HGG - 56

Compared to Nagasaki Airport, the nearby Fukuoka International Airport was much larger in scale.

This was Song Yi’s first time traveling abroad and her first trip with someone else. However, Chi Zhao appeared quite at ease with everything.

They took a taxi from Fukuoka to Nagasaki. Along the way, Chi Zhao conversed with the elderly driver in Japanese, even exchanging jokes that made both of them laugh heartily.

When he turned back, he caught Song Yi’s meaningful gaze.

Chi Zhao said: “Sorry, we were talking about a recent incident where some Japanese politicians got into a fight.”

Song Yi shook her head and replied: “No, I wasn’t thinking about that. I was just wondering how familiar you seem to be with this place.”

Leaning back against the seat, he answered: “Not at all. I’ve only been to Nagasaki once.”

He attended high school in Tokyo. In his second year, the school organized a field trip. His class went to Nagasaki—not a particularly novel choice, but it was Chi Zhao’s first visit.

It was there that he first took notice of Cui Ting’ai.

They were the only two Chinese students in the school, though they didn’t interact much. Cui Ting’ai had lived in Japan until middle school, while Chi Zhao transferred from Vancouver.

The last time he came to Nagasaki, it was a group trip, so they visited many tourist spots. By the time they returned to the inn at night, everyone was exhausted.

Chi Zhao was already popular in high school, liked by both classmates and teachers. When the teacher checked on their rooms, he invited Chi Zhao along.

That’s when the exchange happened—”Let there be light,” and “What’s that?”

However, their reunion occurred six months after graduation.

“This is my girlfriend,” Chi Chong introduced with a smile, “Cui Ting’ai.”

At that time, they had just started dating. After several years of smooth sailing, they began discussing marriage. Cui Ting’ai’s father was also a prominent figure in the business world, making them a well-matched pair. Their personalities aligned—they were both gentle and empathetic.

They were like the protagonists of a fairy tale, suited for pearls, flowers, and dewdrops—things of beauty.

Everyone said they were a match made in heaven.

By the time of the accident, Chi Chong and Cui Ting’ai had already called off the engagement. But his death inevitably affected her, so to avoid attention, Cui Ting’ai was sent to a sanatorium in Nagasaki.

“From the time my brother fell into the sea until they recovered his body, the search lasted almost a year,” Chi Zhao said. “Cui Ting’ai was also deeply affected.”

They booked a Western-style hotel in advance. The counter and interior furnishings were similar to any luxury hotel, but some details catered specifically to foreign travelers, incorporating traditional Japanese elements.

A rotating fortune-telling machine on the table, Daruma dolls tucked into the corners of tissues, and anthropomorphic fish cartoons in the newspaper—all these caught Song Yi’s attention as soon as she entered.

While staring at the Japanese text around the room, she asked: “Did no one ever try to find her?”

“No.” Chi Zhao gave a firm reply. Leaning against the counter, he casually continued with a faint smile, “Because it was ruled a suicide, the investigation closed quickly. We had no right to disturb her. Besides, sending her to Japan under the guise of protection was more akin to exiling someone to New Zealand.”

An abandoned piece.

The Cui family was an illustrious clan, influential not only financially but also politically and culturally.

The daughter responsible for driving the heir of Chongming to suicide would undoubtedly jeopardize their cooperative relationship and reputation—one of the most valuable assets they could convert into profit.

They had other children; they hadn’t completely discarded her. They simply sent her away temporarily to weather the storm, planning to bring her back when she was useful again.

And that “useful moment” would surely come when Cui Ting’ai could serve a purpose.

Upon entering the hotel suite, Song Yi noticed the floor-to-ceiling window facing Nagasaki Port and the bed beside it.

One bed.

Only one spacious bed large enough for two people.

“Ahem, I’ll go check the room service guide,” Chi Zhao gestured toward the living room outside.

Song Yi nodded and, before he turned to leave, hesitantly asked: “Um… can I sit on your bed?”

Chi Zhao stopped and turned back.

“I mean,” Song Yi stammered, her voice catching slightly, “if you’re planning to make me sleep on the couch…”

He paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully. After a moment, he said: “If you don’t mind, we can share the bed.”

“Then…” Song Yi asked haltingly, feeling inexplicably breathless, “can I… sit on our bed?”

“Go ahead.” This time, Chi Zhao gave a straightforward answer. With that, he turned and left, leaving Song Yi alone in the bedroom.

As soon as Chi Zhao left the room, Song Yi felt a sudden relief from the suffocating tension.

She pressed her hand against the soft mattress and cautiously sat down.

How strange.

She had spent several nights alone with Chi Zhao before.

Song Yi tilted her head to look at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling. Her heart raced wildly, making her feel dizzy. She placed a hand over her chest and began breathing deeply.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Just then, she noticed Chi Zhao quietly watching her from the doorway.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither spoke. Chi Zhao slowly approached, pulling a chair from the side and dragging it over to her. He placed it down and sat.

As he settled into the chair, Song Yi lowered her head, following his movement.

Once seated, he calmly asked: “What are you doing?”

Chi Zhao was sitting very close, forcing her to draw her knees together. She felt his intimidating presence return after so long.

Song Yi didn’t lower her gaze. She looked directly into his eyes but didn’t answer.

“Song Yi,” he repeated, “what are you doing?”

Deep breaths.

Song Yi inhaled slightly, then suddenly kicked him.

She was wearing a black skirt that reached below her knees and high heels, but at that moment, she didn’t care—she abruptly kicked out at him, only for him to catch her leg.

Unexpectedly, Chi Zhao pinned her down.

Her head and back fully pressed into the soft mattress, and Song Yi, who had been staring into his eyes the whole time, finally wavered and conceded defeat in their silent staring contest.

