Chapter 12 When I said "break up," I meant "say goodbye"...

The next morning, Xia Zhiyao appeared in the office as usual.

Her makeup was exquisite and appropriate, her hair was neatly styled in an updo, and she wore a sharply tailored suit. Her gaze was calm and composed. As always, she sat upright at the conference table, flawless.

No one could tell that she hadn't slept all night, and when the daylight shone in, her eyes still held the exhaustion of a night spent burning out.

Just after noon, having just finished a project debriefing meeting, she was about to close the document when a message popped up on WeChat:

[Zhiyao, do you have time to meet up? It's nearby, at your usual Italian restaurant.]

The restaurant was right downstairs from the company. It was an Italian bistro she frequented. The decor was elegant, and people came and went outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. A few rose bushes were growing wildly around the fence, but they were already tired of blooming, and their colors were faded and pale, as if the season had dragged on for too long, and even the flowers were weary.

The city appears vibrant on the surface, with bright sunlight, lush greenery, and even the wind carrying fragrance. But upon closer inspection, the sharp edges of spring have quietly dulled, and the most glorious moment has long passed.

It's a time when the season is just turning a new page. The city appears vibrant on the surface, but in reality, its peak has quietly passed. There's even a hint of the dryness that comes with the approaching summer in the air.

Xia Zhiyao sat by the window, as if standing outside this late spring scenery. All around her was vibrant and bustling, but she felt like a forgotten figure, neither belonging to the hustle and bustle nor to the farewell.

Zhang Luyuan arrived shortly afterward, his steps slightly hurried and his breathing a little disordered, but his demeanor remained as gentle and refined as ever.

He had a clear and handsome face with distinct features, yet his expression remained calm and composed, revealing a deliberate restraint.

He was always impeccably dressed, and today was no exception. His shirt cuffs were neatly pressed, and he wore an old-fashioned mechanical watch. His every move exuded a strong academic upbringing, but it was precisely this impeccable "propriety" that made it impossible for anyone to figure out what he was thinking.

"You've come." He sat down opposite her, trying to calm things down with gentleness.

Xia Zhiyao glanced at him, expressionless, then lowered her head to continue cutting the steak in front of her, her movements as elegant and restrained as ever.

Zhang Luyuan tentatively began, "Yesterday... something came up unexpectedly, and I didn't have time—"

She smiled slightly, without looking up, the blade lightly slicing across the steak, producing a subtle yet clear metallic sound. "It's okay if you don't say anything," she said softly, her voice as light as ripples on water. "Actually... I guessed pretty accurately."

Zhang Luyuan was stunned for a moment, but couldn't say anything for a while.

She had already put down her knife and fork, her movements slow and deliberate, without any emotional fluctuation. She picked up a napkin and wiped her mouth, her whole demeanor as if she were preparing for an upcoming negotiation, even one that could be decided in a single sentence.

“You asked me out,” she looked up, her voice incredibly gentle, “Perfect timing, I also have something I want to tell you.”

She frowned slightly, but still swallowed the mouthful, as if preserving the last bit of etiquette and patience for this "last meal."

Then, she looked at him, her eyes calm and without a trace of emotion: "I'm thinking, it's about time it ended between us."

The moment those words were spoken, the surroundings were still bustling with noise, yet suddenly felt as distant as another world.

Zhang Luyuan's smile froze slightly. After a two-second silence, he spoke in a low voice, trying to be as gentle as possible: "Are you angry? Recently... I have indeed been quite busy and haven't been able to get away from things."

Xia Zhiyao chuckled softly, her voice devoid of warmth: "You don't need to tell me who you're arranging or what you're arranging. You go about your business, I understand."

She paused, her voice still clear and calm, like a still pond, yet concealing an unyielding sharpness: "Anyway, the time we meet is never based on whether I'm free, but on whether it's convenient for you."

Zhang Luyuan's smile finally crumbled, his eyes flickered slightly, and he looked away.

She looked at him, her gaze calm yet almost transparently cold: "You say you're overwhelmed, but even if you weren't busy, you wouldn't put me first, right?"

She raised her hand, her fingertips lightly tapping the edge of the plate, her movements elegant, yet her words barbed: "I used to think it was because I wasn't good enough. Now I realize it's not that I'm not good enough for you, it's that you never intended to give me a place in your life."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried an extreme clarity: "I didn't expect you to give up anything for me, and I never forced you to make any decisions."

Her tone was calm to the point of being cruel, “But I finally understand that a person who is unwilling to make a decision is never hesitant; he just doesn’t care that much.”

