darkened, and he sneered faintly: “She’s always treated you well. There’s no need to be so heartless.” 

“I’m just kindly reminding you to mind your boundaries,” I said coldly. 

“She’s practically family to you. Why be so cruel?” His tone was icy. 

All my sincerity, all my heartfelt intentions, and this was what I got in return—accusations of being heartless and cruel? 

My lips twitched: “I don’t have the honor of being part of the Lao family.” 

A vein throbbed faintly on Jiazhuo’s temple as he suppressed his anger and retorted sarcastically: “No need to distance yourself so quickly.” 

“Stop the car!” I could no longer bear it and kicked the door with my foot. 

He slammed on the brakes. 

I pushed open the door, but he grabbed my arm angrily: “Where do you think you’re going?” 

I yanked my hand free and snapped rudely: “Let go! Go take care of your precious Miss Luo Qi Xuan. Don’t bother with me.” 

Anger flickered in his eyes: “Get back in the car!” 

I glared at him defiantly and took a step back. 

Jiazhuo gritted his teeth, let go of the handbrake, and floored the accelerator. The car roared away into the night. 

I stood alone by the roadside. 

In my haste to leave, I hadn’t even brought my bag. I checked my pockets and found only a transit card and some loose change left over from paying for the taxi earlier. 

Karma sure works fast. Jiazhuo was probably busy escorting his beloved sister-in-law home while I, the wife with no real standing, was abandoned on the side of the road, homeless and miserable. Not wanting to bother anyone, I decided to make do at the school dormitory for the night. But looking around, I realized I was far from campus. With no money for a taxi, I could only take the subway. I hopped onto a passing bus. 

Sitting on the bus, I checked the time—it was already 11 p.m. I was growing anxious, and after getting off, it took me a while to find the subway entrance. As expected, the subway had already stopped operating. 

My heart sank. I wandered aimlessly along the road, looking at the unfamiliar buildings around me. This city was so vast, and I had no idea where I was. 

The rain continued to fall, and I was freezing, shivering uncontrollably. 

My phone began to vibrate, and the ringtone sounded. 

I pulled it out, glanced at the caller ID, and stuffed it back into my pocket without answering. I kept walking along the road. 

I wandered aimlessly, stopping at a convenience store to buy a bottle of green tea. I didn’t know how many blocks I walked, but my feet were numb, my shoes soaked with rainwater, and my entire body was wet and cold, making me feel utterly miserable. 

Under an overpass, I slipped on a puddle of water in the darkness and fell hard on the ground. 

I rubbed my sore bottom and got up, but suddenly, I had no strength left to walk. 

I slumped down on the curb. 

The phone in my pocket kept vibrating incessantly. 

I ignored it. If he could so easily abandon me, I’d rather endure the night biting my tongue than go crawling back for mercy. 

I buried my face in my knees, thinking about how pathetic I must look. It was almost funny. People shouldn’t overestimate their importance. What weight did I really carry in Lao Jiazhuo’s heart? Who was I to speak out of turn? I deserved this humiliation. 

The phone kept vibrating until it finally died, shutting off with a faint beep. 

In the darkness, a man’s rough voice cursed loudly. 

I nearly jumped out of my skin. 

Straining my eyes, I realized it was just a beggar wrapped in newspapers, tossing in his sleep. 

I sat there in the dark, every nerve in my body tense. Every car passing overhead made my heart race. My mind replayed gruesome news reports of nameless women being murdered and dumped in the wilderness. 

I lost track of how long I sat there. I glanced at my watch—it was 4 a.m. I was exhausted, on the verge of falling asleep, but too scared to close my eyes. My body was nearly frozen, losing all sensation. 

I thought I might die here. 

Through my daze, I heard the roar of an engine. I looked up and saw a car make a sharp U-turn at a nearby intersection, crossing the lane against traffic before speeding toward me. 

A figure jumped out of the car and stumbled hurriedly toward the underpass. 

The headlights blinded me, and I raised my hand to shield my eyes. 

“Yingying?” His voice was hoarse, tinged with uncertainty. 

Jiazhuo’s silhouette emerged from the darkness. Spotting me, he rushed over. 

He crouched down quickly, pulling me into his arms. His hands trembled violently as he examined me from head to toe: “Are you alright?” 

I kept my head down, staring blankly, my face expressionless, sitting woodenly in place. 

After confirming I was unharmed, he removed his coat and wrapped it tightly around me. 

