Chapter 29 Thank you for your help
The cold wind was even stronger in the parking lot. Huo Yanli walked to the black Cullinan, opened the trunk, and put the suitcase inside. Song Zhiyi stood quietly to the side, waiting, the hood of her down jacket swaying gently in the wind.
"Get in the car." Huo Yanli closed the trunk and opened the passenger door.
Song Zhiyi didn't move. She glanced at the luxury car worth millions, then at Huo Yanli, and suddenly said, "I can take a taxi myself. I won't take up your time."
Huo Yanli's hand was still on the car door, but he paused upon hearing this. Looking at Song Zhiyi's calm face, he suddenly felt a bit absurd—his wife was refusing to get in his car.
"It won't delay you," he heard himself say, his tone calmer than he expected. "Get in the car."
Song Zhiyi looked at him for two seconds, finally nodded, and got into the passenger seat.
Huo Yanli closed the car door, walked around to the driver's seat, and got in. The car was well-heated, so he took off his coat and threw it into the back seat before starting the car.
The Cullinan smoothly drove out of the parking lot and merged into the traffic on the airport expressway.
The car was completely silent. The only sounds were the deep rumble of the engine and the faint whirring of the air conditioning vents.
Huo Yanli gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Song Zhiyi leaning back in her seat, her face turned to the side as she watched the scenery rushing past the window. She didn't speak, nor did she use her phone; she simply watched quietly, her expression somewhat tired, but her eyes still clear.
This is the first time they've been alone together in over two years.
Inside a closed train carriage.
Huo Yanli suddenly realized that he didn't know how to start the conversation. Asking, "Was the journey smooth?" was too polite. Asking, "How have you been these past two years?" was too insincere. Asking, "Why haven't you touched a single penny?" was too direct.
He ultimately chose the safest topic: "Grandpa said that once you've rested well, we'll have a family dinner on Saturday night."
Song Zhiyi turned her head and looked at him: "A family dinner?"
"Yes. It's a family gathering, a way to... formally meet." Huo Yanli said as casually as possible.
Song Zhiyi was silent for a few seconds, then nodded: "Okay. Tell me the time and place, and I will be there on time."
It's that same businesslike tone again.
Huo Yanli tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, finally unable to resist asking, "You... don't you have anything to ask?"
Song Zhiyi looked at him, a hint of doubt in her eyes: "What do you mean?"
What should we ask? How has the Huo family fared in the past two years? What are his thoughts on this marriage? What are their future plans?
Huo Yanli suddenly realized that he had asked a stupid question.
"It's nothing." He looked away and focused on driving.
Silence fell over the car again.
The city of Beijing outside the window looked gray and drab under the winter sun, a vast but indifferent metropolis of skyscrapers and bustling traffic. Looking out the window, Song Zhiyi suddenly murmured, "Beijing hasn't changed much."
Huo Yanli glanced at her: "And you? Have you changed a lot?"
Song Zhiyi paused, turned her head, and looked at her hands resting on her knees. They were very beautiful hands, with long, slender fingers and fair skin, but there were some fine calluses on her knuckles, probably from years of holding a pen and typing.
"It's alright," she replied softly. "Just doing what I had to do."
Do what needs to be done.
Huo Yanli recalled his uncle Huo Zheng's description and the scattered bits of information his grandfather had told him. He suddenly wanted to ask: Helping in the field hospital, mediating amidst gunfire, staying up all night at the negotiating table—was this what she "should do"?
But he didn't ask.
Because he knew that even if he asked, she would probably just say indifferently, "It's just work."
The car entered the city and got stuck in the tail end of the morning rush hour. While waiting at a red light, Huo Yanli glanced at Song Zhiyi. Her eyes were closed, her long eyelashes casting faint shadows under her eyelids, and her breathing was steady, as if she were asleep.
But the moment the light turned green and the car started moving, she opened her eyes again, her gaze clear and unwavering.
She just... didn't want to talk.
Or rather, they felt there was nothing to say.
Huo Yanli suddenly felt a tightness in his chest. He rolled down the car window, and a cold breeze rushed in, dispersing the stuffy air inside the car.
A gust of cold wind made Song Zhiyi instinctively pull her down jacket tighter, but she didn't say anything.
The car finally stopped in front of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs dormitory building. It was an old building with a dusty exterior. Several ordinary family cars were parked downstairs, and a few elderly people were sunbathing in the open space.
Very simple, very ordinary, and a good match for her.
Huo Yanli turned off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt: "We're here."
Song Zhiyi unbuckled her seatbelt, opened the car door, and got out. Huo Yanli took her suitcase from the trunk and handed it to her.
"Thank you." Song Zhiyi took the box, then took a small paper bag out of her down jacket pocket. "This... is for you."
Huo Yanli paused for a moment, then took the paper bag. Inside was a simply packaged box of chocolates, made in Switzerland, the very common kind.
"I bought it at the airport, just on the spur of the moment," Song Zhiyi explained, her tone still calm. "It's kind of... a thank you for picking me up."
Huo Yanli looked at the chocolate in his hand, then looked up at her. She stood there, pulling her suitcase, her down jacket hood askew, a few strands of hair clinging to her cheeks in the wind. She looked... very real, very ordinary, yet inexplicably... very distant.
"Is there anything else?" she asked.
Huo Yanli shook his head.
"Then I'll go upstairs." Song Zhiyi picked up her suitcase, turned around and walked towards the building entrance. After taking a few steps, she stopped and looked back at him.
At that moment, Huo Yanli thought she was going to say something—maybe a polite "goodbye," maybe about the specific time of the family dinner, or maybe something else.
But Song Zhiyi simply nodded to him, then turned around, swiped her card, and entered the building.
The figure disappeared into the dimly lit stairwell.
Huo Yanli stood there, still holding the box of chocolates in his hand. The winter sun was weak, offering little warmth.
He stared at the old building, at the closed unit door, and remained motionless for a long time.
Our first meeting in more than two years.
And that's how it ended.
Like strangers.
They were even more polite than strangers.
Huo Yanli lowered his head and opened the box of chocolates. The black foil packaging was very ordinary, probably only a few dozen yuan.
He took one out, peeled it open, and put it in his mouth.
It's very sweet, sickeningly sweet.
He frowned and threw the remaining chocolate, along with the paper bag, into the nearby trash can.
Then he turned around, got into the car, and started the engine.
The car drove away from the dormitory area and merged into the traffic.
In the rearview mirror, the old building grew farther and farther away, smaller and smaller, until it finally disappeared into the gaps between the tall buildings.
It's as if it never existed.
Huo Yanli gripped the steering wheel, looking at the road ahead.
The scene kept replaying in my mind—her calm face, her polite "thank you," and her retreating figure as she turned and left.
And then there was that line: "Thank you for your help, just take me to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs dormitory."
Yes, the dormitory.
It's not "home".
Never has been.
Huo Yanli stepped on the gas, the car accelerated, and drove towards his own world.
Two worlds.
They remain parallel.
Their paths crossed only briefly, a polite but distant exchange during a chance encounter.
"Thank you for your help."
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