Chapter 27

Zhao Pingjin returned home from work.

The lights in the house were on, the living room had been tidied up, and the floor was clean and gleaming. The faint aroma of porridge wafted from the kitchen, but there was no one in sight. Zhao Pingjin glanced around, only to see a small figure sleeping on the beige sofa.

In that moment, his heart felt inexplicably at peace.

Even the dull headache that accompanied him home from work every day seemed to lighten significantly.

He took a few steps forward and finally saw Huang Xitang sleeping on the sofa, facing inward, motionless as she lay slumped over a pillow. Her back rose and fell softly with her breathing, like a small, primitive creature.

Her hair had grown long again, now silky and smooth as it spilled over the pillow. It seemed as if the last time he’d seen her, she had still been a pitiful little bald head. Between them, time seemed to have slipped away particularly quickly. Just like that, she had left him, and somehow, in the blink of an eye, five years had already passed.

Zhao Pingjin gently set down his car keys. It was only a faint, almost imperceptible sound, yet it instantly woke her up.

“You’re back?” Xitang sat up from the sofa, rubbed her eyes, then raised a hand to tuck her loose hair behind her ear, revealing the delicate contours of her beautiful face.

Zhao Pingjin froze, momentarily forgetting to respond. It had been so long since he’d seen her—how could it be that, in that instant, she looked so stunningly beautiful?

Xitang remained completely unaware. She sniffed the air, quickly stood up, and said, “The porridge is about to burn.”

The two of them had dinner in the dining room.

Xitang usually stayed at hotels arranged by the film crew, while Zhao Pingjin’s work kept him busy. He generally wouldn’t trouble her too much, allowing her to come over here only occasionally when she had time to rest. This apartment was purchased after his company relocated to the central business district, for the sake of convenience. The two homes they had once shared—one was sold by Zhao Pingjin, and the other was sold by Huang Xitang. Both of them had acted so decisively, wiping away every trace with such ease.

As if nothing had ever happened.

After dinner, Fang Langning called: “Why aren’t you answering your phone? I called your office, and Xiaomin said you had already left for the day.”

Zhao Pingjin, sitting on the sofa with one leg crossed, glanced at Huang Xitang slicing fruit at the coffee table. He got up with the phone and walked a few steps away. “I was driving earlier, didn’t notice.”

Fang Langning knew him well and asked with concern, “Leaving work so early—are you feeling unwell?”

Zhao Pingjin smiled faintly. “You just can’t wait for me to have a little trouble, can you?”

Fang Langning immediately picked up on his tone and, knowing everything was fine, said, “Then come out for a drink?”

Zhao Pingjin hesitated for a second.

Fang Langning continued on the other end, “Bring some girls if you want—Qingqing and the others are here too. We’re going dancing later.”

Zhao Pingjin hung up the phone and turned to ask Huang Xitang, “Do you want to go out, with Lao Er and the others?”

Xitang, crouching beside the coffee table, paused for a moment. She raised her face and hesitated before answering, “Can I not go?”

Hearing her words, Zhao Pingjin’s face remained calm, his emotions unreadable. “Then I’ll go out for a bit. You stay at home.”

He drove to the entertainment club on Chang’an Street. The golden revolving doors and shimmering red walls led into a place filled with smoke, indulgence, and pleasure. As soon as he entered the lobby, the throbbing music waves hit him, and dazzling lights flickered around. On the descending stage, a seductive snake-like dancer performed. The manager had already been waiting at the door and respectfully bowed to him. “Good evening, Mr. Zhao.”

Zhao Pingjin nodded with a reserved expression. The manager, still bowing, led the way. When Zhao Pingjin stepped inside, he could see Gao Jiyi waving at him from the VIP booth at the front.

This was the nightlife he was familiar with—bright as day, brilliant with lights. When he was young, he loved this lifestyle. Back then, Huang Xitang was still just a little girl. Young people seemed to have endless energy; he worked during the day and spent most of his nights fooling around with this group of childhood friends. Xitang was his girlfriend, a little shadow that followed him everywhere. She got along well with all his friends. Lu Xiaojiang had always praised her as a good person. At the time, they were inseparable, deeply in love. Huang Xitang devoted herself to him, full of tenderness and care, cooking and tending to his needs. They had a joyful time together. It was only later that he realized the nights of revelry were nothing more than fleeting illusions.

When they finally tore each other apart, it was in a similar place of drunken decadence—his long-term private room at the Chang’an Club. That night, he had been drinking and wasn’t feeling great, but he kept winning at the card table. The more he won, the worse his mood became, his face darkening steadily. Gao Jiyi was sitting across from him that night and must have noticed something. Zhao Pingjin won the final round with a big hand, and Gao Jiyi, frustrated, slammed his tiles down, saying he’d had enough. Everyone echoed the sentiment in a chorus of noisy chatter—and at that moment, Huang Xitang burst in.

Everyone who was supposed to be there was there. She humiliated him in front of everyone, grinding his pride into the dirt. Zhao Pingjin was so enraged he nearly went mad. He pulled out a gun—he truly had the intent to kill her. Whether his sanity returned at the last moment or he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it, the shot missed. Fang Langning held a handkerchief over her bleeding wound, and everyone scrambled to carry her out. That night, Zhao Pingjin immediately left the country, spending a few months clearing his mind in America. When he returned, everything had settled. Lu Xiaojiang disappeared from his sight for more than a year, and from then on, no one ever mentioned the name Huang Xitang in front of him again.

Years had passed, yet when he saw her again, he lost his mind all over again, and they became entangled once more.

If he took Huang Xitang out again, he feared he would become the laughingstock of everyone.

Zhao Pingjin sat down. Fang Langning patted his shoulder. Lu Xiaojiang was there too, sitting across from a couple of familiar faces—people they had fought with as kids in those old courtyards, who had now become prominent figures in Beijing. Zhao Pingjin exchanged greetings with them. As the drinks went around and the upbeat music played, the atmosphere gradually loosened, smiles widened, and everyone relaxed. Gao Jiyi had his arm around a young model, her giggles ringing through the air. Qingqing leaned against Fang Langning’s chest, sipping her drink, while Lu Xiaojiang also had a heavily made-up long-haired girl sitting beside him.

Zhao Pingjin found it all dull.

Gao Jiyi gave a subtle glance, and a girl sitting in the sofa moved closer to Zhao Pingjin. “Brother, can I drink with you?”

The perfume on her unfamiliar body made him feel nauseous. Before she could get close, his cold, sharp gaze swept across her, chilling and menacing. The girl froze in fear and stopped immediately.

After a few more drinks, Zhao Pingjin decided to leave.

Gao Jiyi was surprised. “So soon? What’s the deal?”

Zhao Pingjin picked up his bag.

Gao Jiyi followed behind him, yelling, “Hey, Zhouzi, there’s no wife waiting at home. Why are you heading back?”

Zhao Pingjin waved him off, not losing his temper, and left without a word.

Gao Jiyi took a sip of his drink and, perplexed, asked Fang Langning, “Look at him—like there’s an egg at home waiting for him to hatch it. Lao Er, he’s been in a pretty good mood lately. What’s going on?”