Chapter 11 From now on, can you...
The car finally came to a slow stop on the side of the road.
The rain had subsided considerably, and the wind blew in through the half-open car window, carrying a chill unique to early spring. The neon lights were reflected on the puddled ground, colorful yet blurry, like a dream—dazzling, but unreal.
Just as she was about to push open the door and get out of the car, the driver suddenly called out to her, "Miss."
The man, a cigarette dangling from his lips, spoke in a hoarse yet unhurried voice as he pulled another cigarette from his pocket and offered it to me: "Want a smoke?"
Xia Zhiyao was stunned for a moment, then looked up at him. It was a face etched with the marks of time and life, like an old street lamp by the roadside, mottled yet radiating warmth.
She shook her head, her voice a little hoarse, but still polite: "Thank you, I don't smoke."
The driver didn't take it to heart, lit a cigarette, and let the flame flicker in the rainy night. He exhaled a puff of smoke and said casually, "It's no big deal."
She didn't respond, her gaze still fixed on the light and shadow outside the window, but the driver clearly didn't need her to speak, and continued, "You young people, don't push yourselves too hard."
“My daughter is about your age. She broke up with her boyfriend last year and cried like she was going to die. She wouldn’t eat. But what happened? In less than two months, she was skipping and jumping around to a concert.”
He took a drag of his cigarette, glanced at her sideways, and said in a rough but gentle tone, "Girl, your parents would be heartbroken to see you like this."
Xia Zhiyao leaned back in her chair, her eyes unmoving, but she felt a surge of heat in her eyes. She had no more tears to cry, nor did she refute. She simply took a few deep breaths, suppressing all the emotions that surged up, along with that moment of weakness, deep into the heart.
Using all her strength, she maintained a posture that indicated she "didn't need to be comforted."
The driver stubbed out his cigarette, grinned, and said, "Alright, that's enough. Go back and get some rest."
As he reached for the car door, he suddenly looked back at her as if he had just remembered something, his voice carrying a simple yet earnest stubbornness: "Hey, the road ahead is difficult to walk on, and it's slippery in the rain. I'll take you in, no charge. My home is over there too, I'll go back for lunch on the way."
Xia Zhiyao was taken aback for a moment, then smiled softly, "...Okay." She didn't refuse again.
Xia Zhiyao pushed open the door to her home. The house was quiet. She changed her shoes, casually opened her phone app, found the record of the bus ride she had just taken, and transferred a considerable amount of money to the driver. After sending the money, Xia Zhiyao leaned back on the sofa, her fingertips unconsciously swiping across the screen of her phone.
Just then, a new WeChat message popped up.
It was a text message from Zheng Xiaotian: "Have you eaten yet?"
"If you haven't eaten yet, come and have some with me. I have a few friends here who are planning to get together and need your advice on something."
The message was followed by a small emoji of someone gritting their teeth.
Zheng Xiaotian was her classmate in college, and the two had always had a good relationship.
His father was one of the most prominent business tycoons in the world, with family businesses spanning various industries. He, on the other hand, merely held a position in the family company and rarely touched the daily affairs. With an older brother holding the reins, he, the youngest son, was born without ever having to fight on the front lines.
But he himself saw things clearly, never forcing or competing, wandering around seemingly cynical, but in reality, he knew what was going on. Those who knew him well knew that behind that "indifference" was a heartbreakingly clear-headed acceptance of fate; there were some responsibilities he was not qualified to bear.
Xia Zhiyao stared at the WeChat interface, her fingertips lingering on the input box for a second. She originally just wanted to type a few words, exchange a few pleasantries, and use a set of polite phrases that were so practiced they were almost professional, to pack away and hide her emotions completely.
But somehow, my finger slipped and the phone dialed out. It rang twice before being answered.
Zheng Xiaotian's voice was lazy, with his usual teasing and familiar smugness: "Hey? The busy man has finally decided to talk to me?"
She gave a light snort, her tone indifferent yet carrying a hint of arrogance: "You're quite nosy, aren't you? Trying to become a policeman?"
Zheng Xiaotian chuckled, his tone becoming smooth: "I wouldn't dare. It's hard to say who'll look more like a criminal in the end."
She seemed amused by him, her tone becoming more languid and intrigued: "You really do have self-awareness. So, tell me, where have you been fooling around this time?"
There was a pause on the other end of the phone, as if assessing her situation, before the tone shifted, half-jokingly saying, "I'm at home, just about to go out for dinner. Want to come?"
