Chapter 8 After finishing this meal, he also...
Xia Zhiyao lowered her head and thought for a moment. She had been working almost non-stop these past few days, and had finally managed to push this tough battle to a conclusion. There was indeed no dinner planned.
She nodded, her voice lower than before, carrying a rare relaxation after her fatigue: "OK, but I need to go back and change my shoes."
Upon hearing this, Zhou Yue couldn't help but chuckle. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a hint of familiar teasing: "Who told you to wear high heels when you're already this tall?"
Xia Zhiyao glanced at him sideways, her lips slightly upturned, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. Her tone was a mix of weariness and languor, with a touch of teasing: "There's no other way, people always have to pretend."
She spoke of it casually, as if it were something completely ordinary.
But when Zhou Yue heard this, he felt as if something had silently slashed his heart. He looked at her, the one who was always so dignified, beautiful, and perfect, smiling as she uttered the word "pretend" in the sunset.
At that moment, he suddenly really wanted to tell her: You don't need to pretend, you really don't need to in front of me, but he ultimately didn't say it.
Xia Zhiyao didn't notice his hesitation. She casually tucked the folder into her arm, raised her hand nonchalantly, and gently patted his chest.
"Not bad." She raised an eyebrow, teasingly adding in a half-serious tone, "You've worked out really well, look slim in clothes, but muscular underneath?" Her tone was light and casual, like an older sister teasing a younger brother, nonchalant and completely unguarded.
But it was that one careless pat, through his T-shirt, that the fingertips landed on his chest, so light, yet like a match, silently entering his already gasoline-filled body.
Bang--
His body tensed instantly, his blood felt like it was on fire, and a wave of heat surged up from his limbs and bones, making his scalp tingle. His whole body felt like it was rapidly heating up in flames, his throat was dry, his heart was beating out of control, and his breathing became erratic.
And in his eyes, the restraint he had been suppressing was now crumbling at this moment.
She had no idea how much turmoil her seemingly casual touch had stirred up in his heart.
Her voice, her breath, the lingering warmth on her fingertips—all rushed in without warning, almost causing him to lose control.
His fingers, hanging by his sides, slowly tightened, his reason desperately pulling him back: Don't move, don't touch, don't give anything away. That inch of skin on his chest was still burning, like her fingers were still there, imprinted so clearly, scorching his entire nervous system.
He turned to look at her. She lowered her head and put the documents in her bag, her expression calm and natural, as if the light pat she had just given was just a casual gesture. He stood there, his heart pounding, his breath ragged, and a fierce fire burning in his eyes, but she couldn't see it.
Zhou Yue lowered his eyes, his throat tightened, and he replied softly, "Okay, I'll take you back." The overwhelming waves of desire and longing enveloped him, plunging him into darkness, weightless, burning, and suffocating, while she remained oblivious.
Zhou Yue sat in the driver's seat, his hands on the steering wheel, the car window half open. He had just relaxed his shoulders when he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure walking out of the hotel entrance.
She changed into a very simple outfit: a white T-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of casual Converse shoes, with her hair loosely hanging down.
Shedding her high heels and suit, she seemed lighter, even her eyes and brows softened. She walked in the sunset, her shadow elongated by the light, her hair swaying gently in the wind, her steps carrying a lazy ease—a long-lost rhythm belonging only to life itself, completely different from how she appeared at the negotiating table during the day.
At that moment, she seemed no longer to be the calm, precise, and unquestionable "President Xia," but rather the familiar yet distant girl from his memory.
He was momentarily stunned. With each step she took closer, the heat surged upwards, as if she were slowly patting down every nerve ending in his body.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel slightly, his eyes never wavering, but he forced himself to clear his throat, trying his best to keep his voice steady: "...Wear this?"
Xia Zhiyao had already opened the car door and sat in the passenger seat. She glanced at him lazily, her tone carrying a hint of tired nonchalance and provocation: "Any objections?"
The way she sat down was so natural, as if they had never been separated by mountains, seas, or time zones in the past few years, as if they were still on a summer night, going for a drive together and eating lamb skewers on a street corner.
Zhou Yue looked at her profile, her head slightly tilted back, her eyelashes casting a soft shadow in the setting sun. His Adam's apple bobbed, but a smile that seemed almost helpless played on his lips as he casually looked away, saying, "No, it's fine."
