Forced separation
The airport lights were glaring and cold, like countless prying eyes, illuminating Zong Heng's disheveled state.
He was being held by tall, burly bodyguards, his arms twisted behind his back, his knuckles white from the force. His suit jacket was already torn and disheveled from the struggle, and his tie hung askew around his neck like some kind of ridiculous shackle.
"Let go!" he gritted his teeth, his voice low but carrying an undeniable ruthlessness.
The bodyguard remained expressionless, his fingers tightening like iron clamps: "Young Master, Mr. Zong has instructed that you must board the plane tonight."
Zong Heng sneered, then suddenly raised his elbow and struck the bodyguard squarely in the ribs. Taking advantage of the bodyguard's momentary loss of grip in pain, he broke free and turned to rush towards the exit—
But the next second, more shadowy figures surrounded them.
Three hands pressed down on his shoulders simultaneously, with such force that they almost crushed his bones. He staggered, his knees slamming heavily to the ground, the pain exploding sharply, but he didn't even flinch.
"Xu Ying—" he uttered her name, like a spell or a cry for help.
He had promised her.
I promised to take her to the beach after the college entrance exam, I promised to watch the sunrise with her, I promised I would never leave without saying goodbye—
But now, he didn't even have time to see her one last time.
His phone was confiscated, and his wallet and ID were all taken away. They pushed him toward the boarding gate like they were escorting a prisoner.
The boarding announcement mechanically repeated the flight information, a cold, electronic female voice piercing the eardrums: "Flight CA983 is about to depart. Passengers, please board as soon as possible..."
Zong Heng suddenly looked up, his gaze sweeping over the crowd outside the security checkpoint—
She wasn't there.
His heart felt like it was being squeezed tightly by an invisible hand, and he suddenly began to struggle wildly.
"Get out of my way!" he roared, slamming his elbow into the stomach of the person behind him. As the person bent over, he punched another person in the jawbone.
In the chaos, his shirt button popped open, and a fresh scratch on his collarbone bled—a “lesson” left by his father in a fit of rage.
The bodyguards finally lost their patience. One of them grabbed the back of his neck with such force that he almost crushed his cervical spine: "Young Master, don't force us to use even harsher methods."
Zong Heng, panting heavily, smirked coldly: "Try it?"
He suddenly lowered his head and bit the other man's wrist hard. The bodyguard cried out in pain and released his grip, giving him the opportunity to break free. But before he could take two steps, he was pulled back by a tremendous force—
Someone grabbed his neck from behind.
The oxygen supply was instantly cut off, and black fog filled his vision. He arched his back and used all his strength to slam backward, and the two of them crashed heavily to the ground.
The airport floor tiles were icy cold, and screams filled the air. Some people pulled out walkie-talkies to call for backup, while others raised their phones to take pictures, the flashes blinding him.
In those blurry lights and shadows, he suddenly saw a familiar figure—
Xu Ying.
She stood outside the security checkpoint, her face pale, her eyes red-rimmed, clutching the necklace he had given her the night before.
She was panting heavily, the collar of her school uniform jacket askew, and her hair was stuck to her cheeks with sweat; she had clearly run all the way here.
Zong Heng's heart clenched painfully.
"Xu Ying!" He jerked to his feet, but was pushed back to the ground by more bodyguards. His cheek stung from scraping against the rough floor, but he ignored it, his eyes fixed on her: "Go back! Don't look at me!"
He didn't want her to see him like this—like a stray dog, pinned to the ground, where even resistance seemed ridiculous.
But she didn't leave.
She looked at him through the crowd, her lips trembling, tears silently streaming down her face.
He wanted to rush over, to wipe away her tears, to tell her not to be afraid—but the bodyguards had already grabbed him and roughly dragged him toward the security checkpoint.
"Wait for me!" He could only utter these two words hoarsely, his voice as if forced out from his chest, "Xu Ying, wait for me!"
Her figure receded into the distance and eventually disappeared from sight.
The gate at the boarding gate closed behind him with a soft "beep," like some kind of merciless verdict.
