Chapter 1 She was everything to him during his adolescence...
As night fell, the snow in Manhattan fell heavier and heavier.
The streets were eerily quiet; snow covered the driveways and sidewalks, obscuring even the taxi lights. The entire city seemed shrouded in a thick layer of white, silencing all sound.
Zhou Yue, a senior executive at Blackcastle Capital, sat in front of his computer. The cold light from the screen reflected on his face, making his expression appear particularly indifferent.
He didn't move, staring at the financial model on the screen, turning page after page. He joined the company in 2019, and in five years, he rose from Analyst to VP. Now he is the youngest Sector Lead, in charge of the Growth Equity business in China.
This speed is not standard operating procedure at Blackcastle.
Every step he took was meticulously planned: the pace of transactions, project milestone reviews, and his position on the investment committee. He made no mistakes and hesitated without hesitation. He knew what he wanted, at least, that's how it appeared.
The lockdown in New York began that spring, and flights became increasingly scarce. He could only contact his parents' families in Beijing via phone and the internet.
He often stood by his apartment window at night, looking at the empty streets outside. Even the World Trade Center was dark. The road he walked to work every day now looked like an abandoned film set. The neon lights were off, and the glass curtain wall only reflected his image.
He stared at the reflection, as quietly as if he were looking at someone else.
Suddenly, he raised his hand and drew a circle on the glass with his fingertip, then another, but soon fog filled the entire window, and he could neither see outside nor himself.
His younger brother would fly from North Carolina to visit him during winter and summer vacations. "Brother, you've lost weight," his brother would always say before leaving, his tone soft but unable to hide the worry in his eyes.
"I'm busy with work," he would always reply, avoiding the eyes that seemed to want to see right through him.
After seeing her younger brother off, the apartment was eerily quiet. The sofa still felt warm from her body, and the air smelled of salty potato chips. But these traces were quickly swallowed by the silence, and the room returned to its original state, as if no one had ever been there.
I got through those toughest days by chatting with Xia Zhiyao.
From elementary school to university, from that compound in Beijing to Columbia University's red-brick campus, he followed her for sixteen years. Xia Zhiyao was his neighbor's older sister, four years his senior. She was the beginning and end of all his restless and unspeakable emotions during his adolescence.
Before she went to college, he always followed behind her. As a child, he was like a clingy tail; as an adult, he was like an unnoticed shadow, or a kind of obsession that he himself was unwilling to admit.
They reunited in New York. Xia Zhiyao flew in to discuss a project, but her assistant took the wrong suitcase. She posted a request for help in the Columbia University alumni group. Zhou Yue saw the message and replied almost without hesitation, driving to the hotel to help her get her luggage back.
A few days later, he was playing soccer with his friends on the Columbia University lawn when he saw her in the distance. She was wearing a well-tailored suit, with black hair and red lips, walking with a client on campus.
She stood there, like a phantom emerging from sixteen years of memories, yet more real and vivid than any memory ever had. All the emotions he had carefully suppressed for over a decade surged forth in this unexpected moment.
He acted like a little boy who hadn't grown up yet, tugging at her and begging her to have dinner. She smiled and nodded in agreement.
At the dinner table, he tentatively asked her how she had been lately, and she replied casually, "I'm fine. My boyfriend is in Beijing too."
At that moment, he knew he had no chance, but his body began to heat up uncontrollably. He thought it was an emotional overload, but it turned out that he really had a high fever that wouldn't go down.
Xia Zhiyao stayed to take care of him for the night. She took his temperature, fed him medicine, cooked for him, and even cleaned up the messy kitchen. Her movements were skilled and quiet, as if she had never left his life.
When Zhou Yue woke up, it was just dawn. He turned his head and saw her sleeping against the carpet. At that moment, he couldn't tell if it was because the drug hadn't worn off yet, or because he had loved her for too long and was finally hallucinating.
But she really was there, right within his reach.
She left eventually. Xia Zhiyao stood at the door, tidying her handbag. The light shone on her face, soft and distant.
She glanced back at him, her eyes filled with reluctance and tenderness. She whispered, "Take care of yourself."
The door closed with a barely audible sound, and he stood there, staring at the door for a long time.
The room returned to silence, as if nothing had ever happened. The breakfast she had prepared for him sat on the dining table, steaming hot, sitting there all alone. The faint scent of her perfume still lingered in the air, but it couldn't hold her back.
At that moment, he felt that the world he had carefully maintained for more than 20 years had collapsed easily.
They never truly lost contact, yet always maintained a perfect distance—neither too far nor too close, neither too much nor too little—like two planets maintaining their own orbits, occasionally intersecting but never colliding.
The first year after their separation was when Zhou Yue was getting closer.
At that time, he had just joined Blackcastle and was busy until 3 a.m. every day. His mind was full of DCF models, valuation parameters, and endless variables from clients.
He tossed and turned in bed, finally opening WeChat and sending a message:
How do you convince clients that this is a worthwhile investment during the project evaluation phase?
She replied quickly:
It's not about return on investment, it's about the narrative.
Most people aren't doing the math; they're finding reasons to convince themselves.
It was only at that moment that Zhou Yue truly realized that she had always possessed a sensitivity to human nature, an understanding of the essence of choices, and a sense of control over the complex world.
She knows when to provide data and when to create imagination, she knows how to express herself calmly, and she also knows how to show warmth at crucial moments.
She wasn't teaching him; she was simply lighting a lamp. And indeed, under that lamp, he saw many things more clearly.
During that time, he needed her. He was a newcomer to Wall Street, with clients, models, and investment committees coming one after another. He was surrounded by people with impressive resumes and seasoned experience, and he was being compared and criticized almost every day.
But her words always managed to pull him up when he was about to give up. A few words were like an unextinguished lamp at the end of a corridor in the dead of night, illuminating his way and making him feel less panicked.
