Chapter 47

On the way home, Zhao Pingjin cast a sidelong glance at the person beside him. “Can you stop causing me trouble?”

The wild energy Huang Xitang had displayed earlier was now completely gone.

She leaned back against the seat, her makeup smudged, making her look like a fragile paper doll.  

When they got home, Xitang hugged a pillow and her teddy bear and went to another room to sleep.

Standing at the bedroom door, Zhao Pingjin gave her a faint glance, his lips curving downward. “What, am I your class enemy again?”  

Xitang stayed silent.

Zhao Pingjin turned around, his tone cold. “Come back to the bedroom and sleep.”  

Xitang followed him back, lying on her side at the edge of the bed with her back to him.  

Zhao Pingjin leaned against the headboard, looking at the small figure curled under the blanket. Softening his voice, he asked, “Still upset?”

Xitang remained motionless.  

Zhao Pingjin reached out to touch her hair. “Let me explain, but first, promise you won’t throw a tantrum at me. You’ve been wandering the world for so many years—you should understand certain things by now. In this Beijing city, you can do many things, but you can’t ruin someone’s future. For people like us, reputation is everything, and one’s career is the ultimate face. What Zhong Qiao did was crossing a big line.”  

He gently stroked her ear. “She’s gone now; there’s nothing you can do. Try to let it go.”  

The person under the blanket began to tremble. She was crying, silently, without a sound. Zhao Pingjin’s hand brushed against her cheek, coming away wet with tears.  

His heart tightened. He pulled her into his arms and reached for tissues to wipe her face. Huang Xitang choked with sobs, her tears falling endlessly, warm and steady, like one wound after another pouring out into his palm.  

Her crying turned into gasps, as though something was stuck in her throat, leaving her struggling for air. Her face turned pale and slightly blue.

Zhao Pingjin’s heart ached. He quickly sat up, letting her go as he patted her back to help her breathe. Anxiously, he said, “Breathe in, breathe in—don’t cry anymore.”  

Leaning against his chest, Huang Xitang hiccupped a few times, exhaled twice, and slowly stopped crying. She sat still, her lashes damp with tears.

Zhao Pingjin pulled her back into his embrace.  

When she finally calmed down and lay quietly in his arms, Zhao Pingjin gently coaxed, “You’ve vented enough anger for today. Gao’s face was pretty much dragged through the mud tonight. Don’t bring this up again in the future. Don’t make an enemy of Gao Jiyi. All the dramas you’ve worked on are in his hands—you understand, right?”  

Xitang thought for a long time before softly replying, “I understand.”  

She didn’t say another word that night.  

Zhao Pingjin knew that Xitang saw it all clearly. Zhong Qiao was her, and she was Zhong Qiao. Their fates were one and the same. She was mourning her own life, and he had no way to offer any comfort.  

That night, the two made love in the darkness.  

It was intense and silent. The words they couldn’t say, the words that could no longer be said, were affirmed deeply through the entanglement of their bodies.  

At the moment Zhao Pingjin released himself inside her, tears streamed from the corners of Xitang’s eyes. Her whole body trembled, her teeth clenched, and she couldn’t control herself. With the last bit of her courage, she asked, “Zhao Pingjin, have you forgiven me?”

Zhao Pingjin didn’t answer.  

She waited for a long, long time, only to hear his muffled response: “Go to sleep.”  

Xitang felt the warmth in her body slowly seep away, leaving only coldness.

The windowsill was piled with snow. It had snowed all night.

A little over a week before Christmas, Fang Langming hosted a dinner. Qingqing was pregnant, and he was overjoyed, sharing the news with everyone he met. He radiated happiness. Xitang initially didn’t want to go and had already told Zhao Pingjin, but Qingqing specifically called her to invite her again.

She thought about it and decided to go. Maybe this would be the last time she’d see her.

In the hotel hallway, she ran into Gao Jiyi again. He had Jiang Songxue with him—it seemed the two of them were still in the heat of their relationship.

