Gilded Cage
Like cautious fingers, the morning light filtered through the crevices of the elegant cotton and linen curtains, casting a few slanting, soft specks of light across the dark floor. Within these specks, tiny dust particles drifted slowly, like the tangible breath of time itself. Lin Xiaoning awoke from a deep, almost comatose slumber, consciousness returning with remarkable slowness. The first sensation she felt wasn't the familiar dull ache of a hangover, but a long-lost, heavy relaxation, as if every overstretched nerve and muscle had completely relaxed in this deep rest. Her nostrils were no longer filled with the expensive yet hollow custom fragrance of the villa's bedroom, nor with the lingering scent of alcohol mixed with the decadent night. Instead, they were filled with a complex, inexplicably soothing aroma—the scent of ink from old book pages, the subtle bitterness of settled tea stains, and a clean, steady body odor unique to Zhao Xianqi, like pine wood bathed in winter sunlight, bringing a soothing warmth.
She shifted slightly, feeling no discomfort, only an unfamiliar, slightly sore, sense of relief, a reminder that last night wasn't a dream. Memories slowly but clearly flooded her mind—the tears of despair, the embrace that crossed the line between teacher and student, tinged with despair and seeking, and the subsequent, almost frantic, entanglement that seemed to devour them both. Without the numbness of alcohol, every detail was palpably clear: the shudder as his calloused fingertips brushed her back, the suppressed gasps of pain and desire, the fleeting glint of something like compassion in his eyes in the darkness. She tilted her head, cautiously glancing at Zhao Xianqi, who was still sleeping beside her. His brow furrowed slightly in his sleep, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the gray hair at his temples visible in the morning light filtering through the window. His usual wise composure was replaced by a deep, disarming weariness. At this moment, he was no longer the unreachable spiritual mentor standing on the podium, nor was he the rational and restrained guide in the email, but a real man with body temperature and fragility who had touched her skin.
A complex, indescribable mix of emotions surged within her: shame, uneasiness, and fear of an unknown relationship. But strangely, overriding it all was a sense of calm, a kind of post-disaster calm. It was as if, after falling for too long in an endless, dark quagmire, she had finally grasped a vine, perhaps fragile, perhaps even thorny, but incredibly real.
When Zhao Xianqi awoke, he almost immediately met her gaze. The air froze for a moment, a subtle awkwardness and silence gripping both of them. He didn't rush to get up, nor did he betray any tenderness or regret. He simply stared back at her quietly, his eyes hazy with the morning light, the scrutiny of sobriety, deep pity, and a hint of something incredibly heavy that she couldn't understand, as if carrying more than she could imagine.
"Awake?" His voice, hoarse and low like that of someone who just woke up, broke the silence.
"Hmm." Lin Xiaoning murmured, then quickly averted her gaze like a startled bird, sitting up and wrapping the slipped sheets tightly around her like a fragile suit of armor. The only sounds in the room were the gentle breathing of the two of them. The intense heat of last night and the sobriety of the present formed a subtle, yet suffocating contrast.
In the end, it was Zhao Xianqi who took the initiative. He stood up, his movements unhurried, and poured her a glass of warm water. When his cold fingertips accidentally touched hers, they both shuddered almost imperceptibly.
"How do you feel?" he asked, his tone returning to its usual calmness, but beneath that calmness, there seemed to be a different, indescribable closeness and... responsibility?
"Not bad." Lin Xiaoning took the cup, her fingertips pressed against the slightly cool wall, and took a sip to moisten her dry throat. She mustered her courage and looked at him again, her voice trembling with uncertainty, "Teacher... last night... I..."
Zhao Xianqi raised his hand slightly, making a gentle but firm gesture, stopping her from continuing. His gaze was deep, like an ancient well with no bottom in sight. "Xiao Ning," he called her name, more directly than ever before, "Some things, once they happen, they're done. Like spilled water, like marks carved into wood. There's no need to analyze them repeatedly, and there's no need to rush to repent. We are not young men and women who are naive to the ways of the world. Having come this far, we all know in our hearts whether the road under our feet is muddy or a cliff, and we also know what the price of each step may be."
He paused, walked to the window, and with his back to her, looked out at the newly awakening city skyline. His voice grew deeper and deeper. "The important thing is, what are you going to do next? This ship, now that it has left its original shore, must find a course."
