[That... It seems like it was him.]

After an eleven-hour flight, the plane landed at Rome’s Fiumicino Airport at 19:36 local time. An hour later, Zhou Leqi and Zeng Ruihong walked out of the airport together. Representatives from Pielno were already waiting for them. Among them was a thirty- or forty-year-old Italian man named Rardo, who was in charge of the Tuscan production area and held the third-highest position in Pielno’s Italian operations. With his prominent hooked nose and classic Italian features, he stood out. He had also brought along a Chinese translator named Xiao Wang, likely in his twenties, wearing glasses and appearing somewhat nervous, perhaps inexperienced in such formal settings.

Rardo was very polite, shaking hands with both Zeng Ruihong and Zhou Leqi, expressing sympathy for their long journey. He then invited them to board a private car to take them to their hotel in the city center.

Rome was a city of almost overwhelming beauty. Even amidst the pandemic environment of 2021, when the city appeared somewhat desolate, its charm remained undeniable.

Unlike China’s bustling first-tier cities like Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou, and Shenzhen, Rome lacked modernity in its urban planning. Instead, it exuded an unexpected air of ancient simplicity and quietness. This eternal city by the Tiber River seemed particularly serene under the night sky, its calm exterior concealing layers of history. To a visitor, even a simple stone on the street seemed imbued with the unique aura of the Renaissance. The Baroque architecture of the historic district commanded respect, naturally evoking thoughts of a luminous era of civilization. The abundance of churches added an even stronger sense of religious sanctity.

Rardo was quite talkative and skillful in conversation. Rather than immediately discussing business with SWD’s representatives, he spoke about Italy’s culture and customs. In the course of his storytelling, he praised China’s success in epidemic prevention while casually complaining about the inconveniences the ongoing European pandemic imposed on commercial activities. The atmosphere in the car was lively.

He extended an invitation for Zeng Ruihong and Zhou Leqi to spend a few days touring Rome before moving on to inspect production sites in other regions. If time allowed, he expressed willingness to take them to Venice, Florence, and other cities. Despite their exhaustion, both Zeng Ruihong and Zhou Leqi maintained their composure in front of the client. As a subordinate, Zhou Leqi especially had to engage in conversation on behalf of Zeng Ruihong, who was too tired to speak.

She conveyed her gratitude to Rardo and communicated her professionalism, assuring him that they would responsibly complete the due diligence without requiring excessive hospitality from Pielno. Meanwhile, Zeng Ruihong internally fumed, thinking that no one would willingly come to Europe at this time unless it was for work. And sightseeing? Wasn’t he afraid of catching COVID? After returning to China, there would be twenty-one days of quarantine, causing significant delays.

With these thoughts, his resentment towards Pei Qiming grew. He felt that Pei was simply passing the buck, assigning the arduous task of conducting due diligence to him while staying behind in Beijing to meet with top executives. How utterly infuriating.

Zeng Ruihong’s demeanor worsened.

They arrived at the hotel around ten o’clock in the evening.

The hotel they booked was near the Spanish Steps, one of Rome’s finest. However, even so, it fell short compared to the standards of hotels that investment banking elites typically stayed in during domestic business trips. The historic old building, though charming, offered a less-than-ideal living experience. For example, the small elevators caused some inconvenience, and the furnishings were ordinary and unremarkable.

Fortunately, the room itself was decent. After spending half an hour washing up and unpacking, Zhou Leqi was about to lie down when her phone rang. It was Zeng Ruihong calling from the adjacent room.

She answered, and Zeng Ruihong’s voice came through, saying he was hungry and asking Zhou Leqi to find something for him to eat. He couldn’t stomach the strange Italian dishes on the hotel menu, suggesting she find some authentic Chinese food if possible.

While it was customary for subordinates to cater to their superiors during business trips, in practice, male bosses generally didn’t make things difficult for female subordinates, especially not on the first night of arriving in a foreign country.

Zhou Leqi knew Zeng Ruihong was deliberately making things hard for her, but she didn’t want to argue with him to avoid any repercussions for Pei Qiming. Thus, she calmly said “Okay” over the phone, got up from the bed, dressed properly, and went out with her phone and wallet.

Rome’s March weather was similar to Beijing’s, equally chilly but thankfully free of sandstorms and smog.

In the ancient historic district, skyscrapers were nowhere to be seen, and in the globally renowned Spanish Steps area, it was challenging to find a Chinese restaurant still open. This forced Zhou Leqi to take a taxi to the Chinatown near the train station.

Of course, the taxi driver was Italian, and Italians primarily spoke Italian. Zhou Leqi’s excellent English, comparable to a native speaker, was virtually useless here because the driver only understood Italian. She had to resort to gestures to convey where she wanted to go. Luckily, the driver recognized the word “China,” gave her an okay sign, and took her to Chinatown.

Rome’s Chinatown was near Piazza Vittorio, though it lacked official recognition. Reportedly, the Roman government aimed to prevent ethnic enclaves from forming in the city center. Nevertheless, this area inevitably retained typical Chinese cultural characteristics. Bright red lanterns were visible from afar, and the industriousness of the Chinese community kept the streets bustling until half past ten.

