Chapter 35:

They rushed overnight to a small town where Mu Jinpei had already arranged a place for them to stay. This town had once been quite famous in the last century, attracting many people chasing dreams of fortune.

Now, it had long since faded from memory.

The buildings in town were weathered and old. There weren’t many people, and even fewer young ones.

They stayed on the third floor, facing the street.

Ji Xingyao stood on the balcony, looking at an old clock tower not far away, shrouded in the quiet mystery of night.

When she was little and didn’t want to sleep, Uncle Zhang would tell her bedtime stories. If there was a clock tower in the story, there was always a cute little elf in it.

She once asked Uncle Zhang what the elf looked like.

Uncle Zhang had said, “Just like our Yaoyao.”

She’d be happy for the rest of the night, and even dreamed of those little elves.

Thinking of Uncle Zhang, Ji Xingyao gave him a call. She hadn’t had the chance to share the good news about the proposal yet. He hadn’t come along on this trip—she’d given him a few days off to rest.

It was still daytime in Beijing. Valentine’s Day.

Uncle Zhang, out of habit, had unknowingly driven to the studio building. Delivery guys carrying flowers came and went, and he stared at the roses in a daze.

Looking back on his life, raising Xingyao was all he had.

Just then, her call came in, snapping him out of it.

Ji Xingyao greeted him briefly before excitedly telling him that Mu Jinpei had proposed. There was silence on the line for a long moment—she knew he must be overwhelmed with joy, but also a little sad and lost. Like a father watching his daughter get married—happy, yet unable to feel it fully.

“Our Yaoyao’s all grown up now,” Uncle Zhang finally managed to say.

He hadn’t expected Mu Jinpei to propose. After the initial shock, he tried to think positively—maybe, if Mu Jinpei and Xingyao’s love grew deep enough, he too would slowly let go of the hatred in his heart.

“Uncle Zhang, guess what I’m looking at right now?” Ji Xingyao teased. “I’m in a very old town, and all the buildings here are really old too.”

Uncle Zhang could guess. When she was younger, his stories always began with, “In a small old town…” He said, “You’re looking at a clock tower, right?”

Ji Xingyao chuckled, “You got it. It’s a beautiful clock tower. If I’d known earlier, I would’ve brought you along.” This was the longest time she’d ever been apart from him.

She had long grown used to being away from her parents—but not from Uncle Zhang.

“Uncle Zhang, did you get out and walk around today?”

Uncle Zhang lied, “I’m wandering the streets and alleys.”

Ji Xingyao called him out, “Liar. How could the streets in Beijing be that quiet? You’re downstairs at the studio again, aren’t you?”

“No, just tidying up the studio,” he replied, tongue-tied as always. He didn’t know what else to say, and after a few words of caution, hung up.

Ji Xingyao set her phone aside, resting her chin on her hands as she stared out the window.

Mu Jinpei came out from his shower and saw her on the balcony, gazing at the clock tower. “Not cold?”

She snapped out of her thoughts and shook her head.

“What were you thinking about?”

“A secret.” She smiled.

She had been thinking about the stories Uncle Zhang used to tell her when she was little. Most of the plots she’d long forgotten—only a few happy or sad fragments remained.

She wondered if he still remembered them. If he did, and one day she and Mu Jinpei had kids, maybe Uncle Zhang could tell those stories to them, too.

That would be lovely.

Mu Jinpei closed the window and pulled the curtains shut. “It’s late. Go to sleep. We’ll be on the road all day tomorrow.”

“I’m okay. Not tired,” Ji Xingyao said, raising her hand and playing with a drop of water from his hair between her fingers. “I have so much inspiration right now, I wish I had four hands—so I could paint several pieces a day.”

“No rush. Take your time,” Mu Jinpei said as he laid out the blanket and gestured for her to come to bed.

Ji Xingyao crawled over from his side of the bed. “It’s not about rushing,” she sighed. “When I start painting, I’ll end up neglecting you.”

