Chapter 10 It wasn't for her...
After an unknown amount of time, Xia Zhiyao slowly opened her eyes.
She felt like she hadn't had a good night's sleep in a long time. She rubbed her temples and subconsciously turned to look at the person on the bed. Zhou Yue was still fast asleep.
Xia Zhiyao sat up gently, leaned over and raised her hand to touch Zhou Yue's forehead. The temperature was still a little warm, but it had cooled down a bit since early morning. She breathed a sigh of relief.
I picked up the thermometer and carefully placed it on his forehead. The number slowly increased: 37.2℃. It hadn't completely gone down, but he had managed to get through the most difficult night.
He slept restlessly, his brow still furrowed, his breathing shallow and rapid, as if his body had not yet fully recovered from the high fever.
Xia Zhiyao gently placed the thermometer in the refrigerator, tiptoed out of the bedroom, and walked into the kitchen area connected to the living room. She opened the refrigerator and glanced at it; the ingredients were quite plentiful.
Without hesitation, she quickly tied up her hair and efficiently washed the rice, picked the vegetables, chopped the meat, and cracked the eggs. Her movements were swift, quiet, and efficient.
Beside the stove, the water began to boil, and the rice simmered in the rice cooker. She then stir-fried chicken, beef, vegetables, and shrimp one by one, always moving quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping people inside, as if afraid of breaking the tranquility of the moment.
The city outside the window gradually awakened, with car horns and voices coming through the window cracks. The streets downstairs gradually came alive, and the whole city seemed to be slowly waking up from a dream, bustling and noisy. In the kitchen, only the soft clattering of pots and pans and the sound of her calm and steady movements remained.
She divided the cooked food into food storage containers, then ladled a bowl of dumpling soup onto a tray, and carried it back to her bedroom, her steps extremely light.
As Zhou Yue approached the bedside, he turned over slightly and coughed a few times, as if he was about to wake up.
She knelt by the bed, gently placed the soup bowl on the bedside table, and tentatively patted his shoulder with her finger, her voice very low: "Are you awake? Eat something first."
Zhou Yue slowly opened his eyes, his eyes still showing the confusion and weariness that remained after his illness. The moment he looked at her, it was as if he had been pulled back from a heavy dream that he could hardly escape. He was stunned for a moment before slowly coming back to his senses.
Xia Zhiyao's tone was gentle, yet firm and unyielding: "Eat something, then take your medicine before you sleep." As she spoke, she helped him sit up and placed a pillow behind his back, her movements meticulous and steady.
Zhou Yue took the bowl, his fingertips pausing slightly when they touched her hand. The warmth emanated from her fingertips, so clear it felt almost unreal.
He lowered his head and sipped the noodle soup, one mouthful at a time. He hadn't eaten a meal cooked by her since high school.
She sat on the edge of the bed, watching him eat, and said softly, "I've prepared all the food in your fridge, portioned it into containers, enough for two or three meals. Remember to eat on time, so you can recover faster."
He leaned against the headboard, his gaze fixed on her face, his voice low and slightly hoarse: "And you? Have you eaten?"
Xia Zhiyao smiled gently, lowered her head to wipe the fine sweat from his forehead, her movements were extremely gentle, yet they contained a quiet farewell: "Eat, don't worry. My flight is this afternoon."
She paused, her gaze slightly lowered, and her tone returned to its usual rationality: "I need to go back to the hotel first to organize our people, and then... I'll go back to Beijing."
He didn't speak again, but slowly lowered his head, his hands gripping the bowl and spoon tightly, as if grasping at some dream that hadn't fully awakened. But a dream is just a dream, and no matter how reluctant he was to let it go, it would dissipate with the morning light.
She got up to clear the dishes, her movements as methodical as ever, stacking the bowls and taking them into the kitchen, where she boiled water in the kettle.
Then she changed out of the clothes that had been dried the night before, tidied everything up neatly and cleanly, as if she had never truly belonged here, had left no trace, and had no intention of staying.
She slung her bag over her shoulder, glanced at him—a gentle, calm look, a slight smile playing on her lips—and said casually, just like countless times before they parted, "Get some rest, don't wander off. Let me know when you're all better."
Zhou Yue looked at her, so many words stuck in his chest, surging and burning, but in the instant their eyes met, they were all swallowed back.
He ultimately just responded with a low "Mm".
She turned and left, her steps as crisp and light as ever.
The door was gently closed with a soft sound, as if what was being closed was not just the door, but the world he had held onto for too long and hidden too deeply—a world about her.
The room fell silent, leaving him all alone, as if he had been left behind in the cracks of the night by the entire city.
She still left.
