The Finale Part 2 (Another Tug-of-War)
The banquet hall of the Shanghai International Convention Center was brightly lit, the light refracted by the crystal chandeliers reflecting off the champagne glasses, dazzling the eyes. Ning Zhichu's fingertips, gripping her press pass, turned white. She had just finished an exclusive interview with the EU Energy Commissioner when she turned around and bumped into a familiar embrace—the scent of cedar mixed with a faint cologne wafted towards her, a scent etched into her very being.
"Be careful." Wei Ting's voice rang out above her head, trembling slightly. He reached out and supported her waist, the heat of his palm making her instantly stiffen. She took a half step back as if electrocuted, her interview notebook falling onto the carpet, pages scattered all over the floor.
The surrounding guests all turned to look, some whispering, "Isn't that reporter Ning? His report on Wall Street regulatory loopholes went viral last year." "Isn't that Wei Ting next to him? The hedge fund tycoon who just returned from New York. I heard he's going to collaborate with the Lu family on a new energy project this time." Su Xiaoran quickly squeezed over to smooth things over, and as she squatted down to pick up the papers, she nudged Ning Zhichu hard with her elbow, her eyes full of accusatory "What are you two doing?"
Wei Ting bent down and picked up the top page, which was her interview outline. A blank space was marked in red pen with the words "Verify the latest European photovoltaic subsidy policy," the handwriting strong and forceful—he had secretly filled it in behind her, just like countless times before, always pinpointing her oversights. "The EU just adjusted the subsidy rate last week, reducing it by 15%, this data hasn't been updated." He handed her the page, his fingertips brushing against the back of her hand, and they both trembled simultaneously.
"Thank you." Ning Zhichu's voice was so soft it was like a mosquito's buzz. She didn't dare look him in the eye when she took the outline. Three years had passed, and he had changed a bit. His suit was more sharply tailored, and a few barely noticeable gray hairs had appeared at his temples. Only the bloodshot eyes were exactly the same as when he was working late into the night on the green energy project.
Halfway through the dinner, Wei Ting found her on the terrace, leaning against the railing, enjoying the breeze. The mist from the Huangpu River carried the chill of late autumn, causing the hem of her beige trench coat to sway gently. "Why are you avoiding me?" He handed her a cup of hot cocoa, sweetened to her liking, with two spoonfuls of honey. "Su Xiaoran said you haven't dated anyone in the past three years, and I haven't touched anyone else in New York either."
Ning Zhichu took the hot cocoa; the cup's heat made her fingertips tingle. She remembered a photo Su Xiaoran had sent her three months ago: Wei Ting watering flowers on the balcony of his New York apartment, with a familiar sunflower cup on the railing, the gold leaf at the crack shimmering in the sunlight—it was a kintsugi repair he had commissioned a craftsman to do, and Su Xiaoran said he would stare at the cup for half an hour every time he watered his flowers.
“We’re not a good match.” She avoided his gaze and looked at the cruise ships on the river. The brightly lit ships were reflected in the water like shattered stars. “The problems from three years ago are still there. You’re used to being in control, and I need respect. Forcing us to be together will only lead to repeating the same mistakes.”
“I’ve changed.” Wei Ting grasped her wrist, the silver bracelet making a soft clinking sound between their skin. “During my three years in New York, I learned to let go. Last year, when one of my analysts argued with me about a proposal, I didn’t reject it outright like I used to. Instead, I listened to her advice, and the project’s return on investment doubled. From the beginning, I wasn’t the kind of person who only knew how to use power to solve problems.”
His voice was choked with sobs, and the bloodshot eyes were clearly visible: "I know I was wrong about what happened, Mr. Li. I shouldn't have made the decision for you, and I shouldn't have said those hurtful things. For the past three years, I've thought about it every day: if I had communicated with you properly back then, would things have turned out this way?"
Ning Zhichu almost burst into tears. She recalled the industry journal she received last week, in which Wei Ting published "The Symbiotic Relationship between New Energy Investment and Media Supervision," repeatedly mentioning that "respecting journalists' right to investigate is a company's responsibility." Between the lines were the same points she had argued with him about years ago. It wasn't that she wasn't moved; it was just that those suffocating arguments, the silent cold wars, and the shattered glass from three years ago shrouded her like a shadow, making her afraid to get any closer.
