HGG - 55

“You all…” Zhan Heqing leaned against the doorframe with his coffee cup, after observing for half an hour, finally spoke. “Have you two really started… that?”

He sipped his coffee, watching Chi Zhao as he remained engrossed in work and gaming, while Song Yi naturally briefed him on the schedule. The scene looked no different from usual.

“…” Song Yi was explaining one of the agenda items to Chi Zhao, who was listening absentmindedly. Both simultaneously looked up at him.

“That?” Song Yi countered. As if on cue, Chi Zhao let out a mocking snicker.

Overwhelmed by frustration, Zhan Heqing decided to skip over the topic: “So, how does it feel to be in love?”

“Very good,” Song Yi replied earnestly with a straight face. “It allows you to do many things you couldn’t before.”

The conversation suddenly veered into adult territory. Given how busy Zhan Heqing was, his relationship with Wu Qiuxiu had only progressed to a standard level.

He asked incredulously: “What did you two do?”

Had they really reached that point already?!

Chi Zhao turned one of the monitors toward them.

On the social app displayed on the screen, Chi Zhao’s username had been changed to “Chi Zhaozhao,” while Song Yi’s was now “Song Yiyi.” His profile picture was Disney’s Donald Duck, and hers was Doraemon’s Dorami.

“To change matching IDs and profile pictures,” Chi Zhao answered solemnly.

Zhan Heqing fell silent.

“Are you middle schoolers? Why are you doing this stuff?!” After a long pause, Zhan Heqing burst out. “And how exactly do a duck and a robot cat match?!”

“Vice President Zhan,” Song Yi rarely showed displeasure, but her expression hardened as she addressed him. “Donald is Donald. Please don’t call him a duck.”

Zhan Heqing humiliatedly admitted to himself that he had been intimidated by his subordinate. He obediently corrected himself: “Alright, then why Donald?”

Chi Zhao ignored him, continuing to move his stylus. “Because Song Yi likes it.”

Previously, Zhan Heqing found Chi Zhao difficult to communicate with. Now, even Song Yi had become incomprehensible.

At that moment, Chi Zhao suddenly asked: “By the way, can I print ‘Song Yi’s boyfriend’ on my business card?”

“Absolutely not!” Just as Zhan Heqing shouted, he noticed Song Yi gave the same response.

Thankfully, Secretary Song still made sense. This slightly reassured Zhan Heqing.

Soon, he heard Song Yi continue: “You recently printed a new batch of business cards. If we add it now, we’ll have to reprint them—it’s too wasteful.”

Zhan Heqing hesitated for a moment, finally consoling himself—At least they hadn’t come to work wearing wedding attire; that was already something.

Several days earlier.

That question had echoed in his mind over and over again. It came to him while gripping a game controller, during meals, and occasionally in dreams. Day and night, ceaselessly, until death.

He watched Cui Ting’ai’s smile freeze, deepen, and eventually dissolve into quiet laughter.

Cui Ting’ai laughed as though hearing a joke.

Seeing the situation, Mishima quickly stepped forward. He extended his arm, gently pushing Chi Zhao back: “Sorry, Chi Zhao. Could you go home for today?”

“Eiichiro,” Chi Zhao’s eyes were devoid of light as he deliberately switched to Japanese. “You know what she did, right?”

Mishima smiled apologetically but didn’t back down. “I know. I know. But she just got discharged from the hospital. Can we give her some time…?”

Even now, recalling that day, Chi Zhao’s expression remained grim.

The mug landed on the table. Song Yi asked: “Shall I add more honey?”

He immediately put on a smile and replied: “Thank you.”

As soon as Song Yi turned around, Chi Zhao suddenly asked: “Song Yi, do you have a passport?”

“What?”

When Xia Fan cleared Song Yi’s schedule for the upcoming week, he felt uneasy, but Song Yi remained calm.

“Why the sudden trip to Nagasaki?” Xia Fan asked as he packed up.

“It’s all arranged. Don’t worry,” Song Yi replied. “Besides, Assistant Xia has always been reliable, so there’s no problem.”

