reconciliation
The rain outside the window was getting heavier and heavier. Large raindrops pounded on the glass, making a rapid "pitter-patter" sound, like some kind of ominous omens.
Xu Ying sat on the sofa, her arms wrapped around her knees, her gaze fixed on the television screen. The news was scrolling through the latest developments of the Zong Group—"The Zong Group has undergone a sudden personnel change; former CEO Zong Heng has been dismissed and will be temporarily managed by the board of directors."
Her fingers unconsciously gripped the edge of the pillow, her knuckles turning slightly white.
"He still went..."
My phone screen lit up; it was a message from my best friend, Lin Xiaoyu:
"Yingying, did you see the news? Zong Heng went straight back to the Zong family. Will something bad happen to him?"
Xu Ying stared at the message, her throat tightening. She remembered a few hours earlier, Zong Heng standing at her door, impeccably dressed in a suit, his eyes as cold as ice. He lowered his head and kissed her forehead, his voice deep and resonant:
"Wait for me to come back."
But she knew that his return this time was not for negotiation, but for a declaration of war.
During the day, when Zong Heng received the call, Xu Ying was in the kitchen making coffee. She heard his voice suddenly turn cold:
"So, you're forcing me to go back?"
She couldn't hear the voice on the other end of the phone, but Zong Heng's expression said it all—his jaw was clenched, and suppressed anger surged in his eyes.
After hanging up the phone, he stood silently by the window, his back straight and solitary.
Xu Ying walked over and gently touched the back of his hand.
"Your father?"
He grunted in response, said nothing more, then suddenly turned around, pulled her into his arms, and held her tightly.
"Xu Ying." He called her name softly, as if he wanted to engrave those two words into his very bones.
She didn't ask him what he was going to do, but simply hugged him back and whispered, "I'll wait for you."
The news anchor on TV continued to report on the turmoil at the Zong Group. Xu Ying felt as if a stone was pressing on her chest, making it difficult to breathe.
"No, I can't just wait like this..."
She jumped to her feet, grabbed her coat and keys, and rushed towards the door. But just as she opened the door—
"Boom!"
A bolt of lightning struck, illuminating a black sedan parked below the apartment building.
The car window slowly rolled down, revealing an elegant and familiar face.
Clan mother.
Xu Ying stood frozen in place as rain splashed in through the door frame, soaking her slippers.
The matriarch's gaze was calm and profound, yet her voice was unusually gentle:
"Miss Xu, please get in the car."
Xu Ying gripped the doorknob tightly, asking warily:
What are you doing here?
The matriarch smiled slightly, took out a velvet box from her bag, and handed it to her.
"I think you should take a look at this."
Xu Ying hesitated for a second, but finally took the box and slowly opened it—
Inside was a yellowed photograph.
In high school, she stood at the classroom door, sunlight streaming through the window onto her, and she smiled softly with her head down.
On the back of the photo was a line of familiar handwriting:
"September 14, 2015, sunny. Xu Ying wore a white dress today, she looked very beautiful."
—Zong Heng.
Xu Ying's fingertips trembled slightly.
The matriarch looked at her and said softly, "During the years he was abroad, he looked at these photos every night before going to sleep."
Xu Ying eventually got into the car.
The car was warm and dry, a stark contrast to the raging storm outside. Her mother handed her a dry towel, and Xu Ying thanked her softly, still clutching the photograph tightly.
"Auntie, why are you showing this to me?"
After a moment of silence, the matriarch spoke: "Because I want you to know that he has never let you go."
Xu Ying pursed her lips, her heart feeling as if it were being squeezed by an invisible hand.
The matriarch continued, "Back then, his father cut off all contact with him, even intercepting your letters. He tried to contact you after returning to China, but you had moved and changed your phone number."
Xu Ying suddenly looked up: "I wrote to him... for a whole year."
The matriarch sighed, "I know. His father burned those letters."
Xu Ying's vision blurred instantly.
As the car drove through the rain, Xu Ying looked at the blurry scenery outside the window and suddenly spoke:
"Auntie, are we going to the main family's house now?"
The matriarch nodded: "Yes."
Xu Ying took a deep breath and clenched the photo in her hand.
"good."
She would no longer back down, no longer hesitate. This time, she would stand by his side, instead of being protected behind him.
The car drove toward the Zong family's old house, the windshield wipers drawing regular arcs on the windshield.
Xu Ying's heart raced as she gazed at the faint outline of the mansion in the distance.
"Zong Heng, this time it's my turn to come find you."
The car slowly came to a stop, and the iron gate of the Zong family's old mansion looked particularly cold in the rainy night.
Xu Ying pushed open the car door, and the wind and rain rushed in instantly, wetting her hair and the hem of her clothes.
The matriarch held up a black umbrella, stood beside her, and said softly:
Are you ready?
Xu Ying raised her eyes, her gaze resolute.
"Um."