She leaned back on the sofa, looking up at the ceiling with a vacant gaze. Her tone sounded relaxed, but there was an undeniable weariness in her voice: "I just got back to China, and I haven't adjusted to the time difference yet."
Zheng Xiaotian didn't press further, his voice as crisp as ever: "Isn't that perfect? I'll come pick you up."
“…No need.” She paused for a moment, but her tone remained calm. “Send me the address, and I’ll take a taxi.”
Half an hour later, the car came to a steady stop on the side of the road.
Zheng Xiaotian spotted her standing at the door, one hand in her pocket. He rolled down the car window, a nonchalant smile playing on his lips: "Oh, President Xia, you've returned looking travel-worn. Are you about to stir up some bloodshed again?"
She turned to look at him at the sound of his voice, her tone playful: "Are you concerned about me? There's no reason for you to be so attentive."
He rolled down the car window, looked at her, and said in his usual flippant tone, "Looking at you, you've just finished another battle. Work went well?" He knew she wouldn't tell the truth, but he asked anyway.
She tossed her hair back, a hint of arrogance in her eyes, and said in a low, disdainful voice, "Does the way I look make me seem like someone who'd be taken advantage of?"
After saying that, she stared at him, her smile tinged with a hint of gritted teeth: "Pretty good."
Zheng Xiao got out of the car, slammed the door shut, and walked over while pouting, "If you say it's fine, I'll believe you. Then I should go to the hospital too."
Xia Zhiyao didn't reply. She just looked down at the street scene reflected in the car window. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were empty. The night seemed to blur in her eyes. It was as if she didn't want to say anything, or as if she couldn't say anything at all.
"Don't I know what kind of person you are?" Zheng Xiaotian shrugged, looking like he'd seen right through him. His tone suddenly shifted, as if he'd been holding back for a long time, before he blurted out, "Speaking of which, that bastard Zhang Luyuan..."
His brow furrowed suddenly, and his tone immediately turned cold, like a lit fuse: "Get as far away from me as possible."
He gritted his teeth, lowered his voice, and said with venom, "He's a fucking bastard."
"Why would you keep such a good girl like you hanging around? Did you get your brain slammed in a door or kicked by a donkey?"
"If you ask me, your relationship was a doomed one from college, a dead end, a vicious cycle..."
A barrage of profanities, like a machine gun, rained down, as if the anger that had been building up in his chest for too long had finally found an outlet. He grew angrier with each word, his eyes even brightening, as if he really wanted to rush over and start a fight.
As Xia Zhiyao listened, she suddenly smiled, a long-lost, light and carefree feeling of relief. She gently shook her head and said, "You still love to meddle in other people's business."
Hearing her laughter, Zheng Xiaotian raised an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth curled up, but his anger hadn't subsided, and his voice was still sharp: "What are you laughing at? What did I say that was wrong?"
He paused, his emotions seemingly suppressed, his gaze gradually darkening, his voice lowering a few decibels but becoming even more aggressive: "I told you long ago, from the moment I found out about your little affair, I thought you'd lost your mind."
Xia Zhiyao was still smiling, a slightly tired smile, but with a hint of retort: "How dare you talk about others like that?"
Zheng Xiaotian, a seasoned womanizer with a reputation for charming both men and women, never faltered. Yet, at this moment, as he looked at her, his gaze suddenly quieted, revealing an unusual seriousness.
"What's there for me to be embarrassed about?" His tone suddenly calmed down. "It was all consensual, and neither of us owes the other anything. I didn't..." He stopped abruptly, swallowing the rest of his words.
After a long silence, he lowered his head, suppressing some overwhelming emotion, and said in a low, slow voice, "Xia Zhiyao..."
She turned to look at him, the smile still lingering in her eyes, as if feigning nonchalance while waiting for him to say something, or as if she didn't care what he said at all.
He glanced at her and said in a low voice, "Take my advice."
"Men understand men best." He lowered his eyes. "From now on, could you... please stop talking to people like that?"
At that moment, his voice lost its anger and laughter, leaving only a sincere, almost gentle, weary advice.
A kind of unspoken heartache, an instinct to not be able to bear seeing her hurt anymore.
Xia Zhiyao didn't say anything. She just turned her head slightly, glanced at him, her eyes indifferent. After a while, she said softly, "Let's go, let's go upstairs."
Zheng Xiaotian led Xia Zhiyao into a private room, where several of his old friends from the industry were sitting. Upon seeing the two of them enter, the crowd cheered, "Oh, is Second Young Master Zheng personally welcoming us today?"
"Mr. Xia, it's an honor to meet you." Someone greeted him.