Mu Jinpei replied, “As long as you don’t neglect me when you’re not painting.” He turned off the lights.

The town was incredibly quiet. The room wasn’t soundproof—every passing car downstairs was clearly audible.

Mu Jinpei held her in his arms, and Ji Xingyao naturally wrapped herself around him. Everything they did tonight felt right and effortless.

Through the slight gap in the curtains, she could make out the faint outline of his face. His eyes blended into the darkness, and even though she knew danger might lie behind them, she still didn’t want to wake up from this dream.

She hooked her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Back at the studio that night, Mu Jinpei had barely held back. Tonight, he allowed himself a brief, indulgent moment to just be himself—to forget all the grudges, the schemes, the bitterness.

He was simply himself. And Ji Xingyao was just Ji Xingyao—not anyone’s daughter.

In this moment, they were just a normal couple.

He lowered his head and kissed her lips.

When hormones met romance, it was impossible to stop.

Mu Jinpei tried to push all the past away and simply love her—but the brain doesn’t follow commands. Just because he didn’t want to think about it, it didn’t mean he could forget.

He kissed her hard, pouring all of his love into her. He hoped she could pull him out of that inferno of hatred—just for a moment would be enough.

For Mu Jinpei, this intimacy was a tangled mix of love and hate, pain and release. For Ji Xingyao, it was a fusion of body and soul, attachment and desire.

In the end, Mu Jinpei held her tightly in his arms, and Ji Xingyao whispered his name into his ear. In that moment, he truly felt like he had stepped out of the hellfire.

So this was what beauty in the world felt like.

But for him, such beauty was like fireworks—brilliant and breathtaking, but fleeting and unreachable. It vanished into the ash as quickly as it appeared.

The room gradually quieted.

Mu Jinpei still held Ji Xingyao close. The solid feeling of her in his arms made him believe this wasn’t just a dream.

Ji Xingyao, exhausted, didn’t find it comfortable being held so tightly—it was hard to breathe—but being embraced like this made her feel safe.

Tired and drowsy, she fell asleep in his arms.

In the distance, the ancient clock tower chimed.

Twelve times. Midnight.

It was a special day, Valentine’s Day. The clock tower striking twelve.

Mu Jinpei kissed her lightly on the eyelids. “I love you.”

Ji Xingyao was already deep in sleep.

The next day, they had a simple breakfast in town and hit the road again.

Ji Xingyao asked to drive that day—she wanted to experience the road trip for herself.

Mu Jinpei hesitated. “Are you feeling, okay?”

Ji Xingyao: “…Not bad.” When she first got out of bed, she felt awful—like she’d run over, sore everywhere. But after walking around the morning market, she was feeling better.

“I’ll drive. It’s fine.”

Mu Jinpei didn’t want to ruin her mood, so he agreed. “Just don’t go too fast.”

“Don’t worry. Even if I wanted to go fast, I don’t have the guts,” Ji Xingyao joked as she adjusted her seat and started the engine, putting on a cheerful country song.

The SUV turned back onto Highway 50 at a pace of about 40–50 km/h. The car was slow, the scenery slow, the music light. Other than in traffic jams, Mu Jinpei hadn’t experienced this kind of slow rhythm in years.

For a long stretch, neither of them said anything. They just soaked in the quiet, counting what they had.

Further down the road, they passed a lake. Ji Xingyao slowly pulled over, rolled down the window. The early spring breeze was still a bit chilly—

But refreshingly pleasant.

Mu Jinpei turned to her. “Tired? I’ll drive the rest of the way.”

“Not tired,” Ji Xingyao said as she reclined the seat. “It’d be such a waste not to take in scenery this beautiful.” She opened the sunroof. “Look at that cloud—it feels like you could just reach out and touch it.”

As she spoke, she actually reached her hand out.

No matter how close it looked, it was still out of reach.

“Since it’s Valentine’s Day today, I’m giving you a special little gift,” she said, turning to look at him. “You can make any request or wish, and I’ll make it come true on the spot.”

