HGG - 53

Gao Feng.

The very Gao Feng who had once been a high-ranking executive at Chongyou but later ended up in prison.

He was an unfailingly kind man, yet he was also despised by his own daughter for dragging the family into ruin. Such was the complex figure that was Gao Feng.

When Song Yi first heard about Gao Jie’s experiences, she thought it explained the sense of resonance between them.

In the past, Gao Jie must have deeply trusted her father.

Just as Song Yi had trusted Song Weizuo.

It was precisely because of the disappointment that she had grown increasingly strong.

However, upon meeting Gao Feng in person, Song Yi wavered again.

This… is nothing like Song Weizuo!

No wonder he had lived in England for many years—Gao Feng’s speech and demeanor were gentle and elegant. Upon hearing Song Yi’s identity, he appeared genuinely delighted: “It’s been so long since I’ve seen Xiao Zhao. How is he doing these days?”

They exchanged pleasantries for a moment before Gao Feng lowered his head with a hint of sadness: “I don’t have the face to see them anymore.”

Song Yi remembered that Gao Feng had squandered his family’s fortune due to misplaced trust in others.

In that case, his situation was indeed different from hers.

Seeing Song Yi hesitating to speak, Gao Feng tactfully changed the subject: “Come to think of it, my daughter seems to be quite close with Xiao Zhao. You must know her too, right? Her name is Gao Jie.”

“Hmm?”

Close? Song Yi looked questioningly at the elderly man.

“To be honest, my daughter doesn’t usually get close to me—it’s all my fault,” Gao Feng continued with a smile. “But whenever she visits, she still shares some updates about her life. She seems to be doing well at NII as an executive editor. As for relationships… last time she mentioned that Xiao Zhao had talked to her about marriage…”

Wait a minute.

This seems quite different from what I know.

Based on the recent updates Gao Jie had reported to her father, her relationship with Chi Zhao seemed much closer than reality.

Should she expose the truth?

The thought had barely surfaced when Gao Feng turned his head with a smile: “I’m sorry, Miss Song. I’ve been talking about myself this whole time. Apologies—it’s just that no one has been willing to listen to me for so long…”

He kept apologizing.

Since their conversation began, almost every sentence Gao Feng spoke carried an air of self-blame, piling all sorts of mistakes onto himself.

He loved his daughter. Through her thin glasses, Song Yi studied his eyes.

She was certain.

His gaze, his words, his slightly melancholic smile—all revealed his love and guilt toward Gao Jie.

If only he were my father.

“It’s alright,” Song Yi replied.

Then, as if reading her thoughts, Gao Feng spoke: “If only my daughter were like you.”

Startled, Song Yi instinctively averted her gaze: “You’re joking…”

“I truly wish I could sit down and have a proper chat with Xiao Jie before I leave.” Gao Feng smiled faintly, tilting his head to look at the star-filled night sky.

“Don’t say that,” Song Yi consoled him. “There will always be a chance.”

After a long pause, Gao Feng shook his head. He said: “I probably only have about six months left.”

Taken aback by this unexpected response, Song Yi abruptly turned her head: “What do you mean by that?”

“I’m sorry. It’s been so long since I’ve had a proper conversation with someone, and unintentionally, I’ve burdened you with unpleasant news.” Gao Feng apologized again, his smile gentle and carefree. “Colon cancer. By the time it was diagnosed, it was already in its late stages. The doctor and I discussed several options, including dialysis, but I’ve decided—I’d rather go out with dignity.”

Stunned, Song Yi sat there, looking back at the elderly man beside her, carefully observing his smile.

“Ah, I really want to see Xiao Jie get married.” Gao Feng squinted, his expression kind and benevolent. “I’m sorry, am I being greedy?”

How could that be?

Tightening her grip on the glass in her hand, Song Yi suddenly interjected.

“How could that possibly be considered greed?” she said. “Hasn’t the hospital informed Miss Gao? I believe you should tell her as soon as possible.”

