NMBJ2 - 42

After resting in Shanghai for two days, Zhao Pingjin instructed the housekeeper at noon on the second day: “I’m going to rest for a while. If Langmei comes over later, connect his call to me. Block everyone else.”

Fang Langmei happened to be in Shanghai on a business trip at the time. His company was hosting a photography exhibition at the Shanghai Center of Photography, and he was the curator. After finishing work that day, he had lunch with several gallery owners. By three in the afternoon, his driver dropped him off in Pudong.

A couple of days earlier, when Fang Langmei had first arrived in Shanghai, he contacted Zhao Pingjin, who was staying at the Zhou family’s residence in Shanghai. Since Fang Langmei was in town, he decided to visit. When he arrived, he found Zhao Pingjin arguing with Teacher Zhou in the living room.

Fang Langmei wasn’t an outsider. After listening for a moment, he understood the situation: Zhao Pingjin wanted to drive himself out, but Teacher Zhou insisted he take a driver. The mother and son were at an impasse.

Fang Langmei understood Teacher Zhou’s concerns. The political climate in Beijing was tense, and some of the Zhou family’s overseas relatives were eager to transfer their assets abroad. Zhao Pingjin had been shuttling between Beijing and Shanghai, sometimes sleeping only two or three hours a day. His ulcer had flared up severely, and the biopsy results weren’t good. He had been injured recently, but they hadn’t dared to publicize it. What’s more, his health condition had been kept hidden from the family until the attending physician discovered something amiss and reported it to Teacher Zhou. It was said that Xiaomin had suffered greatly because of this. Otherwise, Zhao Pingjin wouldn’t have considered seeking treatment abroad.

Fang Langmei quickly suggested, “Let me drive Chairman Zhou out.”

Teacher Zhou reluctantly agreed.

The housekeeper brought the car around. Fang Langmei got into the driver’s seat, and Zhao Pingjin moved to sit in the passenger seat. Fang Langmei said, “Come on, sit in the back and rest. Let me be your chauffeur for once.”

Zhao Pingjin smiled faintly and actually sat in the backseat.

As Fang Langmei turned the steering wheel, he asked, “Where to?”

Zhao Pingjin’s voice was flat: “I’m meeting Huang Xitang.”

Fang Langmei checked the navigation system in his car, which indeed had Xitang’s address saved.

“Are your flight tickets ready?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve left Xiaomin in Beijing. You can’t be without someone by your side. Transfer Gong Qi over.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be leaving in a couple of days.”

The car crossed the overpass and drove onto Pudong Avenue. After passing the Yangpu Bridge, Zhao Pingjin gradually fell silent. Fang Langmei didn’t speak either. The Mercedes-Benz used by the Zhou family in Shanghai had a spacious and quiet interior. The car glided silently through the inner ring road of Yangpu District. Fang Langmei parked at the entrance of the residential complex where Huang Xitang lived. The security guard processed the visitor registration, and both men patiently waited in the car. They quietly sat there as the guard called the property management office using the intercom. The owner’s phone was answered by Xitang herself, and after a brief conversation, the guard allowed them entry. Fang Langmei drove the car into a temporary parking spot in the garage.

Fang Langmei pulled the handbrake and turned off the engine. “Is this it?”

Zhao Pingjin remained silent.

Fang Langmei sensed something was wrong. Glancing at the rearview mirror, he saw that Zhao Pingjin’s face was hidden in the darkness since the car’s interior lights were off, making his expression unreadable.

Fang Langmei unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned forward, and turned his head. “Zhouzi?”

When he turned, he saw Zhao Pingjin’s reddened eyes.

Fang Langmei froze for a moment, then turned back to face forward, sitting silently in the driver’s seat. In his view, Zhao Pingjin should have collapsed long ago. Fang Langmei never expected him to hold on until this moment—until his final meeting with Huang Xitang. Not to mention the emotional blow of losing his grandfather, children of their generation grew up close to their grandparents due to their parents’ busy work schedules. And in families like theirs, emotions had to be suppressed. Other families might share the burden among a few people, but Shen Min, despite being a capable aide, was still separated by blood ties when it came to handling major matters like funerals. Zhao Pindong had been absent from the country for years, and many things in Beijing were unclear. Zhao Pingjin’s father couldn’t leave his post for too long, so Zhao Pingjin alone bore the brunt of everything, likely not even having the chance to cry properly. Fang Langmei remembered when his own grandfather passed away; his brother had remained stoic throughout, but over a month later, his older brother, a forty-year-old man, cried like a child on the phone from Shenyang. Looking at Zhao Pingjin now, Fang Langmei knew that both his body and spirit had reached their limits. Recently, Huang Xitang, Li Shu’an, and their little girl had been seen frequently in Guosheng Hutong, appearing as intimate as a family of three. Despite Zhao Pingjin’s prideful nature, which couldn’t tolerate even a grain of sand, he hadn’t caused any trouble for Huang Xitang. Fang Langmei had been secretly worried that prolonged emotional suppression was doing no favors to his health.

Sitting in the front seat, Fang Langmei didn’t turn to look at him but spoke instead: “You’ve always been so good at enduring. Why break down now?”

