HGG - 57

Stay calm.

Staring into the mirror, Song Yi sternly reminded herself. Stay calm.

She walked out wearing a white spaghetti-strap nightgown, only to find Chi Zhao watching TV on the couch. He hadn’t turned on the lights; the dim glow of the screen illuminated his face as he furrowed his brow, intently staring at the television.

Song Yi took a few steps forward and stopped by the door before finally speaking: “I’m done.”

“Hmm.” Chi Zhao let out a heavy syllable.

His eyes remained glued to the screen.

Song Yi, still drying her damp hair, walked over to him. On the pay-per-view channel, Ju-On: The Grudge was playing.

After Song Yi sat down, Chi Zhao stood up. With a serious expression, he said: “I’m going to take a bath.”

Song Yi nodded, watching him go inside. Now it was her turn to look grave, staring at the screen as terrifying scenes unfolded one after another.

When Chi Zhao came out, he startled her. Wearing a T-shirt and jeans, he walked over and sat cross-legged beside her. As the pay-per-view program transitioned from Ju-On to Ring , both Chi Zhao and Song Yi watched with solemn expressions.

Chi Zhao chewed gum while Song Yi pressed her hand against her temple, both frowning deeply.

At the moment Sadako crawled out of the well, Chi Zhao and Song Yi simultaneously leaned back in shock.

By the time Ring ended, it was already the middle of the night.

After turning off the TV, the room grew even darker. Chi Zhao looked at Song Yi, who said: “I forgot to mention earlier—we stepped on the bed with our shoes on. We didn’t call housekeeping to change the sheets.”

Chi Zhao hesitated for a moment before saying: “Should we call them now to change it?”

The scene of a ringing phone filled their minds as they locked eyes. In an instant, they both rejected the idea.

“If it were the office, I’d sleep on the couch,” Chi Zhao said with difficulty. “But I don’t want to sleep on the couch here.”

Seeing his childlike, almost tearful expression, Song Yi laughed nervously but also fearfully replied: “Then let’s just sleep in the bed.”

As she stood up, she was suddenly grabbed by the wrist. Pulled around, her knees hit the sofa cushion, and she tumbled into his arms.

As she fell, the narrow-necked vase beside them tipped over, scattering lilacs across the table. Water flowed out, soaking the sofa.

Song Yi lowered her face, her wet hair falling onto his shoulder. Chi Zhao tilted his head, his clear eyes darting back and forth between hers.

He continued to gaze at her unblinkingly, but his hand reached for the phone and pressed the button for room service. Chi Zhao said: “Let’s ask them to come and change it.”

The housekeeping staff on duty that night were a group of older women. As soon as they entered, they began complaining amiably with “Oh dear” and “Oh my,” turning on all the overhead lights and then scolding Chi Zhao.

Even without understanding Japanese, Song Yi could tell that Chi Zhao was apologizing repeatedly. He seemed particularly skilled at dealing with nosy yet well-meaning people, always responding with a patient smile.

“We’ll settle the compensation when we check out,” Chi Zhao said with a bitter smile after the lecture ended. “They’ll need to replace the sofa cover too—it might take some time.”

Song Yi nodded, feeling slightly guilty: “It’s all our fault.”

With the room brightly lit and the harmonious, fragmented sounds of the cleaning process underway, the lingering terror from Ring had completely dissipated.

To avoid getting in the way, they stood in the corridor waiting.

Aside from the housekeeping cart, the long hallway was empty except for the two of them. The floor was covered in red-gray carpet, and the yellowish light was sparse and scattered.

It was two or three o’clock in the morning, and both Chi Zhao and Song Yi were dressed casually. Song Yi hugged her arms tightly, while Chi Zhao gazed forlornly into the room. How disheveled they looked—like they’d just been caught in a torrential downpour.

Suddenly, they couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

When they turned their heads, they saw each other, and their field of vision contained no one else. Gradually, their smiles faded. Chi Zhao leaned closer, and Song Yi clutched the hem of his shirt. They shared a brief kiss.

After the cleaning was finished, the older women exited the room. Chi Zhao and Song Yi thanked them profusely. The women waved dismissively and, before leaving, carefully scrutinized them, saying something before departing.

—Stay together forever.

Finally able to lie down, exhaustion had rendered Song Yi unable to say anything.

Lying side by side on the bed, Chi Zhao suddenly asked as he stared at the ceiling: “Will you stay with me forever?”

