Chapter 58 A Deliberate Chance Encounter
A Starbucks near the Ministry of Foreign Affairs building, at 5:30 pm on a weekday afternoon.
Lin Wei sat on a high stool by the window, a cup of now-cold Americano in front of her. She adjusted her phone for the third time, ensuring the floor-to-ceiling window clearly reflected her profile—carefully styled curls, pearl earrings, a light camel cashmere cardigan, and a matching silk scarf. Her seemingly casual yet meticulously coordinated "intellectual style" was neither overly ostentatious nor lacking in sophistication.
This is the third day of her "staking out".
Through a distant cousin who works at the Ministry of Culture, she learned that the Translation Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs usually closes between 5 and 6 p.m., and the Starbucks on the west side of the building is a place where many young diplomats usually buy a cup of coffee after get off work.
She wanted to "bump into" Song Zhiyi.
The phone screen was lit, displaying a photo she had someone take from the internal address book—a passport photo from a Ministry of Foreign Affairs employee ID. The woman in the photo wore a white shirt, her hair neatly tied back, her face delicate, and her eyes calm. She wasn't particularly beautiful, but she possessed a unique, clean quality.
Lin Wei zoomed in on the photo, scrutinizing every detail: no makeup, no jewelry, even her eyebrows looked naturally shaped. She pursed her lips—how could Huo Yanli like this type? He had clearly said before that he liked her most when she was radiant after dressing up.
The wind chimes on the glass door rang. Lin Wei immediately looked up.
Several young men and women entered, dressed formally but looking somewhat tired, carrying document bags bearing the Ministry of Foreign Affairs logo. They were discussing the wording of a treaty in rapid English, and even while queuing to order, they were still talking about work.
It wasn't her.
Lin Wei withdrew her gaze, her fingertips lightly tracing the rim of her coffee cup. She had rehearsed her opening remarks countless times in her mind, aiming for a natural, friendly demeanor with just the right amount of curiosity. Not too enthusiastic, lest it seem contrived; not too cold, lest it appear arrogant. Ideally, it should be the polite gesture of "I've long admired you, and today I finally meet you."
At 5:40, the glass door was pushed open again.
The woman who entered was wearing a dark gray suit, with the top button of her white shirt fastened, and carrying a black Ministry of Foreign Affairs briefcase. Her hair was styled in a simple low ponytail, she wore light makeup, and her skin was fair, typical of someone who works indoors year-round.
It is Song Zhiyi.
Lin Wei's heart skipped a beat. She watched as Song Zhiyi walked to the counter and calmly ordered, "Large hot Americano, please." Then, she naturally took out her work ID and swiped her card—the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had a dedicated account for this store.
While waiting for her coffee, Song Zhiyi took a thin booklet out of her briefcase and leaned against the counter to read it. Her posture was very straight, with relaxed shoulders but an upright back, the kind of posture that comes from long-term etiquette training.
Lin Wei took a deep breath, picked up her coffee cup, and walked over.
"Hello," she stopped half a step away from Song Zhiyi, her voice carrying just the right amount of hesitation and friendliness, "Excuse me... are you Song, the translator from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs?"
Song Zhiyi raised her head. Her eyes were clear, with light-colored pupils. When she looked at people, her gaze was direct but not sharp, as if she were confirming an objective fact.
"Yes, that's me." She closed the booklet. "Is there something you need?"
"It really is you!" Lin Wei smiled with surprise. "I often see your translation work in the news and I admire you very much. I never expected to meet you here today—I am Lin Wei, an old friend of Yan Li."
She deliberately used the intimate term "Yanli" instead of "Mr. Huo" or "Huo Yanli." At the same time, she extended her hand, her Cartier bracelet shimmering under the light.
Song Zhiyi's gaze lingered on her face for a second before settling on her outstretched hand. That glance was calm, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, as if she were handling a normal social situation.
She reached out and gently shook his hand, then quickly released it: "Hello, Song Zhiyi."
There was no "Nice to meet you," no "Are you and Huo Yanli well acquainted?", and not even a response to the obvious compliment, "I've seen you in the news." It was just a simple self-introduction, polite yet distant.
Lin Wei's smile froze for a moment, but she quickly recovered: "Translator Song, you just got off work? You must have had a long and tiring day."
"It's alright." Song Zhiyi took the coffee from the clerk, nodded her thanks, and then turned to Lin Wei, "Ms. Lin, is there something you need?"
Direct, efficient, and without any patience for small talk.
All the preparations Lin Wei had made—such as "What a coincidence, I also like to come here for coffee" and "I heard your translation skills are exceptional"—suddenly seemed superfluous and laughable.
She could only say, "Nothing special, we just happened to run into each other and thought I'd say hello. Yanli and I were classmates in college and have known each other for many years. He's always mentioned you to me."
That's a lie. Huo Yanli never mentioned Song Zhiyi in front of her, not even once.
But Song Zhiyi simply nodded, her expression remaining unchanged: "I see."
She glanced at the watch—a simple black leather-strapped wristwatch with no discernible brand.
"Sorry, I have an online meeting at six o'clock," Song Zhiyi said. "I have to go now."
"Oh, okay, okay, you're busy," Lin Wei said quickly, stepping aside to make way.
