ember
Zhao Xianqi's departure was like a cornerstone being pulled away, shaking Lin Xiaoning's already suspended world even more violently. She locked the long letter in the bottom layer of the villa's safe, along with the cold key. She didn't cry, nor did she mention it to anyone. Instead, the immense, silent sadness turned into a solid block of ice in her chest, emitting a chill day and night.
She took a leave of absence, under the pretext of sorting out "academic materials," and once again returned to the familiar university, entering Zhao Xianqi's study. The school had arranged for a preliminary cleanup, but most of the books and personal belongings remained as they were, awaiting the return of his son, Zhao Yuan, from abroad.
The study was filled with the scent of old books, ink, and a faint hint of medicine. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting dappled shadows on the dusty desk. Lin Xiaoning's fingers brushed the spines of the books, the works she once considered a source of wisdom now silent as tombstones. She tried to search them for his final thoughts, for any hint of the complex emotions between them, but all she found was a pile of meticulously annotated lecture notes and a few newly published legal theory monographs with dedications on the title pages, addressed to other esteemed names. She moved cautiously, like an intruder, afraid to disturb the tranquility of the place, afraid to reveal her own inappropriate, unspoken concerns.
Zhao Yuan, a man of about her age, had a calm demeanor and a look that reminiscent of Zhao Xianqi. His speech carried the politeness and distance of someone who had lived abroad. He had returned specifically to attend to his father's funeral and belongings. He expressed appropriate gratitude and courtesy to Lin Xiaoning, "a student his father had once admired."
"Ms. Lin, thank you for always remembering my father." Zhao Yuan's voice was gentle, with a hint of fatigue. "He had students like you caring about him in his later years, so we can rest assured when we are away."
While sorting through old things together, perhaps reminiscent of the past, Zhao Yuan opened up a little. He stroked a family photo, its edges yellowing. It showed a young Zhao Xianqi, with a gentle and beautiful woman standing beside him, holding the young Zhao Yuan in her arms.
"My mom died in a car accident when I was in middle school." Zhao Yuan's voice was soft, as if he was recounting a distant story. "At that time, my dad felt like the sky had fallen. But he never shed a tear in front of me. He just buried his head in work and taking care of me in silence. Many people advised him to find another woman, but he refused. He said that once you have the best in your heart, there will be no room for anything else." He paused and looked out the window. "Later, I settled abroad and wanted to take him over, but he refused. He said he couldn't leave the books here, the podium here, and... the memories here. He looks rational, but he is actually very stubborn at heart. Once he sets his mind on people and things, he will never change."
Zhao Yuan's words were calm, yet like tiny needles, they pierced Lin Xiaoning's heart. She listened to this story of loyalty and deep affection, a story she had never known before. The image of Zhao Xianqi, so different from the one she knew and with whom she had shared physical intimacy, gradually became clearer, taller, and... distant. She suddenly felt like a ridiculous thief, having thought she had glimpsed the secret beneath the iceberg, gloating over that distorted warmth, unaware that beneath the iceberg lay another life, as heavy as a shipwreck, one she could not shake in the slightest. Her existence, those chaotic nights between them, and their so-called "understanding," seemed so frivolous, cheap, even... dirty in the face of this story of "a lifetime of love for only one person." She was like a vulgar object that had strayed into a sacred temple, covered in mud and sullying its original purity.
At that moment, the overwhelming shame and utter embarrassment nearly suffocated her. She hurriedly found an excuse and practically fled the study. The sunlight glared, yet she felt cold all over. It turned out that what she had thought was a special connection might have been just an insignificant episode in his later loneliness; what she had thought was a deep understanding might never have touched the core, the most precious part of his heart. Everything about her, her struggles, her "sacrifice," became a complete joke in the face of the reality of another dimension.
Back in the empty villa, Lin Xiaoning buried herself on the sofa and didn't move for a long time. The feeling of emptiness engulfed her more strongly than ever before.
The film and television culture company was finally established, sporting a brand new sign and housed in a high-rent office building. Xu Wu fulfilled his promise, and the initial 200 million yuan in funding arrived quickly. But Lin Xiaoning's heart had already cooled. She had lost even a shred of her former enthusiasm and longing.
Instead of opting for the conventional commercial blockbusters or popular TV series, which might bring lucrative returns but also carry greater temptations and risks, she decided, almost capriciously, to create a web series. The subject matter was adapted from real cases from Zhao Xianqi's early life, as well as legal stories from his notes about "procedural justice and substantive justice," "law and human relations," and "the choice between advance and retreat." She personally served as the chief planner and screenwriter, crafting the script word by word, incorporating her insights over the years and the complex and unspoken emotions she felt for that man.
It felt more like a long, reverent, private memorial. The filming process was low-key, even a bit dull. There were no big-name stars, no overwhelming publicity. As expected, the film didn't make a splash, disappearing silently amid the vast sea of online content. But as Lin Xiaoning watched the finished film, she felt a strange sense of peace. She had completed a ritual, sealing the unspeakable past in light and shadow. She hadn't even considered who the film was for. Perhaps it was simply to give an account to the departed soul, and to the part of herself that still longed for purity and meaning.
