Chapter 39 I just kissed you…
After saying that, he stubbed out his cigarette and turned to walk towards her.
Xia Zhiyao's tone was crisp, as if she were casually drawing a clear boundary: "Big brother, I just drank so much for you, my brain isn't even working properly anymore, and now you're dragging me into talking nonsense, do you have no humanity left?"
Zheng Xiaotian didn't reply. He stared at her for a few seconds, his eyes as deep as the sea at night, devoid of any extra emotion, yet seemingly hiding too much.
"Just for a moment," he said softly, his voice as low as the wind. "I won't speak, and you don't need to."
Her indifference was like a mirror, clean and cold, yet mercilessly reflecting his current disheveled and absurd state.
Zheng Xiaotian didn't speak immediately, but stared at her, his eyes burning as if ignited by something. The scent of alcohol churned deep within his pupils, but it was no longer just drunkenness; a storm was brewing, and he was trying to break through the last line of reason.
He approached step by step, with a hint of hesitation, yet also with a sudden and decisive move, as if he had finally made up his mind. He grabbed her waist, his movements so fast that she could barely react. Xia Zhiyao had just opened her mouth to say something when he leaned closer, his lips almost touching her ear, revealing the emotions hidden behind her silence.
Three steps, two steps, and the two figures fell uncontrollably to the edge of the bed, their breaths mingling and their eyes clashing. Zheng Xiaotian covered them with his whole body, his strength carrying both pressure and urgent helplessness.
"Xia Zhiyao." He called her name softly, a casual smile playing on his lips, but beneath that smile churned an unspoken turmoil of emotions. He paused for a moment, his voice low and husky, a mixture of probing and defiance: "Do you want to...?"
"I don't want to." She interrupted him, her voice crisp and decisive, without the slightest hesitation.
At that moment, calmness returned to her entire being. Xia Zhiyao looked at him and gently but steadily offered a reminder: "Zheng Xiaotian, I am not your escape from pain."
With a gentle tap, it struck a spot in his heart that was already riddled with holes.
“You’re coming close to me now not because you really want to sleep with me, but because you’re so tired, so miserable you’re suffocating, and you just want someone to pull you out of the deep water.”
Her voice paused slightly, her lips moved slightly, but her eyes did not dodge.
“But I’m not a lifebuoy,” she said slowly, as if telling him an unchangeable fact. “I’m sinking at the bottom of the sea myself.”
Zheng Xiaotian's gaze softened for a moment, revealing a disheveled look, because she saw through him. There was no anger, no pity, only a heartbreakingly clear-headed frankness.
She added in a low voice, like the last nail, slowly and silently hammering into the already precarious distance between them: "It's not that you don't know your limits, it's just that you're too sad right now and want someone to go crazy with you for a while."
"But I can't go crazy anymore." That's the clarity of an adult, the attitude of finally learning not to reach out for help after being adrift in the deep sea for too long.
But he still refused to admit defeat. The stubbornness in his eyes was like a fire, burning fiercely and refusing to go out. The next second, he leaned down and kissed her.
The kiss was hurried and chaotic, without warning, a sudden storm that swept over us, disrupting our rhythm, our breathing, and all our emotional escape routes.
His lips pressed heavily against hers, hot with the smothering effects of alcohol and his panting breaths, the force almost brutal, as if he were using his body to silence words, using instinct to resist reason, so forceful that even he himself couldn't tell whether it was desire or despair.
If the Buddha kissed her deeply enough, he could suppress her calmness and fill the void in his heart that had long been riddled with holes, as if he had to find himself again in her, even if it was just a little bit of warmth or a little bit of response.
Xia Zhiyao's back was pressed against the edge of the bed, her breathing was forced into a disorder, her brows were slightly furrowed, but she did not respond to him at all, as if that calmness was her last fortress, and the only dignity she refused to let go of.
Zheng Xiaotian leaned closer, so close that their breaths mingled into a damp and scalding vortex. He stared at her motionless silence, his last shred of reason stretched to its limit.
He thought she would push him away, even in anger, in resistance, or with a hard slap. But she did nothing.
At that moment, he was the one who broke down first.
His forehead slowly pressed against hers, his breath hot, carrying the lingering effects of the night's alcohol. His eyes were closed, his voice low and husky, as if swallowed by the darkness: "When I kissed you just now…who were you thinking of?"
Xia Zhiyao's face was expressionless, as if her emotions had been frozen by cold water. But the moment those words fell, her eyes widened suddenly, as if struck by a sharp memory, and she froze.
A scene hidden deep in her consciousness suddenly surfaced: a snowy night in New York, where Zhou Yue silently took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders before taking her home.
She was so drunk that she was incoherent, her eyes were glazed, and her words were slurred. He stood in front of her, his expression calm, waiting for permission.