Song Zhiyi nodded to her, picked up her coffee and briefcase, and left. The wind chimes rang again, and her figure quickly disappeared into the early autumn twilight.
The whole process took less than three minutes.
Lin Wei stood there, still holding the now-cold coffee in her hand. The warm yellow light of Starbucks shone on her carefully chosen outfit, but suddenly it seemed a little... overdone.
She looked down at herself—her cashmere cardigan was Max Mara, her scarf was Hermès, and her shoes were a limited edition Roger Vivier. Each piece was priceless, each silently proclaiming: I'm doing well, I'm sophisticated, I deserve the best of everything.
And what about Song Zhiyi?
The suit appeared to be the standard uniform of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the white shirt was a basic style, and the shoes were simple black flats. There was no jewelry, no makeup, and even the bag was provided by her work unit.
Yet, just now, when she stood there calmly saying, "I have an online meeting at six o'clock," she exuded an aura that Lin Wei couldn't quite describe.
It wasn't arrogance or indifference, but something more fundamental: her time was precious, her attention was focused, and there were things in her world more important than social pleasantries.
Therefore, she had no interest in finding out who "Yanli's old friend" was, no interest in responding to those polite compliments, and no interest in staying even a minute longer.
Lin Wei slowly walked back to her seat and put down her coffee cup. Her face was reflected in the windowpane; she was still exquisite and beautiful, but at this moment she looked a little...empty.
She recalled her college days, when she was always the center of attention, with people striking up conversations with her wherever she went. She meticulously prepared every smile, every word, and every glance, ensuring she remained the center of attention.
Song Zhiyi, however, seemed completely unconcerned about whether there was an audience.
My phone vibrated; it was a message from Wang Ting: "How did it go? Did you see 'Mrs. Huo'?"
Lin Wei stared at those three words, her fingertips tightening.
She typed back: "I saw him."
"How does it feel? Isn't it pretty ordinary?"
"Hmm, it's quite ordinary."
"I knew it! You're definitely not as good as Weiwei. What are you planning to do next?"
Lin Wei didn't reply immediately. She looked out the window; dusk was deepening, and the streetlights were gradually coming on. Many lights were still on in the windows of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs building, behind which lay a world completely unknown to her.
She recalled Song Zhiyi's departing figure—upright, steady, with quick but unhurried steps. It was as if she had already walked a long way and was about to continue, with no time to look back.
That posture made her feel a strange... unease.
It wasn't jealousy or contempt, but a deeper premonition: this woman might be unlike any of the "love rivals" she had ever encountered before.
She doesn't compete, doesn't fight, and doesn't even look at you.
But her very existence is a declaration.
Lin Wei picked up her coffee and took a sip. The icy liquid slid down her throat, bringing an uncomfortable chill.
She put down her cup and typed a reply to Wang Ting: "Take your time. There's still plenty of time."
send.
Then she touched up her lipstick, packed her things, and left. The sound of her high heels clicking on the floor was particularly clear in the quiet café. A few young people who were still working overtime glanced up at her, then quickly lowered their heads and continued working.
As she pushed open the door, a cool evening breeze swept over her. Lin Wei pulled her cardigan tighter and headed towards the subway station.
As she passed the Ministry of Foreign Affairs building, she glanced up. The lit windows, like countless eyes, silently looked down upon the city.
Behind one of the windows, Song Zhiyi might be sitting, participating in that online meeting, discussing the wording of an international treaty, or a humanitarian corridor in a war-torn region.
Those things were far removed from Lin Wei's world. Her world consisted of exquisite makeup, impeccable social skills, and how to win back a man's heart.
She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and walked into the subway station.
The carriage was crowded and noisy. She stood in a corner, looking at her reflection in the glass door. Still beautiful, still exquisite, still confident of winning back what she wanted.
After all, Huo Yanli had loved her, loved her deeply.
As for Song Zhiyi... it was just a marriage arranged by her elders.
She told herself that.
Again and again.
Until I almost believed it.
But somewhere deep inside, that uneasy premonition still lingers, like a tiny thorn stuck there, not deep, but present nonetheless.
As the subway entered the tunnel, the glass windows turned into black mirrors, reflecting her solitary figure.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the city, Song Zhiyi had just finished an online meeting. She took off her headphones, rubbed her temples, and then opened a document to begin organizing her meeting minutes.
The phone screen lit up; it was a message from Huo Yanli: "Are you free this weekend? Your mother would like to invite you home for dinner."
She looked at the line of text, thought for a moment, and replied, "Sunday night is fine."
"Okay, I'll come pick you up."
"No need, I'll go myself."
The conversation ended.
She put down her phone and continued working. Night had completely fallen outside the window, and the light from the computer screen illuminated her serene face.
She didn't think much of the "chance encounter" at the coffee shop that afternoon.
A woman who claimed to be an old friend of Huo Yanli exchanged brief pleasantries, and that was it.
In her world, there were more important things to consider—such as the draft UN Security Council resolution she was to translate tomorrow, the advanced Arabic translation training she was to attend next week, and the notes about battlefield medicine in her mother's diary, which she wanted to organize further.
Relationships and marriage are relatively low on her life's priorities.
It was so far back that it was almost invisible.
She took a sip of her coffee; it was already cold, but it didn't matter.
She put her glasses back on and focused intently on the screen.
Night was falling.
But her night was just beginning.
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