HGG - 59

The DNA paternity test confirmed they were related by blood.

After disappearing for a year, the child Cui Ting’ai brought back was Chi Chong’s daughter.

Chi Zhao arrived at Chongming Culture at seven in the morning. He sat for a while in an office registered under his name but mostly unused. By the time the board meeting began, Chi Zhao, for the first time, didn’t drift off or lose focus.

Midway through the meeting, Cui Ting’ai entered, accompanied by several bodyguards. Some recognized that the clerks and professionals around her came from her father’s and brothers’ teams.

To match the occasion, today she had tied up her flaxen hair and added a bohemian-style jacket. Cui Ting’ai remained composed as her assistant slowly laid out the pre-prepared matters.

“Our request,” the assistant enunciated clearly, “is for the portion of Chi Chong’s inheritance that rightfully belongs to the first-order heir who lacks labor capacity—his biological daughter.”

The directors remained silent, some exchanging glances discreetly. As usual, Chi Shuren did not attend; instead, Zhan Luo occupied the main seat.

He remained calm and didn’t rush to speak. But just then, the sound of a chair moving echoed.

Chi Zhao stood up.

Song Yi and the other secretaries sat in the back row. She subtly raised her eyes.

Chi Zhao leisurely walked over to Cui Ting’ai.

His hand pressed against the table in front of her, bathed in the wary gazes of everyone present. Chi Zhao coldly smirked at her.

“Alright,” he firmly replied. The directors behind him didn’t gasp but unconsciously drew deep breaths. Chi Zhao continued: “You can have whatever you want. But tell me—why didn’t you answer Chi Chong’s call back then?”

Some in the room knew about Chi Chong’s death, while others only understood what Chongming publicly claimed. At this moment, Zhan Luo timely raised his hand, signaling his capable assistant to quickly step forward.

“Mr. Chi.” The assistant approached Chi Zhao to remind him.

Chi Zhao didn’t respond. Meanwhile, Cui Ting’ai slowly lifted her head.

She looked at him, suddenly smiling. Ever since Chi Chong’s accident, her words and actions always seemed slightly neurotic.

“Chi Zhao,” Cui Ting’ai spoke softly, “you should thank me.”

“What?” Chi Zhao’s smile deepened, but his gaze grew colder.

“Look, that person is gone, and in the future, your father will only have you to choose from. It’s all thanks to me.” Cui Ting’ai suddenly reached out, her frail, pale fingers gripping the hem of his shirt. “He’s dead—but was it my fault?—”

She grew more agitated as she spoke, even attempting to stand up. Chi Zhao didn’t get angry but simply watched her silently.

The bodyguards behind her stepped forward with medication and bottled water. Someone helped her take the pills, while others moved to separate Chi Zhao from her: “Sorry, Miss Cui is unwell. Please don’t upset her further.”

The meeting ended there, with Chongming’s temporary response being that further discussion was needed.

Chi Zhao stayed until the end. When Zhan Luo stood up, he casually placed a hand on Chi Zhao’s shoulder and said: “Come with me.”

When they reached Zhan Luo’s office, surprisingly, Zhan Heqing was also there. Every time he saw his father, Zhan Heqing inevitably felt nervous. Now, he stood by the window with his arms crossed, turning his head when he heard movement.

“How was it?” Seeing Chi Zhao, Zhan Heqing quickly approached. “Did she spout nonsense again? I just heard about that crazy woman in the hallway!”

Chi Zhao didn’t reply. Zhan Heqing nodded toward Song Yi, who closed the door behind her.

A brief silence fell in the room. Zhan Luo lit a cigarette as he sat down. He said: “Xiao Zhao, why don’t you take a break for a while?”

Chi Zhao stared at the Sudoku puzzle in the bottom left corner of the newspaper on Zhan Luo’s desk. He said nothing.

“Huh?” Zhan Heqing was the first to question. “Dad, you—”

“Heqing, shut up,” Zhan Luo cut off his son without mercy. His gaze burned into Chi Zhao as he spoke earnestly yet forcefully, leaving no room for refusal. “Xiao Zhao, take a vacation.

“This is also Shuren’s wish.”

At the mention of his father’s name, Chi Zhao finally showed a slight reaction.

He raised his head, narrowing his eyes slightly, and said: “Are you trying to protect me?”

“We don’t know what Miss Cui plans to do next, and there are many uncertainties outside. Moreover, we all know how much pressure this situation has put on you. Only you, your parents, and I know how Xiao Chong passed away,” Zhan Luo said, cigarette in hand. “This is both to protect you and to protect Chongming.”

There seemed to be a hidden meaning behind those words. Both Song Yi and Zhan Heqing, who were excluded from the conversation, sensed this, but neither had the right to ask.

Zhan Luo tapped off the ash from his cigarette and continued: “It’s only temporary. You don’t need to attend the next board meeting, and Chongyou’s affairs can temporarily be handed over to Heqing.”

With that, he picked up the phone and pressed the shortcut to contact his assistant: “Heqing will stay for lunch. Escort Mr. Chi home.”

