Chapter 6 Cooperation: "A Feeling of Being Forgotten"...
06
After that night, Meng Yao's life seemed to have temporarily returned to a certain normalcy.
Just as he had said, Fang Huaixu never returned home after that day. The huge penthouse apartment seemed to have become her own private world.
She originally wanted to remain as unchanged as possible and not touch the areas that belonged to Fang Huaixu. At the beginning, she carefully limited her activities to the bedroom, and gradually extended them to the study, balcony and kitchen.
Only after she finally confirmed that Fang Huaixu did not come back often did she truly relax and begin to arrange things according to her own habits.
Today is my grandmother's follow-up appointment. After receiving new medication and a new treatment environment, her complexion has visibly improved.
After finishing his rounds, Dr. Zhao, the attending physician, specifically called Meng Yao to his office.
"Miss Meng, your grandmother's condition has stabilized a lot recently. It seems the new treatment plan is working." Dr. Zhao looked at the latest test results and said optimistically, "This is a very good sign."
Meng Yao's heart leaped into her throat, her eyes filled with anticipation: "Does that mean there's hope for a complete cure?"
Dr. Zhao adjusted his glasses, pondered for a moment, and said, "Currently, the possibility of controlling the disease, living with the tumor long-term, and even achieving a clinical cure has greatly increased. Especially if we can get more advanced and personalized treatment plans..."
He paused, as if remembering something, "I remember mentioning to you before that one of the top experts in this field, both domestically and internationally, is Professor Anderson from the United States. His team has made groundbreaking progress in precision targeted and immunotherapy. If we could get him or one of his core team members to conduct a remote consultation, it would be of great benefit to your grandmother's condition."
Professor Anderson.
Meng Yao remembered the name; Dr. Zhao had mentioned it once before, but at the time her grandmother's condition was critical, and it was too late to offer immediate help, so she considered it a slim hope. Now that it had been mentioned again, her heart suddenly stirred.
"Dr. Zhao, do you have a way to contact Professor Anderson? I'm willing to try, no matter the cost!" Meng Yao asked eagerly.
Dr. Zhao gave a wry smile and shook his head: "Ms. Meng, this isn't about money. Experts of Professor Anderson's caliber have such long waiting lists that even the world's top billionaires and political figures are already booked for remote consultations. His time is charged by the minute and is extremely scarce. Our hospital has tried sending out academic exchange invitations, but they've all gone unanswered. Unless... there are extremely special cases that will pique his interest, or you have connections that allow you direct access to his inner circle."
The flame of hope had just been ignited when it was mostly extinguished by the cold water of reality.
An extremely unusual case? My grandmother's situation, while complex, was not unique. As for connections, how could a student struggling to make ends meet possibly know someone who could directly access top international medical professors?
"I understand, thank you, Dr. Zhao."
Meng Yao suppressed her disappointment and tried to remain calm. "Let's continue with the current treatment plan for now... I'll think of something else."
Dr. Zhao nodded sympathetically: "Let's keep each other informed of any new developments."
As she left the hospital, the sun was setting, but Meng Yao felt a heavy heart. The outline of hope seemed clearer, but the road to that hope seemed insurmountable.
While reading in the evening, Meng Yao's thoughts were still in disarray. Uncle Zhou noticed that she used the study a lot, so he thoughtfully added a table to the spacious study. Fang Huaixu didn't come back often, and she gradually got used to these additions. She would even buy some of her own things to decorate it, since it was her usual place of residence.
The night view outside the window was dazzling, but she was too bothered by the day's events to concentrate on her book, so she turned on her headphones and played French listening exercises on repeat to improve her language sense, trying to make the most of every spare moment.
Time slipped away quietly, and night deepened.
Just as she was completely immersed in the complex changes of the subjunctive mood, a crisp sound of a door closing suddenly came from downstairs.
Meng Yao was startled and almost reflexively took off her headphones, her heart skipping a beat.
At this time, Uncle Zhou hasn't gotten home yet, and the cleaning lady won't come in the evening.
There's only one possibility: Fang Huaixu has returned?
The moment this thought crossed her mind, she unconsciously tensed up, glancing at the time; it was almost 11 o'clock.
She hesitated for a moment, but decided to go out and take a look anyway. After all, they lived under the same roof, and it wouldn't be right to pretend not to see each other if they ran into each other.
