PSE - 51

The empty mountaintop echoed with that single word, “want.” Ha Yue’s eyes felt a little sore. She tucked her phone away and once again gazed down at the city lights below, quiet and dormant. Xue Jing sat silently beside her, unsure of how to comfort her, so he handed her a tissue and gently patted her back, his tone cautious yet tender: “Don’t take it too much to heart.”

The tissue was meant to wipe tears, and the patting was meant to soothe a child, but Ha Yue didn’t cry. She crumpled the tissue in her hand, took his hand, and with a hint of lightheartedness, said to Xue Jing, “I’m not taking it to heart.”

It wasn’t a show of strength, but rather, belated compensation always seemed to fall a little short.

She knew that Zhao Chunni, encouraged by her caregiver, had recently been trying to learn how to speak kindly.

If only Zhao Chunni could have made this change earlier in life, she and her mother might have had a closer, healthier relationship.

If only, back in the year she was transitioning to middle school, when she had used her long-saved pocket money to buy a bouquet of flowers for Mother’s Day, her mother hadn’t scolded her for “wasting money.” If only Zhao Chunni hadn’t forced her to return the flowers to the shop that day.

If only she hadn’t cried that day, and if Zhao Chunni had happened to smile and accept the flowers, and read the heartfelt 800-word letter she had written, maybe their relationship would have been a little different?

But this wasn’t anyone’s fault. A person’s character is deeply tied to their upbringing. The past is like water flowing under a bridge—it can still stir up regrets, but it can no longer be changed.

Only the future is malleable.

Ha Yue sighed, her voice gentle yet firm. “Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how my mom’s life has always been so hard. When she was young, her family lived in the countryside, and her parents were especially biased toward boys over girls. She wasn’t allowed to study, wasn’t allowed to eat at the table, and if she didn’t do the farm work well, beatings were a regular occurrence. Running away from the countryside and marrying someone her parents didn’t approve of became her only way to rebel against her fate. Later, my dad couldn’t be relied on either, and she had no choice but to force herself to raise me. Life just rolled on, day after day, and she never had a moment to stop, rest, or think about what kind of life she really wanted. It seemed like she was always being pushed by society, and even when she got sick, she couldn’t stop. She was always surrounded by feelings of resentment and unfairness. She’s been hardened for too long, like a sharp-edged stone.”

“If she could have grown up like me, in this era, with the same opportunity as boys to receive an education, to break free from the cycle of relying on marriage to escape her family, to have more time to think about her own worth, to read, to study, to wander aimlessly in libraries, to indulge in some idle contemplation—would her life have turned out differently?”

Even in a life destined to age and die, there are always those who muster the courage to bet on the future, to stretch out the slow-motion of life and focus on the difficult but right path of long-termism.

But drawing strength from such growth requires a good educational environment, using cultural literacy to break down barriers between tracks and connect spiritual worlds. The problem is, without material foundations, how can one even talk about the spiritual?

Like what she wants to prioritize now: establish a career first, then start a family.

First, examine herself, take on her own responsibilities, and then give others and herself the chance to collaborate on life. She doesn’t want to blindly rely on anyone at this stage. Even if that person is Xue Jing, it’s not acceptable.

So, although she is grateful for his choice to take the first step, she still can’t quickly accept his marriage proposal.

The layered distant mountains suddenly gained a hazy golden edge. In less than ten minutes, the rising sun illuminated the rolling mountain ranges. Against the backdrop of the majestic mountain scenery, the distant, dimly lit Sui City suddenly appeared radiant, like a stage just beginning to unfold, full of endless possibilities.

As the sunrise ended, the sky fully brightened. Amid the golden waves of light, Xue Jing ultimately couldn’t bring himself to take the ring out of his pocket. He respected Ha Yue’s personal timeline for growth and understood the deeper meaning behind her words all too well. The two of them were in sync; without needing much analysis, he grasped the subtext of Ha Yue’s refusal.

In Ha Yue’s journey to realize her self-worth, she didn’t need his money or his promises of love. But because of her words, a subtle undercurrent began to stir in his heart, as if he, too, could do something for the “better future” she spoke of.