However, what he didn't say was: he was so overwhelmed with emotion that he almost couldn't hold back anymore, so overwhelmed that he wanted to pull her close, hold her in his arms, and pour out all the longing, regret, and desire that had accumulated over the years.
But in the end, he simply started the car. The evening breeze swept across the street corner, stirring the neon lights that had just lit up in the shop windows, mixed with the warm scent of the sunset, the lingering fragrance that had settled from the daytime.
The streets of Manhattan gradually came alive, the twilight lengthened the shadows, but the city's rhythm seemed to be just beginning.
Zhou Yue turned his head to look at her, his eyes gentle, his voice low, carrying a hint of subtle concern and probing: "What would you like to eat?"
Xia Zhiyao raised her hand to tuck the wind-blown strands of hair behind her ear, her fingertips brushing against her temples, as if she were earnestly savoring the tranquility and ambiguity brought by the urban night.
“I suddenly have a craving for crab legs, with some white wine.” She paused, then smiled slightly. “Or, do you have any good recommendations?”
Zhou Yue stared at her for a few seconds, then suddenly chuckled: "Your tone... sounds like you're about to say, 'Hurry up and drive, I'm hungry.'"
Xia Zhiyao raised an eyebrow, lazily glancing at him sideways, her tone revealing weariness and a hint of impatience: "Then just drive, I'm really hungry." It carried a kind of wildness and willfulness that only close friends would have.
Zhou Yue didn't reply. The light from the car window slid across his profile, outlining his deep brow bone and jawline in the cold white light. The smile on his lips, which he tried to suppress, still slowly overflowed, impossible to hide.
After driving for more than twenty minutes, we finally stopped in front of the Cajun-style seafood restaurant that Xia Zhiyao had mentioned. The aroma of spices and garlic mixed with the slightly sweet scent of crab meat quietly opened its arms in the night.
The stewed snow crab legs, crayfish, and corn were served steaming hot, with the sauce glistening with an enticing sheen; everything looked as fresh as if it had just been pulled from the sea.
"Didn't you used to not eat spicy food much?" She peeled a snow crab while glancing up at him, her tone neither too light nor too heavy, as if asking casually, but her eyes clearly held a teasing edge, her eyebrows slightly raised, as if to say, "Are you sure you can handle it?"
Zhou Yue paused in his act of peeling crab legs, his fingertips still wet with sauce, and after a half-second pause, he spoke: "People have to grow up eventually."
He paused, then added in a low voice, "Besides, it's not that spicy." His tone was as gentle as ever, with a hint of nonchalant laughter.
Xia Zhiyao didn't notice the dull pain in his words, and just smiled lightly: "Okay, little one can eat spicy food now, you've made a lot of progress."
“Little girl…” he repeated softly, looking at her through the rising steam on the table, his eyes carrying a deep sadness that was impossible to ignore.
"You keep doing this." He finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse, carrying a hint of grievance, resentment, and a desire to stop pretending to be indifferent.
"Huh?" She didn't hear clearly and responded casually, "What?"
"They always treat me like a child."
Xia Zhiyao chuckled, but didn't stop eating. Without even looking up, she placed the shrimp meat onto his plate, saying casually and deliberately, "Eat, kid."
Zhou Yue looked down at the small piece of steaming shrimp on the plate, his eyes unreadable.
He suddenly wanted to ask her if she knew that the doting affection she so readily showed him was an obsession he had never been able to let go of from the age of fourteen to twenty-six. It was the armor that had kept him going through countless nights, and also the Achilles' heel that he could never break free from.
At first, he was in good spirits, eating and chatting with her, his tone carrying a familiar teasing tone, as well as his usual subtle probing.
"Your flight back tomorrow afternoon? Is someone picking you up?" He asked casually, as if it were just a casual question, but his fingers lingered on the edge of the plate, and his gaze slowly moved from her eyes to the corner of her lips, the unconscious curve of her lips as she bit into her corn.
Xia Zhiyao took a small bite of corn, her movements casual and her expression relaxed. "Yeah, my boyfriend."
"Snap." The sound of the shrimp claw breaking off between his fingers was so faint as to be almost inaudible, yet it was like a taut string suddenly snapping in his mind.