Xia Zhiyao nodded one by one. Although her face was a little pale, her suit was neat, her expression was calm, and her aura was sharp.
As soon as I sat down, a senior student smiled and asked, "You look a bit tired?"
"I flew back from New York this afternoon and hadn't even caught my breath before Mr. Zheng dragged me here to drink with him." She leaned back in her chair, her tone indifferent.
Zheng Xiaotian raised his hand, feigning innocence: "I call it being considerate."
Xia Zhiyao sneered: "Don't try to fool me with those girl-chasing tricks."
"Alright, you're right." He smiled and poured her a drink.
She raised an eyebrow, didn't take the cup, and lazily said, "If someone knows they've made a mistake and can correct it, they can still be forgiven."
Everyone burst into laughter.
Before the laughter subsided, Zheng Xiaotian suddenly stopped laughing: "Let's get down to business."
He raised his glass: "I invited you all here today to discuss the project."
The people at the table became serious.
"I'm planning to start a cultural consulting and brand strategy company, focusing on new consumer brand upgrades and city IP creation. We'll use a creative and systematic approach, avoiding old paths and empty shells," he said decisively, his eyes sweeping over the crowd. "What we're going to do is revolutionize our way of thinking."
Xia Zhiyao looked up at him, a smirk playing on her lips: "That sounds pretty intimidating."
Zheng Xiaotian laughed: "You know this best."
He leaned closer, his voice lowered, and he spoke with a seductive tone: "What this industry lacks right now isn't ideas, but ruthless people who can get down to business. Someone like you who doesn't blink when it comes to work."
He changed the subject, his tone becoming provocative: "Of course, you can stay at Heyi. The position of deputy director is secure, and you can thrive there. But even at the top, it's just so-so."
She gave a cold laugh: "Provocation? Low-level."
She paused for a moment and then slowly said, "You're right, I saw the ceiling a long time ago, but I won't act impulsively. I need to see clearly whether it's worth it."
She picked up her glass and swirled it: "How confident are you that I'll place a bet?"
Zheng Xiaotian looked at her and suddenly chuckled, "This is the real Xia Zhiyao."
She looked down at the water stain on the rim of the glass, her fingertips paused, and her mind was already quietly calculating.
Zheng Xiaotian is right. Heyi is a good platform, but it is also a ceiling. In five or ten years, even a deputy director is nothing more than that. The track of life has already been paved. Being stable means being limited.
The projects he proposed, at least in appearance, seemed like a side road that he could forge himself—risky, uncertain, but free.
Xia Zhiyao looked up, her eyes clear, and a sharp smile slowly appeared on her lips: "Alright, enough nonsense, send me the information when we get back."
That's always been her way; once she's made a decision, she doesn't drag it out.
On the way back, the neon lights cast blurry reflections on the car windows.
She was leaning back when her phone suddenly vibrated; it was a WeChat message from Zhou Yue.
I'm going to New York for an internship next week; the team is quite busy.
[You're back in China, right? Wishing you success with the project, see you next time you come back.]
Two sentences, restrained and gentle, like standard polite phrases after a pleasantry, as if there had never been those late-night tug-of-wars, the breakdowns and cries, or the hasty farewells and embraces.
She smiled slightly, her fingertip hovering over the screen, and replied a few seconds later:
[Arrived early, everything is normal back home.]
Do you still have a fever? Remember to take your medicine.
She sent it, leaned back in her chair, and gazed at the passing car lights outside the window, her eyes showing no emotion.
Little did she know that Zhou Yue, sitting under the lamp, had been staring at the WeChat message for a long time without moving.
On the table was a large bag of medicine, which Xia Zhiyao had brought back during a torrential downpour. At the time, she had casually remarked, "You don't have any medicine, so I'll save this pile for you."
Beside him was the meal she had prepared before leaving that morning, neatly arranged in a lunchbox. He sat there, mechanically eating, bite by bite; the taste was just as he remembered.
They are all people who have taken good care of themselves since childhood, so their cooking skills are naturally quite good.
The more you eat, the more bitter it becomes. You've finally been treated kindly once, but that person is already gone.
He didn't know how many times he had fallen ill alone.
This time, however, after getting used to being alone, having been taken care of by her once, I could no longer help but feel that emptiness.
He finished the last bite of his meal, put down his chopsticks, rested his forehead on the back of his hand, closed his eyes, and smiled softly, as if mocking himself: in the end, he was not the one she would stay with.
He was just a patient whom Xia Zhiyao took care of briefly before leaving.
A note from the author:
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