[“I won’t leave you alone...”]

She had just fallen, and the pain hadn’t yet traveled from her ankle to her brain when a flurry of hurried footsteps echoed outside the room. The door was pushed open immediately, and his voice rushed through the darkness: “What happened?”

By then, she finally felt the pain.

She wasn’t sure if her bone was injured again—only that her left foot was unresponsive, causing her to gasp repeatedly. But he no longer waited for her response, swiftly lifting her back onto the bed. Before she could react, he quickly left the room and returned with a lamp switched on, carrying the medication previously prescribed at the hospital.

He began examining her injury.

The bone wasn’t broken, but the tendon had been strained again. By tomorrow, it would likely swell even more. Repeated injuries were slow to heal and would hurt significantly.

As he tended to her wound, his temper flared. His brows furrowed deeply as he scolded her: “What are you doing at this hour? Couldn’t you have called me? Do you have any idea how serious your injury is?”

He sounded harsh.

In truth, his intention wasn’t like that… it was simply worry making him lose his composure.

Zhou Leqi didn’t respond. She only watched as he carefully placed her leg on his lap. The sight made it hard for her not to feel loved, easily evoking sweet memories from seven years ago.

Her heart began to calm, and her mind gradually regained its ability to think.

Seven years had passed since Hou Zihao disappeared. During these seven years, he hadn’t contacted any of their old friends—Yan Lin, Mi Lan, Ge Ao—none of them knew where he was. So why was Yuan Jiahui the exception? And why had she never mentioned anything about Hou Zihao in their high school circle?

This was unusual.

Was it a coincidence that they both studied at Oxford, or was it someone’s deliberate arrangement? Zhou Leqi was certain that when Hou Zihao first saw Yuan Jiahui outside the elevator earlier, his demeanor tensed. It wasn’t a sign of happiness—it was one of vigilance.

Her instincts weren’t wrong.

He was hiding something from her.

And that secret… might be related to Yuan Jiahui.

Fifteen minutes later, after finishing treating her wound, he continued to lecture her sternly, listing numerous precautions. He warned her not to move around recklessly, acting like an overly strict and impersonal doctor. However, she let his words go in one ear and out the other, not really listening. Only when he stood up to leave did she reach out and hug his waist.

His body stiffened again.

It seemed he could no longer tolerate intimacy with her.

“I can’t sleep,” she murmured softly into his embrace, her voice tinged with sadness. “…Can you come in and talk to me?”

He didn’t answer, gently prying her arms off him, silently refusing.

“Sleep,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Her hand dropped, and she sighed quietly, eventually managing a faint smile.

“Then you should come in and sleep. I’ll go outside,” she said lightly. “I can’t sleep anyway—it’s a waste to occupy the bed.”

Half-pretending to be pitiable, half-using reverse psychology.

He knew full well she was deliberately saying this to make him soften. Yet, he couldn’t resist when she showed vulnerability. Once she revealed her fragility, his resolve wavered, and his reason and emotions began to disconnect.

Neither spoke. An invisible tug-of-war raged fiercely between them, ultimately ending in his defeat.

—He went to the living room to fetch a blanket and pillow, rummaged through the storage room for a mat, laid it out beside her bed, turned off the lights, and lay down. In a slightly annoyed tone, he muttered: “Can you sleep now?”

He was angry again.

Angry at himself for giving in to her once more.

Zhou Leqi understood him too well, fully aware of the source of his current emotions. This meant she had once again triumphed in this subtle emotional tug-of-war.

But victory didn’t always bring joy because what she cared about was no longer what she could gain from him. Instead, she simply wanted to know what had happened to him and hoped he would accept her help.

Both lay together in the dark, close yet distant. They both knew the other wasn’t asleep.

“Hou Zihao?”

She called to him.

“Mm.”

He responded.

“…Can you tell me what happened during these seven years?”

Silence fell over the room again.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, just like I didn’t want to talk about my family’s upheaval back then,” her voice carried a faint sigh. “But I know… if we don’t talk about it, it will never get better.”

“You once told me that my inability to move on wasn’t because I was weak—it was because I was sick… You were right. Humans are social creatures; we can’t solve everything alone. Feeling fear and helplessness isn’t shameful—it just means we’re ordinary people.”

“I tried to bear everything by myself, wanting everyone to think I was fine. But you know how that ended… If you hadn’t come that day, I would’ve jumped off the rooftop.”

“Only after I told you everything, after I went to the hospital and opened up my wounds to others, did I truly turn the page in my heart. Though some losses are irreversible, once I moved past them, things got better.”

“Hou Zihao… let me help you now, okay?”

“I won’t leave you alone…”

Her voice was gentle and calm. The painful memories she recounted now felt peaceful, like a once bloody wound slowly scabbing over into a scar. Though traces remained, the pain had lessened.