Chi Zhao didn’t resist. After all, Chongming Culture was the parent company of Chongming Games, and Zhan Luo was not only his elder but also his superior. He knew resistance was meaningless, and he wasn’t oblivious to their concern.

As the door opened, Chi Zhao turned around, placing his hand on Song Yi’s back as they exited together.

Before leaving, he turned his head and left one final remark: “Uncle Zhan, G7 isn’t 4—it’s 8.”

Zhan Luo chuckled, extinguishing his cigarette. He reached into his suit pocket for his fountain pen and lightly calculated on the newspaper with the Sudoku puzzle. Finally, he sighed: “Xiao Zhao is still as sharp as ever.”

When news of Chi Zhao’s leave spread, panic erupted throughout Chongming Games.

“It’s over! Does President Chi have a terminal illness?!”

“No, do you think something as trivial as a terminal illness could stop him from working?! It must be the apocalypse!”

“Do you really think the apocalypse wouldn’t inspire him to create something? Like a tower defense game based on the end of the world.”

“I feel like he’d assign us a pile of drafts to work on, like summer homework, and come back to check them…”

At this moment, Wang Ma, one of the employees closest to Chi Zhao, offered the only reliable opinion: “Maybe he’s dating someone.”

Upon hearing this, everyone turned their heads toward Wang Ma. The receptionist was the first to dismiss the idea: “Impossible! If President Chi were dating, ACDF would already be adapted into a mobile game!”

Recently, due to its complex world-building and gameplay mechanics, ACDF had been labeled by renowned gaming bloggers online as “one of the hardest PC games to adapt into a mobile format.”

Thus, the phrase “ACDF going mobile” became a meme among players, used to describe things that would never happen.

Just then, Zhan Heqing suddenly poked his head out of the doorway: “Someone from the planning department! Chi Zhao scheduled a meeting with an outsourcing company to discuss adapting it into a mobile game before he left!”

While the president was on vacation, Song Yi and Xia Fan, his secretary and assistant, had no time to rest.

On the contrary, to avoid any mishaps during Chi Zhao’s absence, they were busier than ever.

The only silver lining was that Zhan Heqing proved reliable, and this period happened to be a stable phase for development. Presumably, Zhan Luo understood this too, which is why he directly approved Chi Zhao’s leave.

“Even Mr. Chi Shuren hasn’t shown up, yet he’s already issuing instructions remotely,” Song Yi said, flipping through documents.

“I don’t think it’s bad. As a father,” Xia Fan replied, “he’s still bearing the survival of Chongming on his shoulders. Losing one son, he’s bound to be cautious with the only remaining son who can inherit the family business.”

Song Yi couldn’t help but wonder if this was Chi Shuren’s way of showing he didn’t want Chi Zhao to get hurt.

After work, she took the subway and then walked back to her apartment. When she reached the building, she saw someone sitting by the flower bed. She hadn’t seen him for just one day, but she had been thinking about him all day at work.

Chi Zhao’s head was slightly lowered, a cigarette between his fingers as he studied the ants crawling in the cracks of the concrete slabs on the ground.

Song Yi approached but didn’t make a sound. She simply watched him quietly.

After a few minutes, Chi Zhao pulled out a small box for discarded cigarette butts from his pocket, closing it just as he looked up and saw Song Yi.

At the moment their eyes met, Song Yi felt all her fatigue evaporate. Bathed in the warm glow of happiness, even her body seemed to melt.

Song Yi took a couple of steps forward, and Chi Zhao stood up, pulling her into an embrace. He whispered into her ear: “Are you tired?”

Song Yi sighed and said: “I miss you so much.”

As they parted, she held his hand and asked: “Why are you here?”

“I’m currently a jobless drifter, wanting to see you but unable to go to the company.” Chi Zhao smiled at her. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

He was joking. That handsome yet aloof face made Song Yi’s heart race so fast it felt like it might leap out of her mouth. She stared at him intently, suddenly standing on tiptoe to kiss his lips.

She said: “That’s wonderful.”

Chi Zhao raised an eyebrow. Song Yi quickly added: “It’s perfect that you’re free. I’ll work hard, and you save a little. We can afford to eat cake once or twice a month.”

She intended to go upstairs with him, but Chi Zhao didn’t follow. He said: “I’m going back.”

“Huh?” Song Yi turned to look at him. “Then why did you come—”

“To see you,” Chi Zhao said.

He watched Song Yi enter the building. Even after going upstairs, she still saw him from the window.

Song Yi didn’t know when Chi Zhao left.

But from that day on, she and Chi Zhao never saw each other again.

Occasionally, she wanted to send him a message, but Song Yi had always been reserved about conversations when they couldn’t meet in person. After much deliberation, she eventually only sent him occasional ACDF stickers.

Chi Zhao always took a long time to reply.

“He’s probably drawing,” Zhan Heqing explained. “Don’t let Chi Zhao’s appearance fool you—he doesn’t necessarily rely on making games to earn money. Did you know that shortly after graduating, he signed with a gallery in England under his professor’s recommendation?

