Chapter 48 The day she left, ...
When Zhou Yue returned home, he turned on the light switch. The moment the light came on, he chuckled softly, a hint of self-mockery in his voice. The phrase "bare walls" was perfectly fitting for him.
The house was originally empty. When his father heard that he had returned to China, he asked him to move in first. He didn't ask any questions and didn't refuse.
The well-decorated house features clean, restrained lines, with both hard and soft furnishings exuding a carefully selected quality. Everything is high-end and respectable, as if tailor-made for him. Yet, no matter how elaborate the arrangement, it cannot conceal the cold, lifeless atmosphere.
He's been back for almost a month, but he's hardly touched this place. He leaves early and returns late every day, and when he comes back, he just sleeps.
His shirts and suits were neatly hung in the wardrobe, while the other cabinets were empty. The kitchen looked like a showroom, with cabinets so clean they reflected light. The stove had never been used, and not a single pot or pan was available.
He leaned back on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. The room was exquisitely crafted on the surface, but inside it was as empty as an unoccupied hotel room, ready to be left at any time, never intending to truly accept anything.
He tightened the water bottle in his hand and placed it on the coffee table. The soft sound seemed particularly abrupt in the room. He got up, took a shower, changed into his pajamas, and turned on the bedside lamp. The light was warm, but when it fell on him, it felt as if there was an invisible fog between them.
He stood by the bed for a long time, then suddenly realized that in this place, no one left a light on for him, no one responded, and no one would ask in the night, "Are you back?"
The dream seemed to rise slowly from the fog of the deep sea, damp, cold, and carrying an inescapable chill.
The snow fell thickly, obscuring the colors of the entire city. He ran through the streets, his shoes crunching through the slippery snow. The surrounding light and shadows swayed in the wind, as if trying to swallow him up.
He was looking for someone. He knew exactly who it was. The figure was so close, yet it was always swallowed up by the wind and snow in the next second.
She would appear at the street corner one moment and disappear into the crowd the next, as if deliberately maintaining an insurmountable distance between them.
He chased faster and faster, his breath hot in his chest, until the figure completely disappeared into the wind and snow, never to be seen again. He stopped, standing on the deserted street, only the sound of the wind passing by his ears, sweeping away all other sounds. She was gone after all.
He woke up with a start. The room was deathly silent. His heart pounded wildly as if someone were squeezing it, and cold sweat soaked through the pillowcase on his forehead. Zhou Yue leaned against the headboard, breathing rapidly. The desolation of his dream still lingered in his eyes, as if he had climbed up from the bottom of a deep well, but might fall back down at any moment.
A wave of anxiety began to wash over him. His palms grew cold, his back felt slightly damp, and an invisible force pressed down on his chest. He reached for the water by the bed and realized that his hands were trembling slightly.
He always thought he had learned to control these symptoms long ago. In front of his therapist, he even smiled and said, "I'm feeling much better."
But at this moment, all the illusions of self-comfort were shattered. Thoughts were like a floodgate that had been deliberately opened, unable to be contained, and emotions surged out uncontrollably.
He thought of her hands, those long, clean hands. Her movements always carried an almost cruel magic that he couldn't resist.
When she kissed him, she would always inadvertently let slip some words; in the moments of most intense passion, she loved to call his name, "Zhou Yue..."
Each whisper, close to his ear and lips, the last syllable trembled gently, carrying a damp warmth and a tender longing that almost melted him. In that moment, it felt as if he were the only person left in the world.
After leaving her, he never heard anyone call him that again. That voice was not only his weakness for lust, but also the place where he completely lost his guard.
Zhou Yue suddenly opened his eyes and instinctively reached for the medicine bottle on the bedside table. His fingers touched the cold plastic, but he hesitated to unscrew the cap. He had once thought he no longer needed medication, but now he realized that he was far from cured.
His illness truly began the day she left.
He got out of bed, and the moment his feet touched the carpet, it felt like stepping on ice. He walked to the window, where the sky was still dark, a somber, dark blue that seemed ready to collapse at any moment.
His blurry shadow was reflected in the glass; he stood straight, but empty-headed, his eyes seemed drained of energy, and his lips were deathly pale.