The airport announcements were still mechanically repeating flight information.
Xu Ying stood there, her legs feeling like they were made of lead.
Someone bumped into her, muttering "Make way," but she didn't have the strength to move a single finger.
The necklace in her palm was soaked with sweat, the metal digging into her skin, but she felt no pain.
My phone suddenly vibrated.
A text message from an unknown number:
"Don't cry, I will definitely come back."
She stared at the words and suddenly felt short of breath.
This is Zong Heng's tone.
Short and forceful, yet carrying his unique, awkward tenderness.
She dialed back with trembling hands, only to hear a cold, disconnected tone.
Her knees finally gave way, and she squatted down, burying her face in her arms.
People were coming and going, suitcase wheels were clattering on the ground, and an announcement came over the loudspeaker about a flight delay—everything seemed normal.
Only her world was turned upside down.
The last flight took off.
Xu Ying stood in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, watching the plane slowly glide into the night sky, become a small dot of light, and finally disappear.
The necklace chain wrapped around her fingers, leaving red marks.
The taxi driver glanced worriedly in the rearview mirror: "Young lady, are you alright?"
Xu Ying shook her head, but tears fell onto the back of her hand.
The city lights outside the car window were bright, but her light was forcibly taken away.
Back home, she locked the door and finally let herself slide down to the floor.
The phone screen lit up; it was a message from the class monitor: "Yingying, are you alright?"
She stared at the message for a long time, but ultimately didn't reply with a single word.
On the bedside table was a doll that Zong Heng had given her—an ugly-cute shark that he had won in a shooting game.
She grabbed the shark, buried her face in the doll, and finally burst into tears.
"fraud……"
"We promised...we wouldn't separate..."
The intermittent sobs were absorbed by the cotton cloth; outside the window, the night was deep.
Before falling into a deep sleep, Xu Ying put the necklace back on her neck.
The metal pressed against her skin, cold, yet carrying someone's promise.
"Don't cry, I will definitely come back."
The plane flew through the dark night sky, the roar of its engines sounding like a cruel mockery.
Zong Heng leaned against the window, his knuckles pressed against his brow, digging so hard they almost into his skin. He closed his eyes, but couldn't stop the images from churning in his mind—Xu Ying standing outside the security checkpoint, pale-faced, tears silently streaming down her face.
He hated his own powerlessness.
He hated his father's tyranny.
He hated himself even more for making her cry when he had promised to protect her.
He suddenly opened his eyes and slammed his fist into the porthole.
A muffled thud startled the passengers in the front row, who turned to look. The bodyguard immediately grabbed his shoulder and warned in a low voice, "Young Master, please calm down."
Zong Heng shook off his hand and sneered, "What, afraid I'll jump off the plane?"
The bodyguard didn't speak, but the wariness in his eyes said it all.
The cabin lights were dimmed; most passengers were already asleep. Zong Heng stared at the inky black night outside the window, his thoughts drifting back to the previous night—
Xu Ying sat across from the hot pot restaurant, her eyes sparkling in the steamy air. He placed slices of cooked meat into her bowl, and she laughed, poking his wrist with the tip of her chopsticks: "Zong Heng, why have you been feeding me so much lately?"
He didn't answer at the time, but just poured her another glass of plum juice.
Looking back now, that was probably their last peaceful meal.
His fingers unconsciously reached for his pocket, only to find it empty. His phone, wallet, even the watch she'd given him—all were gone. His father was always meticulous; this was a complete attempt to cut off his escape route.
But what the father didn't know was that he had already hidden a spare phone card under the insole.
Zong Heng slowly curled his fingers, his nails digging into his palm. The pain kept him awake. He needed a plan—
First, once you get to the United States, you need to find a way to get rid of these informants.
Then, find a working mobile phone to contact Xu Ying.
at last......
Finally, he wanted his father to understand that some things cannot be controlled by power.
"Young master, would you like some water?" The bodyguard handed over a bottle of mineral water.