These words clicked like a heavy, precise key, unlocking the door to the real world. Behind the door lay a far more complex situation she had to face. Lin Xiaoning curled up her legs, resting her chin on her knees, her arms wrapped around herself. She stared blankly out the window at the gradually brightening sky, her voice as soft as a wisp of smoke. "I don't know... I really don't know. I just feel like I'm walking in a tunnel with no end in sight, surrounded by impossibly smooth walls. I can't climb up, and I can't find a way back. Sometimes, I even feel like this tunnel itself is an illusion, a prison I've created for myself."
"Then keep going forward." Zhao Xianqi turned around, his gaze fixed on her calmly. His voice was steady, carrying an unquestionable strength. "Use your hands, your feet, even your teeth, to touch and feel. Until you see the light, or... until your eyes and heart are completely accustomed to the darkness."
He didn't offer her false comfort or cheap promises, but instead pointed out the most realistic, even somewhat cruel, path forward. This almost cold honesty gave Lin Xiaoning a strange sense of steadiness, as if her drifting heart had finally found a reef to temporarily rest on, even though the reef was still surrounded by turbulent undercurrents.
Leaving Zhao Xianqi's modest, bookish abode and returning across town to his luxurious yet often empty and cold villa on the outskirts of the city, Lin Xiaoning felt as if she had stepped from a fleeting yet real safe haven back into a meticulously crafted, gilded cage. The afterglow of the company's successful IPO had still not faded, and the entire Changqing Chemical industry was permeated with a triumphant atmosphere of "everyone is happy."
Chairman Xu Wu was brimming with pride, delivering powerful speeches at successful roadshows and press conferences. Evergreen Chemical's stock price soared, and his wealth and ambition ballooned to unprecedented heights. Consequently, his gaze toward his subordinates took on a new, imperial air of both kindness and authority. Financial Director Zhao Qing maintained her austere demeanor, but a discerning eye could spot the Jaeger-LeCoultre watch on her wrist replaced with a more understated yet luxurious Patek Philippe. In conversation, her cold demeanor occasionally betrayed a barely concealed sense of satisfaction, akin to the wealth she had achieved through equity incentives and capital operations. Even her harshness seemed softened by the money, transforming into a kind of condescending pragmatism.
Lin Xiaoning was officially appointed Deputy General Manager, overseeing public relations, administration, and some strategic investments. Her powers and responsibilities were greatly expanded. This was matched by an astonishing annual salary and generous dividends. Without hesitation, she used the money to purchase the lakeside villa, which had once seemed extravagant to her imagination, as if to use this solid material shell to embody and prove that her success was "well-deserved."
On the surface, she was one of the undisputed winners of this grand spectacle of capital. Flowers, applause, compliments, and gazes of envy and jealousy surrounded her. But only she knew how much unspeakable mud and hidden pain lay beneath the glittering foundation beneath her feet. Her life was completely split into two almost parallel worlds, and she led a highly tense double life.
In the workplace, she is Vice President Lin, known for her decisiveness, decisiveness, and meticulous makeup. Her public relations strategies are becoming increasingly sophisticated, allowing her to engage in conversation with even the most demanding media editors and the most discerning investors. She also manages her subordinates with both kindness and authority, maintaining a well-organized and efficient management of the vast department. With her keen insight and relentless investment, she has even established a highly effective—and... controversial—public relations system. This system, like an invisible network, employs distinct "strategies" tailored to different "goals" and "challenges."
Once, in order to win a crucial government support project, it was necessary to get in touch with the person in charge of a key link - Director Liu, a man in his fifties with a slightly bald head and a shrewd and greasy look in his eyes.
In a private room at a high-end, extremely secretive club, after three rounds of drinks, the atmosphere was ambiguous. Director Liu's hands had begun to become dishonest, intentionally or unintentionally resting on the back of Lin Xiaoning's hand, and his words were full of innuendo.
"Mr. Lin, your company's proposal is good, but the competition is very fierce... The key is whether the 'sincerity' of cooperation is sufficient." He squinted his eyes and reeked of alcohol.
Lin Xiaoning felt a surge of nausea inside, but she maintained a perfect professional smile, with just the right hint of pout. "Director Liu, we are of course sincere. It all depends on whether you will give us this opportunity to show it well." She calmly withdrew her hand and raised her glass. "I'll toast you again. Thank you for your guidance."