He remained silent for a long time, making her think he had fallen asleep. Only much later did she hear his voice emerge from the darkness.

“I’m fine.”

His voice was somewhat hoarse.

“Sleep.”

“Take care of yourself.”

Then they both fell silent, each continuing their insomnia in the darkness.

Zhou Leqi gazed at his vague shadow beneath the bed, the void in her heart growing larger and larger.

Are you really okay?

Then why… do I always feel like you’re crying?

After dawn, their mode of interaction became even stranger.

They hadn’t argued, nor were they in a cold war, but there was little conversation between them. He would get up early to make breakfast, then help her wash up, and they would eat together.

Their eyes rarely met. They only stole glances at each other when the other wasn’t looking, then turned away to focus on their own tasks—though mainly it was Zhou Leqi who was busy. Investment bankers always had endless work and emails to respond to. Recently, she had been coordinating with a colleague named Cici from the Beijing office, who would replace Zeng Ruihong to assist her in completing the due diligence report for Pierno Italy.

During work, she received a message from the administrative department asking when she wanted her flight rescheduled. After some thought, she glanced at Hou Zihao, who was sitting on the other side of the sofa reading a book, and replied: A bit later, maybe five days from now?

The admin replied with an “Okay.”

Hou Zihao, however, still believed Zhou Leqi was leaving in two days. His mood remained in a delicate state. Yet, after silently waiting for two days, he noticed she hadn’t packed her bags, which puzzled him. Eventually, he couldn’t help but ask, “When did you reschedule your ticket?”

At that moment, Zhou Leqi, typing away on her laptop without looking up, asked casually, “What rescheduling?”

“Your return ticket,” he frowned, beginning to sense a trap forming. “Your travel certificate has arrived too—are you not returning?”

She hummed in acknowledgment but still didn’t look up, her slender fingers flying over the keyboard as she responded offhandedly, “Oh, you mean returning? That depends on you.”

The trap grew visibly larger, and Hou Zihao’s brows furrowed even more tightly. “What do you mean, ‘depends on me’?”

She finished typing a section and finally deigned to look up, giving him a brief glance before saying calmly, “I’m going back to China with you. If you don’t go, I won’t either.”

Hou Zihao: ?

Of course, Zhou Leqi was lying to him.

Her ticket had already been booked long ago. After all, she had a job to attend to and couldn’t possibly recklessly linger in Rome forever. At most, she could stay for five more days. But she was betting on something—betting that he wouldn’t be able to endure her persistence, that these extra three days would pressure him into thinking she’d engage in a prolonged battle, and that he might compromise again and return to China with her.

True to form, her words immediately made him anxious. “If I don’t go, you won’t go? What about your work? Are you just going to abandon it?”

She nodded, pretending to be resolute. “I’ve thrown caution to the wind.”

He was utterly speechless, his eyes practically sparking with frustration. But he was far too smart to be easily deceived and countered, “Who are you trying to scare? Do you really think you can just not return? What about Aunt Yu? What will you do about her?”

He was still worried about Yu Qing.

Zhou Leqi secretly smiled inside but kept her expression serious and solemn, responding gravely, “I’ve thought about that too. It’s indeed troublesome. But if you insist on not returning with me, then I’ll have no choice but to bring my mom over here. We’ll just wait it out.”

Hou Zihao was so exasperated he almost laughed. For a while, he couldn’t find words. After a moment, seeing her serious demeanor and realizing she wasn’t joking, he began to worry she might actually carry out such an absurd plan. He quickly added, “I told you I’m just on vacation in Rome. I’ll leave in a few days. What’s the point of you staying here?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said nonchalantly, completely unfazed. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow. Anyway, by then I’ll probably be unemployed, so I’ll have plenty of free time.”

Hou Zihao: “… “

Such audacious behavior was utterly unreasonable, clearly taking advantage of him. She was driving him mad. Unable to contain himself, he stood up and paced around the apartment several times. Finally, he looked at her and said, “Zhou Leqi, can you be reasonable? You used to never be this irrational.”

The phrase “used to” was a minefield, buried with countless emotional grenades that could detonate at any moment, leaving one emotionally shattered and bleeding.

Zhou Leqi winced at the mention of “used to.” Her eyes dimmed slightly, and she gave a soft laugh, murmuring “used to” under her breath. Then she looked up at him and said, “But back then… you wouldn’t always reject me.”

Not only would he not reject her, but in the past, he would willingly give her all the initiative, happily revolving around her. Even if they had disagreements or arguments, it didn’t matter—as long as she gave him a gentle smile, he would let bygones be bygones and shower her with all his enthusiasm once again.

…It seemed they had truly changed a lot.