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Shang Zhitao walked a long way through the silent, endless night with Luke by her side.
That evening, the snow grew heavier and heavier, finally turning into the kind of substantial snowfall Lumi had been longing for. In recent years, Beijing rarely saw such heavy snow. Occasionally, when it did snow, the entire city would be bathed in a pristine white glow under the streetlights.
The snow settled on Shang Zhitao’s hat and scarf, slowly accumulating into a layer. Luke loved the snow and occasionally stopped to bury his nose in it, sniffing curiously. But he was unhappy, and every now and then, he would look back.
Shang Zhitao tried to hail a taxi, but on such a snowy night, it was nearly impossible to find one. So she called Sun Yu: “Can you come pick me up?”
Sun Yu had never seen Shang Zhitao so disheveled.
She looked as though she had just survived a frost—her whole body still carried the chill. Luke lay listlessly in the backseat, devoid of energy.
“I didn’t make it,” Shang Zhitao said to Sun Yu. “I prepared for so long, thinking I’d win. But I lost.”
Sun Yu listened quietly as they drove through the snow-covered streets. The roads were slow-moving, and outside, pedestrians had vanished. The world was wrapped in a serene blanket of snow. On snowy nights like this, both Sun Yu and Shang Zhitao would think of Sun Yuanzhu. For a long time, they sat in silence until Sun Yu finally spoke: “Taotao, why don’t you come work as a vice president at my company? We’re expecting to secure Series C funding next year. Thanks to…” She glanced at Shang Zhitao, avoiding Luan Nian’s name. “I think your abilities are more than enough to make you a professional manager at any company. Look at how well you managed such a large team in the northwest and delivered that project. Let HR talk to you about salary, okay? Tell them what you want, and they’ll evaluate it.”
Shang Zhitao shook her head. “Thank you, but I don’t want to.”
“Then what do you want to do? You look so broken. Do you know I can’t afford to lose another friend?” Sun Yu’s voice trembled slightly. “I’ve only just started feeling better. Please don’t do anything reckless to scare me—I might not be able to handle it.”
“I won’t.” Shang Zhitao’s tears began flowing again. “I’m just heartbroken over the breakup.”
Her phone remained un-muted. After taking a shower and climbing into bed, she couldn’t fall asleep no matter what. Eventually, she sat by the windowsill to watch the snowfall. Fresh from a massive emotional breakdown, the void in her heart felt impossible to fill. Her phone never rang. Shang Zhitao had always known that Luan Nian wouldn’t reach out. He was too lazy to chase after anyone—if you came, he waited; if you left, he moved on to other things.
Shang Zhitao had never imagined a breakup could hurt this much. Even eating meals became tasteless, and watching TV dramas left her unable to focus. Doing laundry often ended with her forgetting to turn off the faucet.
Sun Yu stayed with her through the weekend. She knew the simplest solution would be to call Luan Nian and have him pick Shang Zhitao up—it would undoubtedly make her feel better. But she couldn’t do that. Because the next time, Shang Zhitao would feel even worse. An unhealthy relationship needed to be broken and rebuilt—but Sun Yu didn’t know if theirs could ever be mended.
On Sunday night, Shang Zhitao suddenly said to Sun Yu: “I always knew he wouldn’t say anything extra to me. No matter what happened, he would never take the initiative.” She took a shower, applied a face mask, and prepared for work the next day.
Lumi hadn’t made it to Ice City. On Monday morning, she spotted Shang Zhitao at her desk and circled around her twice before exclaiming, “Holy crap, who is this beautiful person? Is this my Florashang?”
Shang Zhitao smiled at her. “Does my makeup look okay?”
“Absolutely stunning!” Lumi pinched her cheek. “How can your skin look so enviable!”
They joked around for a bit before heading out to buy coffee. They ran into Luan Nian, who had just emerged from a meeting. He carried that familiar crisp, cool scent, which seemed even sharper in winter. Neither of them looked at each other. Lumi raised her hand to greet him: “Is Luke in a meeting?”
Luan Nian acted as if he hadn’t heard, stepping into the elevator and standing in front. He wore an impeccably tailored gray wool coat and a black turtleneck sweater, making him appear even taller and more composed. An awkward silence filled the elevator. Feeling uneasy, Lumi attempted small talk: “Where did you go over the weekend?”
“A gathering.”
“Gatherings are great! I love going to parties. Maybe we should hit the club together sometime?”
Luan Nian ignored her further attempts at conversation. Lumi rolled her eyes.
Shang Zhitao wondered if everyone went through this after a breakup—neither speaking a single word to the other. She and Luan Nian had no desire to communicate anymore. She wasn’t afraid of running into him at work; she wouldn’t avoid him or sidestep his presence. She simply wouldn’t speak to him—not even exchange glances.