"Shall we give it a try?" Wei Ting pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head, his cedar scent mingling with her breath. "I promise I'll never interfere with your work again, never give you the silent treatment again, and we'll communicate immediately if there's a problem. Even if we argue, we won't bring up the past."
His embrace was tight, filled with the panic of something lost and then regained, so tight it made her ribs ache, yet she inexplicably craved it. Hot cocoa was poured onto their clasped hands, the sweet liquid trickling down their fingers, like the unspoken plea to stay three years ago.
The days after they got back together were like poison coated in sugar. Wei Ting had indeed changed. He would patiently listen to her talk about the difficulties she encountered during interviews, quietly brew goji berry tea for her while she stayed up late revising her drafts, and when she had conflicts with interviewees, he would only say, "Do you need me to help you check their background? The decision is yours." Ning Zhichu also learned to compromise, proactively telling him, "Today's interview went very smoothly, thank you for reminding me of the subsidy policy before," bringing him late-night snacks when he worked overtime, and ironing his cashmere sweaters until they were perfectly smooth.
But cracks always appear unexpectedly. That day, Ning Zhichu was going to interview a battery company suspected of data fraud, which was a potential partner of Wei Ting. Before leaving, Wei Ting handed her a document: "This is their financial audit report from last year. There are three suspicious points, which I have marked in red. Also, their boss has violent tendencies. I've asked the driver to follow you, keeping a distance of fifty meters, so as not to interfere with your interview."
Looking at the familiar red pen markings on the document, Ning Zhichu suddenly felt a sense of suffocation. He hadn't interfered with her, but he had arranged everything in a different way, like a gentle net trapping her inside. "I can look it up myself." She placed the document on the table, her voice trembling almost imperceptibly, "Wei Ting, can you please stop doing this? I'm not a child who needs your constant protection."
“I’m just worried about you.” Wei Ting’s smile froze on his face. “Last time you interviewed a chemical company, you were stopped at the door by their security guards and were frozen for three hours. I just don’t want you to suffer again.”
“But you’re making me feel useless.” Ning Zhichu’s voice rose. “I can get the audit report on my own, and I can persuade the security guards to let me in with my own eloquence. I don’t need you to pave the way for me beforehand! You say you respect me, but you still think I’m not good enough and that I need you to protect me!”
The argument erupted just like it had three years ago. Wei Ting felt his concern was being taken for granted, while Ning Zhichu felt his pride had been trampled on once again. As he slammed the door and left, he knocked over the sunflower-shaped cup on the coffee table, causing the kintsugi repair to crack open again. Shards splashed onto Ning Zhichu's ankle, drawing blood.
That night, Wei Ting stayed up all night at the company revising plans, and the ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts. Lu Zexu looked at his bloodshot eyes and sighed, "You two are like two thorny stones. You clearly want to get closer together for warmth, but you always end up hurting each other. What she wants isn't for you to pave the way, but for you to stand by the roadside and tell her, 'Don't be afraid, I'll help you if you fall'; what you want isn't for her to obey you, but for her to be able to lean on you when she's tired and say, 'I need you'."
Ning Zhichu sat on the living room floor, looking at the shards of glass scattered everywhere. Tears fell onto her wounds, causing her to gasp in pain. She remembered the porridge Wei Ting had cooked for her that morning, still warm in the thermos; she remembered him fixing her loose pearl necklace, the clasp engraved with a small "W&N"; she remembered how, when he was in New York, he would share every news report about her on his WeChat Moments with the caption, "My girl is the best."
It wasn't that she didn't love him, but that she was too afraid. She was afraid that those sweet moments were all an illusion, afraid that one day he would turn back into the aloof and arrogant CEO Wei, and afraid that she would once again be caught in the dilemma of "love or pride."