So she pushed open the study door, went down halfway down the stairs, and saw Fang Huaixu hanging up his suit jacket with his back to her.
"Mr. Fang." She greeted him calmly from the top of the stairs.
"Um."
He turned around and responded, his voice sounding more relaxed than before, his gaze naturally falling on her.
Just when everyone thought their conversation was over, Fang Huaixu spoke first, asking with concern, "Have you eaten yet?"
Meng Yao paused for a moment, then said, "Yes, I've already eaten."
The warm yellow light cast dappled shadows on his face. He remained expressionless, nodding before habitually scanning the living room with a faint hint of surprise in his eyes.
Meng Yao followed his gaze and gradually froze, suddenly realizing that she seemed to have unknowingly left quite a few traces in this space over the past few days.
A light beige knitted blanket, which she often used, was draped over the sofa armrest. When the weather was nice, she would often go downstairs to read in the sun. Several journals and a half-read document were scattered on the coffee table.
Next to the single sofa in the corner, there was even a small, movable, tiered storage cart. When she was preparing for her exams, she often craved snacks in the middle of the night, and the cart contained all sorts of snacks, sticky notes, and her usual eye drops.
These were her personal belongings, which obviously didn't match the overall cool-toned decor of the place. Now, under the gaze of the suddenly returned male homeowner, they seemed particularly abrupt and... inappropriate.
It's like trespassing on someone else's territory and leaving behind a lot of "evidence".
Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she explained softly, a little awkwardly, "I'm sorry, I haven't been able to find things easily these past few days, so I moved some of them down... If you think it's inappropriate, I'll pack them up right away."
“That’s good,” Fang Huaixu said gently, shaking his head. His gaze lingered for a moment on the trolley and the scattered books. Far from showing any displeasure, a faint, thoughtful look seemed to flash across his eyes.
He paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words: "The house doesn't look so empty anymore, thank you."
Meng Yao felt relieved, and the heat in her cheeks gradually subsided.
As Fang Huaixu organized the documents he had brought back, he casually asked, "Do you prefer being downstairs?"
Meng Yao answered honestly, "I spend more time in the study. It's very quiet, and the view is quite good."
This is the truth. After all, it's a place where every inch of land is precious, and the environment and lighting are impeccable.
"That's good," Fang Huaixu nodded slightly, took out a few documents, and naturally extended an invitation: "I have some things to take care of tonight. If you still want to read, come up with me."
Meng Yao waved her hand: "It's okay, it's okay. If you're busy with work, I'll move out so as not to bother you."
Fang Huaixu hesitated for a moment, then smiled faintly at the top of the stairs: "No need to be so polite. As I said, this is your home too. I hope you can stay here comfortably."
Under the light, his eyes were especially beautiful, particularly the small mole under his right eye. When he smiled, it seemed to add a touch of charm to his otherwise cold gaze, making him exceptionally alluring.
Meng Yao glanced at it and looked away, but the heat on her face hadn't subsided.
When Fang Huaixu mentioned the word "home," she gave a soft "hmm," which was considered an acceptance of this unexpected tolerance.
She followed Fang Huaixu into the study, one after the other. In the huge space, large desks each occupied a corner, seemingly clearly separated.
Meng Yao suddenly remembered something, quickly walked to her desk, and swiftly pressed the open postgraduate entrance exam prediction paper under her books, her heart clenching.
Fang Huaixu noticed her unusual behavior: "What's wrong?"
"No..." she said nervously, "I'm a little embarrassed, the table is messy."
Fang Huaixu raised an eyebrow, politely looked away, and returned to his desk.
Meng Yao let out a long sigh, a mix of feelings of inferiority and shame instantly gripping her.
She didn't want anyone to see her struggling so clumsily and desperately for such a distant, difficult, and uncertain goal.
That dream was too heavy, and too fragile, like a seed tightly wrapped in a hard shell. She just wanted to hide it in the darkest soil, afraid that even the slightest glimpse of sunlight or the questioning of wind and rain would prevent it from sprouting.
She slowly returned to her seat and noticed that Fang Huaixu had already turned on his computer and started working. The cold white light of the screen instantly illuminated his well-defined profile and focused expression, as if he hadn't noticed her at all.
Have we really started working?
At first, Meng Yao was not quite convinced. She carefully flipped through her book, trying to figure out why Fang Huaixu had suddenly returned, afraid that he would turn his gaze towards her.