Afterward, she methodically launched two more projects, each with mediocre subject matter and well-made production, but lacking explosive appeal, resulting in lukewarm success. She became extremely cautious, hesitant to invest in large-scale productions and becoming almost fussy about funding. She seemed to subconsciously resist the "capital manipulation" Xu Wu might have expected, trying to maintain a murky bottom line. However, the film and television industry is inherently a money-burning industry, and even so, within a year, the over 100 million yuan on the books was depleted at a visible rate.
It was another annual meeting, once again held in the most luxurious hotel. The lights were bright, the air was filled with clinking glasses. Xu Wu stood center stage, his figure still lean and capable, his gaze sweeping across the room with his customary, all-controlling confidence. He passionately summarized the listed group's impressive performance, outlined a grand blueprint for cross-border development, and announced an enviable dividend plan. The audience erupted in applause, each face brimming with the joy of achievement. Lin Xiaoning sat in the front row, wearing an expensive dress and a well-placed smile, but inside she felt numb. She looked at Xu Wu, the man who had single-handedly promoted her and then, step by step, pushed her into the abyss, and felt like she was watching a spectacular performance that had nothing to do with her.
At this moment, a dramatic scene broke out without warning.
A middle-aged man in ordinary clothes and with a haggard face somehow sneaked into the venue. Suddenly, like a beast cornered, he rushed onto the stage, roaring and waving a fruit knife, aiming directly at Xu Wu!
"Xu Wu! You beast! You have a beastly heart! I'm going to kill you!"
The scene erupted in chaos! Screams and the crash of tables and chairs filled the air. The man's movements were haphazard, yet his frantic, suicidal spirit was terrifying. The security guards reacted quickly, swarming over him and pinning him to the ground before he could reach Xu Wu. The police arrived quickly and took the man away, still struggling and cursing furiously.
Amidst the chaos, Lin Xiaoning glanced to the side of the stage and saw Su Qing, pale, trembling, and almost collapsed to the ground. Her eyes were empty, as if her soul had been sucked out.
Out of an almost instinctive professional reaction, or perhaps wanting to grasp a little sense of reality to fight against the emptiness in his heart, Lin Xiaoning took the initiative to step forward and tried to conduct crisis public relations, comfort the frightened guests, and deal with the chaotic scene.
In a makeshift backstage lounge, she saw the man being held, awaiting further police action. He no longer struggled, crouching in a corner, dejected and dejected, like a lifeless clay statue. He didn't cry, but tears silently flowed, streaking down his rough cheeks and dripping onto the expensive carpet. The sobs were so suppressed they were unnerving, a broken sob squeezed from the depths of his throat.
Lin Xiaoning handed him a glass of water, but he didn't react. He kept muttering in a low, hoarse voice, but every word was heartbreaking:
"Vicious... so vicious..."
"She slept with someone else... I accepted it... It's my fault... As long as the child is still here, this family will still exist..."
"But now... he himself has no son... and he wants to steal my son..."
"The paternity test... turns out it's really his..."
"What should I do...what else can I do..."
The words were incoherent, the information fragmented, yet they pieced together a bloody truth that was enough to subvert human ethics. Lin Xiaoning stood there, as if struck by thunder. A plot that even a TV series wouldn't dare to depict was now playing out so realistically, so cruelly, before her. She could even imagine the cold conclusion of the paternity test report, the expression Xu Wu would likely wear upon learning the results—a mixture of smugness, calculation, and coldness.
Ultimately, the matter concluded in a swift and silent transaction. Su Qing quickly resigned, reportedly receiving a "compensation" sufficient to provide her with comfortable food and clothing for the rest of her life, on the condition that she disappear completely. The man, presumably persuaded by some means, accepted a divorce and a "hush money." The family was broken up, and the child went to the biological father, who possessed both strong genes and wealth.
Lin Xiaoning wondered how the man, whose name was soon forgotten, would cope with a life completely ripped away. Forgive? Reality was so cruel that even the object of forgiveness seemed vague and vast. Perhaps, for him, there was only one, even more cruel, way out—to numbly live on with this shame and despair, or...
The annual meeting continued, the lights came back on, the music started up again, and people quickly resumed their conversation and laughter, as if the shocking scene had never happened. Only the carpet might still have lingering tear stains, and the air was filled with a faint, sweet smell of tragedy.
Lin Xiaoning lifted her glass, the champagne bubbles rising and bursting in it. She watched the figures twirling on the dance floor, watched Xu Wu calmly conversing with others, as if the assassination attempt had just been an insignificant episode. She suddenly remembered the words in Zhao Xianqi's letter: "The world of capitalism is deep and turbulent." This was more than just deep and turbulent; it was a dark sea of evil, brooding with monsters.
And she was floating on the sea, and the life raft under her feet seemed to be leaking.
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