Having crossed paths with Gao Jiyi so many times in Beijing, Xitang and he typically wouldn’t exchange words. At most, if they met head-on, they’d give each other a nod, expressionless. This time, Gao Jiyi saw her and smirked without warmth. “Oh, the great detective is here too, huh?”

Xitang was thoroughly impressed by how shameless these people could be. She could only twitch the corners of her mouth and force a fake smile.

At the dinner table, everyone began by warmly congratulating Fang Langming and his wife.

Qingqing wore a red dress, looking radiant. “Nobody’s allowed to leave early tonight—let’s agree on that. We drink until we drop, okay?”

Zhao Pingjin curled his lips. “Well said. Among all of us, it’s rare to have a child born of true love. We should drink to that.”

Fang Langming burst into laughter.

Among this group, besides Gao Jiyi’s family, they were the second to be expecting a child. Feeling a bit frustrated, Gao Jiyi muttered, “Hey, who are you insulting here?”

It was a joyous occasion, and given Fang Langming’s presence, even Zhao Pingjin had to play along. Gao Jiyi and Lu Xiaojiang were no different, and so everyone drank slowly, chatted with enthusiasm, and the atmosphere around the table grew warm and harmonious—a scene of pure happiness and cheer.

Halfway through the meal, Gao Jiyi suddenly remembered something and said, “Zhouzi, what about that package I asked you to bring back from Italy? My wife’s about to kill me over it.”

Zhao Pingjin had completely forgotten about it. Only when Gao Jiyi mentioned it did he remember. “I forgot. Call my secretary later to pick it up.”

Gao Jiyi glanced at Huang Xitang but kept smiling as he said to Zhao Pingjin, “So, how was it? Trying on dresses with a woman—isn’t that enough to drive you crazy?”

Xitang wasn’t paying much attention to the conversation. It took her a while to realize what he was talking about: Zhao Pingjin’s last trip to Europe wasn’t for business but to accompany his fiancée to shop for her wedding gown.

Zhao Pingjin clearly didn’t want to continue the topic. He responded curtly, “Mm.”

He turned his head to glance at Huang Xitang, who seemed as though she hadn’t heard anything, quietly eating her meal as if nothing had happened.

A while later, Gao Jiyi raised his glass to toast Zhao Pingjin again. Whether it was the alcohol talking or something else, his voice was unusually loud. “Bro, that thing I asked for—don’t forget about it. When you get married, I guarantee my wedding gift will be the biggest.”

Zhao Pingjin didn’t respond, clinking glasses with him and drinking half a glass of wine.

Sensing that the atmosphere at the table was just right, Fang Langming nudged Lu Xiaojiang. “Xiaojiang, that thing you mentioned last time—why not ask Zhouzi about it now?”

Zhao Pingjin heard the comment, raised his head, and cast a sidelong glance at Lu Xiaojiang. In a neutral tone, he asked, “What is it?”

Lu Xiaojiang hesitated for a moment before honestly explaining, “Oh, I’m helping my dad apply for immigration. There’s been some trouble with document verification at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”

In recent years, Lu Xiaojiang hadn’t had much personal interaction with Zhao Pingjin, so the latter was momentarily surprised to find that his plans had advanced this far. Zhao Pingjin set down his chopsticks, a faint, mocking smile appearing on his lips. “Back when my brother Zhao Pindong refused to return, your dad spoke so decisively about staying in Beijing after retirement. Said there was no place better. He’d rather queue up early in the morning for tripe. What happened? Does he not love tripe anymore?”

Lu Xiaojiang didn’t dare respond to the sarcasm, simply answering truthfully, “My wife and I plan to live abroad long-term. My mom persuaded him, and we figured having a secure visa would be a good idea.”

Zhao Pingjin thought for a moment and asked, “How many classified documents has your dad handled?”

Lu Xiaojiang replied, “He was transferred to Hebei five or six years ago. Most of the files he handled are long past their confidentiality period.”