“Yingying,” he called softly, his voice trembling, rough and raspy. 

He carefully shielded me, treating me like a fragile treasure that might break at the slightest touch. 

I acted as if I hadn’t heard him. 

He reached for my hand, but I remained motionless, my right hand clenched tightly. Jiazhuo leaned closer, his face streaked with rain, his entire body drenched. He touched my cheek: “Why did you walk so far? I’ve been searching for you all night…” 

“Are you hurt?” 

I didn’t answer. 

It took great effort for him to pry open my fingers, but he froze when he saw what I was clutching—a plain green tea bottle cap. He picked it up, examined it briefly, and tossed it toward the nearby trash can. 

“Don’t throw it away,” I croaked, my voice hoarse and strained. 

He froze mid-motion. 

“Don’t throw it away,” I repeated softly. 

Hearing me finally speak, relief washed over Jiazhuo’s face. He retrieved the bottle cap and placed it gently back in my hand, his voice tender: “Alright, let’s go home.” 

He helped me up, my movements stiff, like a broken puppet following him into the car. 

As we drove, I suddenly spotted a familiar 24-hour convenience store by the roadside. “Stop the car,” I said. 

Jiazhuo slammed on the brakes instinctively, raising his hand to steady me. He looked at me questioningly. 

I stared at the store. 

“Do you need to buy something?” he asked. 

Without answering, I pushed open the car door and got out. He followed nervously. 

A short-haired girl at the cash register was dozing off. When she saw me come in, she greeted automatically: “Good evening, welcome.” 

I handed her the bottle cap. She glanced at it, smiled, and retrieved a bottle of green tea from behind the counter. 

“Please get me a box of tissues,” Jiazhuo said from behind me. 

The girl sized him up, smiling as she rang up the purchase: “What a great brother, staying out so late with his little sister.” 

I looked at myself—soaked hair, dirty coat and sneakers—and felt like a lost teenager. 

I forced a bitter smile, unsure how to respond. 

Jiazhuo gently draped his arm around my shoulders. The damp scent of rain clung to him as he said softly: “She’s my wife.” 

The girl let out a soft “Ah” and cast me an envious glance. 

I walked out mechanically. 

The car stopped downstairs. I took the elevator upstairs, entered the dining room, opened the fridge, and placed the bottle of green tea inside. 

I stood there, staring at the beverage section. It was pristine white, filled with milk cartons—Jiazhuo’s usual drink. 

That cheap bottle of green tea stood out awkwardly among the expensive, elegant bottles. 

This was the first time I’d ever won a prize in any drink I’d bought since childhood. On this cold, wretched winter night, it seemed as though I’d exhausted all my luck in one go. 

Like waiting hopelessly for someone for years, only to suddenly gain entry into their world overnight—this was the best stroke of luck I’d ever had in my life. 

I should’ve realized by now that I’d never have another chance to move forward in this lifetime.

Foolish desires, in the end, bear bitter fruit. 

Jiazhuo silently followed behind me. 

He stood with me for a while as I stared into the open fridge, cold air spilling out continuously. Finally, he pulled me away. 

He followed me into the room, then took off his coat. Beneath his shirt, his lean back remained straight as he walked into the bathroom to run hot water. Amid the sound of rushing water, a sudden bout of violent coughing erupted. 

My heart tightened. 

But the coughing soon stopped. When he emerged, his face was pale, and he focused solely on pulling me into the bathroom: “Take a bath.” 

In my daze, I stepped forward instinctively, but Jiazhuo stopped me and removed my wet clothes. 

I closed my eyes, my heart heavy with despair, and let the water envelop me. 

Jiazhuo carefully washed me, then wrapped me in a towel, treating me like a small child. 

He carried me back to bed, dried me off, and tucked me in under the covers. 

Standing by the bed, he gazed at me with an apologetic look. His lips moved, but all he could manage was a soft: “Sleep well.” 

He turned to leave. 

Finally, tears spilled from my eyes, and I called out weakly: “Jiazhuo...” 

He turned abruptly, cupping my cheek: “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t leave me,” I whimpered, pleading softly. 

His eyes reddened slightly, and he pulled me tightly into his arms. 

His embrace was cool. I cried intermittently, then drifted off to sleep. 

---

In the morning, I woke up groggily to see him sitting by the bed. 

His fair face, sharp features, and faintly arrogant yet weary demeanor were unmistakable. 