The two walked side by side toward the heavy door, and behind the door—
What awaits them is a storm.
Rain poured down, washing over the carved iron gates of the Zong family's old residence. Lightning flashed in the clouds, illuminating the father and son facing off in the study.
Zong Heng stood in the doorway, his suit soaked through by the rain. Water droplets from his hair slid down his chin and landed on the expensive handmade carpet. His eyes were as cold as ice, yet burned with suppressed anger.
The grandfather stood with his back to him in front of the French windows, holding a glass of whiskey in his hand. The amber liquid swirled in the glass, reflecting the distorted rain scene outside.
"Finally willing to come back?" The father's voice was low and sarcastic.
Zong Heng sneered and wiped the rain off his face: "Didn't you have your assistant 'invite' me back?"
The patriarch slowly turned around, his gaze sharp as a knife, and looked him up and down: "To abandon ten years of foundation for a woman, how foolish."
Zong Heng didn't speak, but simply pulled a document from his suit's inner pocket and slammed it heavily on the table. It was a share transfer agreement.
"I don't care about your legacy."
The grandfather stared at the agreement, his fingers tightening until his knuckles turned white.
Suddenly, he abruptly raised his hand and smashed the wine glass violently onto the ground—
"Bang!"
Glass shards shattered and flew to Zong Heng's feet, one of which grazed his cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood.
Zong Heng didn't dodge, or even blink. He simply raised his hand, wiped away the blood with his thumb, and sneered, "The same old trick."
The clan father's breathing was heavy, his chest heaving violently: "You think you've grown wings? Without the clan family, you are nothing!"
"Is that so?" Zong Heng sneered. "That's perfect, let me give it a try."
The patriarch slammed his cane heavily on the ground, making a dull thud: "You worthless wretch! Do you know how many people outside are waiting to see the Zong family make a fool of themselves? You've thrown away all your dignity for a woman?!"
Zong Heng's eyes turned completely cold: "Shame? Back then, you forced me to go abroad, cut off my contacts, and even sent people to monitor me—did you have any shame back then?"
The study door was suddenly pushed open—
"Zong Heng!"
Xu Ying rushed in, breathing heavily, her hair wet from the rain and clinging to her cheeks. Her gaze swept quickly between the father and son, finally settling on the cane that her father held high.
The next second, she rushed forward without hesitation and stood in front of Zong Heng.
The patriarch's cane froze in mid-air.
“Uncle,” Xu Ying’s voice was soft, yet exceptionally clear, “You may look down on me, but Zong Heng is your son.”
Zong Heng grabbed her wrist, his voice tense: "Xu Ying, get out of my way."
She didn't move, but looked up at her father: "In these five years, he has never let go of you. Even if you pressured him and tried to control him, he still tried his best."
The grandfather slowly lowered his cane, but his eyes remained sharp: "Miss Xu, do you think you can make me accept you with just a few words?"
“I don’t need your approval.” Xu Ying took a deep breath. “But please stop proving your authority by hurting him.”
Zong Heng's fingers tightened, almost pinching her wrist painfully.
After a moment of silence, the matriarch entered, holding a yellowed letter in her hand.
"Old Zong," she said softly, "that's enough."
The patriarch's gaze fell on the letter, his brow furrowed: "What is this?"
"The letter Xu Ying wrote to Aheng," said Madam Zong calmly. "The one you had intercepted five years ago."
The grandfather's fingers trembled slightly.
The matriarch unfolded the letter and softly read, "'Zong Heng, if you see this letter, please remember, no matter how long it takes, I will wait.'"
The study was deathly silent, with only the sound of rain tapping on the window.
After a long silence, the grandfather finally spoke, his voice hoarse: "I heard your design studio recently received an international order?"
Xu Ying was taken aback, then nodded: "Yes."
Zong's father sneered, looking at Zong Heng: "Within three years, I'll get your company listed on the stock exchange." He paused, his eyes sharp, "Otherwise—"
“No need for 'otherwise',” Zong Heng interrupted him, gripping Xu Ying’s hand tightly. “I will do it.”
The patriarch stared at their clasped hands, and finally snorted coldly, "You worthless bastards."
Zong Heng didn't say anything more, and pulled Xu Ying away.
Behind them, came the last words of the clan father—
"Bring her along to the family dinner next month."
Zong Heng paused slightly without turning around, but Xu Ying felt his fingers tighten slightly.
The headlights pierced the rain as the black Maybach slowly drove away from the Zong family's old residence.
The car was silent except for the soft sound of raindrops hitting the windows. Xu Ying curled up in the passenger seat, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the seatbelt. She glanced at Zong Heng out of the corner of her eye—his profile looked particularly sharp in the dim light of the dashboard, his jawline taut, and his Adam's apple still stained with undried blood.
"Does it hurt?" she finally asked, reaching out to touch the wound on his cheek.
