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The last day of December.
On the eve of the New Year, Zhao Pingjin took her out for dinner.
When Xitang saw him again after two days, he looked much thinner, but his spirit seemed quite good. She sat in the passenger seat, glancing at him sideways. She noticed that he had gotten a new haircut. His temples and the back of his head were shaved clean, with his short hair close to the scalp, each strand of hair dark and sleek, which made his handsome, sharp features stand out even more. His naturally cold and decisive aura seemed to radiate from him.
The two of them had a pleasant meal together.
Xitang knew that the day before the holiday was for her, while New Year’s Day was for his family.
Halfway through dinner, Zhao Pingjin asked her, “If you want that role, you can fight for it.”
The company had recently been discussing her next project. The producer from the Sea Elephant team had contacted the company, and it was said that the company had signed a strict confidentiality agreement even for the few lines of dialogue in the script they had received. Xitang had been notified and was preparing to audition, but then there was no follow-up. Mu Haixiang’s previous film had won Qin Wuwu the Best Actor award at the Berlin Film Festival, but that had been four years ago. The script had been carefully honed over the years, and they were extremely cautious in choosing actors.
Xitang smiled and shook her head.
Zhao Pingjin treated her generously, and she had no doubt that if she continued to follow him, she could live the best life—luxurious, surrounded by resources, with most of her time spent as a powerful presence on set, and a small part of it waiting at his side, accompanying him in the darker, extravagant corners of the world until he grew tired of her.
That night, after dinner, Zhao Pingjin took her on a slow drive through Beijing. The city was alight with thousands of lamps for the New Year. The ancient city had begun its holiday illuminations, with the red palace walls stretching endlessly, and the orderly ancient architecture stood firm and square, bathed in brilliant light, elegant and grand.
They moved slowly through a city of gold.
Zhao Pingjin drove for over an hour, and by the time he dropped her off, the wind had grown stronger, dispersing the smog, and light sleet began to fall from the sky.
Xitang looked up and, through an intersection, saw the hotel in the distance at the end of the alley.
Suddenly, she pressed his hand. “Pull over,” she said.
Zhao Pingjin, not understanding, still obeyed, slowing down and stopping at the roadside.
Perhaps in that moment, he sensed something was wrong. Zhao Pingjin turned to look at her in confusion.
Xitang stared ahead and calmly said, “Zhao Pingjin, let’s say goodbye here.”
Zhao Pingjin was momentarily stunned.
Xitang reached into her bag and pulled out two packages. “I have a gift for Qingqing. Last time, when she was pregnant and treated us to a meal, I didn’t get a chance to prepare anything. I may never see her again, so please pass this to her for me.”
Zhao Pingjin reluctantly took the gift. He tried to speak, “You can’t give it yourself…”
But Xitang had already prepared everything and was determined not to give him time to adjust or speak. Her voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable persistence. “The other one is for you. I know you don’t lack anything, but because of you, I was able to act in such a good film, and I’m truly grateful for that.”
Zhao Pingjin glanced at the white box.
Xitang continued, “Karen went back to Hong Kong last week, and I asked her to bring it for me. I can’t give you anything too expensive. You can keep it for yourself or give it to someone else—it’s just a small token from me.”
She couldn’t give him anything too intimate—shirts, coats, ties, watches—those were things his wife should care about. She had understood this long ago; she didn’t have that luck. The gift was Karen’s suggestion, as it was practical, popular, but lacked warmth.
Xitang thought for a moment, and indeed, Zhao Pingjin often changed phones—partly because he liked tech products and partly because he didn’t take care of his things. His phones often got scratched or broke, sometimes even within a month of use. The last time, after he had dirtied hers when taking her to the hospital, he simply replaced it with a new one.
She was thoughtful, and it left him speechless.
Zhao Pingjin was completely unprepared for the sudden goodbye, caught off guard, unsure of what was happening.
He looked at her, his voice hoarse as he muttered, “Hey, Huang Xitang…”
Xitang immediately cut him off, “I’ve booked a flight back to Shanghai tomorrow.”
Zhao Pingjin gritted his teeth, his brows furrowed as he replied fiercely, “I don’t approve.”
Xitang lifted her head in displeasure but then met his gaze—she saw the pain in his eyes, and for a moment, she thought it was an illusion.
Zhao Pingjin’s voice tightened, “Xitang, can you stay for a few more days?”
Xitang smiled at him—barely managing a smile, “Didn’t you get married on January 8th? Are you asking me to stay in Beijing so you can invite me to your wedding?”
Zhao Pingjin’s face turned pale, his expression as though he had been stabbed in the chest.
Out of the corner of her eye, Xitang saw his hand, gripping the steering wheel, trembling slightly.
The two of them sat in the quiet car, neither willing to speak first, afraid that the next words would be the final goodbye.
After a long silence, Xitang softly asked, “Can I see your wallet?”
Zhao Pingjin obediently pulled it out.
