I don't need your condescending charity.
Ning Zhichu stared blankly at the interview outline on the computer screen, her fingertips repeatedly stroking the phone screen—the WeChat message from President Li was still at the top of the chat box: "Reporter Ning, I have a few core materials about Huayu New Energy's R&D data that I'd like to give to you in person. I've sent you the address; I guarantee they will be helpful for your report."
The address was a private club on the outskirts of the city, hidden deep in a grove of sycamore trees; even navigation only showed vague coordinates. Su Xiaoran's WeChat message was still laced with anger: "Don't go! That Li bastard is no good. The way he looked at you at the last party was strange. I had Lu Zexu investigate; this club is where he conducts power-for-sex deals!"
Ning Zhichu bit her lip, her gaze fixed on the unfinished report document. For three consecutive days, she had tried to contact Huayu's technical department to verify the data, but had been consistently turned away. The "core material" in General Manager Li's hands was the only breakthrough. She remembered the warm milk Wei Ting had left in the study the night before, and the "patent number not found" he had marked in red pen. In the end, she gripped her phone tightly: "I'll go take a look. I'll leave as soon as I get the material. I'll send you the location. If there's no news in ten minutes, call the police."
When the carved wooden door of the club was pushed open, the scent of sandalwood mixed with the smell of alcohol wafted out. President Li sat on the mahogany sofa, playing with a jade thumb ring in his hand. When he saw Ning Zhichu, he smiled and stood up, but his eyes swept over her without restraint: "Reporter Ning is indeed punctual. Please sit down. I have someone prepare some top-quality Longjing tea."
The water in the tea tray had just boiled when Mr. Li suddenly reached out and touched her wrist, his tone flippant: "Reporter Ning is so beautiful, it's a pity she's a reporter. If you were willing to come to Huayu as the public relations director, your annual salary would double, much better than staying up all night in the editorial department."
Ning Zhichu abruptly pulled his hand back, the chair leg scraping against the floor with a screeching sound: "President Li, please have some self-respect. I'm here to pick up some materials. If I don't have them, I'll be leaving now."
"Of course I have the materials." President Li stood in the doorway, his smile turning sinister. "But isn't Reporter Ning being a bit too disrespectful? That brat Wei Ting stole my subsidies, and I didn't bother him, but he goes and sends his girlfriend to investigate me?" He reached out and grabbed Ning Zhichu's arm. "Have a drink with me tonight, and I'll give you the materials. Otherwise, do you think you can walk out so easily?"
The sound of tearing fabric was exceptionally clear in the quiet room. Ning Zhichu's trench coat sleeve was ripped, revealing a silver bracelet on her wrist—a birthday gift from Wei Ting, engraved with tiny star and moon patterns. She grabbed a teacup from the table and smashed it to the floor, shards splashing onto President Li's trouser leg: "Get out of here!"
Taking advantage of Mr. Li's momentary lapse in attention, Ning Zhichu shoved him aside and ran towards the door. The carved wooden door slammed shut with a loud bang as she stumbled into the sycamore grove. The cold autumn wind rushed into her torn sleeves, and the bracelet on her wrist stung painfully. Only when she saw Su Xiaoran and Lu Zexu's car parked at the intersection did her legs give way, and she collapsed into the passenger seat, trembling uncontrollably.
"It's alright, it's alright." Su Xiaoran hugged her, her voice trembling. "Lu Zexu has already sent people to investigate this bastard. He dared to touch our people, he's dead."
Ning Zhichu leaned back in her chair, watching the clubhouse recede into the distance outside the window, and suddenly thought of Wei Ting. She took out her phone, intending to send him a message, but saw a WeChat message he had sent half an hour earlier: "The bird's nest porridge in the study is overheated. Waiting for you to come back." Tears welled up suddenly, and she buried her face in Su Xiaoran's arms, not daring to reply.
At 10 p.m., Ning Zhichu tiptoed into her home. The living room light was on, and Wei Ting sat on the sofa, a half-finished bowl of bird's nest porridge in front of him, its thermos lid tightly closed. He was wearing light gray loungewear, a cigarette between his fingers, the ashtray already piled high with cigarette butts—this was only the second pack of cigarettes he'd smoked in three days, the last one being when Green Energy Core Technology's financing was stalled.
"Where did you go?" His voice was deep. He didn't look at her, his gaze falling on the crack on the coffee table—the mark left when he smashed a milk glass during their argument a few days ago.
Ning Zhichu clutched her torn sleeve and instinctively shrank back, saying, "I went to the editorial department to revise the report, and it got a little late so I didn't come back." She didn't dare look him in the eye, afraid that he would see through her panic.
Wei Ting finally looked up, his gaze falling on her torn cuff, his pupils suddenly contracting. He stood up, walking step by step to her, reaching out to touch her wrist, but she abruptly pulled away. This subtle movement acted like a fuse, igniting his suppressed anger—the driver had reported that afternoon that he saw Miss Ning emerge from the suburban clubhouse, looking flustered, her cuff torn, and a man chasing after her; he had almost run her over with his car.