Zong Heng slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched on the wet road, and Xu Ying was caught off guard and tumbled forward, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.
"Now you know how scared you were?" His voice was hoarse as he rubbed his thumb heavily against her eye—where there were traces of tears. "Weren't you quite brave when you blocked the cane?"
Xu Ying glared at him: "You think I want this? Your dad's rosewood cane could break your bones if it hits you!"
Outside the car window, the rain was gradually subsiding. A sliver of moonlight pierced through the clouds, landing on Zong Heng's suddenly relaxed brow. He chuckled softly, pressing his forehead against hers: "Xu Ying, you're finished."
"What?"
"You'll never get rid of me in this lifetime."
The car stopped in the middle of the bridge spanning the river. Zong Heng rolled down the window, and the damp wind carrying the scent of the river rushed in.
Looking at the shimmering neon lights reflected on the river in the distance, Xu Ying suddenly asked, "That letter...did you read it?"
The click of a lighter came from beside him. Zong Heng lit a cigarette, but didn't smoke it, just letting it burn between his fingers. "I watched it," he paused for two seconds, "three hundred and twenty-six times on a snowy night in New York."
The ashes were scattered by the wind, just like the five years they had missed.
Xu Ying's nose tingled with emotion. She remembered that winter—a rare snowfall in Lincheng. She stood at the post office entrance, her breath steaming as she slipped the tenth letter into the mailbox. Meanwhile, he was on a foreign street, clutching the first letter his father had intercepted, his footsteps crunching on the snow.
"Why 326 times?" she asked softly.
Zong Heng finally took a drag of his cigarette, then suddenly turned around and trapped her between the seat and his chest. The smell of tobacco mixed with the lingering scent of rain on his body wafted over her: "Because that day," he emphasized, "was your birthday."
The moonlight became clear at that moment. Xu Ying saw her small reflection in his eyes, and she also saw the corner of an envelope peeking out from the inside pocket of his suit—that yellowed letter, which he actually carried with him.
Her heart was pounding. She reached out, took his cigarette, stubbed it out, and tilted her head back to kiss him.
When they got back on the road, Zong Heng turned up the heating by two degrees.
Wrapped in his suit jacket, Xu Ying, half-asleep, heard the navigation prompt "Destination reached." She opened her eyes and froze—this wasn't her apartment, but an unfamiliar glass villa by the river.
"We'll be staying here temporarily before the company goes public." Zong Heng walked around to the passenger seat and hugged her. "The password is your birthday."
The lights inside were off. The motion-sensor light in the entryway turned on with the sound of footsteps, illuminating a dozen or so cardboard boxes scattered on the floor. Xu Ying recognized one of them with a label that read "Yingying's Miscellaneous Items"—it was a box she had lost when she moved five years ago.
"you……"
“I’ve been looking for this for a year.” Zong Heng placed her on the island platform, opened the box, and took out a worn-out tin box. “Luckily, I didn’t throw it away.”
The box contained items from their high school days: her math notes that she copied for Zongheng, amusement park ticket stubs, and a photo with a charred corner—they were seventeen years old backstage at a Christmas party, and she was standing on tiptoe tying his bow tie.
Xu Ying's fingertips trembled. After the fire years ago, she thought all of this had turned to ashes.
Zong Heng suddenly grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her to look up. His breath was hot in the darkness: "Xu Ying, I want to hear you say it yourself."
"say what?"
“Throughout these past five years, you’ve never let me go.”
Xu Ying cupped his face in her hands and said earnestly, "Zong Heng, I have never forgotten you in the past five years."
Zong Heng was stunned for a moment, then hugged the person tightly. They had missed so much, but thankfully, it was all over now.
——
The next morning, Xu Ying woke up to the aroma of coffee.
Morning light streamed into the bedroom through the French windows, the sheets beside her still warm but no one was there. Barefoot, she followed the sound downstairs and saw Zong Heng frantically trying to follow a tutorial on his phone in the open kitchen—the fried eggs in the frying pan were burnt black, and the toaster was emitting suspicious wisps of smoke.
"Is this what you meant by 'cooking instant noodles for the rest of your life'?" She laughed, leaning against the doorframe.
Zong Heng turned around, the morning light giving him a fuzzy golden edge. He raised an eyebrow and picked up the spatula: "Come here, test for poison."
Xu Ying jogged over, but just as she was about to get close, he swept her up and placed her on the kitchen counter. Zong Heng squeezed between her knees and lowered his head to bite her earlobe: "I was just kidding, I didn't want you to eat this."
As his kisses traveled down her neck, Xu Ying suddenly remembered something: "Wait! Weren't you supposed to be meeting with investors today—"
“It’s been postponed.” Zong Heng unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the teeth marks she had left on his collarbone last night. “Designer Xu, you have a more important project to review now.”
Outside the window, the river rippled with light. A white egret skimmed across the water, flapping its wings and soaring into the clear sky.
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