He sat on the sofa, his eyes vacant, as if he had sunk into a silent body of water, even his breathing was slow and oppressive.
Two pieces of clothing she had changed out of lay quietly in the laundry basket. He felt a strange sense of relief that she hadn't taken them with her. Like a final piece of evidence she had left him, a cruel tenderness.
He lowered his head, hugged the two pieces of clothing to his chest, and like a madman, brought the fabric close to his nose, inhaling deeply. That familiar scent immediately flooded his mind.
It was her usual light perfume scent, like musk mixed with a hint of jasmine sweetness, much like the face cream they used when they were kids—sweet and clean, yet also heartbreakingly distant.
That winter, his hands were chapped from the cold. She soaked them in hot water to open the cracks and then applied face cream inch by inch.
He had considered trying to persuade her to stay. The moment she turned away, the moment she said she was going back to Beijing, the moment she bent down to wipe his sweat and her fingertips were slightly cool, he wanted to say countless times, "Don't go."
But he didn't say it in the end; he couldn't bring himself to say it.
He knew she wouldn't stay; he knew it from the beginning.
She has her own world, with firm steps and clear eyes, but what about him? From beginning to end, he was just a child she took care of, someone she glanced back at, not the one she would hold hands with and walk with to the end.
He wasn't unaware of his own limitations, but even knowing all this, he couldn't help but approach her again and again, fantasizing that she might waver at some point? Even for just a second? Even for just a tiny... hesitation?
Just once is enough.
But she didn't; from beginning to end, she didn't.
He clenched the fabric in his hand, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, but he couldn't calm the turmoil in his chest.
Are you still going to hold on to this unacceptable obsession, this dream you've never responded to, this dream you know has no future?
He kept questioning himself in his heart.
But the only echo was silence.
Enough," he whispered to himself. She wouldn't turn back, and it was time for him to move on. He slowly released his grip, folded the two pieces of clothing, and placed them neatly beside his pillow, as if holding a silent funeral for his long-held obsession.
He lowered his head and said to himself, word by word: Let's end it here.
It wasn't for her, it was for himself; he wanted to let himself go.
From that moment on, Zhou Yue pressed all his tenderness, obsession, longing, and pain for her into the deepest crevice of his body, sealing it off and forbidding any further movement.
They will not disappear; they will be like the undercurrents deep underground, churning and burning at night, but never rising to the surface again.
More than ten hours later.
As the plane landed, Xia Zhiyao dragged her suitcase out of the airport terminal. She stood in the taxi queue after seeing off the entire team. The area around her was noisy with people and cars, and tires splashed water as they rolled over puddles. A sticky smell mingled with the noise.
But all of this seemed to have nothing to do with her.
She stood quietly, separated from the entire city by an invisible pane of glass. Light and sound could pass through, but nothing could truly touch her.
She looked down, turned on her phone, and brought up that familiar chat window.
Tell me when you get off the plane.
I've come to find you.
The message Zhang Luyuan posted a few hours ago is still there.
Her reply, posted half an hour ago: "Just landed."
To this day, no one has responded. She stared at those words for a long time, her gaze gradually darkening. The light reflected off the screen, its cold glow entering her pupils, and her fingertips grew cold as well.
This is actually not unfamiliar.
Zhang Luyuan is always like this. He talks a good game, but he always disappears when she really needs him. He comes slowly and leaves quickly, always "busy," as if her existence is just a note on his schedule that can be crossed out at any time.
The feeling of being left aside was like a silent tide, washing over her again and again, soaking her completely. When the tide receded, it left behind a damp, cold feeling that clung to her bones and wouldn't dry no matter what.
Xia Zhiyao no longer expected him to fulfill any promises; she should have gotten used to it by now. But every time, that familiar emptiness would still well up in her heart.
She was always calm and knew her limits, knowing what to say and what to endure. But after enduring for so long, she couldn't even tell whether she was indifferent or had long been numbed by these little disappointments.
She suddenly smiled, as if it were an unconscious self-mockery. Her lips twitched slightly before disappearing into thin air. The next second, she raised her hand to lock her phone, extinguishing an expectation that should never have been ignited. She tightened the handle of her suitcase, turned around, and stepped into the crowd, as if nothing had happened.
Outside the airport, the afternoon sunlight was fragmented by the tall buildings, slanting down onto the car windows and overlapping with the blurry neon advertisements in the distance, casting dappled light and shadow on the glass, like the embers of a shattered dream, silently flickering.
She turned her head to look out the window, her face hidden in the interplay of light and shadow, showing neither sorrow nor joy.
Those eyes were quiet and empty, revealing no emotion, yet they seemed to hold a kind of exhausting clarity, where even sadness was suppressed into silence.
