It seems like an old friend
Since then, Gu Fei has always been somewhat reserved and uneasy when facing Zhi Wei. The once dashing young man who was so at ease and witty in social situations seems to be wrapped in an invisible film, making him somewhat awkward and hesitant.
He continued to fulfill his duties as her companion, attending events with her and chatting with her, but his eyes held a more cautious scrutiny, and his smile carried a hint of barely perceptible reluctance. He could no longer simply enjoy the time he spent with her as before; his family's predicament and her silent support were like a fine thorn pricking his proud heart.
Zhiwei, being so perceptive, naturally noticed his change. Once, during afternoon tea with Wang Jingnan, she gazed out the window, gently stirring her coffee, her tone carrying a barely perceptible hint of regret: "Gu Fei, that boy, is quite a kind and gentle young master."
Jingnan raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.
"It's a pity," Zhiwei sighed softly, "He hasn't reached that level of cultivation yet. He can't simply conflate romantic feelings with the exchange of benefits, and feel at ease doing so." Her gaze drifted into the distance. "In this circle, being too serious is a burden. He can't let go of his pride, so our relationship can only end here."
Jing Nan understood: "So you plan to..."
"Let nature take its course," Zhiwei said calmly, putting down her coffee cup. "There's no point in forcing things."
And so, the two tacitly drifted apart. Soon, a young internet celebrity appeared in Gu Fei's life, active on social media. The girl was youthful and beautiful, with an innocent, adoring gaze that allowed Gu Fei to regain that sense of control. He transformed back into the poised and confident young master of the Gu family, only occasionally, in the quiet of the night after the noise subsided, would he gaze absently at photos of himself and Zhiwei on his phone, a faint, wistful melancholy flickering in his heart.
Zhiwei's life remained unchanged despite Gu Fei's departure. She continued to be active in various events, never lacking companionship. Until one day, at a fashion brand event, a newly popular male star was introduced to her by his agent.
"Miss Shen, I've heard so much about you. This is Qin Yang, he just finished filming 'Looking Back on the Years,' he's a very promising young man." The agent said with a beaming smile and a warm tone.
Zhiwei had only raised her eyes politely, but when her gaze fell on the young man named Qin Yang, she couldn't help but be slightly taken aback.
He was young, around twenty-three or twenty-four years old, with a handsome face and the refreshing vigor unique to that age. But what captivated Zhiwei was the expression in his eyes and brows—clear, with an unadorned sincerity, and for a fleeting moment, he bore an inexplicable resemblance to Song Tianming, a figure long buried deep in her memory. That lingering emotion and regret, long since faded with time, rippled like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, creating subtle yet clear ripples.
Qin Yang seemed a little nervous, and under Zhi Wei's gaze, he lowered his eyes slightly, a faint blush rising at the base of his ears.
Zhiwei's heart was gently touched. Unable to bear seeing the young man embarrassed, she immediately smiled, a gentle and comforting smile, and began to speak to him naturally: "I've watched a few episodes of 'Looking Back on the Years,' and your performance in it was very spirited."
She spoke calmly, asking about interesting anecdotes from filming, skillfully guiding the conversation and quickly putting Qin Yang at ease. When he talked about his love for acting, his eyes sparkled, and that purity and passion made Zhiwei feel as if she were seeing a figure from another time and space.
From that fleeting glimpse at the fashion extravaganza, the name Qin Yang began to appear in Zhiwei's social circle at just the right frequency.
They would always bump into each other on certain occasions. Sometimes it was the opening of a private restaurant hidden deep in a hutong, where the head chef was an old acquaintance of Zhiwei, and Qin Yang, as a "young friend" whose taste was recognized, was invited; other times it was a charity preview that needed star power, where Qin Yang, dressed in a well-fitting suit, was accompanied by several senior figures in the industry, and happened to stop in front of a painting with Zhiwei, who had come alone, and they naturally exchanged a few pleasantries.
The camera always knows how to capture these moments, freezing the comfortable distance and cheerful banter between the two, turning it into an intriguing footnote on social media.
Qin Yang always maintained an attitude of mixed appreciation and caution in her presence. He would carefully observe whether she needed more tea when her fingertips moved slightly, and would offer her her favorite sparkling water when she was chatting with others. His thoughtfulness was silent, like a precise spotlight on a stage, illuminating only what needed to be illuminated, never overstepping its bounds.
Zhiwei observed everything clearly. She could see the careful management of his team; those seemingly accidental encounters were actually meticulously planned schedules; the subtly guided public opinion remained in a gray area between "appreciation" and "intersection," neither confirming nor denying, leaving ample room for both sides. She didn't dislike this clever pre-planning; in fact, she admired its prudence. In this world of fame and fortune, understanding the rules and using them elegantly requires wisdom.
Once, at a dinner hosted by a foundation dedicated to supporting young artists, Qin Yang sat beside her. During the meal, someone mentioned an art film in pre-production; the script involved traditional intangible cultural heritage techniques, and while the investment was huge, its prospects were uncertain. Qin Yang listened intently. After the conversation subsided, he turned to Zhi Wei, his voice soft: "Miss Shen, you are very knowledgeable. In the current environment, is there still value in pursuing this kind of subject matter?"
His question wasn't driven by utilitarian motives; it was more like a pure discussion of ideas. Zhiwei, holding her wine glass, glanced at his clear, focused eyes, where a curiosity and contemplation of the unknown flickered, subtly overlapping with a long-buried figure from her memory. Her heartstrings twitched. After a moment's hesitation, she didn't answer directly, but instead began to speak eloquently about how she had witnessed ancient workshops in Europe being revitalized through modern design, sketching out a possibility in her words.
Qin Yang listened attentively, occasionally asking a question or two that always hit the nail on the head. After that night, he sent over a picture book about that intangible cultural heritage skill through his assistant, with only a simple note: "I have benefited greatly from this, and I would like to express my sincere gratitude."
When Xiaoyu handed the brochure to Zhiwei, she casually remarked, "Mr. Qin seems to be paying more and more attention to cultural projects."
Zhiwei flipped through the beautifully printed booklet, a barely perceptible smile playing on her lips. She enjoyed this subtle exchange, like admiring a meticulously planned chess game. The other person used her perspective to glimpse a wider world, seeking guidance and recognition in some sense; while she, in turn, found amusement and a sense of detached observation of the changing world in the other person's inquisitive and cautiously ambitious spirit, tinged with a certain familiarity.
A tacit understanding seemed to have been reached between them. Amidst the fleeting shadows and shimmering light, they were each other's perfect embellishments in the landscape, devoid of deep affection or sense of obligation, simply offering each other a dignified and elegant support when needed. This relationship was as thin as a cicada's wing, yet as clear as a mirror.
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