That night's kiss was initiated by her; it was her reaching out to grab a bit of his warmth as she teetered on the brink of collapse, the only lifeline she could hold onto amidst the chaos.
There was no dodging, no pulling, no near-forced approach; it was a true surrender.
She closed her eyes, her throat tightened, her chest trembled slightly, and her shoulders twitched almost imperceptibly, but in the end, she remained motionless. She was afraid to open her eyes. Afraid that if she did, she would spill out all the secrets that had been suppressed for so long.
She didn't answer because she knew she couldn't give an answer.
Zheng Xiaotian stared at her tightly closed eyes. His hand, which had been resting on the pillow beside her, was now suspended in mid-air before finally slowly falling down.
He sat up straight, elbows on his knees, his back hunched as if he were being suffocated by something. He chuckled softly, a laugh devoid of his usual nonchalance, tinged with weariness, bitterness, and a hint of self-mockery, more scorching than the wine he had drunk that night.
"It's not Zhang Luyuan, right?" he murmured.
After saying that, he seemed to have all his strength drained away. He slid down to the floor, leaning against the edge of the bed, his head drooping and his eyes dim.
Xia Zhiyao remained silent, only glancing at him slowly before sitting down on the opposite sofa, with a small gap between them.
"What's wrong with you?" she finally spoke, her voice tinged with weariness and sarcasm.
Zheng Xiaotian didn't respond. He leaned back against the bed, the light shining obliquely on his hairline, casting a disheveled silhouette.
She sneered, her voice sharp and unfamiliar: "Have you been too busy lately to go out and fool around? Are you going crazy? Having nowhere to vent, you're thinking of taking it out on me?"
Zheng Xiaotian finally moved. He raised his hand to cover his face, his palm slowly sliding down to his forehead, where he rubbed his temples hard, as if trying to crush the mad impulse in his mind.
“…I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse and low, as if it were being ground out from deep in his throat. “I’m sorry…fuck, I’m really fucking crazy.”
Xia Zhiyao stood quietly in place, her eyes like a stagnant pool, coldly staring at him. There was an indescribable weariness in her gaze, like someone who had personally set fire to a raging fire, only to find themselves trapped within it after everything had burned away.
She maintained a forced calm: "I'm going to wash my face."
She turned on the tap with trembling hands, and icy water gushed out, splashing onto her hands. She buried her head in the water and rinsed it, each rinse harder than the last, as if she wanted to scrub away some kind of memory deep in her skin.
Zheng Xiaotian stood outside, staring at the door, his brows furrowed deeply. He felt that too much time had passed, and a growing unease crept into his heart. He hesitated for a second, then finally pushed the door open and went inside.
The door wasn't locked, and as he stepped into the bathroom, his gaze inadvertently swept over the bathtub.
His vision blurred, and his mind went blank.
The next second, he suddenly turned around, lunged at the toilet, and vomited violently. His body trembled uncontrollably, and cold sweat dripped down his temples. He gripped the edge of the toilet tightly, the veins on the back of his hands bulging.
Xia Zhiyao was stunned for a moment, then realized what was happening. Forgetting her earlier emotions, she immediately squatted down.
She patted his back while quickly standing up, filled a glass with warm water, and held it to his lips: "Drink some water and rinse your mouth."
Zheng Xiaotian didn't speak, but mechanically reached out and took the water glass. His fingertips trembled slightly as he suppressed the lingering nausea in his throat, swallowed a small mouthful, then slowly rinsed his mouth and spat into the trash can next to the toilet.
Xia Zhiyao squatted down beside him, looking at his pale face and cold sweat on his forehead with a complicated expression, her brows furrowing involuntarily.
"...This little bit of Moutai shouldn't be enough to make you throw up," she said gently, but her doubt was hard to hide. "Your alcohol tolerance isn't that low."
As soon as she finished speaking, Zheng Xiaotian spoke in a low voice, his voice hoarse and tinged with embarrassment: "I'm fine... I'm sorry, you must have found this amusing."
Xia Zhiyao sighed softly, took the water glass from his hand, and placed it aside. "Now you're behaving yourself, aren't you?" she said softly, her tone a mix of teasing and helplessness.
Zheng Xiaotian didn't reply to her. He just raised his hand and buried his face in his palm. The two of them washed their faces one after the other and cleaned up the mess.
Xia Zhiyao wrung out the wet towel, tossed it into the laundry basket, and turned around to see Zheng Xiaotian already "fully recovered" and sitting back in the living room, leaning against the coffee table and sprawled on the carpet, as if the chaotic vomiting incident had never happened.
He rubbed his stomach and asked in a casual tone, "Hey, you didn't only sleep with Zhang Luyuan, did you?"
Before he could finish speaking, he received a solid slap on the back of the head. "This is workplace sexual harassment, you know that?" Xia Zhiyao stood there, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow and an icy tone.