He raised his hand and rested it on the windowsill, his palm pressed against the cold glass, his fingertips gradually going numb. Occasionally, the sound of the first bus of the morning could be heard in the distance, breaking the stagnant silence, only to quickly return to stillness.
He finally made it through the night, but he knew very well that what was harder to endure was never the night, but the daytime, the daytime when he had to keep his eyes open, stay awake, and pretend that everything was normal.
Everyone in the conference room had left. In the corner, Zhou Yue's assistant, Xu Nuo, was holding a laptop, while Xia Zhiyao's assistant, Lin Qianfan, was carrying a folder. The two of them exchanged a glance at each other.
"Are those two... usually like this?" Lin Qianfan asked in a low voice.
Xu Nuo pushed up her glasses, her eyes calm: "President Zhou has always had excellent emotional control, and President Xia is even better... When have you ever seen her so agitated?"
Lin Qianfan pursed his lips and didn't say anything more.
In front of the whiteboard, Xia Zhiyao's marker flew across the surface, sketching the path of the merger and acquisition model with sharp, swift strokes that seemed to cut through the air.
“You haven’t done a single structural optimization in this entire model.” She turned around, her gaze like a knife. “You’re here to help us improve, not to overturn everything we have now.”
Zhou Yue stood on the other side, clutching his paper proposal in his hand, his eyes blazing with fury.
“Optimize?” He stepped forward, wiped the drawing she had just made clean with his long finger, and then picked up a pen to rewrite it. “Your logic is closed. After external financing, it can’t withstand any dynamic adjustments at all—don’t bring out ideas from two years ago and embarrass yourself.”
"Who are you calling closed-minded?" Xia Zhiyao's voice was low, but as cold as a frozen lake. "Don't forget, when you were a child, you were left-handed and wrote characters backwards. I helped you correct it stroke by stroke."
His movements abruptly stopped, his Adam's apple bobbed slightly, and then he chuckled, a laugh as cold as sharp shards of glass: "Some people, they can't offer anything but the past. Repeating the same old tune to this extent... it's really tiresome."
“You’re advanced, you’re modern, you’re avant-garde, you’ve come back from Wall Street looking all high and mighty,” she said sarcastically, “but let me tell you, your ways won’t work in the world.”
"What makes you so sure?" He took a step closer, his gaze so sharp it seemed he wanted to pin her to the spot. "Because you're the founder? Or because you think everyone will always give way to you like I do?"
She raised her chin, the light in her eyes like flames scattered by the wind. "This is China," she looked directly at him, "a battlefield that values human relationships and the interplay of interests, not cold, hard numbers, nor a game of chess where capital and rules are used to oppress people."
She reached out her hand, her fingertips trembling slightly. It was a suppressed anger, and a barely perceptible hint of panic. "You've been working in the American workplace since you graduated, but you have to understand that the difference between here and there is much greater than you imagine."
Zheng Xiaotian appeared out of nowhere, leaning against the doorway. His gaze swept over the messy whiteboard and the increasingly heated atmosphere in the conference room. A slow smile crept onto his lips: "Oh, this is quite a sight. How about you two have a fight? Whoever wins gets to decide."
Zhou Yue frowned slightly, a hint of helplessness in his voice mixed with a light laugh. "Who fights with a woman?" A cold glint flashed in Xia Zhiyao's eyes, and a mocking smile curved her lips. "This isn't the Stone Age. Do you look down on women?"
Their gazes met, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension and a subtle, palpable rivalry.
Zheng Xiaotian glanced at Xu Nuo, then at Lin Qianfan, and shook his head with a smile: "What are you two standing there for? Hurry up and close the door. They'll have to work overtime together after they're done arguing."
Xia Zhiyao didn't say anything more. She closed the file, turned around and left briskly, her high heels clicking crisply in the corridor. Her back was straight and aloof.
Zhou Yue didn't chase after her; he just stood there, his eyes fixed on her, as if he were pulling her out of the crowd.
The corners of his lips curved slightly, not in a smile, but more aggressive than a smile, as if he had silently concluded in his heart: "Her, I'll make sure she can't leave sooner or later."
In subsequent project collaborations, Zhou Yue maintained his almost ruthless professional attitude.