“When he’s creating art, it’s normal not to be able to reach him. Besides, he doesn’t like people visiting his studio.”

As usual, Song Yi went to work at Chongming Games without Chi Zhao.

Since Zhan Heqing had said so, she decided not to disturb him anymore.

But after nearly a week of restraint, one day after work, Song Yi found herself walking to the café downstairs.

“One matcha strawberry soufflé cake,” she handed the menu back.

Song Yi patiently waited for the cake to be prepared, while customers gradually came and went around her. Soufflés took time, and people arrived and left, but one customer hesitated near the display case the entire time.

Song Yi glanced back absentmindedly.

It was a woman pushing a stroller.

She turned back, but a second later, Song Yi suddenly realized who it was.

At the same time, the other person recognized her too.

Sitting by the window, Song Yi became alert. After the previous incidents, she knew Cui Ting’ai was unpredictable, so it was best to remain cautious.

Cui Ting’ai bent down to play with the sleeping baby, then cheerfully greeted Song Yi: “You’re Chi Zhao’s girlfriend, right? We’ve met several times without greeting each other. Heqing told me you two are getting along well.”

Song Yi nodded slightly. It seemed Cui Ting’ai didn’t need anyone’s agreement to keep talking.

“‘Made for each other,’” Cui Ting’ai remarked. At this word, Song Yi abruptly raised her head.

But Cui Ting’ai continued: “People often said that about Chi Chong and me.”

Song Yi froze, struggling to ask: “What do you mean…?”

“They’re all very charming, aren’t they—the men of the Chi family? I understand, I understand!” Cui Ting’ai ignored her question, speaking at her own pace. “In high school, I thought Chi Zhao wasn’t suited for romance. Can I say that? He’s too… detached.

“But Chi Chong was the same. He was perfect, kind to everyone, making it seem impossible for him to favor one person. Yet, in the end, he was still with me.” Cui Ting’ai grinned. “These types who seem unsuitable for romance actually make you incredibly happy when you’re with them. Right?”

Song Yi hesitated for a moment, and suddenly, she realized she wanted to reply, “Yes.”

Song Yi didn’t have many friends. Whether good or bad, she had always processed everything alone. Since being with Chi Zhao, her previously monotonous black-and-white life had been flooded with vibrant colors. She found it novel, fortunate, yet unsettling, but she had no one to share these feelings with.

She had long wanted to talk to someone.

Someone with similar experiences, more experience, talkative yet gentle.

“Yes,” Song Yi heard herself say. “You’re absolutely right.”

“But sometimes it gets tiring. They’ve had so little romantic experience.” Cui Ting’ai said.

“Yes,” Song Yi nodded vigorously. “But he’s so reliable. In reality, there’s less to worry about than you’d expect.”

“That’s right, that’s right!” Cui Ting’ai laughed, raising her voice. “And he understands exactly what you’re thinking—it’s truly blissful.”

They unexpectedly found they had a lot in common.

“Chi Chong and I got together soon after we met,” Cui Ting’ai said with a smile. “We liked the same rock band, the same cuisine, and the same author. And the first time we met, I was in such a bad mood because I couldn’t do anything right at work. But I didn’t show it—I kept smiling and went to greet him.

“He immediately told me, ‘If you’re feeling down, take a break.’”

Song Yi listened intently: “He saw right through you.”

“Yes, he saw right through me!” Cui Ting’ai said. “Back then, Chongming was collaborating with us. One time, he was lost in thought at his desk. I don’t know why, but instinctively, I massaged his shoulders. Later, he joked that he almost cried from being so moved.”

“That’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Song Yi replied again.

Unconsciously, they talked until nightfall. During breaks, both Song Yi and Cui Ting’ai were in good spirits. Her baby woke up too.

Cui Ting’ai cradled the infant, gently soothing the child: “Still, it’s better not to trust them.”

“What?” Song Yi asked.

“Better not trust Chi Zhao… or Chi Chong,” she said.

Song Yi frowned and asked: “Why?”

“They’re just like that—fickle, selfish, and ultimately, they only love themselves.” Cui Ting’ai said. “In the end, they’ll leave you. I know this because I’ve experienced it.

“At first, they gradually distance themselves from you, stop contacting you, and avoid seeing you. You may not suspect anything at first, but over time, you grow anxious and uneasy, wanting to confirm what’s going on.

“So I went to him.”

Song Yi clenched her fist, her fingertips digging into her palm.

“I told him I was pregnant,” Cui Ting’ai said. “It was perfect timing for us, already engaged. I thought he’d be thrilled, surely.”

She cradled Chi Chong’s child, looking up at Song Yi with a wistful yet gentle smile.

“It was a rainy day, just like when we first met. He said, ‘Get rid of it,’ ‘Get rid of it,’ ‘Do you hear me?’ He repeated it several times—I’d never seen him act so viciously toward anyone.” Like tears, Cui Ting’ai’s smile spilled out, silently covering her beautiful face. “The rain poured heavily that day. From that day on, my happiness ended.”