The library, the cultural bureau, and the child that Jinzi and Xiaoyu were expecting next year.

These elements connected in Xue Jing’s mind, and almost immediately, a beautiful blueprint formed. A seed that had accidentally fallen into his heart suddenly found the right moisture and oxygen to sprout.

As they descended the mountain, both of their hearts felt heavy, yet their steps were unusually light. After waving goodbye to Ha Yue at the factory gate, Xue Jing immediately drove to the cultural bureau.

After a four-hour-long conversation, Director Zhao personally escorted Xue Jing from the office building to the parking lot.

Xue Jing got into his car, started the engine, and prepared to reverse. Director Zhao still couldn’t bear to leave, standing like a groundhog in front of the car. As Xue Jing turned the steering wheel, Director Zhao ran over again, signaling for him to roll down the window, then reached in with both hands to shake his hand firmly.

A thousand words couldn’t express Director Zhao’s joy, which finally condensed into a choked-up sentence: “Xiao Xue, on behalf of the children of Sui City, I thank you.”

Xue Jing’s delicate, fair fingers ached from Director Zhao’s rough, calloused grip, but he didn’t hurry to let go. Instead, he smiled through the pain and replied, “Ah, Director, you’re too kind. It’s me who should thank the children.”

Heaven knows, earth knows, you know, and I know—Xue Jing’s gracious words were no longer just situational flattery. Lately, he seemed to have lost some of his shrewdness and polish in dealing with people, but every foolish thing he did, every awkward word he said, came from the heart.

In a world full of deceit and cunning, sincerity is rare. And now, this sincerity wasn’t just directed at Ha Yue—it also included his hopes for Sui City’s future.

He wanted to thank Sui City for its biting cold, for its endless sandstorms, and even more for the “sea buckthorns” that stubbornly grew in such harsh conditions. This place had given him something even hotter than passion—a sense of meaning in literary creation.

On New Year’s Day, the media campaign for Xue Jing’s new book release was officially launched under Zhou Shuang’s management.

Apart from the tag marking Xue Jing’s first attempt at a suspense novel, the other major headline was his pledge to donate all future copyright earnings from the book to the Suicheng Cultural Bureau to fund the expansion of local public libraries.

As soon as the news broke, Zhou Shuang’s marketing team bought trending spots for it, causing the long-inactive Xue Jing to dominate online discussions. The core of the topic was strong enough to spread widely, quickly drawing positive commentary from major state media outlets.

Amid the overwhelming praise, a few rational voices questioned whether Xue Jing was leveraging this as a publicity stunt or even engaging in fake philanthropy.

As the buzz continued to grow, internet sleuths unearthed a video of Xue Jing’s first-ever reader event. In the video, he was a first-year graduate student, noticeably more youthful than he is now. Wearing half-rimmed glasses and deliberately dressing maturely in scholarly casualwear, he sat under the spotlight. When asked about his motivation for writing, he smirked mockingly, brushed his sleeve over his wrist, and tilted his head before cracking a joke:

“Many thanks to my ex-girlfriend for not marrying me in my lowest days—otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the drive to reach where I am today.”

For years, Xue Jing had crafted an image as a heartbroken protagonist, but now, in the latest edition of his book, he had boldly printed the words “Dedicated to my first love” on the title page. If that wasn’t a slap in the face, what was?

Hadn’t he once vowed to stay single for life? Yet during his supposed period of disengagement from public life, he had secretly gone to Suicheng and reunited with his first love?

So just how many ex-girlfriends did he have?

The internet erupted in a frenzy of rumors and speculation. The controversy spread rapidly, and soon, “Bestselling Author Xue Jing” was being rebranded as “The Ultimate Red Flag Man Who Slanders His Exes.”

As if that weren’t enough, some nosy onlookers dug up several promotional articles from 2019, in which Xue Jing’s former publicity team had heavily marketed him under the moniker “Little Hu Shi.” These resurfaced posts were used as ammunition to accuse him of being all style and no substance, as well as to condemn his supposedly notorious history of dating seven girlfriends.