For a long while, the night breeze blew through her hair, scattering it like willow branches. Gao Feng quietly raised his head and said: “Because of my own mistakes, I’ve already caused enough harm to those around me. To atone, I’ve lived my life feeling constrained.

“But now, I feel at peace. If I were to tell them, it would only limit the final bit of freedom I have left.”

He had studied alongside Chi Shuren at Cambridge, was well-read, and had seen the vast world. In terms of knowledge, he was far more erudite than Song Yi.

Even his words left her unable to refute him.

She gazed at his mild face, and for a fleeting moment, in Song Yi’s imagination, Gao Feng overlapped with Song Weizuo.

At the musical performance Song Weizuo hadn’t attended, Song Yi had told herself over and over again to try to understand him.

Perhaps staying away from her was his way of finding freedom.

Pain rolled over us like a great tide, leaving us lying flat on the wilderness of life, not interfering with each other, and only able to choose to become stronger.

“I understand,” Song Yi took a deep breath, her face, heavy with hesitation, regaining its cold composure. “Then, I wish you well.”

Gao Feng’s presence at this birthday party was undoubtedly awkward.

He had been invited as a friend of Chairman Dan, but unlike a hotel banquet, where guests could leave after arriving, the yacht party required everyone to stay until the end.

Song Yi witnessed some seniors whispering among themselves in the distance. They had recognized Gao Feng, but none approached to greet him.

Not long after, the banquet moved indoors. Everyone was ushered into the grand hall by waitstaff dressed in suits.

Standing on the staircase, Song Yi searched for Zhan Heqing. Occasionally, waiters carrying trays would ask if she needed champagne or a towel.

Suddenly, a sweet voice called out behind her: “Miss Song.”

She turned around to see several unfamiliar women. Though not wearing formal dresses, Song Yi’s limited fashion knowledge told her that their outfits were all custom-made luxury brands.

They clinked glasses with her, though they were strangers.

“Where’s Gao Jie?” one of them asked, smiling and glancing around.

“She said she was going to the restroom earlier.”

“Is that so? I thought I saw her run into someone familiar and sneak off.” The last part was whispered with a laugh.

From these few remarks, Song Yi gleaned two pieces of information:

One, they were acquaintances of Gao Jie.

Two, Gao Jie had likely seen her father.

Gao Feng would surely throw her off balance.

As Song Yi pondered this, she began backing away, planning to slip away unnoticed.

However, midway, she was spotted.

Among them were children of conglomerate executives and models from NII . In short, they were young, beautiful, and wealthy women who had never worked seriously, never needed to bow their heads to anyone, and were born with gold in their mouths.

“Don’t be nervous,” one of them waved casually, stepping forward. “It’s good that Gao Jie isn’t here. You’re Chi Zhao’s person, right?”

“So that’s why he likes this type,” the model fanned herself with a business card and laughed.

“How long have you been together?” someone gossiped.

“Sorry,” Song Yi didn’t know what version of events they had heard. “I’m just an ordinary employee at Chongyou.”

They weren’t particularly malicious—just chattering endlessly.

The essence of such parties was gathering in groups. They enthusiastically jumped from one topic to another, then greeted acquaintances and huddled together to chat. Men and women mingled, lively and bustling.

Song Yi wasn’t adept at such occasions.

Pressure built.

Her head throbbed.

She took a deep breath, involuntarily gazing into the distance, hoping to find a quieter spot as soon as possible.

Where was Zhan Heqing? An Siyue? Even Gao Feng or Gao Jie would suffice.

If Chi Zhao were here—

Someone else approached and asked: “So you and President Chi aren’t in that kind of relationship?”

—Chi Zhao wouldn’t be here.

“Mr. Chi and I are merely professional colleagues,” Song Yi replied.

She had responded absentmindedly, and the people around her weren’t particularly hostile. But in an instant, as if triggered by an avalanche effect, the people around her suddenly fell silent. They exchanged glances, then smiled knowingly, resuming their previous topics.