"Did President Li invite you?" Wei Ting's voice was as cold as ice, his knuckles white from clenching his fists. "What did he do to you?"
Ning Zhichu's heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. She took a step back and bumped into the cabinet in the entryway: "It's nothing, I was just talking about the report and accidentally tore my clothes."
"An accident?" Wei Ting suddenly laughed, a laugh tinged with chilling coldness. He reached out and pinched her chin, forcing her to look at him, his eyes filled with an unprecedented ruthlessness. "He dares to touch my person?"
He gripped her jaw so hard it hurt. She struggled and pushed him away: "Wei Ting! Don't do this! I can handle my own affairs, I don't need your interference!"
"Solve it?" Wei Ting's voice rose as he grabbed her wrist, revealing the red marks left by President Li. "Is this the result of your solution? What were you planning to do if I hadn't had the driver with you?" He suddenly softened his tone and reached out to hug her, but she dodged him.
"I don't want to argue with you." Ning Zhichu grabbed her pajamas and headed for the bathroom. "I'm tired."
The sound of running water in the bathroom masked the noise in the living room. Ning Zhichu leaned against the showerhead, hot water streaming down her face, but it couldn't warm her icy fingertips. She knew Wei Ting was worried about her, but the controlling glint in his eyes felt like a net, suffocating her. She remembered her first interview with Wei Ting five years ago; he wore a black suit and calmly handled the reporters' difficult questions at the press conference. Back then, she thought he was a mountain, but now she realized that this mountain sometimes blocked out all her light.
Unbeknownst to her, the moment the bathroom door closed, Wei Ting took out his phone and dialed Lu Zexu's number, his voice icy cold: "Give me all of President Li's information, including the address of his illegitimate child's school and evidence of him embezzling company funds to buy wealth management products. Also, contact your friend at the Swiss bank and freeze all of his overseas accounts."
Lu Zexu paused on the other end of the phone: "What do you want to do? Don't make a big fuss, or you'll end up in the police station..."
"He harmed my people." Wei Ting's voice was tinged with blood. "I'll let him know that some things are off-limits."
After hanging up the phone, Wei Ting walked to the balcony and looked down at the sycamore grove. Autumn leaves carpeted the ground like scattered gold. He remembered that morning in Florence, Ning Zhichu holding a camera, photographing the sunrise, sunlight falling on her face, her smile like a child's. He had vowed then to protect her for life, but now she was being wronged right under his nose. He took out a cigarette, the flame flickering in the night, his eyes churning with unspoken emotions—he simply wanted to protect the person he loved, to ensure her smooth sailing, and couldn't bear to see her suffer even the slightest injustice.
For the next three days, Ning Zhichu didn't mention Huayu's report again, nor did she ask Wei Ting what he had been busy with lately. The two continued their cold war, but Wei Ting no longer let her order takeout. Every morning, he would leave breakfast at the door of the study, and he would wait for her to come home before going to sleep at night. The living room light was always on.
On Wednesday afternoon, Ning Zhichu was revising a manuscript in the editorial department when the receptionist suddenly called, her voice filled with panic: "Reporter Ning, there's a Mr. Li downstairs looking for you. He says he's here to apologize, he's crying terribly, and he's even brought a banner..."
Ning Zhichu's pen paused on the paper, the ink spreading into a small black dot. She ran downstairs and saw President Li standing in the lobby, his suit wrinkled, his hair mostly gray, his eyes sunken—a complete contrast to the arrogant man from three days ago. He held up a banner that read "Fair and Honest, Upholding Justice for the People," and upon seeing Ning Zhichu, he knelt down with a thud: "Reporter Ning, please have mercy on me! I know I was wrong, I'll never do it again!"
The entire editorial department gathered around, pointing and whispering about General Manager Li. Ning Zhichu quickly helped him up and pulled him to the nearby stairwell: "General Manager Li, what are you doing? What do you mean, 'I'll forgive you'?"
Tears and snot streamed down Mr. Li's face, his voice trembling uncontrollably: "It's Mr. Wei... Mr. Wei ruined me!" He pulled several sheets of paper from his pocket, bearing notices of frozen bank accounts and company bankruptcy announcements. "First, he forced all my partners to withdraw their investments, then he exposed my patent forgery. The China Securities Regulatory Commission investigated my accounts and found I had embezzled public funds. Now the company is bankrupt, and I'm drowning in debt! I can't even afford my son's tuition abroad, and my wife has divorced me..."
Ning Zhichu's fingers were icy cold, the paper in her hand felt light, yet like a boulder crashing into her heart. She remembered the bloodshot eyes in Wei Ting's eyes these past few days, his silhouette smoking on the balcony late at night, and the warm milk he left by the study door—it turned out he knew everything, and that he had avenged her in his own way.