Returning to her apartment on the East Third Ring Road from the Capital Airport, Xia Zhiyao opened the door herself by entering the code, pulled her suitcase into the entryway, changed her shoes, closed the door, and the afterglow of the setting sun slanted in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She stood in the entryway and took off her coat.
Her body was moving, her steps were unhurried, and everything seemed normal on the surface. Only she knew the exhaustion and depletion beneath that "flawless" posture.
She walked into the bathroom, and the moment the light came on, her face was reflected in the mirror. Despite the flight of more than ten hours, she was still completely disheveled, with exquisite makeup, sharp eyebrows and eyes, and a dignified complexion.
That was how she appeared in public—calm, composed, and flawless. Xia Zhiyao stared at herself in the mirror, remaining silent for a long time until her breath began to tighten and ache in her chest, at which point she slowly raised her hand.
She carefully removed her earrings inch by inch, loosened her hair, and used her fingertips to loosen her once perfectly styled hair bun. She slowly wiped away her eyeshadow and mascara with a makeup remover pad, and finally wiped away her lip color little by little.
The woman in the mirror finally revealed her true self: pale, with slightly red eyes and faded lips. The weariness and emptiness hidden beneath the bright makeup finally surfaced.
She gripped the edge of the sink, but not a single tear fell. She just stared at her face in the mirror, her gaze blank, as if looking at a stranger, someone she barely recognized.
She leaned back on the sofa and slept for a while, but her sleep was restless. When she opened her eyes again, it was already dark.
The lights were off inside, plunging the room into a hazy, gray gloom. Only the distant neon lights outside the window faintly illuminated the space.
She didn't move immediately, just sat there quietly, her eyes vacant, as if her soul hadn't returned to its place. Her hair was messy, her clothes hadn't been changed, and her suitcase, which hadn't been unlocked that morning, was at her feet. Everything seemed to have been paused.
She didn't know how much time had passed; she simply got up, put on her coat, and opened the door.
The door opened, and the evening breeze rushed in, carrying the coolness of the city night and taking away some of the stuffiness from her. She stood in the doorway, glanced back at the dark space inside, and walked out without turning off the lights.
As dusk fell and a fine drizzle blew in the wind, she hailed a taxi and casually gave a name of an unfamiliar place, as if she were just randomly choosing a place to stay for this escape.
The car slowly drove away. She leaned back in the seat. The city's neon lights and lights stretched into long ribbons of light outside the window, flashing by like a shooting star—brief and fleeting.
The ride-hailing car drove through the wet streets, raindrops tapping intermittently on the window. Xia Zhiyao leaned her head against the window, her eyes closed, motionless, without saying a word.
The radio was on in the car, on some unknown channel, at a very low volume, with a faint hissing noise that seemed to come from a great distance, seeping into my ears little by little through the rain and the night.
"If you could bring her down, the sky would be as boundless as freedom, but do you know how lonely that heart is in the wind..."
The female singer's voice was gentle, yet carried a fatal tenderness, inch by inch gliding over the softest corner of the heart, without a trace of superfluous emotion, yet precisely and cruelly prying open a door that had been sealed for too long.
Xia Zhiyao felt a slight pain in her chest, not intense, but it was slowly spreading, each inch feeling heavy and suffocating, leaving her powerless to escape.
The pain wasn't a sudden collapse, but a weariness caused by a long-term illness, leaving one without even the strength to push away.
The lyrics echoed over and over again, each word seemingly written for her. She had been drifting in the wind for too long, holding on, smiling, and moving forward step by step. She had been walking for so long that even the idea of "stopping" had become unfamiliar and dangerous.
She was truly exhausted, but she never found a place where she could truly find refuge.
The driver seemed to sense the silence in the back seat. His hands remained on the steering wheel, but he silently turned the radio volume up a little. "I'd rather be a boat; if you were the sea, at least let her land in your arms..."
She finally couldn't hold back anymore, and tears silently slid down her cheeks, one drop after another, landing in her palm. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to suppress her voice, but her whole body still trembled uncontrollably.
The word "landing" was like a soft yet deadly spell, repeatedly awakening the deepest desires within her.
How she longed to land, to have a place to dock, to have someone to rely on, someone who didn't require her to be strong or perfect, someone who would let her guard down and stop her from living alone.
She longed for a night like this, where she wouldn't have to endure hardship or tell herself "it's okay" anymore.
Unfortunately, no one was really waiting for her.
So she could only keep flying, keep flying alone. In this strange yet familiar city, on this rainy night with nowhere to land, she finally broke down, tears streaming down her face.
A note from the author:
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