Relaxing back into his chair, Zhao Pingjin leaned against the backrest, propping his arm on it casually. He asked, “I had dinner with your bank’s leadership yesterday. Heard you’re up for a promotion. You’re not planning to resign anytime soon, are you?”

Lu Xiaojiang shook his head. “Not yet.”

Zhao Pingjin nodded. “Alright, then. Seems like the immigration thing isn’t urgent. Take your time with it.”

Lu Xiaojiang, visibly disheartened, lowered his head and said no more.

Fang Langming grew anxious. “Hey, Zhouzi, are you helping or not? Give us a clear answer!”

Zhao Pingjin replied breezily, “Xiaojiang’s plenty capable. Why would he need me to step in?”

Fang Langming, seeing he wouldn’t budge, awkwardly turned his attention elsewhere.

Zhao Pingjin, feeling displeased, glanced at Huang Xitang out of the corner of his eye.

Sitting beside him, she was unusually well-behaved tonight. Earlier, Jiang Songxue had tried to chat with her, asking about behind-the-scenes gossip from their production crew. Her questions were thinly veiled traps, hoping to extract something damaging from Xitang. But Xitang didn’t fall for it. Smiling shyly, she only responded with vague or meaningless statements, saying she wasn’t familiar with the people in question or that they seemed friendly. After a few attempts, Jiang Songxue lost interest and turned to chat with Qingqing about parenting.

Xitang resumed her quiet demeanor, her phone resting by her hand. From time to time, she would discreetly unlock it and glance at the screen.

Zhao Pingjin noticed that she had checked her phone several times. Normally, Xitang wasn’t someone who spent much time on her phone, especially when out with him. Her manners were always impeccable. Tonight, though, something seemed different.

Looking around the table, Zhao Pingjin understood. The people here were celebrating, laughing—but none of it had anything to do with her. Surrounded by wolves and tigers, it was no wonder she seemed distracted.

While Zhao Pingjin was engaged in conversation, Xitang lowered her head to glance at her phone again. The screen remained silent.

Her fingers swiped across the screen, pulling up a message from the night before. She quickly read it again.

The mysterious text still lingered on the screen.

It was from an unknown number, containing just one line: “Stop investigating Zhong Qiao’s case.”

The message had been sent just past midnight.

At the time, she had been filming a night scene. When she returned to the hotel after 1 a.m., she saw the message and immediately replied: “Who are you?”

The person, evidently still awake, responded a minute later: “I’m an old friend of Zhong Qiao’s. I don’t want you to be in danger.”

Xitang’s eyes widened as she stared intently at her phone. The longer she stared, the more a chill ran down her spine. She hadn’t expected that after all these years, with Zhong Qiao gone and her traces in the world seemingly erased, someone still remembered her.

Gripping the phone tightly, her arm began to tremble. With shaking fingers, she typed: “Thank you for remembering her.”

The person replied: “You were her best friend. She will find peace knowing that.”

Though the messages were brief and the sender seemed cautious, it was as if the longing for Zhong Qiao had become overwhelming. For a moment, Xitang even wondered if she was hallucinating. Even if the message had been sent by Zhong Qiao from another world, she wouldn’t have been afraid. She preferred to believe it was from a distant but familiar friend.

Overwhelmed by the swirling emotions inside her, Xitang’s fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed a response. Then, she abruptly stopped, realizing she needed to calm herself. She reached out and slapped her thigh hard, forcing herself to regain composure.

She deleted all the words she had typed.

Taking a deep breath, she thought carefully and then typed a new reply, deliberately and cautiously: “I wasn’t there when she passed. I feel ashamed as her friend—I didn’t do anything for her.”

The response came swiftly: “Don’t do anything. Wait for my message.”

She hesitated, then asked: “How can I trust you?”

The reply was immediate: “The letter she left you was written in blue ink, inside a white envelope, with a silver ring enclosed.”

Tears began to stream down Xitang’s face.