Huamo Technology Co., Ltd., third-floor conference room.
"Alright, that concludes today's meeting. Everyone, you can go home now."
Rong Mo shut down the computer, his voice steady and strong.
After saying that, he packed up his laptop, stood up, and walked straight to the door.
After confirming that Rong Mo had gone far away, the employees in attendance began to pack up their documents.
"Hey, don't you guys find it strange? Although President Rong seems to be in the same state today, there's just something indescribable about him."
"Really? You think so too? I think President Rong is particularly serious today."
"President Rong is always very serious when he holds meetings. You're overthinking it."
"No, I think that although President Rong looked stern before, he wasn't as cold in his speech as he is today. He was like a cold, unyielding stone."
"Hey, by the way, Mengjie, weren't you and President Rong classmates before? You should know his temperament best. You be the judge, isn't President Rong acting a bit strange today?"
Yuan Mengjie was already somewhat annoyed and was about to leave when the group of people discussing the matter were suddenly stopped. She immediately frowned and said unhappily, "Do you think it's appropriate to talk about President Rong so openly behind his back? Are you all too idle?"
After saying that, ignoring the astonishment and embarrassment on everyone's faces, he pushed open the door and left.
"It's just a joke. Work is already frustrating enough, and then I have to get scolded. It's pointless..."
The employees behind him were a little annoyed, but they didn't say anything more at the moment, and each left with their own laptops.
After Rong Mo went downstairs, he drove directly back to his apartment in the city center.
He rushed into the room, flung open the wardrobe door, and saw the perfectly wrinkle-free pajamas hanging inside. He could no longer contain himself and covered his face.
After a while, he could no longer bear the torment in his heart, so he took out his phone and opened the pinned profile picture on WeChat.
The Moments feed is clean and clear, showing "The other party only shows their status for the past month".
He opened the chat window, forcing himself to suppress his discomfort, and sent a message.
"Early Summer, you're back, aren't you?"
"Um."
The other party replied instantly.
Rong Mo gripped his phone tightly and sent another message.
"You're getting married, right?"
"Um."
Another instant reply.
"Early summer, so what am I to you?" Rong Mo's fingers involuntarily typed these words, but he deleted them the moment he sent them.
"I wish you happiness." Rong Mo sent the message with trembling hands.
"Yes. The wedding is next Saturday, are you coming?"
His tone was flat, and he replied instantly.
"Okay." Rong Mo uttered a single word as if possessed.
The next second, an electronic invitation was sent to them.
Rong Mo tried several times but couldn't bring himself to open the invitation. He simply replied, "I will be there on time."
Then, he turned off the screen and threw his phone on the bed.
"So, all my long-held concerns were just a joke." Rong Mo gave a bitter smile and reached out to take down the pink pajamas from the closet.
Turning around, Rong Mo saw the trash can by the door, walked over, and threw his pajamas in.
Rong Mo went to the study, trying to numb himself with work, but he couldn't concentrate on the computer screen. Fragments of the past kept flashing through his mind.
Rong Mo sighed, closed his laptop, and walked out.
Rong Mo opened the wine cabinet in the living room and casually selected a bottle of whiskey.
Sitting on the sofa, Rong Mo took off his coat and threw it aside, then poured himself a glass of water.
He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and downed the entire glass in one gulp.
Feeling the spicy liquid slide down his throat, Rong Mo couldn't help but frown. After putting the glass on the table, he poured himself another glass.
He drank it all in one gulp again.
After a few drinks, Rong Mo's face showed signs of intoxication, and his ears began to turn red.
He felt his vision starting to blur, so he tilted his head and poured himself another glass of wine.
He tilted his head back and suffocated again.
As the alcohol began to take effect, Rong Mo swayed slightly and leaned his head against the sofa, the stray hairs on his forehead obscuring his eyes.
He didn't know how long he had been lying there when he was groggily woken up by his phone ringing. He patted his groggy head, got up, and went to his room to pick up his phone.
It was Shen Zhi Qiu who sent a video.
Once the video loaded, he opened it and saw Shen Zhi Qiu holding Nian Nian, waving her chubby little hand at the camera. Shen Zhi Qiu gently coaxed the baby, "Nian Nian, do you want your uncle to come and keep you company tomorrow?"
"Does Niannian miss her uncle?"
After saying this, Niannian smiled happily, kicking her little legs and grinning with joy, drool dripping from the corner of her mouth.
Rong Mo couldn't help but smile and replied with a voice message, "Uncle will go see Niannian and Zhaozhao tomorrow. Love you both!"
After sending that message, Rong Mo couldn't resist the effects of the alcohol and fell asleep on the sofa.
In the middle of the night, Rong Mo suddenly woke up with a splitting headache. Looking down, he saw that he was still wearing his work clothes. Rong Mo frowned, picked up a bath towel, and prepared to take a shower.
He had just taken a bath towel out of the closet when he glanced at the spot where his pajamas were, and it was empty.
He frowned, then suddenly remembered that he had already thrown away his pajamas, and couldn't help but sigh.
After taking a shower, he habitually grabbed his pajamas and put them on, but stopped just as he was about to cover himself with the blanket.
He put on his slippers, walked to the trash can by the door, and stared intently at the pink pajamas.
Rong Mo sighed, bent down to pick up the pajamas again, and patted off the dust. Actually, the cleaning service had cleaned the house very thoroughly; the trash cans were spotless, without a speck of dust.
But Rong Mo felt it was dirty and gently patted it.
Suddenly, the screen of my phone, which was placed next to the bed, lit up.
Rong Mo glanced at it, folded the pajamas and put them in the corner of the wardrobe, then closed the door.
He picked up his phone and opened WeChat.
For some reason, he still felt a faint sense of anticipation.
When I opened it, there were no message notifications for the person I had pinned to the top.
It was just a trivial piece of news.
Rong Mo put down his phone dejectedly and reached out to turn off the bedside lamp.
He lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep, his mind filled with that face from the past.
Especially when I close my eyes, that face gradually appears before my eyes.
Having not slept all night, Rong Mo stared at the ceiling, watching the sun slowly shine into the room through the window. He sighed, glanced at the time—it was already 7:30 in the morning—and got out of bed.
I made myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, hoping to clear my groggy mind.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of a doorknob turning at the front door.
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