Chapter 27 What could be better than making money...?

Chapter 27

The night was deep, and the Greek winter wind, carrying the salty smell of the sea and a damp chill, swept in from all directions from the top of the Lycabettus Mountain. The wind howled and swirled through the mountains, making the air dry and cool.

She arrived in Athens yesterday. Before that, she stayed in Florence for a few days and then went to Rome, where the streets were narrow, the cobblestones were polished to a shine by countless footsteps, and tourists thronged the streets. Even the night was noisy and hot, refusing to be quiet.

The day she arrived in Athens, it was afternoon, and the sunlight streamed softly onto the driver's side window. The taxi driver, speaking in broken English, said to her, "Here is quieter than Italy. A better place... for people with trouble in their hearts."

She just smiled. She didn't argue or agree. Partly because she was too lazy to explain, and partly because she was afraid to admit that she did have something on her mind.

There were too many things, too many messy things, like a knotted thread that only tightened the more she touched it. She knew perfectly well that once she opened her mouth, the pressure on her chest would rush out down her throat, turning into tears that she couldn't stop.

So she turned her gaze to the street scene outside the window, so the driver couldn't see the darkness in her eyes, suppressing all her emotions as if holding back a secret that shouldn't be disturbed.

A gust of wind swept in from behind, carrying the chill unique to a winter night, making her coat flutter loudly. She stood very straight, as if trying to shield herself from the cold. She glanced down at her phone; the date on the screen was so clear in the dim light it was almost blinding—it was nearly Chinese New Year.

It has been two whole months since she left Beijing, and what she thought was a "long time" with Zhou Yue was, in fact, only half a month. It was as short as a firework that burned out in a snowy night, dazzlingly bright, but instantly turned to darkness.

Just a few days ago, she was walking in the market by the old bridge. The sun was so hot it felt like it could bake the stone pavement. The air was filled with the aroma of olive oil, the spiciness of tobacco, and the stickiness of sweet wine.

The crowd surged, the shouts of vendors rose and fell, children chased pigeons along the street, the pigeons flapped their wings and took flight, the sound of their wings brushing past the ears; couples leaned against the stone steps and kissed, their glasses clinking, their laughter mingling and overflowing into every narrow alley.

She was smiling, standing in the crowd, as if she were part of the hustle and bustle. But the next second, the noise suddenly seemed to be turned up, so loud that it made people feel uneasy.

She felt as if she had been jolted awake from a dream, suddenly realizing that she didn't belong here, didn't belong to the hustle and bustle, and didn't belong to the laughter. The air smelled sickeningly sweet, and the noise of the crowd made it hard for her to breathe.

She stopped smiling, turned and left, dragging her suitcase onto the train in the bustling afternoon, heading from Florence to Rome.

It was a bumpy and short journey. The fields, olive groves and old manor houses outside the window flashed by, just like her hurried state of mind. Before she could settle down, she had already arrived.

In Rome, she visited the tourist attractions as usual, and even took a day to visit several famous churches in the Vatican.

Under the high dome, light poured down from the round opening, enveloping the silent crowd and the solemn murals. The air was calm and solemn, like a space isolated from the outside world. But that quiet did not soothe her. She still tossed and turned at night, waking up earlier than the clock struck midnight.

She didn't know what she was running away from. Was she still clinging to unrealistic fantasies about that relationship? Or was she simply afraid of the quiet of the night, so quiet that she could hear her own heartbeat and the sound of her tears falling to the ground together?

So she rushed around, filling her days with activities: going to museums, seeing the Colosseum, chasing after old paintings and fragments of history; walking along the Tiber River until dark; drinking coffee and eating desserts at corner shops, smiling at strangers like a real tourist.

She exhausted herself to the point of near collapse, just so she could sleep a little longer at night. But Rome is only so big after all; in three to five days, she even visited places she didn't want to see.

On the last day, she didn't hesitate. She opened the ticket booking app and almost instantly selected a flight to Athens, as if changing cities would allow her to shake off the shadows that were still following her closely.

