Chapter 51 Every woman you've slept with...
The room remained dimly lit, with the curtains tightly drawn, keeping the morning light out. An indescribable atmosphere lingered in the air, a mixture of warmth and cold.
Xia Zhiyao curled up in the quilt, her breathing soft and long, sleeping soundly. That familiar warmth, however, quietly approached again, enveloping her from behind and gradually pulling her back to reality from her hazy dream.
Her shoulders trembled slightly as she sensitively sensed the touch of a hand. A low, almost inaudible moan escaped her lips, carrying an instinctive alertness and a faint, almost nonexistent resistance.
His response was to wrap his arms around her from behind, gentle yet with an undeniable certainty, without any coercion, yet leaving her nowhere to escape.
She stopped struggling. Half-asleep, she subconsciously moved forward half an inch to make room, just like she had done on those nights before.
Her consciousness was gradually fading, washed away by the tide. There was no kiss, not a single word. She couldn't remember if he had kissed her, nor what she had said.
The only clear thing was that the moment he hugged her tightly from behind, the sky outside the window was already beginning to lighten.
In a state of extreme satisfaction and sorrow, she closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep as if a string had snapped.
When she woke up, her biological clock pulled her back to reality. As soon as she opened her eyes, a wave of soreness washed over her, making it almost impossible for her to move.
She stood there stunned for a long time, as fragments of last night gradually surfaced in her mind, blurry and chaotic, yet carrying an undeniable weight.
She struggled to sit up, her back aching as if stretched too tight. In the stillness, she slowly pulled her consciousness back to reality.
The living room remained as tidy as ever, almost deserted, as if the chaos of last night had never existed. Only a bottle of water sat on the table, standing alone in the cool morning air, silent as if mocking a mute.
The dark green dress that had been carelessly tossed on the floor last night was now neatly folded, next to a black men's tracksuit, neatly placed on the sofa, their eyes meeting.
"Damn it..." she cursed hoarsely, "Zhou Yue, you bastard, you tormented me all night... and didn't even leave me a bite to eat."
She wasn't really expecting him to make her breakfast; it's just that they had done almost everything intimate last night, yet he hadn't even said "good morning."
Their bodies were intertwined to the extreme, but their souls were separated by a layer of mist, remaining silent like strangers who had just passed each other by.
She walked over, picked up the outfit, and put it on. It was ridiculously oversized, with the cuffs hanging down to the back of her hands and the trousers bunched up at her ankles. It was Zhou Yue's own clothes, loose and comfortable like a belated gentle touch.
It was at this moment that she suddenly realized that even though things had turned out this way, he still remembered that she would feel awkward wearing that dress when she got home early in the morning, so he had saved her a suitable one.
Xia Zhiyao, still wearing her oversized tracksuit, didn't leave immediately. She stood in the center of the living room, gazing at the cool morning light filling the room, and an indescribable sense of emptiness quietly welled up in her heart.
She pushed open the doors one by one, the guest room door creaking out in the quiet.
There was only one bed inside, the mattress was empty, and the sheets hadn't even been made yet. The whole space was like a newly built showroom, not yet ready to be filled with the weight of life.
The study was more like a temporary office corner. The bookshelves on the wall were empty, and there were several unopened cardboard boxes piled up in the corner, as if it had just been moved in, or as if it was about to leave at any time. There was only a computer on the desk, leaning alone against the corner.
The emptiness of the kitchen was almost absurd; there were no pots, no bowls, not even a pair of chopsticks, and not even spice jars in the cupboards.
She opened the drawer, which was empty. The stove was spotless, as clean as a sample in a showroom.
She finally stopped in front of the master bedroom door, which was half-open. The smell inside had not yet dissipated, and the sheets were tangled together, pressed into messy wrinkles.
She stood at the door for a long time, but in the end said nothing. She simply closed the door gently, as if to quietly end the previous night.
It's a house, but not a "home." It's more like a temporary, isolated island, a place to rest, hide, and catch your breath, but not a place to truly settle down.
She, on this morning, was merely a temporary visitor to this deserted island. When she woke up, she discovered that the absurdity of the previous night had left not even a dream.
Meanwhile, in the parking lot downstairs.
Zhou Yue sat in the black Porsche Macan, half of his body sunk into the driver's seat, one hand loosely resting on the steering wheel, the other holding a cigarette, the flame flickering between his fingers, making the weariness on his profile even more pronounced, his eyes seeming to be veiled by a thin mist.
In the passenger seat, his overcoat was still neatly draped without a single wrinkle, a deliberate maintenance of order. His white shirt and wool cardigan were buttoned up tightly, like an outer shell. As long as the buttons remained undone, he would not completely collapse.
This was his last act of dignity.
The car door was half open, and the morning breeze blew in through the gap, carrying a chill. He felt the cold, but he didn't even have the strength to lift his hand to close the door.
He knew he should leave; he should have stepped on the gas and driven away long ago.