Later, he gradually got used to the rhythm here and slowly gained a foothold. Promotions, negotiations, impressive projects, board approval... He knew that he was no longer the junior who sent messages late at night.
He grew faster than he expected, and those days when he clung to Xia Zhiyao and refused to let go ultimately pushed him to become a stronger version of himself.
But he always remembered who had lit up the world for him during his most difficult times.
Xia Zhiyao also began to slowly send him some of her worries that she didn't want others to see; those were things she wouldn't tell anyone else.
But as night approaches, she seems to open a window that belongs only to her, quietly casting the unease hidden behind her professional halo into his world.
Sometimes it's hesitation in investment decisions: "Do you think this structure is attractive to your institution?"
Sometimes the challenge lies in practical operations: [What's the latest news from Feiling's headquarters in the US? We haven't been receiving payments lately.]
Zhou Yue always took things seriously. He carefully read through every page of the materials she sent, combined them with team case studies, and even stayed up all night to write her a complete post-investment optimization suggestion form with clear logic and sourced data.
She remained silent for a long time, finally replying with only one sentence: "You're much better than me now."
He stared at the line of words, a warm feeling welling up in his eyes.
She never said anything nice, nor did she rely on him easily, but in that instant, he knew that she had truly begun to treat him as someone she could fight alongside, rather than a little boy who needed to be taken care of.
He never dared to hope she would turn back, never dared to imagine she would love him. But when she was willing to hand him her most difficult questions in her vulnerable moments, that trust was already touching enough.
Occasionally, she would send a few words late at night in Beijing.
[Zhou Yue, have you ever had that feeling where you've tried everything but still feel powerless?]
Are there some things we're just destined to do poorly?
She never explained or waited for a response. He didn't know if she was talking about work or feelings, but those words concealed exhaustion and her desperately hidden helplessness.
Every time Zhou Yue sees such news, he wants to fly to her side immediately, hug her, and say, "It's okay, you don't have to bear it all alone."
But he knew he had no right to ask her why she was sad, he didn't press her for the reason, he just replied gently as usual, using the simplest words to wrap up the deepest emotions.
You've done a great job.
It's not your fault, the world is just too terrible.
Get some sleep, and everything will be alright tomorrow.
She usually doesn't reply. Just like every time, after venting her emotions, she silently sheathes her sharpness, puts on her familiar mask, and transforms back into the all-powerful Xia Zhiyao.
He was used to waiting, and he was used to her only coming to him when she was on the verge of collapse, and then leaving without warning.
She wouldn't define their relationship, nor would she ever give him a definite place. But whenever her heart was in turmoil, he was always the first person she thought of.
Zhou Yue finally understood that she had treated him as an emotional "safe zone," where she would not reveal her feelings, would not get too close, and would not betray him.
This trust is both a blessing and a curse.
The Slack notification sound pulled him back to reality. He quickly typed his response, clicked send, leaned back in his chair, and looked out the window.
Three documents were spread out on the table: a due diligence report on a Southeast Asian telemedicine platform, an exit assessment for Chinese new consumer brands going global, and a document he had personally selected from an independent women's consulting firm.
He picked up the document and ran his fingertips along the logo on the cover for a long time. The company had run a wildly popular themed event last year called "Women Who Go Against the Current."
He flipped through the video screenshots page by page. The interviewee had black hair and red lips, and a calm look in her eyes. At that moment, his heart trembled slightly. The person in the photo looked exactly like Xia Zhiyao from three years ago.
He stared at that face, his eyes narrowing, as some long-suppressed emotion was silently triggered.
Just then, my phone vibrated.
New WeChat message (1): Xia Zhiyao.
Her message remained brief and understated:
Where is your company located on Wall Street? I just arrived in New York this afternoon.
Want to have dinner together sometime?
The tone was so natural, as if one were meeting an old friend on the way, without any ambiguity or unnecessary exclamation marks.
Zhou Yue stared at those two lines of text, his heart skipped a beat, and in the next second, he even forgot about the meeting that was about to begin.
His reason remained intact, but his hand had already moved first:
Where did you book your hotel?
What are your plans for today?
The phone vibrated as soon as the message was sent. She replied too quickly, not like a casual chat, but more like she was waiting for him.
I'm staying at the Hilton in the Midtown area.
You go about your business, I'll just wander around for a bit and find a place to grab a bite to eat and a drink.
Following this was a cat emoji raising a glass, laughing drunkenly with its eyes squinting.
Zhou Yue stared at the cat's face for a long time, as if trying to read what she truly wanted to say, but he couldn't. He only knew that he had to see her.
The computer beeped, and his colleagues in Beijing were waiting for him. He glanced at the time, then at his phone, and his heart began to race uncontrollably.
He still typed out a reply:
[I'm in a meeting now, it will be over in about half an hour.]
He didn't know what this meal meant for her—whether it was a fresh start or yet another tender but destined miss.
But in those brief ten seconds, he had overturned all his original plans and rational schemes for the evening, with only one direction in his mind.
After the meeting, Zhou Yue put on his coat while sending WeChat messages, and then jogged into the elevator.
As he stepped out of the company gate, the night wind, carrying dense snowflakes, rushed towards him. He subconsciously pulled the collar of his cashmere coat tighter, a movement that was always swift but now carried a hint of panic.
His pace quickened, his leather shoes making a rapid sound on the slippery sidewalk as he hurried toward the city center while constantly making phone calls.
One phone call went unanswered, then another, then another… The dial tone stretched long and jarring in the snowy night.
WeChat messages flew out one after another:
I've finished my meeting.
Where are you?
[I need to answer this phone.]
All of it vanished without a trace; she is gone.
The night was deserted, as if she had never been there.
A note from the author:
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