Chapter 34 Finally, all the daytime events were over...
A few seconds later, her tone returned to calm: "This project is not suitable for conventional financing channels. Taxation and ownership issues are major problems, but I can help you optimize resources. I recommend a team to go through the plan first before we discuss it further."
At that moment, no one dared to define this connection as a "rejection." She did not accept the project, but she did not completely close that door; she simply kept it in a different way.
On the way back to the office, Lin Qianfan sat in the passenger seat with the window half open. The wind blew through the city streets, carrying a hint of the dryness of early autumn.
Xia Zhiyao focused on driving, her gaze steady. After a period of silence, Lin Qianfan finally couldn't help but ask, "President Xia... have you ever worked on this type of project before?"
Xia Zhiyao glanced at her, then quickly looked away, her tone indifferent: "It doesn't count."
Lin Qianfan paused, then added softly, "Then why... are you willing to help them?"
“Some people can’t produce impressive data, not because they’re incapable,” she said calmly, her tone devoid of emotion. “It’s because they’re too early.”
A moment of silence fell over the car, with only the sound of the wind rattling the windows and the low groan of the tires rubbing against the asphalt.
“Sometimes, it’s not that you have to vote, but rather…” she added slowly, “to give them a chance to go further.”
Lin Qianfan turned to look at her, her eyes filled with hesitation, as if a long-held thought had finally come to fruition: "President Xia, I've discovered... that all those cold faces of yours were just an act, weren't they?" It was as if she had finally uncovered a mystery that had troubled her for so long, and the answer was much gentler than she had imagined.
Xia Zhiyao didn't respond, but her hand on the steering wheel paused slightly, hesitating whether to continue the conversation. After a few seconds, she softly hummed in agreement, neither confirming nor denying.
Lin Qianfan, holding his laptop, tilted his head and stared at the road ahead, a smile he couldn't hide on his lips: "You're actually... very good at reading people."
The traffic light stopped, and Xia Zhiyao turned to look at her, her eyes calm, yet revealing a rare relaxation. "I was just like you when I was young." Her voice lowered. "Looking at those seniors, so calm in their actions, so decisive in their speech, and so confident in their walk. I was so envious back then."
Lin Qianfan said softly, "Later, you yourself became a senior that others envied."
Xia Zhiyao didn't reply, but just watched the traffic slowly start moving ahead. Her eyes were calm, as if she had passed through this familiar main road and through the storms she had weathered. After a moment, she spoke, her tone light and calm, but with a deep weariness: "But when I really became a senior, I realized that this world was nothing but a makeshift operation."
Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the car roof, casting shadows on her suit collar and giving her otherwise clean features an almost cruel brightness.
"Rules are often pieced together on the spot, and people's hearts are never a stable variable. You think that others have rules to follow, but in reality, they just endure and muddle along."
She paused, changed lanes, and said in her unhurried tone: "Those who can stand on the stage may not necessarily understand the play; those who can survive may not necessarily be cleaner than others."
Lin Qianfan looked down at the notebook in his hand, as if he had hesitated the whole way. Finally, just before the red light turned green, he asked in a low voice, "So... is there anything you regret?"
As soon as she spoke, she felt a little annoyed, afraid of offending someone or being superfluous. Unconsciously, she softened her tone, like a leaf falling cautiously.
But in that instant, Xia Zhiyao seemed to be struck by something. She didn't answer immediately, her eyes went unfocused, and through the car window in front of her, she seemed to see another city, another time.
She still remembers that night. He held her tightly in his arms. The bedside lamp was dim, and the light fell on his eyes, making them look incredibly bright, as if they could see through all defenses.
He spoke softly in her ear, his voice slightly hoarse and cautious. At that time, she had already decided to leave, but on that night, in his arms, she couldn't help but turn back and kiss him, just like all resolute decisions are overtaken by regret.
Now, the light and shadow have changed, the streets have been renovated, even the temperature of the seasons is different. He is not here, but she is still passing by those nights again and again, like a dream play that never ends.
Lin Qianfan didn't get a reply. She quietly turned her head to look at her, only to find that Xia Zhiyao's gaze was gently fixed on the road ahead, and she was so quiet that she almost disappeared into the shadows of the car.