She turned her head away.

His smile rippled across his face like waves on water—silent, spreading gradually. Chi Zhao wore an ambiguous grin, his warm breath making her earlobe burn.

He seemed about to kiss her, but he didn’t press against her. Instead, he simply lowered his head slightly, letting his gaze fall.

“It was self-defense,” Chi Zhao said hoarsely.

Song Yi turned her head further, avoiding his gaze as she replied: “So was mine.” After all, he kept pressing her for answers.

“I was just asking what you were doing.”

“Mr. Chi,” Song Yi suddenly turned her head back, glaring at him as she enunciated each word clearly, “I was feeling nervous because I’m alone with you.”

Song Yi didn’t know whether to call him immature or perverted—he seemed to enjoy seeing her flustered.

Satisfied with her response, Chi Zhao smirked and finally stood up. Their shoes had dirtied the white sheets. As he moved away from Song Yi, he happened to notice the scar on her knee.

Chi Zhao knelt beside her, his expression casual, but his touch was solemn as he covered the scar with his hand: “Did I do this?”

“Of course not.” Song Yi subtly exhaled in relief and rose. At the same time, he carefully tucked her skirt hem back into place. “I must have bumped it sometime.”

Perhaps when she was escaping from debt collectors, or when her father slapped her onto the coffee table, or during any of the countless moments in her life when she struggled.

The white shirt clung neatly to his body. Chi Zhao remained kneeling, his fingers lightly tracing the scar. For a fleeting moment, his clear eyes went vacant.

Then, suddenly, he leaned down and kissed her knee.

When he rose again, Song Yi noticed a fleeting shadow in his eyes. Her heart sank beneath the still surface of her mind.

Unable to resist, she raised her hand, fingertips brushing his jawline, then gently sliding up to caress his face.

“Let’s go eat,” Song Yi said.

Since they were in Nagasaki, they decided to try fresh shrimp sashimi. On the way, Song Yi initially kept some distance between them, but Chi Zhao silently closed the gap step by step until she had nowhere left to retreat.

Left with no choice, Song Yi turned around and glared at him with cold eyes, silently accusing him.

He smiled and, disregarding her protests, took her hand anyway.

They stopped at a crossroads, naturally letting go of each other’s hands. Nearby, a group of female university students passed by. Seeing unfamiliar yet beautiful faces on their daily route sparked curiosity, prompting them to muster the courage to approach.

Standing a few steps apart, Song Yi watched Chi Zhao politely decline in Japanese with a smile: “Sorry.”

After they reluctantly left, he walked over to her. The red light hadn’t changed yet, and she silently turned her head to look straight ahead.

A few seconds passed, and the green light lit up. Before any other young, lively, and beautiful girls could appear, Song Yi suddenly grabbed his hand, and they ran forward as fast as they could.

They only stopped when they reached the seaside. Song Yi panted, bending down to check her ankle. Unable to suppress her laughter, she straightened up, losing her balance—but fortunately, he caught her.

A Russian ship was docked nearby, and blonde-haired, blue-eyed sailors were resting ashore. Most were probably rookies, excited to see Easterners and approaching with phones to ask for photos.

They were approached too. During the photo, Chi Zhao wore a handsome fake smile, while Song Yi initially wasn’t interested. But then she suddenly remembered that she and Chi Zhao had never taken a picture together.

This might be their first.

So she lifted the corners of her lips and stared intently at the camera lens.

Their first photo together was taken with strangers—Russian sailors.

But their happiness wasn’t diminished in the slightest.

While Chi Zhao chatted with the Russian boys, Song Yi couldn’t resist sending the photo to Jenny, only to receive the reply: “Are you guys taking passport photos?”

She turned around to find Chi Zhao already back.

“Do you speak Russian?” Song Yi couldn’t help but ask.

To her surprise, Chi Zhao honestly replied: “No.”

“What about Japanese?”

Chi Zhao shook his head again.

“Then why did you bother talking to him?” Song Yi found it amusing.

“I thought you’d think I was impressive,” Chi Zhao said half-seriously, half-jokingly. “I didn’t expect you to be glued to your phone.”

How could she possibly think he was impressive for something like that?

As Song Yi thought this, she lowered her head but laughed so hard her shoulders trembled. For no reason at all, she burst out laughing at something so utterly unfunny.

The visit to the sanatorium was scheduled for the next day. After dinner, they returned to rest.

Upon entering, Song Yi went to change her shoes while Chi Zhao applied eye drops. She handed him a tissue, and they sat at opposite ends of the long sofa—a harmonious scene.

Alone together in the room, surrounded by silence, Chi Zhao asked: “Are you going to take a bath?”

“You go first,” Song Yi replied.

“No, you go ahead,” he declined.

They sat on the sofa. He unbuttoned his shirt collar, and she switched to slippers, their bodies unconsciously relaxing. Only a dim wall lamp illuminated the room, casting them as two gray-black shadows against the night. Outside, a light drizzle began to fall.

Suddenly, they both turned to look at each other, speechless for a long moment. Chi Zhao leaned closer, and Song Yi slowly closed her eyes.

A feather-light kiss was about to land when she suddenly opened her eyes.

Chi Zhao stopped, raising an eyebrow with a deepening smile. She laughed too. As a substitute, Song Yi kissed his cheek. Rising, she said: “I’m going to take a bath.”

Chi Zhao sat up straight again, covering his eyes with his arm as he replied: “Alright.”

“Are you sleepy?” She let down her hair, retrieving skincare products from her luggage and asking.

“Yeah.” Chi Zhao’s gaze dropped. He pulled out a cigarette but put it back. Looking up with a smile, he said: “I want to sleep with you.”