Chapter 8

“Let Me Treat You to a Meal Sometime”

The speaker’s sincerity only made the listener feel all the more uncomfortable.

While Ha Yue was contemplating her response, Xue Jing had already come up with a dozen relatively decent explanations for her.

Saying she came to the countryside to experience rural life was a plausible excuse. Perhaps her father’s business failed, and he ended up leasing a farm here—it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

But when she actually admitted that she wasn’t doing well, Xue Jing didn’t feel relief. Instead, an even stronger sense of irritation arose within him.

Suddenly, he thought, given Ha Yue’s capabilities, maybe she wasn’t doing well because she had married the wrong person. The absence of a wedding ring could mean she was already divorced.

Her remark about “not expecting too much at this stage” might hold another implication—had she already set her sights on another wealthy prospect and was about to remarry?

As for the pig snorting along with the jolts of the vehicle, Xue Jing’s lips twitched. Could her new partner be the owner of a pig farm?

Authors—especially those who write novels—are naturally imaginative creatures. At the thought of the word “owner,” Xue Jing’s mind immediately conjured up the stereotypical image of a greasy, pot-bellied man. Yes, such men are often portrayed in popular literature as abandoning their first wives and remarrying younger, beautiful mistresses.

Ha Yue’s self-curated persona had never been that of a low-level mistress. But the issue was, she wasn’t exactly old yet, which still fit the “young” in that relative term.

If their lives were also a melodramatic novel, then what role would Xue Jing assign himself in this story? Naturally, the underdog—a character that resonates deeply with many straight men.

For Xue Jing, who had now achieved a certain level of social status, being dumped by his ex-girlfriend during his lowest point had already been a landmark humiliation. But now, the same ex-girlfriend, who once strived to climb higher, might actually end up as the wife of a “boss”?

He hadn’t considered this possibility. The contrast was even harder to stomach than imagining Ha Yue marrying someone far above her station.

Wasn’t her dream to become a trophy wife displayed on a man’s metaphorical mantle?

He couldn’t imagine a small-time pig farm owner having the kind of collector’s mindset required to treat his wife as a trophy.

The throbbing in his temples began again, and the cold air he had endured during the bumpy ride seemed to rise unpleasantly from his stomach. Xue Jing raised a hand to cover his mouth and turned his head to the side, coughing twice.

His voice, roughened as if polished by fine sandpaper, carried a tone of genuine disdain. “There’s nothing wrong with pig farming. Take Qin Yinglin, the founder of Muyuan Foods—he started with just 22 pigs and now has assets worth over 200 billion yuan.”

At that moment, a gust of wind swept away the clouds that had been veiling the moon.

Pale moonlight poured generously over the deserted countryside road, highlighting Xue Jing’s pallid complexion even more starkly.

As he turned his head and coughed into his sleeve, the movement caused his coat’s sleeve to slide up two inches, exposing a pale, scarred wrist beneath.

Ha Yue glanced back. Her lips curled into a sarcastic smirk. Initially, she wanted to mock Xue Jing, asking if he had misunderstood the scale of her livestock operation. But in that brief moment, her gaze fell upon the uneven scars on his wrist beneath his watch.

Her heart clenched suddenly, as if gripped tightly. The sarcastic remark she had prepared was swallowed back down. She turned her head forward abruptly and cranked the speed of the electric tricycle to its maximum.

Ha Yue steered the vehicle, racing toward the city lights in the distance. The wind was strong tonight, stinging her eyes slightly. She suddenly recalled that when she returned from Jìchéng to Suíchéng all those years ago, it had been an autumn much like this one. Suíchéng’s weather was notoriously harsh; before winter even set in, the cold winds had given her a severe flu that left her bedridden for half a month.

She had grown up here and still found it hard to adjust. Xue Jing, who had lived in comfort his whole life and always feared the cold, would probably struggle even more with the climate.

Lost in thought, Ha Yue muttered to herself, somewhat guiltily, “The people from the Cultural Bureau said you’re here for work this time, right? Which hotel are you staying at? I’ll drop you off at the entrance. It’s windy today, and you might have to wait a long time for a ride. Your bronchial tubes aren’t great either, so you’d better not talk too much. Just sit quietly.”

Xue Jing lowered the hand covering his mouth, and a moment later, a thick layer of warmth was added to his lap.

It was the wind-blocking contraption that had been draped over Ha Yue’s legs earlier.  

The not-so-clean nylon fabric left a smudge of dust on Xue Jing’s coat. He lowered his head to look at the small blanket now covering his knees. His expression softened slightly, and about thirty seconds later, he said in a low voice, “At the intersection of Xing’an Street and Mulan Street.”  

In less than half an hour, Ha Yue stopped in front of the only chain hotel in Suíchéng.  

As soon as the tricycle came to a halt, she jumped off the driver’s seat and reached out to grab Xue Jing’s luggage.  

Standing amidst the multicolored neon lights, Xue Jing instinctively reached out to stop her. “It’s too heavy; you can’t lift it…”  

The nearby makeshift milk tea shop was blasting a cheesy love song from its speakers, drowning out his words. Before he could finish speaking, Ha Yue had already effortlessly lifted his large suitcase from the back of the electric tricycle and placed it steadily by his side. She tilted her head up apologetically and shouted over the music, “Sorry for driving too fast earlier. I think the pig got carsick and threw up on your suitcase. Let me wipe it off for you.”  

She turned and opened the seat compartment, rummaging for a cloth to clean with, but only managed to find a pack of dried-out, off-brand wet wipes.  

“No need to trouble yourself. I’ll clean it up myself upstairs,” Xue Jing said, reaching out to stop her as she bent over. Their arms brushed lightly through the fabric, only to quickly pull apart like magnets with the same polarity.  

“Goodbye,” Xue Jing said, gripping the handle of his suitcase. He smiled and nodded at her, looking like he intended to watch her leave.  

Ha Yue hadn’t expected that, after all these years, Xue Jing would still be such a gentleman, maintaining a basic level of respect toward women—even if it was just for show.  

Xue Jing was someone you couldn’t easily fault. Most importantly, Ha Yue knew he was fundamentally a good person.  

There are people in the world who resent the rich, despise evil, or have varied opinions about others. But no one truly hates kind-hearted people.  

Kindness represents pure altruism. Being close to a kind person means liking oneself. And given the choice, who would want to dislike themselves?  

Ha Yue gave Xue Jing an awkward smile and a wave, then quickly got back into the tricycle. As she reversed, her body aligned with his once more. Their eyes met, and Ha Yue couldn’t suppress the urge to speak. She impulsively asked, “Xue Jing, how long will you be staying in Suíchéng?”  

Ah, no more calling him “teacher.” Should he be glad? At least Ha Yue still remembered his full name and didn’t get it wrong.  

Xue Jing’s fingers tightened around the suitcase handle before relaxing again. This time, he maintained an even tone—not too fast or slow. “If all goes well, about a week. I won’t be going far; mostly staying at the hotel for meals and rest. Why?”  

“Oh,” Ha Yue’s gaze unconsciously drifted down along Xue Jing’s arm, lingering on his left wrist for a moment before wavering. “If you have time, let me treat you to a meal.”  

It wasn’t about romance—just one human to another. A person who wasn’t all that kind wanted to apologize for past recklessness.