“Hey, this isn’t something you can brush off with a compliment,” Xia Fan said, exasperated. “Is this related to Mr. Chi Chong?”

…

Song Yi’s movements abruptly stopped. She looked up, silently gazing at the rising sun outside the window.

What was the weather like when Chi Chong met Cui Ting’ai?

Was there such a brilliant sun?

She left her cubicle, bending down to tidy up LEGO pieces and race track parts. Chi Zhao wasn’t around, having gone downstairs to negotiate with the planning department.

Kneeling to clean, Song Yi accidentally noticed that all the toys surrounding the carpet were facing inward, forming a fortress-like barrier protecting the central area.

And that center point was where Chi Zhao usually sat.

Song Yi suddenly sank into a hopeless silence.

Unconsciously, she lay down on her side, wondering what he usually felt.

Meanwhile.

Gazing at the bright sun, Gao Jie raised her hand to shield her eyes from the glare.

Standing at the entrance of Chongming Games, she still wore her elegant white suit, her shoulder-length hair perfectly styled. It was quitting time, and employees leaving the building cast curious glances her way, but Gao Jie paid them no mind.

She was here to wait for Chi Zhao and Song Yi.

At first, Gao Jie stood at the entrance. Later, she moved to a nearby café. However, even after the café closed, she still hadn’t seen the pair leave.

Frustrated, she pulled rank as the executive editor of NII , and reluctantly convinced security to let her inside.

Xia Fan greeted her.

Even though Xia Fan was preparing to clock out, he maintained proper etiquette in receiving the unexpected visitor.

“Mr. Chi might be unavailable right now,” Xia Fan smiled. “If there’s anything urgent, I can relay your message.”

“What do you mean, ‘unavailable’?” Gao Jie forced a smile through gritted teeth. “What about Miss Song?”

Ignoring Xia Fan’s attempts to stop her, she marched straight toward the office. Xia Fan, alone, could only follow hastily.

Gao Jie pushed the door open forcefully, only to find the curtains drawn. She took a step forward and saw Song Yi curled up asleep on the cashmere rug where Chi Zhao usually rested.

For a moment, she froze, vaguely recognizing that Song Yi was covered with Chi Zhao’s coat.

“If you wake her up,” Chi Zhao’s voice drifted calmly from behind her, “I’ll be troubled.”

Gao Jie turned to see Chi Zhao standing there holding an ice pop.

He wore only a white shirt, leaning casually against the desk, his head bowed like a boy at the mercy of fate. It was the image of him that most captivated Gao Jie.

“Let’s talk outside,” he said.

As he spoke, he began walking out.

Reaching the adjacent meeting room, Gao Jie finally blurted out her question: “Why are you so kind to her?”

Chi Zhao filled his cup with warm water from the dispenser. “Gao Jie, whoever is kind to me, I am kind to them.”

“No, that’s not it,” Gao Jie retorted, unable to contain her emotions. “I know you’re interested in her, Chi Zhao. I’ve investigated her family background. Her mother is mentally ill, and her father has a shady past. You’re just pitying her.”

Chi Zhao turned around, his smile pure and clean. “If I were so compassionate,” he replied, “I’d surely pity you too.”

“Chi Zhao,” she had already set aside her dignity, “Whatever she does for you, I can do too. Our interests have always aligned, haven’t they?”

As she spoke, Chi Zhao lowered his head. After a moment of thought, he responded slowly: “They say you and Song Yi are quite similar.”

Both equally reserved, neither reliant on others, both sharing common interests with Chi Zhao.

“But I think you’re nothing alike,” Chi Zhao continued, gradually straightening up. “Song Yi never asks for anything from me. On the contrary, she’s given me so much.”

When she asked, “Why don’t you love me?” he felt powerless for the first time.

It made him want to love her.

Chi Zhao looked at Gao Jie, a corner of his lips lifting as he delivered the final blow: “You’re forcing yourself too much. I’m not part of your job.”

The words pierced Gao Jie’s heart like a blade. Clenching her teeth, she became enraged in her helpless state.

