RITM - 33

“Alright, I won’t comfort you. But I want you to know that no matter what happens, I won’t leave.” Su Jiannian gently touched the hair on her forehead and leaned closer. “Because for as long as you’ve liked him, I’ve liked you.”

They stood at the bustling entrance of the residential complex, where the noise of passing vehicles could wake anyone from a light sleep. Yet, he touched her so carefully, as if they were standing in a garden filled with the fragrances of childhood. But she couldn’t help but think of He Yingze’s kiss. His kiss was like the most vivid oil painting, gripping all her senses and forcing her to accept a passion that bordered on despair. She didn’t understand how someone who felt no love in their heart could pour everything into a kiss. Every second she thought of him, she felt as though she was betraying herself. Yet, she couldn’t control it. Silently, she let the memories of him flow through her veins, then gave Su Jiannian a faint smile: “Brother Jiannian, you know I’m not the type to degrade myself. I see how good you are to me. Give me time, and I’ll try to forget him.”

“I’ll wait.” He said nothing more.

The weather turned against them that day, with torrential rain pouring over the entire city of Gongzhou, dousing the summer heat. By the time Luo Wei got home, even the underwire in her bra was close to rusting. She took the fastest shower possible, but she still couldn’t avoid starting to feel a sore throat and sneezing. It seemed too late for medicine. As night deepened, her body grew increasingly uncomfortable. By 10 p.m., Xiao Lajiao still hadn’t returned. In her mind, Luo Wei cursed this girl a hundred times, wishing she’d never have wasabi with her sashimi again, but she also felt a sense of relief—she wouldn’t have to force a smile in front of others. She woke up at 11 p.m., her feverish head buzzing like a broken beehive. Overwhelmed by misery, she stared blankly at the pale fluorescent light for a few minutes before struggling to turn over and grab her phone. Hiding her caller ID, she dialed He Yingze’s number. After a few rings, his familiar voice came through: “Hello.”

His kiss had been like a fiery oil painting, but his voice was like a cold-toned watercolor, depicting an icy lake nestled in the snow-capped mountains of Wyoming.

She didn’t speak. Never had she imagined she could be so fragile—just hearing his voice brought two streams of tears cascading down her cheeks into her hair. The fever made her ears buzz loudly. She closed her burning eyes, feeling more tears roll out, pooling in her ears. He said “hello” again, and when he heard no response, he hung up. Her chest felt as though a ball of fur was rolling inside, itching unbearably. She trembled in her blanket, coughing a few times, then called him back. Again, he said “hello,” waiting for her reply.

All sounds in the world seemed to vanish, and time itself had come to a standstill. But she strained to catch his faint breathing, terrified he would hang up again, turn off his phone, or reject the call. He didn’t speak again, nor did he hang up. She moved the phone slightly away, covering her mouth with the blanket, muffling her coughs to suppress any noise. Still, he heard something on the other end. Finally, He Yingze spoke calmly: “What do you want?”

She was stunned, unable to speak. After a few seconds, He Yingze said, “Luo Wei.”

“You know it’s me?” She still tried to sound playful and teasing, but her voice betrayed her with an unmistakable nasal tone.

After a long pause, he finally responded: “Go ahead, what do you want?”

“Nothing much. I saw the news and just wanted to call and say… congratulations.”

But the call disconnected. The two dial tones that followed were like sharp, mocking laughter, ridiculing her audacity. The itching ball of fur in her chest climbed upward, scraping against every blood vessel in her throat. Before she could even cry, a violent cough overtook her…

On the 45th floor of Zhenji Royal City, Lu Xiren pursed his lips, watching He Yingze, who sat slumped in a swivel chair with a dark expression. His gaze shifted to Chang Feng, who had been interrupted halfway through preparing a financial report by Luo Wei’s call. Chang Feng pointed to the slideshow on the wall and forced a smile: “So, should we continue with last week’s financial report?”

“You continue.”

He Yingze’s response was decisive, and as the other man resumed speaking, he appeared focused. But after half a minute, he suddenly stood up, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door. Lu Xiren rushed to block the door, and Chang Feng stepped forward: “You can’t go. Really, you can’t.”

“She’s sick.” He Yingze pushed Lu Xiren aside, turned the doorknob, and said firmly: “I’ll take her to the hospital and come right back. You wait here.”

He wasn’t someone who liked to explain himself, yet this time he said so much—though it seemed even he couldn’t convince himself. Chang Feng also stepped forward to block his path: “Sixth Brother, let me ask you one question: If you see her collapse in your arms, crying, can you really ignore her and just walk away?”

He Yingze frowned deeply, pushing them aside, and strode toward the elevator. Chang Feng sighed and called out from behind him: “Huang Xiaonan is back in Gongzhou. Think about your mother, think about Grandfather Yan. Is there any future for you and Luo Wei? If she were the kind of woman who listens and comes back after a few comforting words, then fine. But is she that kind of person?” Noticing He Yingze’s stiffened back, Chang Feng persisted: “Sixth Brother, you’re someone meant for great things. You’ve endured all these years—why throw it all away now?”

This argument didn’t sway He Yingze either. He continued walking purposefully, until Chang Feng added: “I honestly don’t care whether Luo Wei lives or dies—I’m only worried about you. Think about how painful it would be if you got back together with her and then broke up again.”

Finally, He Yingze’s body relaxed. He walked back into the room, threw his coat onto the sofa with force, and sat down, saying nothing more.

After a long silence, Lu Xiren whispered to Chang Feng: “Sometimes I think Sixth Brother is mysterious and imposing without even trying. Other times, I feel like he’s just a six-year-old boy…”

“He’s no different from a six-year-old,” Chang Feng said expressionlessly, staring at him. “In terms of selfishness.”