He was always the first to arrive at every meeting. His gaze swept across the projection screen, his pen hovering in the air, yet it was like a silent knife, chilling the air wherever it landed.
"Mr. Xia," he said, his tone as restrained as ever, "why does this part of the market strategy lack specific, detailed objectives?"
The moment he opened his mouth, everyone tensed up, his words carrying an undisguised skepticism and an air of unquestionable authority.
Xia Zhiyao stood in front of the projector, holding a laser pointer, her expression calm and composed.
“We have taken into account the complexity of market changes and have adopted a dynamic adjustment strategy in order to flexibly respond to external variables,” she replied, without even looking him in the eye.
“Flexible adjustments?” Zhou Yue raised an eyebrow slightly, his tone pausing slightly, but he pressed closer without making a sound. “What about the execution plan? Without a clear direction, ‘flexible’ is just empty talk.”
Xia Zhiyao paused slightly, but then calmly flipped through the documents at hand and said, "The appendix to the plan lists the milestones and corresponding actions for each stage. I can arrange for someone to give the investment team a detailed explanation."
The dialogue between the two sides was like a clash of sharp blades, cold and clear, every word sharp and every sentence swift. It was a rational collision on the surface, but in reality, undercurrents were already surging.
After the meeting, Zheng Xiaotian leaned against the door, watching Xia Zhiyao put away the documents. He couldn't help but shake his head with a smile, walked over and patted her shoulder: "You handled it very well. Zhou Yue... his mouth is harder than his heart, a rigid perfectionist. In the end, his mouth is the sharpest thing about him."
Xia Zhiyao didn't reply, but her gaze still uncontrollably followed the receding figure.
In private, Zhou Yue was even colder to the bone. Once, when they bumped into each other in the hallway, she nodded and was about to speak when he merely glanced at her and said in a frosty tone, "President Xia."
Xia Zhiyao opened her mouth, but found herself unable to say anything. During the handover, she handed him the folder: "This is the market analysis I've compiled."
He didn't even look up, his movements were swift and polite like a machine: "Received." Not a single extra word.
He turned around, his steps crisp and decisive. Xia Zhiyao stood there, watching his retreating figure.
Even so, every time they brushed past each other, she could feel that gaze still lingering on her, cold and deep, yet never truly looking away.
He pretended to be calm; the less he said, the more he couldn't hide it.
That suppressed emotion in my heart is like an ember that hasn't been extinguished in the night wind; if the wind picks up, the embers may reignite.
In November in Beijing, the cold rain falls silently, fine and persistent, mixed with a few snowflakes, swirling in the cold wind. Under the streetlights, the moisture from the rain and snow blurs the entire city.
Xia Zhiyao stood on the steps below the company building, looking up at the sudden rain, her breath carrying a chilling cold.
She didn't bring an umbrella; it was a day with vehicle restrictions. Her large bag contained her laptop and documents she needed to work overtime on her way home that night. Her phone, with its battery glowing bright red, was also in her hand.
She opened the ride-hailing app, but the interface took a long time to load, and her fingertips were frozen white, much like her mood that day.
Water droplets splashed onto her ankles and the hem of her trench coat, cold and sticky. She didn't retreat or dodge, but simply stood at this critical juncture, as if trying to find a reason for herself that didn't need explanation.
It was as if only under this sudden downpour could she legitimately space out for a while, without having to deal with it or pretend.
She never expected anyone to hold an umbrella for her, and she never actually waited for anyone.
Not far away, Zhou Yue stood there and saw her.
She stood in the shadow of the company's entrance, across the street. His umbrella covered half her face, but couldn't hide her eyes that pierced through the rain.
He knew she had seen him, and he also knew she was pretending not to.
She's always like this; the more disheveled she is, the more she has to keep her face calm and composed, even if her heart is collapsing, experiencing a mudslide, a tsunami, or an earthquake all at once, she has to remain calm and collected.
At that moment, his rationality, self-control, instinct, and calmness all receded. He just wanted to walk over, hold the umbrella over her head, and say, "Let's go, I'll take you," just like he had done countless times before, to take her away from the wind and rain.