He looked up at her, a fleeting, barely perceptible ripple crossing his eyes, like a pebble skimming across water, creating ripples that vanished in an instant. His voice remained steady, instinctively concealing his emotions in the faint smile at the corner of his lips: "Boyfriend?"
"Yes." She said naturally, leaning back in her chair, her eyes still holding a lingering, languid satisfaction from after the meal. "My college classmate."
She spoke so softly, with almost no emotional fluctuation, no pride, no hesitation, no caution, and no sweet boasting. And it was precisely this nonchalant attitude that was most lethal.
Zhou Yue looked at her, stared for a second, and asked casually, a smile that revealed no emotion: "What do you look like?"
Xia Zhiyao didn't notice anything amiss. She looked down at her phone, casually opened a photo, and handed the screen over: "This is the person."
The photo was taken at a formal occasion, in a brightly lit conference hall. She was wearing a well-tailored suit, standing straight with a calm expression and a hint of light in her eyes. The man was wearing glasses, a sharp suit, and a gentle expression, with the poised maturity and restraint of someone in their early thirties.
They stood close, without any physical contact, as if tacitly maintaining a just-right distance. Polite yet intimate, restrained yet tacitly understanding.
Zhou Yue looked at the photo. They stood together and looked perfectly matched. They were the kind of couple that could be easily identified as "perfect couple" in a crowd. They were elegant, dignified, and no one could find anything wrong with them.
He suddenly wanted to laugh, but couldn't. His stomach felt like it was being burned, and a dull, indescribable pain slowly rose up.
He didn't remember how long he looked at the photos, only that the knuckles of the hand holding the phone were slightly clenched and his palm was covered in a thin layer of sweat.
And him? He was like an outsider who was never in the frame.
He calmly returned the phone, his movements utterly uneventful, his voice as soft as the rustling of a glass: "Quite classy."
"Right?" Xia Zhiyao smiled, not noticing anything unusual in his tone. She lowered her head and took a sip of her drink, her profile bathed in the warm and serene glow of the soft orange light from the table.
He lowered his eyes, looking at the shrimp on his plate that had long since gone cold. His fingertips quietly loosened, but he felt something slipping from his grasp.
She didn't notice anything amiss, focusing only on her food, looking relaxed and at ease, as if this meal was just an ordinary reunion with her younger brother whom she had grown up with.
She spoke and laughed as naturally as ever, bringing up one topic after another without any defenses.
He sat opposite, like an audience member who had accidentally wandered onto the stage, suddenly realizing that he didn't belong in this script.
Like that old song, it's clearly a movie about three people, but I never get a name.
This table of steaming seafood was a restaurant he carefully selected and brought her to; the dishes were chosen by him meticulously, remembering her preferences.
But the person who sat in her heart and shared all of this with her was never him.
He never looked up, as if he was afraid that if he looked at her even once more, he would lose control and become completely out of control.
She didn't need to guess his reaction, and she never thought he would care.
In her eyes, he was just a familiar figure in her life, the "Zhou family's younger brother" in her parents' eyes, the little boy who used to run behind her when she was a child and would occasionally treat her to meals when she grew up.
He knew all of this; she never imagined he would love her.
She'll never know how absurdly a thought flashed through his mind the moment she mentioned her boyfriend: "If I told you I was in a car accident right now, would you cancel my flight?"
Of course, he wouldn't say it out loud. He knew she wouldn't change her ticket or soften her heart. She was too rational and too clear-headed. Her life was like a precisely planned roadmap.
Even if he waits for her at every stop along the way, he is destined never to see her turn around.
But he still sat there, eating with her, listening to her talk about other people, like an audience member willingly playing the role of a close old friend, silently applauding, taking his bow, and bowing.
He hid all his thoughts in his smile, not daring to say a word more. In her eyes, he would always be that obedient and quiet little brother who always waited for her in the same place, someone who would never cross the line or lose control.
Steam was still rising from the table, and the spiciness of spices mixed with the aroma of lemon and butter wafted over him, but he only felt cold. His shoulders were stiff, his fingers were icy, and even the tissue she casually handed him felt like a blessing.
The grievances, jealousy, and insane possessiveness hidden in his heart had long been burning like a fire in his stomach, accumulating to the brink of collapse.
But only he knew that after this meal, he would be almost dead.
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