ferry
Another annual meeting.
The venue was still ablaze with brilliance, the crystal chandeliers illuminating every smiling face with dazzling brilliance. On the giant LED screen, numbers flashed, highlighting another year of record-breaking performance for Changqing Chemical. The joyous news of the successful IPO had already permeated every corner, and the air was filled with an almost inflated sense of confidence and excitement.
Lin Xiaoning, champagne flute in hand, weaved among the elegantly dressed. She wore a sharply tailored dark blue satin dress, her skin whitening to a slender white, her aura serene. Compared to the girl who, two years ago, felt so nervous in similar situations, even having to memorize her lines, she was now the company's youngest vice president, overseeing public relations, administration, and some strategic investments. Her every move exuded a settled, unquestionable authority. She smiled, her manner effortless, as if born for such occasions.
Yet, beneath this flawless mask, her heart was a desolate battlefield. Every toast, every small talk, felt like a meticulously choreographed performance. She knew exactly when to express each expression, how to strike the right balance for each line. This air of nonchalance was a deeper numbness, the result of countless late-night shreds of self, forced back together again, a hard shell forged by power and status. She could even clink glasses with Zhang Jun and chat about insignificant market dynamics, as if the "apology" on the park bench that night and the chaotic night before that were mere dust, long since blown away by time. The alcohol slid down her throat, bringing a familiar warmth, but her heart remained dead silent, without a single ripple. She looked at Zhang Jun's seemingly calm eyes, but inwardly she sneered: See, we're both so adept at playing "normal," as if none of that filth ever happened.
When the bustle faded and she returned alone to the spacious yet cold apartment assigned by her company, that hard shell crumbled quietly. In the empty room, only her own footsteps echoed. The luxurious decor couldn't mask the lack of activity; the place felt more like a luxury hotel suite than a home. Silence washed over her like a tide, threatening to drown her.
As usual, she opened her encrypted social media account and clicked on the familiar profile picture with the starry sky background. Ye Yidong's account was silent, no messages, no updates. But her access log clearly showed that he had visited just a few hours ago. Time and again, he'd come silently, like a ghost, never leaving a single word. This silent gaze suffocated her more than any questioning. It was like a blunt knife, slowly grinding at her already tattered heart. Each late-night visit was like a thorn, piercing the softest part of her heart. She began to imagine frantically: What kind of mood had he been in when he clicked on her page? Was it hatred? Was it longing? Or was he, like her, tormented by endless regret and confusion? If, back then, before everything was irreversible, she had mustered the courage, tearfully begging him to stay, revealing the unspeakable truth, would he have forgiven her? Was there a chance that they wouldn't have ended up like this? This thought was like a poisonous snake, biting her repeatedly in the dead of night, making her feel miserable.
She snatched up her phone, her fingertips trembling on the cold screen. It had been three months since they'd spoken. She typed and deleted the words she'd rehearsed countless times in her head, then deleted and typed them again. In the end, all her surging emotions dissolved into a few polite, almost distant inquiries:
"Are you there?"
I clicked send. Just as I was about to put the phone down, a shrill notification sounded.
"exist"
"How are you doing lately? Do you have any money?"
"Everything is fine. Don't worry."
…
Through the screen, she could almost sense the pain of his calculated distance, the unspoken disappointment. This cold response completely shattered her last remaining illusions. A crushing sense of guilt and powerlessness instantly overwhelmed her. She buried her face deep in her knees, her shoulders moving silently, but not a single tear shed. It felt as if her tears had long since dried up during those countless sleepless nights. All that remained was a hollow, bone-chilling coldness.
Insomnia, like a thorn in her flesh, tormented her with increasing intensity. She could barely sleep without the numbness of alcohol. The apartment's liquor cabinet was always stocked with a wide variety of spirits. Gradually, her dependence on alcohol grew, from a light tipple to a need for a full-blown drunken stupor for a few hours. Only under the numbness of alcohol could she temporarily escape the sharp pain, boundless loneliness, and self-loathing.
Sales General Manager Liu Feng keenly noticed this change in her. He frequently invited her to various "business events." These occasions often began with drinks in high-end restaurants and ended with the debauchery of private clubs or bars. Lin Xiaoning initially resisted, but later found that in this extremely noisy and sensual environment, she could temporarily forget the emptiness and pain within. She began to grow accustomed to the flattery and attention, and the temporary relief that alcohol brought. She began to surround herself with young and handsome "friends," mostly so-called "young talents" introduced by Liu Feng or friends from his circle. The two young men and one girl on her PR team also seemed to grow closer to her, blurring the lines between them. At work, they were superiors and subordinates, but after work, at the bar, they could be arm in arm, their words laced with ambiguous tentativeness and flirting. The boy named Han Dong, in particular, showed a puppy-like attachment and pampering to her, and she sometimes even seemed to be immersed in this false warmth, as if she was really needed and cherished. Although she knew in her heart that this was just a show and a poor imitation of real feelings, she needed this imitation to fill the huge void.