---

At midnight, Xie Xiuchen had just returned home when he heard the refrigerator door open in the kitchen. He tiptoed over and found his sister, headphones on, bobbing her head as she rummaged through the fridge. He gently removed her headphones: “Hungry?”

Unfazed, Xie Xinqi continued rummaging, shaking her head as she closed the fridge: “I’m not hungry, I’m just looking.”

“I’ll make you some noodles,” Xie Xiuchen said, taking off his suit jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

She had always loved the noodles he made. Hearing this, she almost screamed and hugged his neck like she used to—but she restrained herself, retreating to the side instead: “I’m not eating. I’ve gained weight recently.”

“You’re so thin, people might think I’m abusing my little sister.”

Despite her repeated refusals, he insisted on cooking. When she protested, he claimed he hadn’t eaten dinner since finishing work and was making it for himself. She knew this was his usual excuse whenever he made her late-night snacks, so she dashed upstairs to avoid his “food attack.” But after sitting alone in her room for a while, she felt uneasy. After all, she had always been his little shadow in the kitchen, flitting around while he cooked. Eventually, she went back downstairs and slipped into the kitchen, pouting as she watched him cook the noodles. Sure enough, once the noodles were ready, there were no surprises—he placed the chopsticks and bowl in front of her: “Eat.”

His noodles were always plain broth, never seasoned with soy sauce, MSG, eggs, or seafood—just a bit of leftover meat from the day, if anything. Yet the soup was flavorful, and the noodles were both chewy and soft. No matter how much he made, she always finished every bite. The aroma wafting from the steaming bowl made her mouth water, but she stubbornly turned her head away: “No, I’ve been under too much stress lately. I’ve really gained weight.”

“Compared to others like you, you’ve grown very slowly.”

“...What are you trying to say?!”

“Do you know there’s an indicator in the national CPI research called the hog inventory rate?”

“Hello, Xie Xiuchen. Goodbye, Xie Xiuchen.”

“If you don’t eat, I’ll throw it away.”

“Wait, wait…” Seeing him lift the bowl, she quickly pressed it down, her face conflicted: “Fine, fine… But later, when I tell people I weigh ninety pounds, you can’t expose me.”

“Alright.” He sat beside her, stirring the noodles with his chopsticks: “Then later, when I tell people I weigh 140 pounds, you can’t expose me either.”

She looked him up and down: “Wow, you haven’t even reached 140 yet? Have you lost more weight?”

He winced at the jab, giving her head a light push: “Eat your noodles, brat. I’ve always been skinny, but that didn’t stop me from beating up those boys who bullied you and making them kneel and call you ‘Your Majesty.’”

“It’s ‘Her Majesty’!” She giggled, eating quietly for a moment before noticing him watching her intently. She cautiously peeked up at him: “...Why do you keep staring at me while I eat? Do you feel like you’re feeding a little animal?”

Resting his chin on his knuckle, he smiled faintly: “A hamster.”

The moment she heard that nickname, Xie Xinqi reflexively felt a wave of despair. She remembered watching a TV drama with Xie Xiuchen in high school where the male lead had a hamster named Qiqi. Xie Xiuchen, being childish, teased her endlessly with that name—either bending down and calling her over with a dog-like gesture, saying “Qiqi, come eat,” or throwing something far away and telling her, “Qiqi, go fetch it.” It was a nightmare—a truly massive nightmare.

After a while, he took out a tissue to wipe her mouth and then cleaned up the food that had fallen near the bowl: “Pikachu, how do you always manage to spill things everywhere? Do your admirers know that Miss Xie eats like this?”

“I don’t know why either. Whenever I eat, my mouth just leaks. That’s why I only eat Western food outside—big plates, you know. Or, Brother, you could help me by feeding me.”

Seeing him deep in thought, she tilted her head: “Hmm? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“I was just thinking of a sentence structure: ‘I don’t know why, whenever I [underline], I [underline]. So, [underline]. Or, [underline], you could help me, [underline].’”

Xie Xinqi thought for a few seconds: “...Get lost.”

“‘I don’t know why, but whenever I pour milk, it spills everywhere. So, when I’m not at home, I buy boxed milk. Or, Brother, you could help me by pouring it for me.’”

“Get lost.”

“It’s the universal sentence structure for a spoiled young lady. ‘I don’t know why, but whenever I call those damn companies, I end up arguing with them. So, I don’t like talking to them directly. Or, Little Li, you could help me by making the calls for me.’”

“Get lost.”

“‘I don’t know why, but whenever I shop and put my wallet in my bag, my right foot starts hurting. It might be because I carry my bag on my right shoulder and the wallet is too heavy. So, I don’t like carrying my wallet with me. Or, Brother, you could help me by holding my wallet for me.’”

“Get lost.”

...

They had reconciled once again. But still, they couldn’t go back to how things were before. Something had changed, though Xie Xinqi couldn’t quite put her finger on what.

After a while, he suddenly asked: “You said earlier that you’re under a lot of stress. Why?”

“Because some random girl popped up who looks like...” She had intended to tell him about the paternity test between her parents and Luo Wei, but remembering that it was directly related to his mother, she stopped herself.

“Looks like you? You mean Luo Wei?”

“Yeah, who knows if you’ll recognize her as a sister and then abandon me as your sister.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Xie Xinqi knew that as time went on, her father felt increasingly guilty about her brother’s mother, who had died alone, and gradually forgot about the other daughter who had passed away as an infant. After all, that sister had only been a baby back then. As a result, their family became less and less happy. In recent years, her parents were rarely home, always busy with their own affairs, and the family member she spent the most time with turned out to be her brother. Therefore, when she first entertained the idea of “what if Luo Wei were my sister,” a faint, unrealistic hope arose—if her sister could return, she might finally have the harmonious family she’d never had.