Chapter Five: Undercurrents
On the red carpet of the charity gala, Shen Yanzhi reached out and supported Mu Hongyan's waist. The skin beneath the slit of her cheongsam felt delicate, yet it couldn't compare to the warmth he remembered when Ruan Yu wiped his sweat. Amidst the flashing lights, he saw Ruan Yu in the back row of the audience, wearing a light blue dress, the silver lock on her wrist gleaming faintly in the shadows.
"President Shen and Director Mu are a match made in heaven!" The host's teasing remark drew thunderous applause from the audience. Mu Hongyan smiled and leaned closer, the tiny diamonds from her earrings brushing against his collar: "Miss Ruan, is that the silver lock you're wearing today that your grandmother left you?" Her voice was only audible to the two of them, "My mother said before she passed away that the jade bracelet should be passed on to... someone who understands the compassion of a healer."
During the auction, when Shen Yanzhi won the bid for the oil painting "Night Roses," Ruan Yu was backstage helping an autistic child adjust his clothes. The two roses on the canvas, one glistening with dew and the other covered in frost, were just like the two women of the evening.
"Sister Ayu, that lady in the cheongsam seems like a good match for Brother Shen." The little girl's words made Ruan Yu's fingertips tremble. Looking at herself in the vanity mirror, the silver lock cast a shadow on her collarbone. She suddenly remembered when she was eighteen, Shen Yanzhi had placed the silver lock around her neck and said, "When I come back, I'll marry you."
A commotion arose backstage, and Mu Hongyan's cheongsam had a torn sleeve. Ruan Yu watched as she calmly put on her suit, and suddenly noticed that this woman, who was invincible in the business world, had a shallow scar on the inside of her wrist—exactly the same spot where Shen Yanzhi had been scratched by a bicycle when he saved her years ago.
"Thank you." Mu Hongyan took the safety pin from Ruan Yu, her fingertips touching the calluses on Ruan Yu's palm. "When President Shen was little, did he always secretly help you copy his homework?" She suddenly chuckled. "I saw your name in his Stanford notes, tucked between formulas in differential equations."
Ruan Yu gazed at her turning back, at the ankles revealed by the slit in her cheongsam, and at the photo on Shen Yanzhi's computer screensaver—a photo he took on Charles Bridge in Prague, with the Vltava River beneath it shimmering with the same deep blue as Mu Hongyan's eyes.
In the rest area after the auction, Shen Yanzhi looked at the silver lock in Ruan Yu's hand: "Grandma said back then that this lock should be worn until...the day I wear my wedding dress." His fingertips brushed over the red mark on her wrist, "Does it still hurt?"
Ruan Yu suddenly looked up and saw Mu Hongyan standing at the end of the corridor, talking to people from a charity. The jade bracelet on her wrist had slipped down to her elbow, revealing a scar on the inside of her wrist, which was clearly visible under the wall lamp.
"Brother Yanzhi," she suddenly grasped his hand, the warmth of his palm reminding him of the fireplace in the old house, "do you remember the roses we planted at the alley entrance when we were little?" She pointed to the oil painting "Night Roses," "No matter how beautiful a red rose is, it still needs someone to water it; no matter how resilient a white rose is, it still fears the winter snow."
As Shen Yanzhi gazed at the starlight in her eyes, he suddenly remembered the photo Mu Hongyan had attached to the email. The red rose garden in the background was the "secret garden" he and Ruan Yu had dreamed of as children. Two women, one carrying his past and the other his future, quietly overlapped in the long river of time.
As the banquet ended, a sudden downpour began. Shen Yanzhi watched Mu Hongyan brave the rain to get her car, and suddenly remembered that year in America, Ruan Yu had done the same, braving the rain to deliver traditional Chinese medicine to him, only to end up with a fever for three days herself. He took out his phone and texted Ruan Yu: "Don't wait for me, go home first."
The moment the send button was pressed, Mu Hongyan's car arrived. She rolled down the window, raindrops dripping from her hair: "President Chen, shall we go together?" The scent wafting from the car was the same sandalwood fragrance as in Ruan Yu's room—her grandmother's favorite scent.
In the rearview mirror, Shen Yanzhi saw Ruan Yu standing on the steps, holding an umbrella, her silver lock faintly visible in the rain. Mu Hongyan suddenly spoke, "Before my mother passed away, her biggest worry was that I had no one to take care of me." Her fingertips traced the jade pendant on the steering wheel. "Until I met President Shen, I realized that some people are destined to stand by each other's side."
The windshield wipers swung rhythmically. Looking at the long line of car headlights ahead, Shen Yanzhi suddenly understood that in this game of business and emotion, there were no absolute winners. Like the two vases on his desk, the roses in the celadon vase needed sunlight, while those in the crystal vase needed nutrients. He had to learn to find a delicate balance between the two.
The car stopped at the entrance of the old alley. Shen Yanzhi noticed that Ruan Yu's umbrella was still dripping with water, and she was holding freshly picked red roses. Mu Hongyan looked at the rain outside the window and suddenly chuckled, "President Shen, how about inviting Miss Ruan to cut the ribbon at the groundbreaking ceremony for the project next week?" Her gaze fell on the silver lock on Ruan Yu's wrist, "Some promises shouldn't be buried by time."
The car door opened, and rainwater mingled with the scent of roses rushed out. Looking at the two women, Shen Yanzhi suddenly felt that fate had already woven a web between them—business cooperation and childhood bonds, like threads in a net, weaving a complex and beautiful pattern. And he would eventually find his place in this web—not as a decision-maker on the business battlefield, but as the boy who planted roses at the alleyway, the child who listened to stories on his grandmother's lap, the one who saw his own soul reflected in the eyes of these two women.
The rain gradually subsided, and the streetlights at the alley entrance cast gentle halos of light into the puddles. Shen Yanzhi took the roses from Ruan Yu's hand, his fingertips touching the warmth of her palm, when he suddenly heard Mu Hongyan chuckle softly from inside the car: "President Shen, your cufflinks need changing."
He looked down and saw the old cufflinks on his suit, the very same new style Ruan Yu had given him that day. In the distance, the song of a nightingale drifted by, tracing a graceful arc across the post-rain night sky. In this delicate moment, the three souls each heard the sound of their own heartbeats—the gears of fate slowly turning, carrying them toward an unknown yet anticipated tomorrow.
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