Zheng Xiaotian laughed without any resentment: "It's different. This is deep gossip between best friends."
"Heh." She sneered, then lazily sat on the armrest of the sofa, one leg crossed, her posture casual yet exuding a queenly aura. "Then tell me, what's the difference between sleeping with a man and sleeping with a woman?"
She raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp as a knife that could see right through people, her tone playful yet venomous: "When did you start messing around with both men and women like that?"
Zheng Xiaotian looked up at her, his previously nonchalant tone suddenly turning serious: "You really want to hear it?"
Xia Zhiyao blinked, remained silent, and merely glanced at him indifferently, her gaze clearly conveying: "If you dare to say it, I dare to listen."
He leaned back on the sofa, stretched out his long legs, picked up his teacup, and took a sip, as if to moisten his throat or to buy himself a few seconds to catch his breath. His gaze fell, fixed on the shimmering water in the cup, his voice surprisingly calm.
“It is indeed different.” Zheng Xiaotian leaned back on the sofa, his voice lowered, as if he was being led astray by a memory and slowly sinking into it.
He ran his fingers along the sofa intermittently for a while before saying softly, "Do you know how my mother died?"
Xia Zhiyao frowned slightly, about to say something.
He glanced at her and smiled knowingly: "Not the current Mrs. Zheng, but my biological mother."
Xia Zhiyao had never known about this. Seeing her surprised expression, Zheng Xiaotian's voice floated down: "She committed suicide by cutting her wrists in the bathtub. The whole bathtub was full of blood."
“I was only three years old at the time, and I didn’t know anything. I thought she was just asleep.”
He paused here, his throat seemed to be blocked by something, and his breathing became tight: "I sat on a small stool outside the bathtub, holding a toy bear, waiting for her to wake up."
"Then I fell asleep by the bathtub, and my dad didn't arrive until the next morning with his men."
"So you know why I throw up whenever I see a bathtub. I always specifically ask for hotels with bathtubs when I book them. This time, someone else booked it for me, so I'm embarrassed to say. Actually, it's fine to just draw the curtains during the day."
The room was so quiet that you could almost hear the faint sound of the night tide, as if the cold water and bloodstains of that night were reappearing here.
Xia Zhiyao wanted to say something to comfort him, but she didn't know where to begin. She suddenly realized that this man, who always seemed so carefree and cheerful, actually had a chaotic and turbulent life beneath his laughter.
Zheng Xiaotian was silent for a few seconds, then leaned back on the sofa, as if he had finally spoken out that memory that should have been rotten long ago. But the next sentence suddenly changed his tone, "...but to be honest, from a physiological point of view, there is actually no difference."
He spoke slowly, as if deliberately detaching himself from his emotions, "Those who should go in will go in, and those who should call out will call out; the reactions are all pretty much the same."
"But..." He tilted his head, a sly smile slowly spreading across his face, "when you see a man who's usually so arrogant, panting beneath you, begging you to go slower..."
“That sense of conquest is indeed quite different.” As he said this, a hint of mischievousness gleamed in his eyes, as if he wasn’t satisfied until he had stirred things up.
Xia Zhiyao remained seated on the sofa armrest, but upon hearing this, she slowly turned her head to glance at him. Her expression was indifferent, but her eyes seemed to have just been pulled out of ice water, unabashedly conveying: "Is there any hope for you, you fucking idiot?"
Zheng Xiaotian met her gaze and laughed even more unrestrainedly: "Look at you, you felt sorry for someone when you heard the first part; now that you've heard this, do you want to hit someone again?"
Xia Zhiyao clicked her tongue, too lazy to pay him any attention. After a few seconds, she looked up, her tone still indifferent: "Are you trying to tell me how miserable you are, or are you trying to find some emotional justification for your messy behavior?"
Zheng Xiaotian chuckled softly, looked up at her, and a hint of youthful arrogance and stubborn defiance flashed in his eyes: "Both. Can that be considered a passing reason?"
He leaned back on the sofa, tilted his head back, and looked at the ceiling. At that moment, his expression finally softened a little, like that three-year-old child sitting motionless in front of the bathtub, waiting for the door to open.
After a few seconds of silence, Zheng Xiaotian finally added in a low voice, as if the last thorn hidden in his heart had finally been lifted: "Didn't you ask me why I sleep with men?"
"Because I sometimes feel scared when I look at women."
“I’m afraid that one day they will die silently in the bathtub, just like her. That scene is too scary, especially with long hair floating in the water.”
When those words were spoken, the room fell into a deathly silence. The gentleness in his tone, the self-numbing after a breakdown, concealed an incurable weariness and a clear-headed resignation to fate.
He knew what he was doing, and he knew that most of the endings would not be the kind he hoped for, but he still jumped in again and again. It was an addiction, and it was also like an instinct, as if if he didn't do it, no one would ever really meet him again.