“Was everything alright last night?” Jiazhuo asked, his voice slightly hoarse. 

“You didn’t sleep?” I sat up. 

“I did sleep, just woke up a bit earlier,” he said, standing. “Do you want to take the day off and rest at home?” 

I glanced at the time and hurriedly jumped out of bed: “How can I just take leave? I’ll be late again today...” 

He steadied me: “Be careful.” 

I steadied myself, threw on some clothes, and rushed into the bathroom. 

Jiazhuo turned to leave. 

“Jiazhuo—” I suddenly stopped him, reaching out to feel his forehead. 

“You’re running a fever,” I said. No wonder his palm had felt unusually warm. 

“Mm, just a little. It’s nothing serious,” he said nonchalantly. 

I was still worried and reminded him: “Take some medicine.” 

He nodded and returned to the room. 

After finishing my morning routine, I heard the doorbell ring. I went downstairs to open the door and saw Su Jian standing outside with another man. 

“Mr. Su—” I ushered the guests inside. “Jiazhuo is upstairs.” 

Su Jian nodded at me, and the two of them headed upstairs. 

Jiazhuo was seated in the second-floor living room, casually saying: “You’re here.” 

Su Jian must have been his close friend; their private interactions were relaxed. 

The man behind Su Jian greeted him: “Mr. Lao.” 

Jiazhuo stood politely: “Dr. Yang, please sit.” 

Su Jian handed over several documents: “These need urgent signatures. I’ll take them after you’re done. You’re not going to the office today, right?” 

Jiazhuo accepted the papers and said indifferently: “It’s unnecessary. I’m fine. Just resting will do.” 

“A fever isn’t something minor—” Su Jian insisted. “You know your condition. You discharged yourself before fully recovering. The doctors said—” 

“Lao Jiazhuo,” Jiazhuo cut him off coldly. 

Following his gaze, Su Jian noticed me standing in the room, hesitated for a moment, and then said: “Let Dr. Yang take a look first.” 

---

I spent the morning at work, my mind restless. By the afternoon, I couldn’t resist sneaking home during a break from visiting a construction site. 

I ran upstairs and found Jiazhuo lying in the room, receiving an IV drip. 

Seeing me, he set aside the document he was reading: “Done with work?” 

“Mm,” I nodded. “Not working today? Willing to rest at home now?” 

I was glad to see him agree to rest. 

He smiled faintly, his expression weary: “Nothing important. No need to handle everything personally.” 

That evening, I made some porridge. Jiazhuo came down to the dining room, still with a slight fever but looking better in spirit. 

I felt somewhat reassured. 

The next day at work, the company needed a high-performance polymer material for a recent project. At noon, the manager assigned me to accompany several suppliers from Jiangxi for a meal. I was the only woman at the table. As the rounds of toasts continued, I was coerced into drinking glass after glass, forced to smile and endure our manager’s crude jokes. Finally, when the gathering ended, the manager escorted the guests out of the private room. One of the men grabbed my arm: “Miss Jiang is so generous. We’ve already reserved a spot at Teng Long. Come along—” 

I sidestepped and politely declined: “I have work this afternoon...” 

The man took the opportunity to grab my hand and brazenly declared: “What work? Miss Jiang’s job today is to entertain President Huang. Isn’t that right, Manager Li?” 

Our manager feigned difficulty, glancing at me: “Jiang Yiying, why don’t you accompany President Huang?” 

“Sorry, Miss Jiang is unavailable this afternoon,” a cold, detached voice sounded from behind us. 

I turned to see Su Jian, impeccably dressed in a suit. 

Our manager recognized him immediately and plastered on a smile: “Assistant Su, you’re here for dinner too?” 

Su Jian gave him a perfunctory nod and gestured toward someone nearby: “The boss is here to entertain the guests.” 

Following his gaze, I saw Jiazhuo standing quietly, observing us, with a group of people behind him. 

Su Jian continued: “President Wang didn’t mention this. Miss Jiang is a designer. Why should a designer entertain clients at a bathhouse? Isn’t that another department’s responsibility?” 

His tone was icy. 

The manager’s face shifted slightly: “Apologies.” 

Su Jian nodded: “Then Miss Jiang and I will take our leave.” 

He didn’t spare a glance at the fat-cat businessmen, merely gesturing for me to go ahead. As he followed me, he whispered: “Yingying, Mr. Lao is waiting for you.” 

Jiazhuo approached me, and I asked softly: “Did you go to work today?” 