It was an extremely quiet daze; the red light turned green, and the car slowly drove out.
After a long pause, Xia Zhiyao finally spoke, slowly disappearing into the night: "Yes."
She smiled, a silent, colorless smile devoid of emotion or explanation, simply uttering two words: "A lot."
Lin Qianfan opened her mouth, but didn't ask. Who did she regret? Was it the event, or herself?
She vaguely realized that even Xia Zhiyao herself might not be able to give a clear answer to that question.
Xia Zhiyao seemed to be born for the workplace. Standing in front of the conference table, she wore a black suit and had a calm expression.
She calmly analyzed market trends, accurately outlined industry models, and with her delicate hands sketched a concise yet sharp chessboard on the whiteboard, placing her pieces silently.
Her speech was crisp and efficient, almost like a meticulously calculated data stream. Even when rearranging a meeting or coordinating a research trip, she could unravel the intricate details and arrange them flawlessly within minutes.
By day, she's like the central nervous system of the company—orderly, efficient, and calm, even her blinks are calculated and restrained. No one dares to ignore her presence; she's like a beam of light piercing through all darkness, leaving no one nowhere to hide.
But the more perfect she is, the easier it is for people to forget that she is also made of flesh and blood.
As night fell, everything quietly changed. When she returned home, Xia Zhiyao didn't go inside immediately. She stood in the entryway, as if listening to the silence that slowly spread from the ceiling, floor, and corners, gradually engulfing the entire house.
She slowly took off her coat and draped it over the coat rack by the entryway. Then she bent down and took off her high heels, deliberately minimizing the sound of her toes hitting the ground. She didn't want to admit that the emptiness and silence in the room belonged to her.
Every movement was as precise as a ritual repeated a thousand times, devoid of joy or sorrow, yet concealing an indescribable weariness.
Outside the window, the city lights were dazzling, and the light and shadow flowed and surged between the high-rise buildings. The neon lights were like a waterfall. She stood in the darkness, motionless, letting the light silently shine through the floor-to-ceiling window onto her face, outlining a cold and aloof silhouette.
The hustle and bustle, seemingly so close and within reach, yet also feel like they are separated by an entire world.
She felt as if she had been left in a cave with no exit, with nowhere to escape if she didn't retreat, and nowhere to catch up if she didn't move forward.
Sometimes she would stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling window for a long time, watching the lights of the tall buildings gradually go out until only a few lonely streetlights remained lit in the distance.
She stood there, but for some reason, a very faint and fleeting thought suddenly arose in her mind: if she jumped right now, who would see her? What would the news say?
Was it a "female executive suddenly falling from a building" or "a senior executive of a company seemingly losing control of his emotions"?
She even calmly imagined herself falling to the cold ground, wondering if her high heels would slip off several meters away. Would that day be just as uneventful and silent as tonight?
These thoughts always came silently. She wasn't sure if they were a real desire to die, or just an urge to escape after being physically and mentally exhausted, a cold imagining of gently pushing life to the edge, like slowly pouring out a glass of water that was too full, just thinking, finally, it can be a little lighter.
After countless nights of overtime, I would smile and let it go amidst the applause and anticipation in the office, but when I returned to this empty apartment, I could only stare at my shadow in the corner and remain silent with the half-finished glass of water on the sofa.
A perfect persona, unwavering efficiency, meticulous schedule... none of these can fill the gaps in the night.
She thought she could withstand all the pressure, but late at night she realized that what truly tormented her was not failure, but the unknown success behind the island where she dared not fall and had nowhere to approach.
Around four in the morning, she was jolted awake from her dream again, as if someone had dragged her out of a deep sleep. She sat up, her breathing erratic, and her back was damp and cold.
With her eyes closed, the lingering images of her dream still churned in her mind.
It was a New York night, in that familiar bedroom, with light snow falling outside the window. His arm was draped over her, and he whispered in her ear in a low, sleepy voice, "Don't go, just lie here for a while, okay?"
Dreams are as gentle as lies, so light that they are almost believable.