But he just sat there in the quiet of the early morning, half-lit and half-dark, burning one cigarette after another, the ash piling up on his fingertips into tiny ashes that dissipated in the wind.
He had actually thought about staying, even about sitting by the bedside and waiting for her to wake up, even if she just opened her eyes and said a faint "good morning," even if her tone was cold, even if there was still silence between them.
But he didn't dare; he knew all too well what she would do.
She would open her eyes, look at him, and say in a voice as gentle as the afternoon sun on a calm day: "Don't take last night's events seriously."
Then she lowered her head to get dressed, turned around to wash her face, closed the door and left, just like every time before, leaving the warmth of that night on her skin, and completely removing all her emotions, as if she had never stayed by his side.
He couldn't bear to hear those words again, so he chose to leave first.
Like someone who senses the ending, he'd rather admit defeat first than wait for her to pronounce his sentence. At least that way, he can still deceive himself into believing that he left voluntarily, not that she didn't want him anymore.
He lowered his head and flicked the ash from his cigarette. The sparks lit up and then dimmed at his fingertips. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the rearview mirror and saw a face he almost didn't want to look at. The eyes were red-rimmed, the face was as pale as if all the blood had been drained from it, and the eyes were unbelievably empty.
This isn't the exhaustion from not sleeping all night; it's the feeling of not having slept soundly for years.
Zhou Yue himself found it strange. It had been two years before he finally received a response from her, even if it was only physical. Logically, he should feel a sense of relief and satisfaction, or even the joy of rain after a long drought.
But the reality was quite the opposite. That brief possession did not relax him at all. Instead, it felt like a time bomb had been planted in his heart, making him more anxious and uneasy. It was like swallowing a mouthful of strong liquor, burning his throat and causing his stomach to churn.
He couldn't tell why. Was it because of her silence last night? Or because she only ever gave him half, keeping the other half hidden from her sight?
He slowly leaned back in his seat, his back sinking into the cold leather. The unease in his heart seemed alive, swelling and churning in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.
“I’m just like a deserter,” he said in a low, hoarse voice, almost inaudible.
So be it, he might as well be a deserter. At least that way, he wouldn't have to admit to her face that he had never won against her.
Even though he thought he had everything under control last night, he woke up to find that the one who was truly trapped and controlled was himself.
Zhou Yue kept his head down, the half-burned cigarette between his fingers burning so badly that his fingers trembled, bringing him back to his senses.
He picked up his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and his fingertip stopped on that name he knew all too well.
The light from the screen reflected in his eyes, and he typed a few words: "Are you awake?"
After staring at it for a few seconds, I pressed the delete button and replaced it with: 【Last night…】
I kept deleting and re-entering, deleting and modifying, like being trapped in an unsolvable loop, always stopping before "send".
Her other hand touched a small bump on her arm, a mark she had scratched the night before. It was so shallow that it was almost invisible, yet it felt like a brand under her skin. The more she looked at it, the more annoyed she became, but she couldn't bear to let go.
He slammed his phone down on the center console with a loud thud, followed by the low hum of the engine. As he pressed the accelerator, a thought flashed through his mind: if he turned back now, he might still be able to see her before she left.
But in the end, the steering wheel still turned steadily in the opposite direction. The wind blew in through the half-open car window, carrying the coolness of the morning, and ruffled the hair at his temples.
At that moment, he couldn't tell whether he was escaping or trying to save himself.
Xia Zhiyao packed her clothes and stood by the roadside to hail a taxi. A gust of wind blew, completely washing away the warmth that lingered on her skin from last night, leaving only an indescribable emptiness.
After a few seconds of stunned silence, she quickly guessed the answer: it must be Zhou Yue. He didn't say anything, nor did he deliberately let her find out. He simply plugged in the power cord and put it away when she wasn't paying attention.
In that instant, a strange feeling welled up in her heart. This subtle thoughtfulness, though devoid of warmth, precisely touched her soft spot, making it impossible for her to completely ignore or easily accept.
Xia Zhiyao went home, took a quick shower, changed her clothes, put on light makeup, and rushed to the company. As soon as she stepped into the lobby, she bumped into Zheng Xiaotian, who was carrying coffee.
He raised an eyebrow, as if he had been waiting for someone: "President Xia is late? This is the first time in a million years." His tone was nonchalant, but his eyes lingered on the silk scarf around her neck for two seconds, his gaze seemingly both inquisitive and knowing.
Xia Zhiyao seemed not to notice, and walked over unhurriedly, her voice calm and indifferent: "I didn't sleep well last night, and I have a stiff neck."
Zheng Xiaotian said "Oh," and the corners of his lips slowly curled up, as if he had caught some interesting signal: "A stiff neck... How about we go to the hospital to get it checked out?"
She turned her head and gave him a cool, sharp look, her gaze tinged with impatience: "A stiff neck isn't a broken neck, you don't need to."
As soon as he finished speaking, he stepped straight into the elevator, pressed the floor button with his fingertips, his back was clean and neat, and his aura was as calm as if nothing had happened.