"I know I'm not human, I shouldn't have laid a hand on you." Mr. Li grabbed her wrist, his nails almost digging into her flesh. "Reporter Ning, please talk to Mr. Wei and ask him to let me go. I'll kowtow to you!"
Ning Zhichu abruptly pulled her hand back, took a step back, and leaned against the wall. The motion-activated lights in the stairwell went out, and in the darkness, her tears finally fell. There was warmth, there was emotion, but even more so, there was a suffocating sense of loss—he had once again "solved" her problem, using his ruthless methods to crush President Li like an ant, yet he had never asked her if she wanted such "protection."
She recalled last year when Xingneng fabricated data. She stayed up all night checking the data, and he stayed by her side, helping her organize the evidence and telling her, "You have to win the battlefield as a journalist." But now, he cleared the obstacles for her in the most brutal way, as if to say, "If you can't do it, I have to."
Back in the editorial department, Ning Zhichu locked herself in the break room. Su Xiaoran came in with a hot cocoa and saw her red eyes, knowing that things had been exposed: "Lu Zexu told me that Wei Ting is really angry this time. He spent three months finding evidence that President Li embezzled public funds, and he even dug up his secret overseas accounts. His methods were indeed a bit ruthless, but it was for your own good."
“I know he meant well.” Ning Zhichu sipped her hot cocoa, her fingertips still icy cold. “But he never asked me what I wanted. What I wanted was to expose President Li’s true colors through my own reporting, to ruin his reputation, not to use his power to bring him down from his pedestal. What’s the difference between what he did and President Li using his power to oppress people?”
Su Xiaoran sighed and sat down next to her: "He just cares about you too much. Last time you were framed by Chen Jingming, he was still worried about your safety before he fell into a coma in London. He's in the financial industry and is used to solving problems in the most direct way. He thinks that this is the fastest way to protect you, but he forgot that you are a reporter and have your own pride."
When Ning Zhichu got home that evening, she opened the door and saw Wei Ting sitting in the living room, with her favorite crab roe soup dumplings in front of him—from the old shop at the end of the alley, still steaming. He was wearing the gray sweater she had knitted, the cuffs frayed slightly. Seeing her come in, he quickly stood up, like a child who had done something wrong: "I asked Aunt Zhang to make these, your favorite..."
“President Li came to see me.” Ning Zhichu interrupted him, her voice soft but carrying an undeniable weariness. “He told me that you ruined his company and caused his family to break apart.”
Wei Ting froze, the chopsticks in his hand falling to the table with a crisp sound. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but seeing the disappointment in Ning Zhichu's eyes, all the words stuck in his throat.
“I’m so touched that you did this for me.” Ning Zhichu walked up to him and looked at the panic in his eyes. “I know you’re worried about me and afraid that I’ll get hurt again. But Wei Ting, I’m Ning Zhichu. I’m not a flower that you need to keep in a greenhouse. I can argue with entrepreneurs in interviews, I can stay up all night to investigate data for three months to expose fraud, and I can protect myself.”
She reached out and gently touched his cheek, her fingertips glistening with cold tears: "You always said you would protect me, but you never believed that I was capable of standing shoulder to shoulder with you in the storm. You cleared away the obstacles for me in your own way, but you also swept away my pride."
Wei Ting grabbed her hand, the heat of his palm making her flinch. His voice trembled, his eyes filled with panic: "I'm just afraid you'll suffer any more injustice, that Mr. Li..."
"I know." Ning Zhichu withdrew her hand, turned and walked towards the study. "I'm tired and want to rest early."
As the study door closed, Ning Zhichu leaned against it, hearing the sound of a glass shattering in the living room. She knew the cold war wasn't over; it was even worse than before. She squatted on the floor, hugging her knees, looking at the interview outline marked with Wei Tinghong's pen on the desk, and at the silver ring engraved with "W&N," tears silently streaming down her face.
She remembered Piazzale Michelangelo in Florence, where Wei Ting helped her adjust the camera's focus, saying he wanted to capture all the light in the world for her; she remembered a rainy night in Shanghai, when he waited for her downstairs at the editorial office with an umbrella, the hot cocoa in his hand at just the right temperature. She knew his love was deep and sincere, but within that love lay his possessiveness and her pride—they were like two sharp-edged stones, attracting each other, yet also hurting each other painfully.
The living room light stayed on all night. Ning Zhichu didn't know how long Wei Ting had been sitting in the living room, but she knew that as dawn approached, she heard the study door being gently pushed open. A glass of warm milk was placed on the corner of the table, with a small sunflower pattern printed on the inside. It was the glass that had been broken and then glued back together; the cracks were clearly visible in the morning light, yet it still held a warm feeling.
She picked up the milk, took a sip, and tasted a bittersweet sweetness. A few more sycamore leaves fell outside the window, and the late autumn sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting interlaced stripes of light and shadow on the floor—a stark contrast to the relationship between her and Wei Ting.
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