The NII model who had been chatting with others chimed in: “True, Chi Zhao is a strange person, isn’t he?”

Strange?

This sudden remark sparked agreement among the surrounding group.

“Now that you mention it, he is a bit odd. Has anyone ridden in his car? He plays so many classic main theme songs in there.”

“Right, I heard from a senior photographer that he once invited three others thinking it was for a foursome, but ended up playing board games all afternoon.”

“Weird—”

Every person in the world is unique. Some are kind but clumsy, some arrogant yet passionate, some feign fragility, some are impulsive and adorable, some are quiet and naive, some are icy dry ice, and others appear childish on the surface but are gentler than anyone else.

Everyone is an anomaly.

But in the eyes of his family, friends, and lovers, he is by no means a monster.

“It’s not strange,” a dry, cool voice cut through. Song Yi suddenly raised her head. Standing alone amidst them, she firmly stated, “I don’t think Mr. Chi is strange—”

With an unhurried gait, he walked into the marble circle.

As he approached Chairman Dan, the elderly man smiled and tilted his head, exchanging a practiced and graceful cheek kiss with the bending youth. The greeting was executed flawlessly.

Song Yi’s words hung unfinished as she turned back, watching him straighten up and walk toward them.

He shouldn’t have come.

Chi Zhao had magically appeared out of nowhere countless times before.

But only this time did Song Yi sense something from his arrival.

He was the topic that set everyone ablaze, and also the wolf that silenced them all into stillness. Chi Zhao steadily walked over, and they watched him, unable to do anything else.

Song Yi gazed into his eyes. He was smiling, and as he reached her, his smile deepened. He pulled her close by the shoulder: “Excuse me, but I’ll take my person back now. Good evening, everyone.”

With that, he took her hand and walked out.

Song Yi wanted to bid a proper farewell to those left behind, but Chi Zhao clearly didn’t intend to give her the chance.

Without room for refusal, he led her out of the hall, through the corridor bathed in sea breeze. At the end was an unused room, which he casually pushed open and entered.

It was originally a conference room. Once inside, Song Yi freed herself from his grasp. Chi Zhao, on the other hand, leisurely walked deeper into the room. She tried turning on the lights, but the power seemed to be off here.

Fortunately, the soft yellow light from the deck filtered through the windows. Song Yi sighed deeply, and as she turned around, she saw that Chi Zhao had already lifted the piano lid.

It was Debussy’s Clair de Lune .

He was fully absorbed while playing, his gaze fixed solely on the black-and-white keys as the melody flowed from his fingertips. The galaxy seemed to freeze in silence. The dark room resembled the sinking Titanic, the sea silently encroaching on every corner.

“I’m imitating my older brother,” he said, stopping the performance and turning to look at her. “My sense of music is quite average. Just like yours.”

Song Yi knew—he had heard her singing.

Though it was a weakness she didn’t want others to know about, somehow, it didn’t matter when it came to Chi Zhao. His sincere self-deprecation relaxed the atmosphere, and Song Yi walked over to sit beside him.

“My mother won’t be coming,” Chi Zhao closed the piano lid. He had come using An Siyue’s invitation.

“Hmm.” Unsure if he had heard her earlier words, Song Yi became cautious.

Before she could dwell further, he immediately brought it up: “You don’t think I’m strange?”

In the darkness, Song Yi clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She replied: “Yes. To me, Mr. Chi is an important person. I don’t want you to be misunderstood.”

Silence.

Chi Zhao’s gaze, as desolate as late spring, fell upon her.

Song Yi felt her limbs gradually grow cold.

As silence completely buried them, Chi Zhao asked: “How does one love someone?”

…

Song Yi asked: “What?”

Did “loving someone” refer to the term used in the □□ decades to introduce one’s spouse—”This is my beloved”?

“Probably…” After careful consideration, Song Yi replied, “You need to get married.”

“Is that so?” Chi Zhao said cheerfully. “Then let’s get married.”