Zhang Luyuan did not respond immediately, but looked up at her, his expression still maintaining its usual composure, his tone steady, as if he was still trying to salvage something: "Zhiyao... if you are too tired right now, we can calm down. Decisions made on an emotional basis are not necessarily the best choice."

He spoke gently and tactfully, as if he were preserving her dignity while also trying to gain the last bit of leeway for himself.

"I understand what you care about." He paused, his expression turning slightly somber. "But... if things really come to this, don't you think it would be such a waste?"

After listening, Xia Zhiyao smiled lightly, like a petal falling in the wind, light, cold, and devoid of warmth. "When I said we should break up, I was informing you, not asking for your opinion."

Her voice was gentle, even sounding somewhat tolerant, but each word was clear and decisive, like nails striking the ground: "I'm just informing you."

She no longer expected him to understand, nor did she hope he would change.

Zhang Luyuan knew that she wasn't acting out of spite or testing him; she had truly reached the end.

He knew all too well that she was no longer the kind of person who would stand still and wait for him to "make time" for her.

Some words, once spoken, are more than just a breakup.

She no longer believed it. She no longer needed to listen.

“I don’t want to live that kind of life anymore.” Her voice grew firmer and firmer: “I’m always waiting, and I’ll never get it. I’m waiting for you to finish your work, waiting for you to have time, waiting for you to soften your heart.”

She glanced at him, her expression calm. "That's enough."

"Don't contact me anymore," she added, her tone indifferent. "You go your way, and I should go mine too."

When Xia Zhiyao returned to the office building, the sunlight was just right. The glass curtain wall cut the light straight and clear, casting a pale gold glow on the shoulders of her suit.

The elevator slowly ascended, its mirror reflecting her image. Her makeup was still impeccable, not a single strand of her hair was disheveled. For a moment, she almost doubted whether the conversation she had just witnessed was merely an illusion, a dream blown away by the wind.

But she knew that no, no one noticed anything unusual about her.

She stepped out of the elevator as usual, her high heels clicking on the thick carpet with crisp, steady steps, as if she had never been emotionally affected by anything that day.

Instead of returning to her desk, she went into the women's restroom. The stall door closed, like an invisible barrier separating her from the crowd and the sounds, and also from the world.

She slowly sat down, her body seemingly muted at that moment, all light and sound instantly withdrawn, leaving only the sound of her own breathing in the cramped space, lonely and clear.

Next door, she could hear her colleagues talking in hushed tones, the water gushing from the sink, the hand dryers humming, and someone complaining about how rushed the meeting was. The daily routines and familiar noise seemed like an impenetrable film; she couldn't hear a word they said.

She looked down at the floor tiles at her feet, the gray and white patterns blurring and swaying in her vision. Suddenly, her eyes felt hot, and tears welled up unexpectedly, silently yet overwhelmingly.

There was no sound, only tears. She bit her lip, clenching her teeth tightly, trying to keep a sound from escaping her throat.

She looked up at her phone, and the rational voice inside her said, "Ten minutes, ten minutes at most, no longer."

If you stay any longer, you'll succumb to your emotions.

A few minutes later, she got up and went out, washed her hands, touched up her makeup, looked at herself in the mirror, applied her lipstick, and slowly pulled her gaze from a daze back to clarity. She wasn't alright. She just wouldn't allow herself to continue losing control.

Her steps were as steady as ever, as if the collapse had never happened.

She wasn't crying for Zhang Luyuan; she was simply, at this moment, quietly bidding farewell to the version of herself who was always in a position where she wasn't chosen, quietly waiting, swallowing her disappointment alone, and trying her best to maintain a dignified image to protect her self-esteem.

She sat down, her finger just touching the mouse, when her phone screen lit up: [Sister Zhiyao, I'm much better.]

Thank you for taking care of me that day.

A smiley face followed it.

She stared at the WeChat message for a few seconds, surrounded by the familiar sounds of keyboards, telephones, and printers, all of which seemed to be muted.

She sighed softly and typed a few words:

【take care of yourself. 】

He paused, then added, "Keep medicine and such on hand; I can send it to you if it's inconvenient."

A few minutes later, the other party replied: "I have it, Zhiyao. Don't worry about me, focus on your work."

She stared at the screen, her expression calm, but a tiny ripple stirred within her. She didn't reply; she simply closed her phone, looked back at the screen, and everything seemed normal—the keyboard continued to click, and the pages of documents turned incessantly.

She remained seated, her fingertips resting on the keyboard. Perhaps it was just a coincidence that during those ten most difficult minutes, she received a message that was neither too important nor too trivial. Someone who called her "Sister Zhiyao" offered her a hand when she was almost drowning.