Zhou Leqi, wrapped in her coat against the cold March wind, walked into the area. She finally heard familiar languages—some with accents from different parts of mainland China, others with mixed accents, possibly from Chinese communities in Southeast Asia.

She wasn’t in the mood to appreciate the local culture; she just wanted to buy food for Zeng Ruihong and return as soon as possible to get a few more minutes of sleep. Her eyes scanned the streets back and forth until she finally spotted a Chinese restaurant still open, with a few tables of customers dining inside.

Relieved, she pushed the door open, ordered a few simple dishes to-go from the counter, paid, and then sat down at a window seat. This small restaurant appeared to be quite old, rundown, and rudimentary. The tables were greasy, and the hygiene conditions weren’t satisfactory. But Zhou Leqi didn’t care; she was too exhausted and needed to sit down and rest for a moment.

The disorienting effects of the flight lingered with her even now. At this moment, she wasn’t just confused about time but also struggling to adapt to the shift in space.

Outside the greasy glass windows of this small restaurant lay an entirely new world. Chinatown was a place that seemed familiar yet was fundamentally different from the real China. It was more like a third-party virtual vision, propped up by red lanterns and traditional architectural eaves, supporting the Western imagination of a distant land. In truth, it couldn’t provide genuine comfort to Chinese people who had traveled far to reach here.

However, the goods themselves were very much Chinese.

For instance, Zhou Leqi could smell the aroma of black pepper beef wafting from the kitchen. On the neighboring table, there was freshly made sweet and sour fish, equally flavorful. Across the street, she spotted a Chinese supermarket with large glass windows plastered with trademarks she recognized, even selling popsicles she used to eat as a child.

A faint smile finally appeared in her eyes.

Just as she was lost in thought, her phone vibrated again in her coat pocket. She glanced down and, unsurprisingly, saw it was Zeng Ruihong calling. A wave of irritation surged within her, but she still pressed the answer button.

Immediately, Zeng Ruihong’s grating voice came through: “Lucky, where are you? Why is it taking so long?”

He spoke condescendingly, as if treating her like his personal servant.

“I’m in Chinatown, Simon,” Zhou Leqi replied indifferently, trying to mask the apathy in her tone. “The food is still being prepared. You’ll probably have to wait another forty minutes.”

The other party immediately expressed dissatisfaction, raising his voice in complaint: “Another forty minutes? Does that mean I’ll have to wait until half past eleven?”

He went on and on, whining incessantly.

Her ears were filled with these garbage-like sounds, and her irritation grew stronger. She tried to persuade herself that this was how all working people lived—tolerating such behavior for bonuses, for a better life. If she took it too seriously, she’d lose.

So she began to let her mind wander, planning to wait for him to vent for another two minutes before finding a chance to interrupt. Either she could pretend her phone battery died and hang up or say the food was ready and she was heading back in a taxi.

But those two minutes felt unimaginably long. Finally, unable to bear Zeng Ruihong’s endless chatter, she absentmindedly turned her head to glance outside the window. Amidst the sea of red lanterns, she unexpectedly caught sight of a somewhat familiar figure hurriedly passing through the exaggerated, almost fake cultural symbols of the ethnic enclave, emerging from the Chinese supermarket plastered with familiar trademarks.

It was only a blurry silhouette.

Only a faint possibility.

…Yet it drove her mad.

That… It seemed like him.

It looked exactly like him.

She didn’t know what she did in the next few minutes.

It was as if she suddenly stood up abruptly, causing the wooden stool she sat on to scrape harshly against the floor, emitting an unpleasant screech that drew disapproving glances from the diners. Then, she seemed to start running, accidentally colliding with someone along the way. Her arm felt a burning sensation—she must have knocked over the server bringing her food—but she didn’t know and had no time to apologize.

Without regard for anything, she rushed out of the dilapidated little restaurant. The oily glass door hit her painfully, but she didn’t care. Like a mentally unstable patient, she dashed onto the road, frantically searching in the cold March wind of Rome for that blurred figure once again.

That figure she knew so well it pained her heart.

That figure she had stubbornly missed for seven years.

That figure she hadn’t been able to let go of despite all her efforts.

That figure belonging to a past that had come to a standstill.

That figure that seemed destined never to become real again.

…And he disappeared once more.

She ran back and forth along the long streets of Chinatown, hearing nothing but the sound of the wind. Everyone on the street stared at her as though pitying a poor soul suffering from mental illness. She paid no attention to their curious gazes, instead haphazardly grabbing passersby—Italians, Chinese, and others from places she couldn’t identify.

In her confusion, she only knew to ask in Chinese, but most people couldn’t understand her—neither the Italians nor even the Chinese, because her words were so incoherent they barely formed sentences.

She was utterly helpless. The extreme urgency left her flustered. Stumbling, she ran into the Chinese supermarket. Behind the counter stood a young girl with yellow skin, looking at her in astonishment. Zhou Leqi leaned over the counter urgently, wanting to ask if a boy had passed by earlier—a tall, handsome boy with deep eyes who smiled carelessly, a very gentle, very kind person.

But before she could ask, she heard the girl speak first.

“Are you all right, lady?”

She heard a perplexing sentence in English.

“...Why are you crying?”