She sat on the edge of the bed, slowly opened her eyes, and looked at the empty room. She felt a void in her heart, as if the dream had used up all the warmth of her life, but after waking up, all that remained was cold air.
She stared blankly at the shadows on the ceiling, like a soldier suffering from war PTSD. There were no obvious wounds on her body, but she was already covered in wounds, her bones and blood were depleted, and only her breathing maintained the illusion of "being alive".
She curled up into a ball, as if she had finally admitted her powerlessness, but the emotions that had been suppressed for so long were still churning inside her and refused to stop.
She sat up, her hands trembling slightly as she took back her phone. She stared at the name that was all too familiar, repeatedly opening and closing the app, the screen flashing on and off.
She tried typing something, then deleted it word by word.
【Are you there. 】
I think... I really miss you.
She stared at the two lines of text for a long time, her fingertips hovering over the "send" button. The dim light from the screen illuminated the hesitation and vulnerability on her face.
But she ultimately didn't press the button. She was afraid—afraid that the message would be ignored, afraid that he wouldn't even look at it, afraid that she wouldn't even have the right to be rejected.
It was as if someone had cut a slit in her heart, then slowly reached into her palm, peeling away and emptying away the last remaining hope bit by bit.
She silently deleted the words she had typed, leaving the screen blank. She locked the screen in silence and slammed her phone down on the bedside table.
At that moment, her tears finally flowed uncontrollably, and she instantly shed all the strength, efficiency, and rationality she had pretended to have during the day.
She often curled up in a corner of the bed, like a corpse that still retained its body temperature, stiff, cold, and lonely, yet stubbornly yearning for even the slightest trace of warmth.
Her soul seemed to have quietly left her body, drifting through the silent night of the city, passing through neon lights and streets, gently passing by the corners they had once walked together, and finally drifting back to this quiet, suffocatingly empty room, landing on that cold, empty bed, accompanied by insomnia, tears, and loneliness, until the dawn gradually broke.
The alarm clock rang just as dawn was breaking.
Xia Zhiyao opened her eyes, the whites of her eyes bloodshot, but her expression remained blank. She seemed used to the weariness of these mornings, silently getting up and walking into the bathroom. The cold water splashing on her face brought a chilling sense of clarity that actually calmed her.
She looked a little pale in the mirror, with faint dark circles under her eyes. But she just glanced at it briefly and said nothing, as if telling herself: emotions don't belong in the daytime.
Twenty minutes later, she had finished washing up and changed into a suit. She stood in the entryway, putting on her high heels with the same smooth movements as always. The moment she opened the door, it was as if she had been switched into another system.
In the elevator mirror, she was expressionless, her back ramrod straight, as if the woman who had been curled up in the corner of the bed, on the verge of collapse, had never existed.
Before nine o'clock, she appeared in the office as usual, where Lin Qianfan was already waiting, arranging the meeting materials in order as always. She greeted him softly, "Good morning, President Xia."
Half an hour later, in the conference room, Zheng Xiaotian walked in with a smile, tying his tie as he said, "Whoever arrives early today has the most say. I think this is a good trend."
Without looking up, she simply asked, "Are you ready to hear what's going on?"
Zheng Xiaotian grinned: "Listening to you, I'm ready to be judged at any time."
At the start of the meeting, she spoke quickly and clearly, outlining the key milestones, timelines, and responsible parties for each project.
As she spoke, she sketched out a structural diagram on the electronic whiteboard, her logic as tight and clear as ever, leaving almost no room for anyone to interrupt.
Even when someone raises a question, she can always respond quickly and accurately break down the essence of the problem. No one can tell that her voice is slightly hoarse, which is a sequela of crying in the early morning.
Only Lin Qianfan stood to the side, occasionally glancing up, seemingly noticing the fleeting emptiness in her eyes. But she didn't ask, only silently noting that she had changed her glasses and wore a brighter lipstick today, usually a sign that she had slept very poorly the night before.
The meeting lasted for nearly two hours. At the end, Xia Zhiyao closed the document in her hand and said calmly, "Complete all the milestones within this week, otherwise we will have to discuss accountability next Monday."
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