Zong Heng didn't answer, but coldly asked, "What else did the old man instruct you to do? Monitor me until I graduate from university? Or arrange a marriage with an American socialite?"
The bodyguard remained expressionless: "Mr. Zong only said to ensure your safe arrival at the school."
"Heh." Zong Heng turned his head and continued looking out the window. Below the clouds, his homeland stretched ever more distant, and the person he had promised to return to.
The flight attendants began distributing arrival cards. Zong Heng took the pen and wrote "Zong Heng" in the name column, but the pen suddenly stopped. He remembered that Xu Ying always liked to secretly draw little cherry blossoms on his textbooks, saying that this way she wouldn't take the wrong one.
His heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. He took a deep breath and drew a crooked little flower below the address bar.
"What is this?" The bodyguard peered over to see.
Zong Heng closed the form: "None of your business."
The plane began its descent, and I felt a slight pressure in my ears. The lights of Los Angeles peeked out from beneath the clouds, like an unfamiliar galaxy.
It was 10 p.m. local time when he landed. Bodyguards followed him closely as he collected his luggage and went through customs. Zong Heng remained silent throughout, but suddenly stopped when passing the duty-free shop.
"I want to buy cigarettes."
"Young Master, Mr. Zong instructed—"
"What?" Zong Heng raised an eyebrow. "Afraid I'll set myself on fire with a lighter?"
The bodyguard hesitated for a moment, but still followed him into the store. Zong Heng casually grabbed a Marlboro cigarette, and while paying, he glanced at the mobile phone recharge cards next to the counter as if by accident.
On his way back to school, he leaned against the car window and counted the streetlights. The nights in Los Angeles were very different from those in China; the lights were so bright that the starry sky seemed dim. Just like his life now, meticulously planned, yet he couldn't find a single ray of light that belonged to him.
The dormitory was a single room. The bodyguard checked every corner before leaving, saying before he left, "I'll pick you up at eight o'clock tomorrow morning to see the principal."
The moment the door closed, Zong Heng immediately squatted down and took the crumpled phone card from the insole of his shoe. His hands were trembling slightly, and he almost dropped it.
The bathroom became the only safe place. He turned on the tap, and under the cover of the sound of running water, he inserted the SIM card into his pre-hidden spare phone and turned it on.
The signal bars gradually filled up, like hope being rekindled.
There was only one number in his contacts. He pressed the dial button, held the phone tightly to his ear, and listened to the long, drawn-out dial tone. One, two...
"Hello?"
Xu Ying's voice came through the radio waves, hoarse beyond belief. Zong Heng's throat suddenly tightened, and all the words he had prepared got stuck in his throat.
"It's me."
Rapid breathing came from the other end of the phone, followed by suppressed sobs. Zong Heng gripped the phone tightly, his knuckles turning white. He wanted to tell her not to cry, wanted to apologize, but in the end, he only managed to squeeze out, "Are you wearing the necklace?"
"Hmm." Xu Ying sniffed. "Zong Heng, what exactly are you—"
"Listen," he interrupted her, speaking quickly, "this number isn't necessarily safe. From now on, I'll email you every Wednesday at 9 PM using the new email address. The password is your birthday plus my student ID."
How long will it take you to be back?
The water from the faucet was still flowing. Zong Heng looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes terribly red.
"Five years," he said. "Five years at most."
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. So long that he thought the line had been disconnected, before he heard Xu Ying say very softly, "Okay, I'll wait for you."
After the call ended, Zong Heng flushed the SIM card down the toilet. He stood under the shower, letting the cold water soak his entire body.
Five years.
He wanted to become strong enough over the next five years. Strong enough that no one could separate them anymore.
Outside the window, the cold California moonlight streamed in. Zong Heng dried his hair and took out a photo from a hidden compartment in his suitcase—a picture of Xu Ying's back on the beach during their graduation trip.
He tucked the photo under his pillow and lay down, fully clothed. Tomorrow, he would don the perfect mask, playing the role of the heir his father desired. But where no one could see, the battle had only just begun.
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