However, Director Liu was clearly not satisfied with this. After dinner, under the influence of alcohol, he asked Lin Xiaoning to take him back to his hotel room to "continue discussing the details."
At that moment, Lin Xiaoning knew that conventional PR tactics had failed. Countless thoughts raced through her mind: the success or failure of the project, the company's interests, the expectant looks of others... and, deeper still, a numb, hopeless situation and a distorted, habitual mindset of "solving the problem."
She barely struggled. In the confined space of the elevator, she even took the initiative to move closer. The scent of expensive perfume mixed with the alcohol created an aphrodisiac atmosphere. Director Liu smiled triumphantly.
Once inside, everything became routine and cold. She acted out her words like a skilled actor, following a predetermined script. She took off his coat, poured him some water, and continued to flirt with him. When Director Liu eagerly embraced her, she closed her eyes and let him nibble at her neck, her heart awash with cold desolation. She even had the presence of mind to think about the greasy stain on his shirt collar, how annoying it was, and how she had to get up early tomorrow for a project coordination meeting...
Throughout it all, she felt as if her soul had floated to the ceiling, looking down with indifference at the body of "Lin Xiaoning" below, carrying out her mission. There was no pleasure, only a deep sense of detachment and self-loathing. When it was all over, and Director Liu had drifted off to a contented sleep, she quietly rose and went to the bathroom. In the mirror, her eyes were empty, like two dark holes. She quickly fixed her makeup, adjusted her dress, and quietly left the hotel, as if what had just happened was just a plot in a novel.
Back in the car, she didn't start the engine immediately, but simply sat there, stunned. After a long pause, she pulled her phone from her bag and sent a WeChat message to her assistant: "I'll see Director Liu tomorrow to follow up on the contract details." Then, she rested her forehead on the cold steering wheel, her shoulders trembling slightly, but not a single tear fell. She had grown accustomed to this absurd scheme of trading her body for profit, even becoming adept at calculating the "input-output ratio." This realization left her feeling a deep sense of desolation.
For those "targets" she had no interest in, found difficult to directly address, or needed to maintain a distance from, she calmly mobilized departmental resources, signing up attractive, well-connected amateur models or "PR specialists" under the pretext of boosting the company's image or filming high-end promotional videos. These would then be tasked with completing more direct or "specialized" PR tasks, paying them substantial "labor fees." All of this was done quietly, yet tacitly, under the guise of "work requirements."
The young boy named Han Dong displayed an almost worshipful attachment to her, like a puppy yearning for warmth. Sometimes, on drunken nights, she would bring him back to her villa. From his youthful, vibrant body, from his infatuated, yet submissive gaze, she drew a false sense of warmth, of being needed and cherished, as if this could briefly deceive herself that she still possessed the potential to be attractive and loved.
Yet, in the dead of night, a vast sense of emptiness and absurdity would overwhelm her like a tide. Standing at the spacious French windows on the second floor of her villa, she gazed out at the meticulously tended yet lifeless garden and the dark lake beyond. The mirror reflected a woman in an expensive silk nightgown, her face pale from the faded makeup, her eyes hollow. Over and over, she would ask herself: Lin Xiaoning, how did you end up here? Is all this glittering gold truly what you wanted? Why, now that I possessed what I had always dreamed of, did a gaping hole in my heart feel like it was blasted with a draught? A profound sense of self-strangement and self-loathing threatened to tear her apart.
She brought her elderly parents from their hometown to live with her, hoping to fill the emptiness within her heart with the warmth of family. Her mother, immensely proud and delighted by her daughter's success, quickly adapted to the life of a "rich lady" in the villa complex, enthusiastically sharing gardening and health tips with her neighbors. Meanwhile, her father, a sensitive yet silent man who had spent his entire life teaching Chinese, always watched her with a sense of worry. He could keenly detect the fatigue and reluctance behind his daughter's smile, the subtle hints of world-weariness and alienation she glimpsed. Often, after dinner, her father would gaze at her alone on the balcony, his words lingering, only to let out a heavy sigh or a pale, cautious exhortation: "Xiaoning, don't work too hard. You can't make enough money, and your health is more important." Lin Xiaoning could read the worry and question in her father's eyes, but she couldn't speak, unable to confess to her parents the devastation and scars beneath this seemingly glamorous life. The weight of that love, in turn, became another invisible pressure.