The next morning, when Ning Zhichu arrived at the company, she found Wei Ting sitting on a bench downstairs in the editorial department, the dark circles under his eyes even more pronounced than the night before. He held a new sunflower mug in his hand; it was ceramic, with tiny star and moon patterns painted on it, exactly the same as the design on her silver bracelet. "I was too impulsive yesterday," he said, handing her a medicine box. "Iodine and a band-aid; you hurt your ankle."
Ning Zhichu took the cup, her fingertips tracing the smooth surface. There were no cracks, yet she felt something was missing. "Wei Ting, let's break up." Her voice was soft, but with an unwavering resolve. "We've both tried so hard to change, but those ingrained habits are hard to break. You care about me, and unconsciously arrange everything for me; I'm sensitive, and unconsciously feel controlled. When we're together, the happiness is as sweet as the arguments, and it hurts just as much. This kind of life is suffocating."
Wei Ting froze on the spot, the medicine box in his hand falling to the ground, scattering bandages everywhere. "Just because I helped you check the audit report?" His voice trembled with despair, "I just wanted to be good to you, what did I do wrong?"
“You’re not wrong, and neither am I.” Ning Zhichu’s tears fell and landed on the sunflower cup. “The mistake is that we’re too similar. We’re both too proud, both care too much about each other, but we don’t know how to love each other properly. Rather than torturing each other, it’s better to let go gracefully, at least we can keep those beautiful memories.”
Wei Ting squatted down, picking up the band-aid from the ground. His fingers trembled so badly he couldn't lift it. "I understand," he said, his voice hoarse, avoiding her eyes. "Keep this cup, as a... keepsake."
Ning Zhichu watched his dejected figure, the cup in her hand burning her palm. She wanted to call out to him, to say, "Let's try again," but her throat felt blocked, and she couldn't utter a sound. Her colleagues in the editorial department were all secretly watching her. Su Xiaoran walked over and handed her a tissue: "A short pain is better than a long one. This mutual torment is more painful than breaking up."
That afternoon, Ning Zhichu received a WeChat message from Wei Ting containing only one photo: he was on the balcony of his New York apartment, holding a camera case she had knitted, with the Statue of Liberty bathed in morning light in the background. The caption read: "I'm leaving, going back to New York. Take good care of the cup, don't break it again."
She held her phone and cried for the entire afternoon in the break room. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, falling on the sunflower-shaped cup. The undamaged cup gleamed, yet it hurt her more than when it had shattered. She knew they were truly incompatible. Those sweet moments were like a sugar coating, concealing their irreconcilable differences. Forcing them to swallow them would only cause excruciating pain.
Three months later, Ning Zhichu received the title of "Top Ten Financial Journalists in China". On the stage, she looked at Su Xiaoran and Lu Zexu in the audience and smiled brightly. When the host asked her, "Who is the person you want to thank the most?" she paused and said softly, "Thank you to someone who once illuminated my life, who taught me how to stay true to myself in love, and who also taught me how to let go gracefully."
After the awards ceremony, she received a package from New York containing a handmade photo album. The first page featured a photo of them together in Florence, sunlight falling on their faces as they smiled like children; the last page contained a note in Wei Ting's handwriting: "In the beginning, I bought an apartment on Wall Street with an east-facing balcony that overlooks the sunrise, just like we did in Piazzale Michelangelo back then. I will always wait for you. If you ever change your mind, come find me anytime."
Ning Zhichu placed the photo album in the most prominent position on the bookshelf, next to the sunflower cup. The plane tree leaves outside the window had fallen again; Shanghai's late autumn was still damp and cold. But she knew that some loves, even if they couldn't be together, could still be a source of strength for each other. She and Wei Ting were like two parallel stars, shining on their own orbits. Although they couldn't embrace, they could always see each other's light, and that was enough.
But one late night, while revising a draft, she would unconsciously make herself a cup of hot cocoa and add two spoonfuls of honey; when Wei Ting was managing projects in New York, he would subconsciously mark risk points in red on the plans, just like he had done with the interview outline he had given her years ago. Those habits etched into their bones became their most secret concern for each other, and also their most suffocating tenderness.
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