Xitang took it, flipped it open, and inside were a few stacks of cash in different currencies and several platinum cards—nothing else.
Zhao Pingjin took her hand, and as she gently opened the deepest compartment, he turned it over and shook it. A small black-and-white photo of a baby fell out.
Xitang picked it up and immediately understood—it was her hundred-day photo. Her chubby arms and legs, her smiling eyes, her toothless mouth, and her round, chubby face.
This photo was the only one she had, and she thought she had lost it, but unexpectedly, he had taken it.
Xitang suddenly cried.
Tears fell, but she laughed.
Zhao Pingjin, with a hoarse voice, quietly asked, “How did you know?”
Xitang replied, “Zhenzhen told me.”
“Probably when she was drunk, she went through my coat.” Zhao Pingjin glanced at her. “She’s much smarter than you.”
Xitang glared at him. “It’s our last time meeting, can’t you say something nice?”
Zhao Pingjin suddenly fell silent, his lips pressed tightly together, his brows furrowed deeply, not uttering a word. It was the most extreme defensive posture after a heavy blow.
Xitang softened her voice and spoke gently, “You’re getting married. From now on, just live your life well.”
Zhao Pingjin initially refused to speak, and Xitang stubbornly waited. After a long time, she finally heard him agree with a quiet, “Okay.”
When she heard his voice, the tension in Xitang’s nerves should have loosened, but her heart tightened uncontrollably.
Zhao Pingjin took a deep breath and finally began to speak, “From now on, quit smoking. It’s bad for your health.”
“Mm.”
“If your hand still hurts, you should go for regular check-ups.”
“Mm.”
“Don’t stay up too late while filming. Karen will set your working hours for you.”
“Mm.”
“If something is handled poorly, have Karen contact Shen Min.”
“Okay.”
Zhao Pingjin raised his hand and gently stroked her hair. “When you start dating again, find someone better.”
Xitang forced a light laugh. “What’s considered better?”
Zhao Pingjin thought seriously for a moment, his brow furrowing as if a stone was grinding in his mind, causing a faint, sharp pain. “The person must be good, with some financial stability, respect your work, and treat you and your family well.”
Xitang’s nose filled with a sharp pang.
Zhao Pingjin’s voice trembled slightly. “Don’t find someone like me again.”
Tears fell again from Xitang’s eyes, but she looked up at him and smiled. “I won’t.”
She wiped away her tears and smiled at Zhao Pingjin. “I’m quite content. When we separated before, things were so ugly. At least this time, we’re both okay.”
Zhao Pingjin gritted his teeth, turning his face away to hold back the intense pain in his throat.
Xitang finally said, “I’m leaving.”
She reached for her seatbelt.
Zhao Pingjin lowered his head, took her hand, and gently pressed it. With a soft click, the seatbelt was undone, almost like the sound of a heart breaking.
Xitang grabbed her bag, turned, and opened the car door.
Zhao Pingjin placed his hand on her shoulder, his voice thick with emotion. “Go.”
Xitang wanted to look back at him one last time.
Zhao Pingjin wouldn’t let her.
His strong hand gripped her arm, pressing firmly on her shoulder, refusing to let her turn around.
Zhao Pingjin leaned slightly over her back and opened the car door for her.
Xitang inhaled the cold night air. It was the last night of December—dark, chilly, somber, and free.
Zhao Pingjin’s palm rested on her cheek, the other hand on her back, as he carefully helped her out of the car. He would not let her turn back.
Xitang stepped into the snow and stood tall, facing forward.
The car door closed silently behind her.
Xitang felt a tightness in her throat, her tears flowing steadily. She stood beside the car, sobbing softly, then began to run down the road.
Zhao Pingjin’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, the veins on his hands showing in a dark blue line, his whole arm trembling, his chest shaking in sync.
The bright car lights illuminated the road, and on the sidewalk, a small, slender girl ran crazily through the thick snow.
She was the girl he had loved most in his life.
And she was leaving him.
Suddenly, he remembered many years ago.
After work one night, he went to pick her up from school. She had been exhausted from rehearsals and fell asleep in the backseat. He drove very carefully, from Haidian District all the way to the Central Business District. The tall buildings of Jinbao Street reflected the neon lights, and when he turned to glance at her, Xitang was awake, writing on the car window with a lipstick.
When they reached home, he carried her out of the car and turned to look at the window. There, she had written a line of poetry: “Beijing, let me toast to all your lights.”
That was the Beijing they had once loved.
Years later, he would understand that the days he had desperately tried to forget were, in fact, the happiest moments of his life.
But there was never a chance to relive them again.
Zhao Pingjin stared ahead, but her figure had already disappeared down the road.
His heart seemed to stop.
With a slight motion, he pressed a button to turn off the headlights.
The road ahead plunged into darkness.
The whole world became a void of black.
In the darkness, he raised his hand and covered his face.
(End of Book 1)
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