By midday, Xue Jing’s reputation was in shambles. His detractors seized the moment—those who had grievances aired them, those with grudges sought revenge. Even the company run by his brother, Xue Lianwu, was doxxed. Adding fuel to the fire, netizens dug up his past advertisements, his paid writing courses, and ridiculed him as a “new-age rich kid” who had to hustle like an ordinary citizen to make a living. His supposed act of charity was completely drowned out by the backlash.

Zhou Shuang had never imagined that taking charge of Xue Jing’s book promotion would result in such a catastrophic failure in the very field she excelled at—new media marketing. Panicked, she scrambled to hire PR teams, remove trending topics, and shift the public narrative, working herself to exhaustion.

Meanwhile, the online uproar had zero effect on Xue Jing’s holiday in Suicheng. When he woke up in the morning, he glanced at the PR plan Zhou Shuang had sent him overnight. He didn’t even bother downloading the file—he simply replied with a brief “Got it, received.”

His social media notifications had exploded to 999+ unread messages, but he had no interest in checking them. He had no clue that his past interviews had been screenshotted and widely shared by relationship bloggers, who spun elaborate tales about his supposed history of womanizing, leading to tens of thousands of netizens flooding his comment section with insults.

His entire morning was occupied with showering, picking out clothes, and spraying cologne—he was getting ready to drive to Lincheng Airport to pick up Ha Yue’s flight.

Seven days ago, Ha Yue had completed a major auto parts order in collaboration with Sun Qiming. Upon receiving the final payment, she immediately used Sun Qiming’s connections to secure a spot on the China-North America Import-Export Chamber’s charter flight for their business delegation to the U.S.

The trip had been well worth it. Though the orders she secured were nowhere near as large as those of the industry giants, her exceptional translation skills and negotiation abilities made her a standout within the delegation. She collected business cards like waves collecting seashells—her network expanded rapidly. To her, every influential figure she met was a potential investor. She thrived in this environment, even using casual lunch meetings as opportunities to pitch her hometown’s development plans.

In just six days, she had delivered her PowerPoint presentation dozens of times. While the ultimate results remained uncertain, taking proactive steps was undoubtedly better than passively waiting for opportunities to come knocking.

As soon as she deplaned, Ha Yue eagerly shared the good news about the new orders in her business group chat.

Half a month ago, she had successfully recruited her first business partner—a fellow woman from Suicheng, Su Jing. Like Ha Yue, Su Jing had returned to Suicheng during the pandemic to care for her elderly parents, giving up a stable job in Yuecheng.

Ha Yue deeply valued Su Jing’s seven years of experience as an e-commerce customer service manager. Moreover, Su Jing’s family owned fifty acres of orchard land that was on the verge of being abandoned. Their shared background and aligned entrepreneurial visions made them a perfect team.

Not long after, Ha Yue found a second partner, this time with expertise in live-stream e-commerce.

The baggage carousel hummed steadily. Standing slightly apart from the crowd, Ha Yue scrolled through the latest logistics partnership report Su Jing had just emailed her. She was halfway through analyzing the data when she glanced up and saw her suitcase emerging from the conveyor.

Temporarily switching to split-screen mode on her phone, she opened WeChat and texted Xue Jing: “I’ll head to the underground parking lot to meet you now.”

She pulled her suitcase off the carousel. Just as she was about to put her phone away, the screen lit up again—Xiao Yu had sent her a Weibo post.

The headline read: “Bestselling Author Xue Jing’s Scandal Exposed.”

After staring at it for a moment, Xiao Yu hesitated, then finally sent a message:

“Sis… this ‘modern-day scumbag’ everyone’s talking about online… that wouldn’t happen to be Teacher Xue, right?”

Ha Yue paused for a moment, still unsure how to respond, when Xiao Yu suddenly deleted both messages. As if trying to reassure herself, she typed again:

“Probably not, right? Maybe it’s just someone who looks like him…”

This year, the Lunar New Year arrived early, with the Eve falling within the same month as New Year’s Day.