“Mm,” he replied succinctly. “Yingying, you don’t need to do these things.” 

He took such meticulous care of me. If I were to leave him, I wouldn’t even know if I could survive. A wave of sorrow washed over me, and all I could say was: “Thank you.” 

Jiazhuo glanced at the people behind him and said to me: “Sorry, I have something to attend to. Could you wait for me in the car for a moment?” 

I nodded: “Alright.” 

I walked toward the elevator and watched as Jiazhuo courteously guided the officials toward the hotel’s other lobby. 

I went to the parking garage, found Jiazhuo’s car, and, feeling dizzy from the alcohol, sat inside and dozed off. 

After waiting for a while, Su Jian hurried over: “Yingying, the company called. The old master urgently summoned Mr. Lao. He’s already gone to the office. I’m heading back now.” 

“What about me?” I asked. 

Su Jian replied: “Are you free this afternoon?” 

I shrugged. 

Su Jian thought for a moment, then smiled: “Let’s head back to Lao Tong for now.” 

At the heart of the bustling downtown area stood the towering headquarters of Lao Tong Bank. 

The city’s financial landmark. 

A luxurious, modern architectural masterpiece, guarded around the clock, frequented by impeccably dressed business elites. 

Su Jian accompanied me onto the private elevator to the 22nd floor and led me to a refined, small lounge. To the secretary standing outside, he said: “Bichan, take good care of the guest. Wait until Mr. Lao finishes.” 

The woman at the door smiled and nodded. 

Ah, the legendary Miss Zhu Bichan.

I glanced over at her. She had an oval face, almond-shaped eyes, cherry lips, and wore a Chanel suit that exuded both professionalism and gentleness. She was also sizing me up, her gaze soft and warm—she was indeed a beauty. 

Zhu Bichan smiled, turned around, and brought me a cup of tea. 

Just then, a voice came from outside: “Bichan, President Liu from Dongzheng Securities is on his way up.” 

She acknowledged with a response, then smiled at me: “Miss Jiang, please feel free to make yourself comfortable.” 

I saw two middle-aged men in suits step out of the elevator. One of them said curiously: “President Liu, why are we meeting with the second son? I heard from my time in the U.S. that it’s always the eldest who handles things.” 

President Liu smirked knowingly, keeping his thoughts close to his chest: “Old Wu, you’ve been abroad for too long and don’t understand the current situation. While the eldest grandson may have the reputation, insiders know that the second grandson handles matters with unparalleled thoroughness and stability.” 

“What about those funds I have in North American banks?” 

President Liu spoke confidently: “Consult the second young master. All major investment advisory work at Lao Tong is handled by him.” 

As they approached the secretary’s desk, he said: “Miss Zhu, we’re here to meet Mr. Lao at 2 p.m.” 

Zhu Bichan responded politely: “The vice president has been called away for an urgent matter and has instructed me to receive the two of you first. I apologize, but you may have to wait a bit.” 

President Liu frowned slightly: “Miss Zhu, I understand Mr. Lao is a busy man, but our time is—” 

Zhu Bichan gently interjected: “The chairman is currently in the conference room.” 

The two exchanged glances, their expressions revealing understanding: “Then we’ll wait.” 

“Please head down to the vice president’s office for now,” Zhu Bichan guided them toward the elevator. “Would you like some tea or something else?” 

This floor was incredibly spacious, with employees occasionally walking by quietly, none paying me any mind. 

I went to use the restroom and, on my way back, idly examined the interior decoration of the rooms. The entire floor was open-plan, creating an exceptionally spacious atmosphere. At the end of the corridor, one office occupied nearly half the space. The mahogany doors and chandeliers exuded opulence, while several expensive calligraphy pieces and paintings on the walls added an air of luxury and prestige. 

As I passed a meeting room, the secretary happened to step out. I overheard the old master’s authoritative voice inside: “Your older brother has gone to Singapore. Do you know about this?” 

Jiazhuo’s voice was somewhat hoarse: “Mm, I know.” 

“The wife at home is pregnant, and he still runs off,” the old man remarked dismissively. 

“It was arranged for him to go early on,” Jiazhuo stated flatly. 

“Arrangements can be adjusted,” the old man said. “Qi Xuan cries day and night at home, and your grandmother has a headache from it. Family harmony is paramount. As the younger brother, you need to bear the burden this time. Go take over your brother’s responsibilities so he can come back to accompany his wife.” 