She had strived for so long, never doubting that she would stand by his side. Thus, she had worked tirelessly, learning the skills Chi Zhao possessed, studying the things he liked. She had tried so hard—

Chi Zhao seemed uninterested in prolonging their standoff, leisurely heading toward the door. Gao Jie stood behind him, glaring, forcing out her final protest word by word.

“Chi Zhao, why haven’t you grown up at all?” Gao Jie’s voice trembled, close to tears. “You’ve never known how to love. You’ve always been selfish and immature—it disappoints me. Do you want to become those idiotic couples in other people’s eyes with her?”

His figure paused, head lowered as if pondering something. After a long moment, Chi Zhao said: “You’re half-right.”

“Song Yi and I aren’t idiots,” he said, “We’re lovers.”

When Song Yi woke up, she found herself enveloped in darkness.

The curtains were tightly drawn, the hum of the air conditioner filling the room. A sense of guilt for falling asleep during work hours overwhelmed her. Uneasily, she propped herself up, only to hear Chi Zhao’s voice beside her.

“You’re awake,” he said.

As the coat covering her slipped down, Song Yi was surprised to see Chi Zhao sitting on the couch next to her.

“I’m very sorry,” she asked, “Have you been here the whole time?”

“Hmm,” Chi Zhao lazily replied.

“…May I ask what you’re doing?”

He wasn’t holding his phone, nor a game console, nor was he sleeping. He simply sat in the dark. Chi Zhao didn’t answer, merely smiling silently.

Darkness cocooned him like silk, immobilizing him yet leaving him silent, as if he had vanished.

Song Yi draped her suit jacket over her shoulders, slowly rising to her feet. When she reached the couch, she suddenly extended her arms toward him.

She embraced his head, and Chi Zhao naturally leaned against her waist. He didn’t raise his arms to hug her back, simply resting quietly against her, like a drifting ship finally finding a lighthouse in the night.

“You could have woken me,” Song Yi whispered softly, “anytime.”

Because I’ve always known you’re selfish and immature, just as you’ve always been.

But I’ve never disliked that about you.

The trip to Nagasaki was drawing near. Before the owner left home, the pet’s health needed to be checked.

“Checkup for No. 39 Chinese garden cat, Shuwa, complete!”

As the nurse’s voice rang out, a woman wearing a white promotional T-shirt rose from the corridor and walked forward. “Hello—”

“Are you Shuwa’s mom…?” The nurse, with a sweet smile, looked up. The first thing she saw was a line of text.

“Heaven covers earth, tiger.”

Her delicate makeup couldn’t hide her beautiful features. This young woman carried an air of seriousness, giving off an impression of precision. Yet, this powerful ice queen wore such a promotional shirt, with Chongming Games’ logo printed on one corner.

Song Yi ignored the strange looks directed her way, taking Shuwa into her arms and nodding politely to the nurse. “Yes, thank you.”

With that, she turned to leave.

Not only the nurse responsible for Shuwa but also the other pet owners in the waiting area couldn’t help but direct their gazes toward her.

Song Yi ignored them completely, walking through the crowd to the waiting seats.

“We’re leaving,” she stopped in front of someone and said.

Presumably, the other person’s T-shirt must have read “Pagoda suppresses river demons,” right?

Just as everyone assumed, the man woke from his nap, yawning carelessly as he stood up. His exquisite face exuded layers of detachment.

He wore an impeccably tailored suit.

Chi Zhao had stayed up late drawing the previous night, so he was still sleepy. Rising to his feet, he didn’t rush to leave but instead leaned forward, burying his face in her shoulder and murmuring, “I’m so tired.”

Song Yi raised her hand, gently stroking the back of his head, ruffling his hair. “You’ve worked hard.”

They were two strikingly beautiful and straightforward young individuals. Their casual gestures subtly conveyed a simple truth—we are inseparable.

No one could come between them.

“Well then,” Song Yi nodded toward the nurse who had been staring blankly from the other end of the corridor, “we’ll take our leave now.”