The wind was still blowing, but she stood even straighter, arms crossed, on the mountaintop, as stubborn as those stones that had been sleeping for thousands of years, as if only a stronger wind could blow away all the words that hadn't been spoken and the pain that had been hidden in her heart for so long.

The Parthenon in the distance was shrouded in the winter night, with only a few golden beams of light piercing the cold air, outlining its ancient and solemn silhouette. It stood silently atop the mountain, like a god who had slept for thousands of years, overlooking the world, indifferent, quiet, and silently witnessing everything.

It was a dilapidated building, yet it still stands there, like some things that, though completely broken, stubbornly maintain their original shape, as if fighting against time and against oblivion.

She looked at it and suddenly remembered that night.

They had just finished fooling around in bed. There was no argument, no weariness, no subsequent silence or escape. Only a bedside lamp was lit in the room, its soft light illuminating his glasses.

He hugged her from behind, his warm fingers slowly tracing her back. He suddenly asked her in a low voice, "Where else do you want to go?"

She rolled over, her hair brushing against his chin, and replied lazily, "Europe... I've been to Western Europe a few times, but it was always too rushed. Greece, Rome, or Eastern Europe, maybe Prague?"

As she said this, she hummed a line: "In Prague's square at dusk, I tossed my hopes into the wishing well..."

He didn't laugh, he just hummed in agreement.

She remembered that voice very clearly, and then he said, "I'll go with you during my annual leave next year."

She knew that Zhou Yue always kept his word; he wasn't the kind of person who made promises lightly.

She was the one who ran away first. When she saw him getting more and more serious, and when she felt that love was about to pierce her heart, she instinctively ran away.

Like a caged beast being gently stroked, suddenly realizing how vulnerable it is, it bites open the cage and stumbles into the night, disregarding direction and how deep it might fall.

But now, she stood here, at the place where he had said, "Let's go together." Completely unprepared, she saw this temple.

It was indeed beautiful, and indeed dilapidated. The winter night wind, carrying a chill, blew through the cracks between the stone pillars and into her eyes, but she couldn't piece together the face of the man who had spoken those words.

She only remembered his voice, deep and gentle, like a lamp that had briefly illuminated her heart, which had been groping in the dark for too long, weary and doubtful of everything.

Her fingertips were a little itchy from the cold, so she subconsciously pulled her hands out of her coat pockets, took out her phone, and turned on the screen—the name "Zhou Yue" was quietly at the top.

The profile picture hadn't been changed, the nickname hadn't been altered, but that familiar font held her captive for a long time. She clicked in, then exited, then clicked in again.

Her fingertip hovered over the input box, lingering and repeating itself. She wanted to say so much, her heart churning with too many unspoken explanations.

She wanted to tell him that she hadn't abandoned him, and that she wasn't deliberately silent. It was just that things were too chaotic and rushed at the time; she only wanted to calm down first.

She even wrote a long message, starting with "I'm sorry" and ending with "I miss you too," then deleted it and rewrote it. After several repetitions, only one sentence remained on the screen: "I..."

Suddenly, a new message popped up on WeChat. It was from Zheng Xiaotian: "Where have you been again? I haven't heard from you for days."

She glanced down at the screen but didn't reply immediately. The wind blew through her hair, and a few strands clung to her cheeks, tickling her, but she didn't raise her hand.

She stood on high ground, with ancient stone steps and ruins beneath her feet, and before her, the lights of the entire mountain city, like scattered gold dust from the sky.

At that moment, she had a strange feeling, as if she did not belong to any time or to any person.

She once thought that if she hid far enough, no one would find her, but Zheng Xiaotian always had a way. He was the thread in her life that never broke, gently pulling her along and reminding her: "You are not alone."

She typed: "Just arrived in Greece from Italy."

The reply came almost instantly: "Have you gone to see the Parthenon?"