Then he stepped into the rain, walking straight across the sidewalk, repeating to himself over and over: She doesn't need me anymore.
She was used to holding an umbrella alone, and treating her as a stranger was my last and only remaining dignity.
His figure was quickly swallowed by the rain, the sound of the rain drowning out his footsteps and the unspoken words.
Xia Zhiyao had actually seen him long ago. He didn't approach, and she didn't move either. She kept looking down at her phone, which was glowing red with battery, as if she was focused on calling a car and didn't seem to notice anything.
She simply didn't want to look up, didn't want to face it, didn't want to let any wavering slip through her fingers, so she stood there, silent and stubborn.
She didn't even glance at him until he walked far away without stopping.
When that figure was finally swallowed up by the rain, she could no longer tell whether she was waiting for the rain to stop or for someone who would never turn back.
The next day, their war resumed.
Xia Zhiyao closed her laptop and said calmly, "Your plan won't work. It's too costly, too risky, and has a long execution period."
Zhou Yue leaned back lazily in his chair, his movements carrying a nonchalant provocation as he twirled a pen in one hand, as if idly killing time: "Then you should suggest one that can make money and satisfy me."
“I’ve already sent it in the group.” She didn’t look at him and said, word by word, “Mr. Zhou, the project is for profit, not to satisfy your personal preferences.”
"Personal preference?" Zhou Yue scoffed, the smile in his eyes turning cold and replaced with disdain. "What do you mean? I stayed up all night working on solutions and plans, spending money and resources, and you call that a personal preference?"
"Oh?" She finally raised her eyes, a slight smile playing on her lips. Her voice wasn't loud, but it was as cold as ice. "So, Mr. Zhou, would you like me to clarify the bill so you can see whether you invested in a project or an emotion?"
Zhou Yue narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharp as a knife as he scrutinized her face with a predatory intent: "Are you challenging me on official business, or are you bringing up old grievances in private?"
"If you can't tell the difference yourself, don't come and ask me." Xia Zhiyao's tone was like a crisp slap, landing with a resounding thud.
He laughed, a laugh tinged with obvious oppression and malice, and whispered closer: "Xia Zhiyao, you're still the same as ever, stubborn as can be."
"Thank you." She stood up, her expression indifferent.
He leaned down slightly, his gaze fixed on her profile, his tone unwavering and resolute: "I'm in charge of the investment. You know very well that my plan is the most suitable. The channels are stable, the returns are quick, I've already secured half of the client list, and the funds will be in place within a month. Even if things change along the way, I can handle the risks."
She walked around the table toward the door. As she passed him, Zhou Yue suddenly turned his head, so close that she could smell the cool scent of his cologne: "You can keep arguing with me, but don't expect me to back down."
He leaned down slightly, his gaze fixed on her profile, and said with certainty, "I'm in charge of investments. You know very well that my plan is the most suitable, with stable channels, quick returns, and the funds can be put to work in three months. We don't lack money, but liquidity is more important to me. A short return cycle means we can immediately move on to the next project."
Xia Zhiyao stopped, turned around and looked at him, her eyes calm but sharp: "Stable? Your channel costs are 15% higher than the industry average. Is that stable, or are you being led by the nose? As for quick returns, your plan will be effective in three months, but after six months, half of the profits will be swallowed up by operating costs."
She took a step forward, her voice sharp as a blade slicing across the table: "Projects don't need short-term sprints, they need long-term profits. Your investment department can walk away unscathed when the returns are impressive, but the consulting department can't. We have to deliver to our clients and be responsible for our industry reputation. One short-sighted move is enough to make a client never look back for the next five years."
Zhou Yue narrowed his eyes, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips: "So, do you think I'm using this project to prove myself?"
“It’s not just my opinion, it’s just how you are,” she said coldly. “And I won’t let the whole team pay for your emotions.”
Zhou Yue's smile deepened, carrying a sense of pressure: "Then let's see whose account looks better in the end."
"Alright." Xia Zhiyao's gaze was calm, and the corners of her lips were slightly raised. "The loser shouldn't make excuses."
She pushed open the door and stepped out with a brisk pace. This battle, which had been forced to a halt, would only be a matter of time before it was clashed again.
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