But the truth is she was overthinking it. Fang Huaixu quickly immersed himself in his work, his slender fingers typing rapidly on the keyboard. Occasionally, he would stop to check the documents at hand, his brows furrowing slightly as he fell into deep thought, completely focused.
She was gradually infected by this strange atmosphere. Accompanied by the crisp tapping of the keyboard, her originally chaotic thoughts gradually calmed down, allowing her to be completely immersed in the deductive logic she was writing.
She hadn't felt this good in a long time, and she unconsciously lost track of time.
She didn't know how much time had passed when a cup of warm milk was gently placed beside her, making a "clattering" sound as it hit the table, finally pulling Meng Yao back to reality.
It was Uncle Zhou. She didn't know when, but he walked in with a kind smile and brought her a glass of warm milk.
Meng Yao paused for a moment, then said, "Thank you."
Uncle Zhou shook his head: "This is the milk that the young master asked me to warm up for you. He said it's getting late and you should take care of yourself."
After he finished speaking, he gestured towards Fang Huaixu's position and lowered his voice even further: "Young Master has finished his work and is going to rest now."
Meng Yao followed her gaze in surprise and then realized that the spot opposite her was already empty.
The large desk was meticulously arranged; the laptop was closed, the documents were neatly stacked to the side, and the chair had been safely pushed back into its original position. It was as if no one had ever worked there.
When did he leave? She didn't even notice.
So when he came back tonight, he really just spent some time with her quietly and without disturbing her, finished his unfinished work, and before leaving, he remembered to carefully instruct someone to heat up a cup of calming milk for her.
Her mind was filled with thoughts. She looked at the glass of milk again and saw a note stuck to the inside of the glass with strong, vigorous handwriting: Get some rest.
She hesitated for a moment, looking at the note, then brought the milk to her lips and sipped it. The warm touch was steadily transmitted through the delicate porcelain wall to her palm, and the temperature seemed to travel along her veins, warming her to the deepest part of her heart.
Uncle Zhou smiled and, just as he had come, quietly left the study, gently closing the door behind him.
Silence returned to the room. Meng Yao's gaze fell once more on the empty chair opposite her, and a hard corner in her heart seemed to soften a little.
The next morning, Fang Huaixu got up as usual. Years of self-discipline allowed him to quickly wake up from his sleep, wash up, change clothes, and choose a tie, all in an efficient and silent manner.
However, as he passed the restaurant, he stopped abruptly without warning.
On the cold, smooth black countertop, next to where he usually casually placed his briefcase, sat a steaming breakfast.
He approached and saw a bowl of plain, unremarkable fried egg noodles. Judging from the steam, it must have been freshly made recently. There was also a small dish of carefully arranged fresh strawberries and blueberries on the side.
Beside him was a thin note with his instructions to Meng Yao from the previous night, followed by the girl's neat and tidy handwriting: Thank you for the milk last night.
Without further words or formalities, I simply expressed my sincere gratitude for the subtle warmth and convenience she had felt the previous night.
He quickly learned where the breakfast came from and instinctively looked upstairs. The girl's room door was tightly closed, clearly indicating that she was preparing to express her gratitude in this silent way.
Fang Huaixu's gaze slowly shifted from upstairs to the carefully prepared breakfast.
He hadn't had a proper breakfast in a long time. Usually, he'd just grab a cup of black coffee and a sandwich when he got to the office. He couldn't be bothered to put much effort into eating; it was just a routine to keep things running smoothly, and the time saved was enough for him to get plenty of other things done.
The last person who cared about what he ate passed away six years ago.
He stared at the breakfast as if from another world, standing silently in place, his deep gaze shifting between the simple breakfast and the even simpler note.
A dozen seconds later, he made a decision completely different from usual: he put down the documents, pulled out a high chair and sat down, picked up the hard cutlery placed next to him, and began to seriously enjoy this unexpected breakfast.
The flavor is pure home cooking, simple yet just right, carrying a long-lost, almost forgotten warmth and comfort of home.
As he finished eating, the morning sun rose higher outside the window, its light becoming brighter and fuller. He looked at the pale yellow sticky note on the table, and a subtle smile gently spread across his tightly pursed lips, fleeting as a mirage.
After doing all this, he walked steadily toward the entrance, his steps carrying an unexpected ease and a touch of warm vitality.
His collaboration with Ms. Meng was much more pleasant than he had anticipated.
A note from the author:
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