She casually snapped a picture of the temple at night, and after posting it, she stared at the picture for a few seconds.

In the scene, the dim yellow light outlines the ancient silhouette of the temple, like a silent deity, looking down upon the world without joy or sorrow.

And she stood at the feet of this god, like a deserter fleeing in panic, trying to hide in a thousand-year-old dream, but still couldn't hide well.

Zheng Xiaotian's next message immediately popped up:

Don't you have any thoughts when you face these "dead" things?

Before she could even frown, another message flashed by:

We will all die eventually, Xia Zhiyao. You have to leave something behind.

For a moment, her eyelids twitched slightly. She knew Zheng Xiaotian too well. He always teased her for being cold-blooded and ruthless, but in reality, he was better than anyone at hitting the most secret and untouchable part of her heart with a single word.

She knew perfectly well why she had come here alone: ​​she needed to see things that lasted longer than people—stones, ruins, temples, broken pillars…

Those things that have stood for thousands of years make her believe that the "past" can be left behind, even if that past is trapping her in place and making her hesitate to move forward.

But Zheng Xiaotian wouldn't let her escape. He was always the guy who would pull reality back to her, not advising her to leave, but instead throwing the outside world right in her face.

Several messages popped up on my phone screen in quick succession, each one more scathing than the last:

I respect your idea of ​​wandering the world and letting yourself go amidst ruins.

[But my company is already up and running, all that's missing is you. You promised me two years ago, but it was put on hold because of the pandemic.]

Now that I'm ready to make my big plans, are you still stuck in your own petty emotions?

Take my advice: what could be more important than making money?

She stared at the barrage of messages, the phone screen emitting a faint yet glaring white light in the night, making her face appear pale.

"What could be more important than making money?" This seemingly casual remark shattered her defenses, built with indifference, exhaustion, and silence, like a bullet.

In that instant, she suddenly realized that the life she had lived for the past month or so was nothing like that of "Xia Zhiyao".

She used to be a cool and collected female general with precise timing and clear goals. She was good at planning, good at pushing things forward, and good at sealing her emotions under a shell of efficiency and calmness.

She brooks no questioning and doesn't allow herself to stop. Even when she's in a low mood, she forces herself to cheer up the next morning, puts on makeup, fastens her watch, and returns to the battlefield fully armed, using perfection and strength to deter all the world's attention.

After escaping to New York, she thought she was "resting." She told herself that this was a chance to catch her breath, a restart, and a chance to build up strength for the future.

The further she walked, the more she felt like a drifter abandoned by the world. She stood silently before ancient ruins, wandered through foreign streets, found the hotel bed increasingly unfamiliar, and felt her days were disrupted and piled up haphazardly.

Every day when she wakes up, she thinks about the same question: "What else do I need to do?"

But no matter how I thought about it, I couldn't find the answer.

Her relationship was destroyed, and her life was thrown into chaos. She once thought that emptying her mind would help her recover, and that by detaching herself from the situation, she could see things clearly.

But the truth is, every time she wakes up, it's as if she's denying her own existence, as if she's living in someone else's body, speaking calmly, yet increasingly unable to understand her own voice.

She began to realize that this was not freedom, but drowning, a silent descent. Every second she tried to convince herself that she was okay, but the air was getting thinner and thinner, making it impossible for her to breathe.

She thought herself calm and rational, but in reality, she was just sinking herself inch by inch into the sea, burying herself in those unknown hardships and silences.

Zheng Xiaotian's seemingly rude messages, however, were impartial, cold, and precise, pulling her out of the silent ruins and shattering her facade of "everything is fine."

She clutched her phone in her hand, head down, and remained silent for a long time, until the moonlight cast a long shadow on the temple wall behind her. A night bird flew by in the distance, the sound of its wings flapping brushing past her ears, bringing a long-lost clarity to her sluggish consciousness.

She finally raised her head, her eyes looking as if she were slowly waking from a dream. It was a dream that had been too long, a dream filled with too many heavy things left unsaid, and too many words that were no longer worth saying.