In mid-December, Old Shang tripped and fell, prompting Shang Zhatiao to take leave and return home to care for him.
Poor Old Shang had missed a step while descending the stairs, resulting in a comminuted fracture of his left leg. Bedridden, he groaned pitifully. Watching her father’s condition broke Shang Zhitao’s heart. She scolded him: “Mom told me you jumped down the stairs and fell! At your age, why are you still hopping around like that?”
Tears welled up in her eyes as she touched his cast. “Tell me, doesn’t it hurt? Even young people need three to five months to recover from something like this. You’re looking at six months, minimum!”
“I bought you a wheelchair and crutches. You need to listen to the doctor and follow their rehabilitation plan. Got it?”
Seeing his daughter upset, Old Shang refrained from joking and chuckled softly: “Okay, okay. I’m tough. While others take three to five months, I’ll be walking again in two.”
Da Zhai scolded him from the side: “Will you shut up already? All you ever do is run your mouth!”
As Shang Zhitao helped Old Shang change his clothes, he became embarrassed and fidgety: “Let your mom do it. Let your mom do it.” Even fathers needed to maintain propriety when daughters grew up. Shang Zhitao went to find Da Zhai and saw her secretly wiping away tears in the room.
Shang Zhitao suddenly felt deeply guilty toward them.
They had always let her have her way. When she wanted to learn calligraphy, they supported her. When her grades weren’t stellar, they accepted it. When she decided to study in Nanjing, they sent her off. When she chose to work in Beijing, they let her go.
Old Shang often said: “I only have one daughter in this lifetime. If I don’t spoil her, who will?”
He also joked: “If I don’t spoil my daughter, am I supposed to spoil someone else’s?”
“Daughters should be pampered. Our Taotao has never been spoiled rotten, nor has she become arrogant. She works at such a big company and excels. Raising her has been worth every effort.”
Every time Shang Zhitao heard Old Shang boast, she blushed. She always felt she wasn’t the best daughter—she just happened to have wonderful parents.
She cared for Old Shang for two days before her high school classmates invited her out for dinner. After getting ready, she went to meet them. Though they usually gathered once a year during holidays, she had missed the past two reunions because Old Shang kept her busy.
Her high school friends shared deep bonds. Many had attended university in Ice City, while others returned after graduation. Only a handful truly drifted far away. Ice City wasn’t particularly large, and since people finished work early, a quick phone call or shout in the group chat was enough to bring everyone together, regardless of distance.
Snowfall in Ice City was frequent, occurring every two or three days, sometimes lasting for several days at a stretch. They arranged to meet at a barbecue restaurant in the old part of town—it was close to Shang Zhitao’s house.
He Yun was Shang Zhitao’s best friend in high school. After graduating from a police academy, she became a small-town household registration officer in Ice City. This time, she showed up heavily pregnant. Shang Zhitao was surprised: “You didn’t mention you were pregnant when I sent you roasted duck the other day.”
He Yun patted her belly: “Your nephew wanted some.”
“Do you know the gender?”
“The doctor said to prepare blue socks.”
Many of their high school classmates who stayed in Ice City had settled into ordinary, happy lives—some married, others living relatively free and contented existences. Over the years, Shang Zhitao had developed a better tolerance for alcohol, so she sat by the window of the barbecue shop, drinking and chatting with everyone. He Yun slapped Shang Zhitao on the shoulder and said, “Among our high school classmates, there’s only one guy left who is both well-off and single—Xing Yi from the neighboring class.”
“The campus heartthrob?” another classmate asked.
“Yes, yes. He works in the government. I saw him once when he came to our bureau for something.”
As Shang Zhitao listened to their chatter, she turned her head and looked out at the snow-covered old town. The lights illuminated the streets, where pedestrians exhaled visible clouds of warm breath into the cold air. A vendor arranged hundreds of boxes of popsicles on the ground. Suddenly, she felt it: she should return here.
Where her parents were, she wouldn’t wander far.
She could use her savings from these years—tens of thousands of yuan—to put a down payment on a 120-square-meter apartment and start anew, embracing a warm and lively life.
The decision crystallized in that instant.
That night, they drank copious amounts of alcohol, leaving almost everyone tipsy except for the very pregnant He Yun. Shang Zhitao hadn’t felt this carefree in a long time. Leaning on He Yun’s shoulder, she said, “I feel like we’re back in our seventeenth year.”
“At seventeen, you didn’t even understand half of what was going on!” He Yun laughed, tapping her head.