Even if it's just right, it's enough for her to continue moving forward with a clear mind.

These past few days the company has been in the project summary phase. The Los Angeles acquisition was a great success. She took the lead in the overall situation and made precise decisions at every step. Even the headquarters rarely praised her by name in an internal meeting.

The nomination for the position of deputy director is almost a done deal; all that's missing is a formal report and a brilliant, concise, and flawless closing statement.

She had already prepared everything, rehearsing the data, strategies, execution processes, and even the Q&A multiple times, with each slide of the PPT precise to the second.

The blow came unexpectedly; the phone screen vibrated slightly on the table—a message from the assistant:

Are you free right now? I suggest you check the latest comments on the approval platform; someone has raised questions, and it's anonymous.

Her fingers paused, her heart sank slightly, and she opened the platform's backend. The whistleblower letter lay coldly on the page. It was anonymously sent, with restrained wording, but it went straight to the heart of the matter: there was a bias in the Los Angeles merger and acquisition case, close private relationships with suppliers, deliberate exclusion of competitors' suggestions, and it was unfair.

Every word left room for maneuver, yet each one was piercing to the heart. Her brow furrowed slightly, and her gaze quickly shifted from calm to sharp.

That tone, that logic, that subtle guidance hidden beneath the seemingly "prudent and objective" approach—she was all too familiar with it. She appeared neutral, but in reality, she was precisely targeting her, using the safest method at the most crucial moment to label her as "worthy of reassessment."

She knew this was not an accident, but a foreshadowing, a calculated move, a perfectly timed ambush that was neither blatant nor too blatant, yet enough to arouse suspicion among the higher-ups.

She won the battle in Los Angeles cleanly and decisively. But winning too well also meant that she was blocking other people's way.

As soon as the meeting ended and Xia Zhiyao stepped out the door, her phone vibrated; it was a message from President Shen.

Without saying much, she turned and walked into President Shen's office. Outside the glass curtain wall, the sky had already turned gray. President Shen closed his laptop and said in a gentle tone, "Have a seat."

She sat down, her expression calm: "I've already seen the backstage area."

President Shen nodded, his voice unchanged, with his usual restraint and tact: "I know you're fine."

He changed the subject, his gaze gradually focusing on her: "But you also know that only people within your team would know about the level of detail required to write such content, including execution nodes, strategy changes, and temporary instruction adjustments."

She reacted almost instantly, blurting out, "Cheng Yue?"

President Shen asked calmly, "Tell me, what's between you and her?"

He leaned back in his chair, his expression calm, as if waiting for a statement he already knew all along.

Xia Zhiyao paused for a moment, as if trying to slowly expel the breath from her chest, but her speaking speed did not slow down: "I reminded her three times that she must carry key information with her at all times, especially for this kind of project, where every step is on the edge of danger."

She only replied with "I know".

“But she never remembers.” Her voice was even colder. “She hadn’t been in the team long when she deleted the data we had compiled over a week. She tried to get away with it with a simple ‘accident’.”

Mr. Shen looked at her without interrupting, his finger pressed against his lips, his gaze steady.

“I didn’t replace her immediately because the case had just started, and replacing her would have made too much of a commotion.” Her tone remained steady. “It’s not that she’s incompetent, it’s just that she’s not dedicated.”

She paused, then gave a cold laugh: "Another time, she didn't reply to emails at 10 p.m., and the next day she said her phone was on silent. I asked her if something urgent had happened, and she said she was soaking her feet."

President Shen's brows twitched, and he gave a soft snort: "She certainly knows how to enjoy life."

“Yes.” Xia Zhiyao’s tone lowered, but it was even colder. “But she’s not suited for our line of work. We don’t support pampered young ladies.”

“I can mentor someone if they lack ability, and I can correct their mistakes. But what I cannot accept is that she never faces the problem directly. When something goes wrong, her first reaction is not to solve it, but to blame others, to blame fate, to blame the environment, or to blame the excessively high expectations.”

President Shen lowered his eyes, as if weighing his options, and finally sighed, his tone tinged with genuine helplessness: "I've always admired you, truly. I know you managed to hold on to that Los Angeles project until the very end. But you have to understand, accomplishing something is one skill; getting people willing to work with you is another skill."

A moment later, she looked up, her tone crisp and clear: "I will find out the truth. I don't want to explain, nor do I intend to defend myself. I only ask one question: Do you believe me?"

Mr. Shen looked at her quietly for a few seconds, then nodded: "I believe you."

"Okay." She stood up, her tone as calm and composed as ever: "Then I'll handle this."