Her relationship with Zhao Xianqi became a secret and complex escape from this twisted quagmire. A tacit understanding formed between them. Every once in a while, when she felt suffocated by this double life, she would find the excuse of a business trip or inspection to travel with Zhao Xianqi to an unfamiliar place.
On that luxurious Mediterranean cruise, the setting sun painted the sea a magnificent orange-red. On deck, the salty breeze ruffled Lin Xiaoning's hair. She and Zhao Xianqi leaned side by side on the railing, gazing at the magnificent view of the sea and sky merging into one in the distance. Spending so much time together, the awkwardness between them gradually gave way to a strange intimacy.
"Sometimes I feel," Lin Xiaoning said softly, looking at the boundless sea, "I treat you like... like a father who will never abandon me. And your concern for me... that kind of concern goes beyond the boundaries of a teacher and a student." She mustered up the courage to express this somewhat shocking thought that had been lingering in her heart.
Zhao Xianqi didn't answer immediately. He was silent for a moment, his eyes looking off into the distance, as if trying to form his words. The sea breeze ruffled his graying hair.
"Human nature is complex, Xiaoning," he finally spoke, his voice calm and magnetic, as if he were expounding on a philosophical proposition. "Emotions are even more so. The ancient Greeks had many different kinds of 'love': passionate love, friendly love, and unconditional love like that between family members. Modern society's attempt to define relationships with simple labels is actually a shackle."
He turned his head, looking at her with a deep gaze, full of all-seeing tolerance. "My feelings for you are perhaps a mixture of many things. There's a teacher's cherishment of his student's talent, an elder's understanding and care for the struggles of the young, and perhaps... there's also a man's admiration and... desire for a beautiful, fragile, yet resilient woman. It's not pure, but it's real."
He paused, his tone becoming more serious. “You said this was ‘mutated’ love, maybe. But what is ‘normal’?”
"In an absurd world, two lonely souls warm each other and comfort each other, even if the form of this comfort does not conform to worldly norms. Is it necessarily absurd and sinful? Existence precedes essence, Xiaoning. What our relationship is is defined by our existence and feelings at this moment, not by some external moral standard."
These philosophical words, like a ray of light, pierced Lin Xiaoning's chaotic heart. They didn't negate her feelings, but rather provided a rational, even tragic, framework for explaining these "deformed" emotions. She felt a surge of relief, as if the moral shackles that had been weighing on her heart had been pried open. Yes, in such a cold world, this little bit of warmth, even if it was deformed, was better than complete coldness and devastation. Deep within her, the little girl longing for unconditional acceptance and understanding seemed to have found her answer in that moment. She accepted this "emotionally sound" persuasion and embraced this new concept that temporarily brought her peace of mind.
Hainan's warm beaches, tinged with salty sea breezes; the damp bluestone pavement of a remote Jiangnan town; the starry, silent skies of the vast northern borderlands...they've all left their mark. In these places, far from their familiar surroundings, they can temporarily cast off the shackles of their respective identities—he is no longer the impoverished, aloof scholar, and she is no longer the upstart Vice President Lin, constantly needing to arm herself. Like a special couple, separated by an age gap and a complicated past, they draw warmth and comfort from each other.
Zhao Xianqi's erudition, calmness and insight into the world can bring a moment of peace to her manic heart, as if she has found a safe harbor; and her youth, fragility and the little bit of truth that occasionally reveals beyond indulgence and numbness may also satisfy some unspoken regret or desire in his life that is hidden deep in his heart.
But with each return from their "honeymoon," as they returned to their separate worlds, the sense of disconnection grew stronger, like waking from a fleeting dream to face a colder reality. Zhao Xianqi returned to his modest, book-lined abode to continue his research and teaching; she, on the other hand, returned to her opulent villa and the strife-ridden company. They never discussed the future, nor made any promises to each other. Like two travelers meeting in the boundless darkness, they greedily absorbed the faint warmth of each other's body and soul, affirming their existence and sustaining the courage to continue in their respective quagmires. This relationship, deformed and fragile, became the only near-real connection she could feel.
This train bound for the unknown rumbled along its gilded tracks. Inside, light and shadow intertwined, music and dancing filled the air, while outside the window, a thickening, unsettling fog gathered. Lin Xiaoning sat in a first-class seat, steering, unaware of the destination or the next sharp turn.
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