Su Qing was surprisingly present at one of Liu Feng's gatherings. She seemed to have completely let go of her pride. During the meal, Lin Xiaoning saw Su Qing embracing the bloated agent, unabashedly entering the hotel room. A mixture of contempt and vindictive pleasure washed over her. She secretly took a photo with her phone and anonymously sent it to Su Qing's husband. However, at the next drinking party, when Su Qing calmly complained about the "loser" at home, even threatening to "cuckold him today" to everyone's laughter, Lin Xiaoning's pitiful sense of superiority and the pleasure of revenge vanished. She realized that, on a certain scale of depravity, they might not be fundamentally different; both were selling themselves in different ways, the price and the occasion varying. When the board announced their intention to appoint Lin Xiaoning as Executive Vice President, Su Qing even lowered her profile and actively courted her. Lin Xiaoning once again deeply realized that in the ladder of power, there are no eternal enemies, only eternal interests. They were not on the same level and were not even qualified to be enemies. This realization that Su Qing brought to her made her feel deeply sad.
After the company went public, Xu Wu's ambitions soared. He took Lin Xiaoning to visit an old classmate—his former department head—hoping to leverage this academic leader's influence to promote the company's newly established "Green Chemical Research Institute." Also accompanying them was the pretentious chemical "expert" who had been hired for a substantial fee.
The dinner was held in an extremely private, high-end club. There was lively conversation and laughter throughout the meal. It seemed like an academic exchange, but in reality, every word and sentence revolved around the exchange of interests, patent bundling, and resource allocation. Lin Xiaoning played the role of a perfect deputy, speaking tactfully and toasting with moderation. The "expert"'s eyes frequently roamed over her, with a sense of evaluation and greed, even hinting that a more "in-depth" "collaboration" was needed to advance the project. Xu Wu smiled but said nothing, as if tacitly accepting the existence of this unspoken rule. That night, Lin Xiaoning didn't drink a drop of alcohol, her mind was remarkably clear, but her heart was colder than any time she had been drunk. She felt like a bargaining chip on the negotiating table, with a price tag clearly marked, waiting to be sold. A huge sense of humiliation and self-loathing gripped her: Could it be that all my efforts and struggles, in the end, are only worth this body?
After dinner, everyone walked through the hotel lobby to rest. Just then, background music began to play: Whitney Houston's classic "I Will Always Love You." Her ethereal, soulful voice, like an unexpected key, instantly unlocked the floodgates of Lin Xiaoning's carefully sealed memories.
This song was the one she and Ye Yidong had chosen for their wedding. They had imagined countless times, witnesses of their loved ones, walking slowly toward each other to the rhythm of this melody, pledging their lifelong vows. At this moment, those hopeful images, those gentle whispers, those visions of the future, accompanied by the song, flooded back to her like a tidal wave.
It forms an extremely cruel contrast with the cold, hypocritical and calculating reality before our eyes.
All her strength, disguise, and numbness collapsed at this moment. She stood up suddenly, staggered to the bathroom, and didn't even bother to say hello to Xu Wu and others. After locking the door of the cubicle, she leaned her back against the cold door panel, her body slid down the door panel, and fell on the cold ground. Tears flowed out like a flood that broke through the dam, but no sound came out. The singing seemed to penetrate every pore, and every note pierced her heart like a needle. It turned out that some farewells had already been completed unknowingly, and this affectionate melody was nothing more than the most sad footnote of this long farewell. The lingering melody satirized her fragmented life. She felt a deep loneliness and despair, as if abandoned by the whole world.
She didn't know how she left the hotel, nor how she drove to the familiar university campus and knocked on the door of Teacher Zhao Xianqi's home. At this moment, the only safe haven she could think of was there.
It was Zhao Xianqi himself who opened the door. He looked thinner than a few years ago, with more gray hair at his temples, but his eyes remained wise and calm. Seeing Lin Xiaoning, a tear-stained, trembling figure, visiting late at night, a flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes, then turned into deep concern.
"Xiao Ning? Come in quickly." He stepped aside to let her in, his tone gentle.
The room was simply furnished, filled with the fragrance of books and a comforting tranquility. Lin Xiaoning, grasping at straws, spoke incoherently about everything that had happened tonight, about the collapse brought on by the ballad, about the ups and downs of the past few years, the struggles, the self-exile, and the filth that had penetrated deep into her bones.
"Teacher... I feel so dirty... dirty from the inside out..." She raised her tearful eyes, her gaze was dull and desperate, and her voice was full of self-loathing, "I'm like an old, stained thing... Can I still wash it clean? You tell me... what should I do?" She longed for an absolute cleanliness that could wash away all filth, even if this cleanliness came from another form of decadence.
Zhao Xianqi listened quietly, without interrupting or judging, simply gazing at her with an all-embracing gaze. He could sense her fragility and collapse at that moment, a despair reaching the brink of collapse. After a long pause, he sighed softly and stood up to pour her a glass of warm water. As he handed her the glass, Lin Xiaoning suddenly reached out and grasped his wrist with surprising force. Her fingers were cold and trembling slightly.