Jiazhuo’s voice was low: “What about my own work...?” 

The old man’s tone left no room for argument: “Handle it. Overcome the difficulties.” 

“In this environment, this Wealth Forum meeting is crucial. The Minister of Foreign Trade has already called me. Commercial banks must play a role in promoting trade and investment liberalization. Be sure to handle it well and not tarnish Lao Tong’s reputation.” 

Jiazhuo’s voice lacked strength: “Understood.” 

With that, he stood up: “I have a golf appointment with Chairman Jiang this afternoon. You carry on.” 

Jiazhuo rose to see him off: “Let me escort you.” 

The old man waved his hand: “No need. Get back to work.” 

I feared the old master might be displeased to see me at Lao Tong, so I hid to the side. 

After everyone had seen the old master off with great fanfare, I emerged and waited in the corridor. A long time passed without Jiazhuo coming out. 

Unable to resist, I walked over and found him still sitting in the vast, empty meeting room. Winter sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, yet it did nothing to warm him. He sat there alone, bathed in the golden glow, looking cold and desolate. 

A young man knocked on the door. 

Jiazhuo seemed startled, shifting slightly, but suddenly began coughing as he leaned on the sofa. 

“Cough, cough—come in—” he covered his mouth and coughed softly. 

His assistant entered cautiously: “Vice President...” 

“President Liu from Dongzheng Securities is waiting in your office—” the assistant hesitated before continuing, noting his pale complexion: “And there’s a trading department meeting at 3:10. In the evening, President Mo from Dahua Forestry wants to discuss the recent loan—” 

“I know. I’ll head over shortly,” Jiazhuo replied weakly, his voice heavy with exhaustion. 

The young man left. 

He slowly rose, leaning on the sofa for support, pausing for a moment before walking out slowly. 

“Yingying?” He saw me standing at the door and was momentarily surprised. 

“Su Jian brought me back to the company,” I said. 

He pressed his fingers to his temple, smiling helplessly: “I’ve lost my mind. I’ll arrange for someone to send you home.” 

I carefully stepped closer and asked softly: “Are you still feeling unwell from the fever? Do you have medicine in the office?” 

Before he could answer, the elevator doors opened, and Zhu Bichan and Su Jian walked in. 

Su Jian approached and immediately said: “For small-scale wealth management like Dongzheng, let the analysts handle it.” 

“Asset management is still under my responsibility,” Jiazhuo said, taking the documents from Zhu Bichan. 

Su Jian insisted: “You’re already exhausted. How can you handle private advisory work? Let someone under you take care of it.” 

Jiazhuo’s voice lacked energy: “Su Jian, you know it’s not possible right now.” 

Su Jian fell silent, gazing at him before finally letting out a sigh. 

Jiazhuo gestured to Su Jian, signaling him to look after me, then walked into the office. 

---

I returned home early, took a shower, and made some porridge. It wasn’t until after 8 p.m. that I heard the sound of the front door opening downstairs. 

I rushed down. 

Jiazhuo entered, took off his coat, and then collapsed onto the sofa as if all his strength had been drained. 

I touched his hand—it was icy cold, but his forehead was still burning hot. 

His vision blurred for a moment before he finally regained clarity. He reached out and grasped my hand. 

“Are you feeling very unwell?” I asked worriedly. 

He didn’t speak, only shaking his head. 

Then, bracing himself on the armrest, he stood up, closed his eyes for a moment, and slowly made his way upstairs. 

“Jiazhuo,” I knocked and entered his room, asking softly: “Do you want something to eat? I can bring something up for you.” 

“No trouble. I can’t eat,” he replied faintly, forcing himself to sit up on the bed. Dizzy, he pressed his forehead and said weakly: “Yingying, help me pack some clothes. I’m going to Singapore tomorrow.” 

My heart ached: “Can’t you delay it by a day or two and recover a bit more?” 

“The eldest doesn’t know what he’s doing,” he gritted his teeth. “The committee has received countless complaints, and even the media has caught wind of it. Today’s closing stock price dropped by 0.61. Lao Tong is truly falling apart in his hands.” 

I tucked him in: “Don’t think about it for now. Get some rest.” 

I went into the adjacent walk-in closet to pack his clothes. When I returned, Jiazhuo had already fallen asleep. 

I quietly gazed at his peaceful yet pale sleeping face, my heart aching softly. In the end, I could only tiptoe out of the room.