She opened WeChat and typed a few words: "I'll book the tickets now. I should be back in 2-3 days. We'll talk more when I get back."

This exile should indeed end, but she did not get up immediately.

She was still sitting on that ancient, slightly cool stone step, her fingertips touching her phone case. A gust of wind blew by, making the ends of her hair flutter. She gazed at the night sky, lost in thought, and suddenly had a strange feeling, as if someone from thousands of years ago was asking her, "Are you really ready?"

She didn't answer. She simply opened her WeChat chat with Zhou Yue.

The message that stopped at the word "I..." remained alone in the input field, like a thought that never came to fruition. She deleted all the words.

I opened my WeChat Moments and highlighted a photo I had just taken. It was of the Parthenon at night, with its columns blurred and their outlines scattered, as if time itself had become unreal in my fingertips.

It was a quiet, irreplaceable beauty. Shortly after the photo was posted, the screen lit up and Zheng Xiaotian liked it.

She looked at that familiar profile picture, her lips twitching slightly, whether in a smile or in self-mockery, it was hard to tell. Yes, not all journeys are for escape; sometimes, it's about deciding whether you want to come back.

She turned back for one last look at the temple. It was late at night, and the road was still long, but she finally turned away.

She didn't reply to the message again, nor did she send that old thought that stopped at the word "I".

Without much thought, she turned on her computer, booked a flight, and found that only red-eye flights departing in the early morning were available. She chose that flight without hesitation.

She didn't tell Zhou Yue that the dialog box was still quietly sitting at the top, motionless.

When the plane landed, it had been snowing all night.

The runway at the Capital Airport was clean and smooth, thanks to the snowplows. The sky was still dark, with only the navigation lights flashing in the snow and fog. She leaned against the porthole, her eyes slightly lowered, gazing at the blurry, silvery white expanse.

She remembered the last time she took such a long trip was from New York to Florence.

That time, she cried almost uncontrollably on the plane. But this time, she returned much calmer, her heartbeat steady, like a traveler finally reaching shore after a long journey.

As she disembarked, she tucked her striking pink hair into a beanie and pulled her suitcase across the long, winding jetty. Outside the glass walls, snow was still falling, the wind blew through the lampposts casting slanted light, and airport announcements came on and off.

When she came out of Exit B, some people were holding up signs and looking around anxiously, some were talking on the phone with their earpieces in their pockets, and some were standing there in a daze, enveloped in the gaps of time by the wind that was sometimes cold and sometimes hot.

I had only taken a few steps when I saw Zheng Xiaotian through a gap in the crowd.

He leaned against a pillar, wearing a dark black wool coat with the collar turned up halfway, his hair was a little messy, but his expression still carried that carefree and irreverent air.

He stood there casually, yet it was as if he had been waiting for a long time. She hadn't expected Zheng Xiaotian to come and pick her up.

She stood at the exit and saw him through the crowd, but she didn't go up to him immediately or wave. She simply stopped and let the crowd pass by her.

At that moment, he looked up, his gaze landing precisely on her, quiet, composed, and even with an untimely certainty.

The moment he saw her, he raised his hand and waved to her, laughing in a nonchalant tone, "Xia Zhiyao! Hi, Surprise! Surprised? This young master came to pick you up personally, aren't you touched?" His voice cut through the crowded throng, carrying his usual teasing and familiarity, like a joke between old friends, but for some reason, it made her feel a little dazed.

She knew him too well; that frivolous air of detachment concealed the quiet concern deep within him. Perhaps it was the cold of the snowy day, or perhaps it was because she had been away for too long, but for a moment she was momentarily lost in thought.

At that moment, she suddenly realized that this teasing remark gave her a sense of security, as if she had truly returned to reality.

-----------------------

Author's Note: The story hasn't been interrupted, it just needs major revisions. I expect to resume updates in about a week. Currently, I've revised up to Chapter 10.