As soon as the elevator doors closed, Zheng Xiaotian lowered his head, took a sip of coffee, and couldn't help but smile. He quickly turned his head to the side, afraid that Xia Zhiyao would see him smile.
"Stop fucking laughing," Xia Zhiyao said coolly, without even looking up. "You think I can't see? There's a mirror over there."
Zheng Xiaotian paused for a second, then burst out laughing.
"I really do have a stiff neck." She said firmly, reaching up to pull the silk scarf off her neck, deliberately touching the smooth, unblemished skin. "Look."
Zheng Xiaotian glanced at him and began to believe him somewhat, shrugging, "Okay, I believe you." Then, he couldn't help but tease, "But if you told me that you and Zhou Yue had a one-night stand after drinking... I would understand."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Xia Zhiyao rarely cursed so harshly, her words crisp and decisive, without any hesitation.
Zheng Xiaotian lowered his head and laughed so hard that his shoulders trembled, causing ripples to spread across the surface of the coffee in his cup.
That morning, Zhou Yue was absent-minded. He couldn't sit still in his office and tried to get up to talk to her several times, but he stopped at the door.
The scenes from last night were etched into his mind like a brand, making him lose focus even when reading documents.
Finally, he ran into her in the break room.
Zhou Yue leaned against the kitchen door, watching her back. The words he had been pondering all night churned in his throat, but he finally spoke in a low voice, "Yesterday we... didn't take any precautions, shouldn't you..."
The water cup was still being filled when the water suddenly slammed down with a "whoosh," almost overflowing. Xia Zhiyao's hand stopped on the faucet; she didn't turn around immediately, but slowly turned off the water.
She stood there with her eyes downcast for two seconds, her expression unreadable, but the silence of that moment was like the surging of the deepest part of the ocean, so faint as to be almost inaudible, yet unsettling.
Then she turned around, her expression surprisingly calm, her tone almost indifferent: "Why didn't you think of this when you were doing it yesterday?"
Zhou Yue paused for a moment, but couldn't say a word.
There was no anger in Xia Zhiyao's eyes, but the coldness was more unbearable than any anger. She approached him step by step, each step feeling like stepping on his heart, but her voice remained gentle: "When you were acting like a madman yesterday, why didn't you think about this? Now that you're sober, you're starting to worry about the consequences?"
She chuckled softly, a coldness and disappointment that ran deep to her very bones. "Stop pretending, Zhou Yue," she said softly.
Zhou Yue instinctively opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she abruptly cut him off with her next sentence, "Don't worry, I won't cling to you."
She smiled, but the smile was as cold as a knife, and it was hard to tell whether it was piercing him or herself. "Are you relieved now?" She stared at him, each word stabbing into his bones. "Or do you mean that with every woman you sleep with, you have to go through this...after-coital tenderness?"
When she said this, there was no anger in her eyes, only utter exhaustion and a sense of knowing the outcome and making a premature retreat.
In that instant, Zhou Yue seemed to have been struck hard by something; his expression changed drastically, and he blurted out, his voice rising uncontrollably, "I didn't!"
A desperate urgency ignited in his eyes, as if he had used all his strength to force out the words: "This is the first time since you left..."
The morning light slanted down into the tea room, falling on him and his face, illuminating the anxiety and grievance in his eyes. He stood there, afraid she wouldn't believe him, even more afraid that she didn't care at all.
"You don't need to report these things to me," Xia Zhiyao said calmly. "That's your own business."
She turned to leave, but Zhou Yue suddenly reached out and blocked her path: "Xia Zhiyao, can't you just..."
"Can you what? No!" She stopped and turned to look at him, her gaze almost numb with a calmness, like the weariness after a long battle. "Can't I talk to you like a normal person? Or... can't I pretend nothing happened last night?"
Zhou Yue's hand froze in mid-air before slowly lowering it.
At that moment, the door was pushed open.
"Hey, you two are at it again?" Zheng Xiaotian immediately sensed the awkward atmosphere. He slowly glanced at the two of them, his tone half teasing and half helpless: "This company is quiet for less than an hour this morning."
He took a few steps closer, his gaze falling on Xia Zhiyao, and advised like an elder brother, "Can you stop being so sharp-tongued? Give way to our Xiao Zhou, okay?"
Xia Zhiyao raised an eyebrow, her tone as cold as the wind outside the window: "If he could listen to human language, would I need him?"
Zhou Yue was about to retort when Zheng Xiaotian stopped him with a look.
"Alright, alright," Zheng Xiaotian waved his hand, his tone still light and cheerful, "Our main business is investment consulting, not being emotional mediators."
He paused, then suddenly smiled at Xia Zhiyao, his tone meaningful: "You're all talk and no action. Aren't you afraid of making that little kid cry?"
Xia Zhiyao didn't reply, picked up her water glass and walked out.
Zhou Yue stood still, his gaze fixed on where she had just stood. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly, but he didn't say a word.
Zheng Xiaotian patted him on the shoulder, sighed, and said in a low voice, "Brother, some things can't be explained in the break room."
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