Song Yi also gazed at the light fixture, countering: “What about you?”

“I will never let you go,” Chi Zhao said without averting his eyes.

Slowly, Song Yi turned her head, glanced at him, and then closed her eyes. The ice floating on her chest gradually sank deeper and deeper, eventually melting into countless droplets in the warmth of the ocean floor, disappearing without a trace.

They were woken up the next morning by a phone call.

Having been so relaxed the previous day, even Song Yi—the so-called robot—had forgotten to set an alarm. She reached out groggily, picked up the phone, and heard Jenny shouting on the other end: “Big Brother Chi Zhao, I have to tell you—”

Song Yi moved the phone away, realizing she had answered incorrectly, and handed it to Chi Zhao beside her. “Sorry, let Mr. Chi take this.” She sat up, trying to shake off the drowsiness.

Chi Zhao responded: “Hello, this is Chi Zhao—”

Jenny on the other end was shocked.

“You two!” Jenny exclaimed. “Did you sleep together?!”

“Because there was only one bed,” Chi Zhao held the receiver away from his ear. “We didn’t do anything. We were exhausted after watching horror movies…”

After all, Jenny wasn’t new to knowing them. What might seem impossible for others was a natural occurrence for Chi Zhao and Song Yi.

She sighed and continued: “What I wanted to say is, Aunt An called me for the office number today. Probably Assistant Xia will forward it directly to you. Anyway, be careful…”

Before she finished, another call came in. Chi Zhao glanced at it, hesitated briefly, and answered.

Song Yi had already gotten up, changed in the bathroom, and was brushing her teeth when she heard Chi Zhao outside say—”Hello, Mom.”

An Siyue’s tone remained as haughty as ever: “You answered too slowly.”

“Hmm,” Chi Zhao replied. “What is it? Did Dad buy Belgian ice cream again?”

An Siyue shot back mercilessly: “Is your brain only full of ice cream? Just like Chi Shuren.”

He silently waited for her to continue. An Siyue said: “Why did you go to Japan again? Is that girl with you?”

“Yes.” Chi Zhao raised his eyes. Song Yi had already finished washing up and walked out.

“Invite her over for dinner,” An Siyue commanded without giving him room to refuse. In her world, there was no option to ask if the other party was available—only issuing orders and expecting compliance.

Chi Zhao couldn’t help but laugh. He asked: “What are you planning to cook? Kimchi pork pudding or basil cheese zongzi?”

These mismatched original dishes were all creations An Siyue had once used to torment her husband and sons.

An Siyue snorted, throwing out a curt “I’ll let you know the specific time later,” and hung up.

Afterward, they went to the sanatorium where Cui Ting’ai had stayed.

The low-rise building stood in a yard with fresh air and an elegant environment. Upon entering, colorful posters adorned the walls, medical staff bustled about, and a few patients and elderly people lounged lazily in the sun on the lawn.

The nurse they questioned replied coldly and professionally: “Miss Cui’s condition during her stay here is client confidentiality. We cannot disclose it. If you need our records, please provide detailed proof, such as—”

Chi Zhao merely nodded and smiled, not saying more, but his gaze drifted unintentionally toward a room at the end of the corridor.

This sanatorium offered thorough and high-end services, with correspondingly high fees. Cui Ting’ai hadn’t returned long ago, and her former room hadn’t been reassigned to anyone else yet.

Earlier, he had learned her room number from Mishima.

While the staff was still rambling, Chi Zhao suddenly raised his hand. With an apologetic smile, he asked them to pause momentarily, then walked straight into that room.

Inside, the room had been cleaned, and the furnishings restored to their original positions. Chi Zhao scanned the room, his eyes landing on a particular item.

He turned his head, and Song Yi noticed it too.

He said: “I know why she came back.”

The phone rang in the empty room. Song Yi pulled out her phone, confirmed the caller, and handed it to Chi Zhao: “It’s Vice President Zhan.”

Zhan Heqing seemed to be walking quickly as he said: “Chi Zhao, Chi Zhao. The Cui family hasn’t made a move yet, but I found out—”

Chi Zhao lazily stared at the baby cradle in the room and replied: “I already know.”

“She brought a child with her.” As Zhan Heqing anxiously spoke these words, Chi Zhao turned his back to the sunlight, revealing a sharp, decisive smile.

He said: “She’s taking advantage of the statute of limitations not being over. She came back to claim my brother’s inheritance.”