She closed her eyes, her voice breaking and trembling as if she had exhausted all her strength, a desperate plea: "Teacher... you...? Someone like me... do you also feel... dirty?" She closed her eyes and raised her head. This was an extremely complex and dangerous "invitation." It was a mixture of a final longing for innocence, a desperate pursuit of redemption, a subconscious impulse to affirm her existence and value through sexual contact, and a temptation bordering on self-destruction. She exposed her most vulnerable side, nakedly, to this father-like spiritual mentor, as if to say: Look, this is the real me, are you willing to accept it?
Zhao Xianqi's body visibly stiffened. He could clearly feel the coldness and despair of her fingertips. He didn't immediately withdraw his hand, nor did he make any rash moves. He stared at the young woman before him, almost completely broken, his eyes swirling with complex and inexpressible emotions—pity, understanding, a deep pity, and perhaps, a touch of emotion touched by the beauty and frankness of this despair. A tense, volatile silence hung in the air.
Time seemed to freeze. Lin Xiaoning's heart was beating so fast it threatened to burst out of her chest. She was both afraid of his rejection and terrified of his acceptance. It was a deeply conflicting feeling.
Finally, Zhao Xianqi took a deep breath, as if making up his mind. He didn't answer with words, but with action. Slowly and gently, he placed his other hand over her hand, which was tightly grasping his wrist. His palm was warm and dry, with a reassuring power. Then, with a slight pressure, not pushing away, but guiding her hand, he leaned forward and gently, yet undeniably, embraced her.
It was an embrace that transcended the boundaries of ordinary teacher-student or friend-to-friend. Lin Xiaoning's body stiffened for a moment, then a surge of warmth, almost shuddering, washed over her. For the first time in years, she felt a warmth and embrace without ulterior motives or calculations. She didn't struggle. Instead, like a drowning man finally grasping at driftwood, she buried her face deep in the crook of his neck, which carried a faint scent of books and the delicate fragrance of soap nuts, greedily breathing in the soothing air.
"Silly child..." Zhao Xianqi's voice rang out above her head, low and hoarse, filled with indescribable tenderness. "You are not dirty... you have never been dirty... it's this world that is sometimes too muddy."
His words were like the last sluice gate of a dam, completely breaking down all of Lin Xiaoning's defenses. She burst into tears in his arms, no longer suppressed sobs, but letting go of all her grievances, fears, loneliness, and humiliation. Zhao Xianqi simply held her silently, gently patting her back, as if soothing a wounded animal.
After an unknown amount of time, the sobbing subsided, leaving only faint sobs. Zhao Xianqi lowered his head, staring at her tear-stained face, a flicker of determination in his eyes. He leaned down and gently kissed away the tears from the corners of her eyes. The kiss was salty and bitter, yet incredibly precious. Then, his kiss slowly moved down, finally, with a tentative, pious touch, it covered her slightly trembling lips.
The kiss started out gentle and restrained, but soon, like a blazing fire ignited from dry wood, they both lost control, overwhelmed by long-suppressed emotions, a desire for resonance, and the urgent need for reassurance in each other's existence. Lin Xiaoning responded with a raw yet passionate touch, as if to dispel the chill within her bones, to prove she was still alive, still needed, still desired. Clothes slipped off without a trace, and in the stillness of the night, two lonely, exhausted souls, warmed and reassured in the most primitive way possible.
There were no words during the process, only rapid breathing, the intertwining of body heat, and the occasional sob, a sob that was unclear whether it was pain or extreme. Zhao Xianqi's movements were sometimes gentle and gentle, and sometimes with a long-suppressed fierceness, as if he wanted to merge them into his own flesh and blood. Lin Xiaoning completely gave up thinking, allowing herself to sink and float in this strange and turbulent tide of emotion, feeling a strange sense of relief, filled and possessed.
When everything calmed down, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing of the two. Lin Xiaoning curled up in Zhao Xianqi's arms, her head resting on his arm. There was no shame, no regret, only an unprecedented, almost utterly debilitating calm and tranquility. Outside the window, a gentle drizzle had begun, the sound of rain pounding against the window like a lullaby.
Zhao Xianqi gently stroked her hair and whispered, "Go to sleep, I'm here tonight."
Without alcohol or sleeping pills, nestled in the arms of the man she'd just had sex with, listening to the rain outside, Lin Xiaoning felt a long-lost, deep sense of security. She closed her eyes and quickly drifted off into a deep sleep. For the first time in years, she'd slept so soundly and peacefully, as if all the noise, sin, and pain had been shut out by this warm embrace and the sound of the rain. The road ahead remained uncertain, but at least on this night, sheltered by this warm body, she found a sense of peace, a kind of nirvana. This might not be love, but at least it was a profound connection, a comforting embrace amidst the endless darkness.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com