He turned his head away, a slight smirk playing on his lips, as if mocking himself. But his tone suddenly slowed, no longer joking or deliberately lighthearted, but instead unusually serious: "I've finished answering my question."
He looked up at her. "Isn't it your turn?"
Xia Zhiyao didn't respond immediately. She just stood there looking at him, her eyes calm as still water. "No," she finally spoke, her tone steady, "but even if I told you, you wouldn't know me."
She walked over, stood by the coffee table, picked up the bottle of mineral water that had long since gone cold, unscrewed the cap, tilted her head back, and took a sip. The icy water slid down her throat, completely washing away any excess warmth in her emotions.
"Stop worrying about those useless things." She looked up at him, her tone suddenly turning sharp. "You should stop with all that nonsense."
“This vote,” she paused, her words falling slowly, “we must win it.”
These words were like a bullet being chambered—crisp, calm, and without hesitation, reflecting her inherent calmness and decisiveness, and drawing the final line in their absurd nighttime conversation.
Zheng Xiaotian was taken aback. He looked up at her. Under the light, her features were clear and cold, and her expression was firm.
He stopped laughing and joking, and simply nodded. "I know." He spoke softly, but the seriousness behind his words was palpable. "After the madness, let's get back to work. Don't worry, I won't let you down."
The sea was as black as ink, with only the moonlight like a thin veil sprinkling on its surface. The waves gently lapped against the rocks, and the silvery light twinkled like countless stars about to go out in the still night.
Zheng Xiaotian followed her gaze, his eyes deepening. After a long while, he slowly stood up, supporting himself on the ground, a smile that was hard to decipher.
"Alright, you go to sleep early, I'm leaving." He said softly, his voice so low it was almost drowned out by the sound of the waves.
"Are you crazy?" Xia Zhiyao suddenly spoke up, her tone calm but tinged with amusement. "This is your room. I'm leaving. You get some sleep; you have a meeting tomorrow afternoon."
Zheng Xiaotian paused, turned to look at her, a hint of bewilderment and inexplicable confusion flashing in his eyes, "...Okay, I understand."
He gave a low reply, sat back down, and said nothing more.
The sound of the waves outside the window grew louder and louder, and the moonlight poured down like water, soaking the carpet, the walls, and the shadows of the two people into a layer of silent paleness.
The next morning, Zheng Xiaotian and Xia Zhiyao arrived at the restaurant one after the other. They were both in almost the same condition, with prominent dark circles under their eyes.
Last night, a night intertwined with emotions and silence, left an indescribable weariness etched into their expressions.
"Thank you for yesterday," he said suddenly, his tone softening. "Can I invite you out for drinks again sometime?"
Xia Zhiyao was silent for a while before finally speaking: "Just don't go crazy when you're drunk."
Hearing her reply, Zheng Xiaotian clapped his hands: "I knew it, you're still a good buddy." The sun climbed higher and higher, and the restaurant gradually became lively. Some guests got up to leave their seats, while others just walked in. But they remained separated by that table.
Xia Zhiyao finished the last bite of bread, putting down her knife and fork with the same clean and efficient movements as always. She picked up a napkin, wiped her lips, and without looking at Zheng Xiaotian again, simply said, "Let's go, there are still some documents to be approved."
Zheng Xiaotian watched her stand up, her capable figure stretched long and thin in the sunlight. He suddenly realized that this was what she excelled at: decisively and gracefully extricating herself from any chaos, without lingering attachment or showing weakness.
But he still got up and followed, without saying a word. Their footsteps fell side by side on the wooden floor of the corridor, their rhythm steady. They were partners who had worked together countless times, yet each had their own pace.
After taking a few steps, Xia Zhiyao suddenly spoke, but with her usual clarity and calmness: "You are indeed good-looking, but you're not my type."
She tilted her head, her tone as if evaluating a mediocre resume, and said without a second thought, "I like the kind of guy with single eyelids, glasses, and a refined yet roguish look."
Zheng Xiaotian was stunned, almost stopping in his tracks, then realized what he meant and said with a mix of genuine and feigned hurt, "Damn, even double eyelids don't work? That's a pretty precise hit."
Xia Zhiyao ignored him and continued walking forward, her tone indifferent: "I'm talking about someone who looks like a refined scoundrel, not a real scumbag."
“…Thank you.” Zheng Xiaotian gave a wry smile, took two steps to catch up, turned his head to look at her, and teased her with a hint of unconvinced expression in his eyes, “So now you’re saying I’m a real scumbag?”
She glanced at him casually, her tone calm: "A little, you know, you're fine when you're not talking, but once you start talking, you sound like a shady fitness instructor from the neighborhood entrance."
"..." Zheng Xiaotian was stunned for half a second, then chuckled and shook his head: "Can't you give me some face?"
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