Zhao Pingjin tilted his head back, his throat full of bitterness. His Adam’s apple and shoulders trembled continuously. He had tried to suppress his emotions along the way but found he couldn’t control them. From the moment he heard her voice on the intercom at the gate, he couldn’t bear it. His voice cracked with emotion, and after a while, Fang Langmei finally heard him say, “Do you know why I didn’t let the driver take me? I knew I couldn’t handle it.”

Fang Langmei got out of the car, opened the rear door, and sat beside him. “What’s with this dramatic farewell?”

Zhao Pingjin turned his face slightly, tears streaming down.

Fang Langmei felt a pang of sorrow and placed his hand firmly on Zhao Pingjin’s shoulder. “Pull yourself together.”

Zhao Pingjin’s voice was low and cold, tinged with a sob: “Langmei, I truly love her.”

Fang Langmei pressed harder on his shoulder, trying to give him strength. “Hold on a little longer. Xitang loves you so much.”

Zhao Pingjin shook his head. If it had been earlier, he might have known she loved him, but now, he wasn’t sure anymore.

Fang Langmei understood. With Zhao Pingjin leaving, the domestic situation uncertain, his return date unknown, and his health deteriorating, he couldn’t ask her to wait, nor could he take her with him.

Once he left, nothing would be within his control.

Fang Langmei said, “She’s waiting for you upstairs. Get a grip.”

Huang Xitang stood in the living room, waiting for a while before the doorbell rang.

She opened the door and saw Zhao Pingjin standing there, wearing a white round-neck shirt and navy-blue cashmere sweater. His eyes were red from exhaustion, and dark circles under his eyes were prominent against his pale skin. He looked strikingly gaunt and worn, having endured too much turmoil recently.

Zhao Pingjin sat down on the sofa and said to her, “I’m flying out tomorrow evening. I’ll go to Los Angeles first. I might not be back for a while.”

Xitang poured him tea—warm black tea with milk. Zhao Pingjin glanced around her home. One wall was painted light gray, with beige sofas paired with wooden furniture. A stack of scripts and papers lay on the coffee table, and her outerwear and hats were piled on a dark pink armchair. The dishes and floors were spotless, with just the right amount of controlled clutter. No matter how big or small the house was, luxurious or humble, her decorating style remained familiar. This apartment had been purchased by him, yet he had never once visited.

They sat quietly in the living room for a while—a rare moment of stillness.

Summoning all her courage, Xitang asked, “Can I come see you in the U.S.?”

She waited for what felt like an eternity, but Zhao Pingjin didn’t respond.

Xitang smiled, tears welling up in her eyes, but she quickly suppressed them. She wasn’t overly disappointed—he was who he was, and she knew him better than he knew himself.

Zhao Pingjin stared at her unblinkingly, trying to memorize her features. But his vision began to blur as he thought about what the doctor had told him regarding survival rates. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm: “I can’t hold you back.”

Xitang smiled faintly. “I understand. You’re still hung up on that incident.”

Zhao Pingjin set down his teacup and stood up. “I’m leaving.”

Xitang said, “Let me see you off.”

She pressed the elevator button for him. They stood in the stairwell, watching the red numbers count upward, like the countdown to the end of an era. Suddenly, Zhao Pingjin said, “Xitang, can I hug you?”

Before she could fully process his words, Zhao Pingjin abruptly extended his arms, pulling her close and tightly embracing her.

The elevator doors opened beside them, then closed again.

Xitang’s face rested against his chest, breathing in his scent—calm, cool, and woody. His heartbeat was pounding fiercely.

Her last memory was of the elevator doors closing. Zhao Pingjin stood tall inside the cabin, his expression stern, gazing at her with an unfathomable depth. In the final moment before the doors shut, his gaze dropped slightly, his eyelashes casting shadows that concealed his eyes—eyes filled with emotions she couldn’t decipher.

His handsome face flashed briefly under the elevator lights, then disappeared.

Fang Langmei didn’t wait long downstairs. Half an hour later, Zhao Pingjin emerged, his composure restored. He got into the car and said, “Let’s go.”

Fang Langmei started the car and drove out of the residential complex. Zhao Pingjin leaned his head against the window frame, his brows slightly furrowed, silent.

Fang Langmei kept his eyes on the road but called out worriedly, “Zhouzi?”

Zhao Pingjin replied softly, “I’m fine.”

“She’s in a safe position now. Don’t worry too much.”

“If anything happens to her, Xiaomin will step in.”

“Don’t leave her behind. I’ll keep an eye on her. Rest well and come back soon.”

Zhao Pingjin gave a silent smile.

He didn’t speak again.

Fang Langmei drove the car into the courtyard of the villa.

A sharp knife seemed to twist slowly inside his stomach. Zhao Pingjin stepped out of the car with difficulty, barely managing to stand upright. Then he coughed lightly, tasting blood rising in his throat. Knowing he was in bad shape, he pulled out a handkerchief to cover his lips. His vision blurred, and he swayed, reaching out to steady himself against the car door—but missed. He fell backward.

From the other side, Fang Langmei shouted, “Zhouzhou!”

Hearing the commotion, people rushed out from the living room. The driver caught him as he collapsed unconscious.