Indeed, the seventeen-year-old Shang Zhitao had been a bit naive. Whenever someone achieved something—whether winning first place or receiving an award—she would genuinely applaud them. Classmates would gossip behind her back: Was Shang Zhitao simple-minded? Why wasn’t she ever jealous?
Some boys even passed her love letters, which terrified her. She confided in He Yun: “Do you think he’s trying to harm me?”
There were so many stories. As everyone recounted them during the meal, they laughed until tears streamed down their faces.
At nearly eleven o’clock that evening, Tracy called. She said to Shang Zhitao, “I originally wanted to meet with you today, but Josh told me you took leave because your father was ill. Is everything alright?”
“It’s just my dad—he didn’t descend the stairs properly and fractured his left foot. He’s resting now. Thank you for asking, Tracy.”
“I’m calling about two things. First, the company needs someone from the planning department to organize this year’s annual meeting. I discussed it with Josh, and he recommended you. Second, there’s something else I wanted to tell you in person, but I couldn’t wait.” Tracy sounded particularly cheerful.
Shang Zhitao calculated the timeline; she could manage organizing the company’s annual meeting in half a month. So she agreed: “Alright, then what’s the second thing?”
“This year, the company introduced a Special Contribution Award, equivalent to the rewards given to expert hires. However, there’s one difference: while expert hire stocks vest over three years, the Special Contribution Award takes effect immediately.” Tracy paused before continuing, “This award goes to non-expert employees who have worked at the company for more than five years, earned A+ performance ratings in the last three evaluations, led three or more company-level projects, and managed S+ level projects. This year, only you and Frank qualify. So, Flora, congratulations.”
That night, the snow fell heavily in Ice City as Shang Zhitao listened quietly to Tracy’s words. Unbeknownst to her, tears began streaming down her face. The weather was so cold that the tears froze on her cheeks.
“Tracy,” Shang Zhitao’s voice was slightly hoarse, “thank you.”
“This is something you earned yourself, Flora. You don’t need to thank me. If you want to thank anyone, thank yourself for every moment of perseverance over the past six years.”
“But Tracy, there’s something I want to tell you. Can you keep it a secret?”
“Yes. You can trust me completely.”
“I want to resign. I mean it. If the company awards this to me, it will be a loss for them. And you’ll face pressure from the departure of a core employee.” Shang Zhitao didn’t want to cause any trouble for Tracy, who had always treated her kindly over the years. She respected her deeply.
“Why don’t you take the stock first and then consider it? You know how valuable Lingmei’s shares are.”
“I’ve already decided to leave.”
“Then just accept it. Don’t worry about anything else.”
Tracy was a strong and rational HR manager. When others repeatedly meddled in her domain and changed her rules, she would fight back. In the workplace, no one was truly kind-hearted. Struggling against fate brought joy, but battling against people was even more exhilarating.
“I...”
“Just accept it. Don’t worry about the rest.” Tracy thought, Screw it, it’s not my money anyway. She was already prepared to bite back if necessary.
“Thank you, Tracy.” Shang Zhitao’s nose was frozen stiff, and she covered it with her hand. Her tears and snot froze together, making her look utterly miserable.
“I’ll keep your secret—from everyone.”
“Okay, thank you.”
After hanging up, Shang Zhitao felt as though she were in a dream. She didn’t ask Tracy why the company suddenly added a Special Contribution Award this year. It felt like perfect timing—almost as if it were a farewell celebration, bidding her goodbye from the city of Beijing.
________________________________________
The next day, Shang Zhitao took Da Zhai house hunting. She had set her sights on a property: 146 square meters, with a down payment of around 500,000 yuan and a monthly mortgage of less than 5,000 yuan. She could afford it. They finalized the purchase that same day.
Da Zhai was bewildered, asking, “Why are you buying a house?”
Shang Zhitao stood by the roadside, tightening her down jacket and helping Da Zhai adjust her scarf before slowly replying, “If I don’t buy a house, where will I live when I come back? Do you want neighbors talking about us? ‘Old Shang’s daughter has been away for years, hasn’t achieved anything, and still lives with her parents.’” She chuckled after saying this.
“You only come home a few days a year—why care what others say?”
“It’s not about that, Mom.” Shang Zhitao wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “What I mean is, I’m coming back to work in Ice City.”
Da Zhai, nearly sixty years old, was stunned. Standing by the roadside, she suddenly burst into tears.
Shang Zhitao had been gone for ten years, drifting like duckweed without roots—from Nanjing to Beijing. Only in Ice City did she feel grounded. Here were her family, friends, childhood memories, snowy winters, and the resilience to grow again after countless frosts—just like her.
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