Chapter 15 The old man always mentions it
Time flows over the rocks like a stream, neither fast nor slow, yet it changes the landscape imperceptibly.
Two years.
For the Beijing entertainment circle, two years is enough time for a lot to happen: several companies go public and then delist, several families marry and then divorce, and several storms rise and then subside. But for Huo Yanli, the biggest change in these two years seems to be the addition of a wife who exists legally but is absent in reality.
He still lives in that top-floor apartment in the CBD with a view of the Forbidden City, still gets up at seven every morning to go to the gym, and arrives at the office at eight-thirty to deal with endless documents and meetings. On weekends, he occasionally plays golf with Ji Yun and the others, or goes to a horse farm in the suburbs. His life is as precise as a Swiss clock, down to the second.
Only on the first of each month, a bank SMS notification will ring precisely on time—100,000 yuan will be transferred to the account named "Song Zhiyi". Then, around the fifth of each month, the finance department will routinely send an email reporting: the funds have arrived, and the account balance remains unchanged.
It has never changed.
At first, Huo Yanli would frown, but later he stopped even frowning. He told himself that this was for the best. She didn't want money, didn't contact him, and didn't bother him—perfectly matching his expectations for this marriage.
Only occasionally—very occasionally—when he finished work late at night and stood alone in front of the floor-to-ceiling window smoking, he would think of the morning sunlight at the Civil Affairs Bureau that day, of her straight back as she turned to leave, and of the calm and natural tone in which she said, "Sorry, I have to catch a flight."
Then he would put out the cigarette and tell himself: It doesn't matter.
The only occasions where he could actually hear some news about Song Zhiyi were when he returned to the old house each month to have dinner with his grandfather.
The old man's health fluctuated, but his spirits remained high. Especially in the last two years, every time Huo Yanli returned, the old man would find an opportunity to mention that "Zhiyi girl."
"Zhiyi did a good job at the Geneva peace forum last month." At a dinner table, the old man, wearing reading glasses and scrolling through the news on his tablet, suddenly spoke up, "The Ministry of Foreign Affairs internally commended her, saying that her translation was accurate and that she also facilitated several key consensuses during the informal consultations."
Huo Yanli was serving soup to the old man when he paused, asking, "How did you know?"
"Your Grandpa Wang saw the document at the Bureau of Retired Cadres." The old man took the soup bowl and blew on it to cool it down. "The old folks like to get together and talk about these things all the time. They all know whose child is successful."
Huo Yanli remained silent. He knew that the "Grandpa Wang" the old man was referring to was the former Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs, who, although retired, still had excellent access to information.
Another month has passed.
"Zhiyi assisted with the evacuation of Chinese citizens in Lebanon and barely slept for three days." The old man heard this from his old comrade-in-arms. "After the last group of Chinese citizens were safely evacuated, she was so exhausted that she fell asleep on a chair at the airport. There are photos; Lao Liu showed them to me."
Huo Yanli's hand, which was holding a piece of food, froze in mid-air: "What photo?"
"He was just sleeping, leaning against the wall, holding a backpack in his hands." The old man sighed, "That kid, he's too hardworking."
He put the food into his bowl and didn't ask any more questions.
Later, more and more news came in.
"Zhiyi received the 'Outstanding Young Diplomat' award."
"At an emergency meeting of the United Nations, Zhiyi corrected a translation error made by a representative of a certain country on the spot, thus avoiding a diplomatic misunderstanding."
"Zhiyi is helping out at the field hospital, and I heard she even saved a child..."
It was always the same. The old man relayed fragmented information to him like a news broadcaster. Huo Yanli never asked questions, but he listened silently.
Sometimes he wondered: Why didn't she tell him these things herself? Even just by sending an email and saying something like, "Have you been doing well at work lately?"
Then he would laugh at himself: Why should I tell you? Didn't you agree not to bother each other?
This subtle sense of contradiction, like a thin thread, lingers in my heart; it doesn't hurt, but its presence is palpable.
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