Mu Jinpei met her gaze. “My wish is too extravagant.”

Ji Xingyao didn’t think so. “What could be more extravagant than making me fall in love with you? And look, I already have. All of you. The good and the not-so-good.”

She shot him with a playful look. “Come on, make a wish. There’s nothing I can’t do.”

Mu Jinpei held her hand in his. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to make a wish—it was just too much to ask. His extravagant wish was: Could you just not forget me?

In the end, he said nothing and pointed up at the sunroof, signaling her to enjoy the view.

Ji Xingyao glanced upward, misunderstanding his intent. “You want a cloud, huh?” Though it was a bit tricky, she had an idea. “If I pull it off, will you talk to me about what’s in your heart?”

Of course, she was half-joking. She didn’t actually expect him to open up.

Her father had been like that too—always bearing things alone, only showing her and her mother the easy, cheerful side. No matter what problems the company faced, he never let it show.

Men were probably just like that.

“Just wait,” she said. “A little cloud from the sky is coming your way.”

Ji Xingyao got out of the car and went to the back vehicle. She asked the driver for a throw pillow, removed the stuffing—it was fluffy, white, soft, and puffy.

Using a hair tie and some clips, she shaped the stuffing into a cloud. Then she added a blue outline and drew eyes and a smiling face on it.

In less than ten minutes, the little cloud was done.

Mu Jinpei stayed in the car, not sure what weird idea she was up to now.

Ji Xingyao handed the cloud to one of the bodyguards and explained how to help her, “When I say the magic words, drop this through the sunroof.”

The bodyguard: “…”

Ji Xingyao returned to the front car. Mu Jinpei, seeing her come back empty-handed in such a short time, assumed she must not have come up with anything good. He tried to change the subject. “Want to keep watching the scenery?”

“Of course,” Ji Xingyao leaned back in her seat. “Didn’t I say I’d give you a little cloud? Just wait. Once I say the magic words, it’ll appear.”

She cleared her throat dramatically and, looking up at the sunroof, said in French: “Mu Jinpei, je t’aime, pour bonjours.” (Mu Jinpei, I love you, forever.)

The bodyguard, hearing the cue, walked over and dropped the little cloud through the sunroof—right into Mu Jinpei’s lap.

He picked up the not-so-polished pillow, roughly shaped like a cloud. But the eyes and smiles drawn on it made it charming.

He turned and pulled her into his arms, his voice husky. “Thank you.”

And as for those French words—he understood them.

In his arms, Ji Xingyao enjoyed the quiet moment. “I saw a pretty lakeside when I got out. Let’s go take a look.”

They put on their jackets and walked toward the lake. It felt like a forgotten place, untouched by the world, everything in its original state. A tree by the lake had a broken branch that had split off in a storm, but over time, new branches had grown. The snapped one still hung there, its bark rotting, untouched by anyone.

“Wait here. I’m going to grab a Swiss Army knife from the car,” Ji Xingyao said, jogging off to the back vehicle. She asked the driver for the knife and quickly returned.

“What are you going to do with that?” Mu Jinpei had long given up trying to keep up with her logic.

She pointed to the broken branch. “I’m going to make a wish on it. When it comes true, we’ll come back here again.” She smiled. “Might take a few years. Hopefully no one cuts off that broken branch in the meantime.”

“What kind of wish?” Mu Jinpei walked over.

“You stay back—you can’t see it. It’s a secret,” Ji Xingyao said, pushing him away. “Hope it comes true soon.” She covered her carving with her hand; afraid he might sneak a peek.

Mu Jinpei stood about five meters away, only able to see her hands moving the knife and occasionally blowing away wood shavings.

He didn’t disturb her, taking a quiet walk around the lake instead.

More than an hour passed, and she still wasn’t finished.

He couldn’t guess how long the wish was—or what it was about.

Maybe… it had something to do with him.

An hour and a half later, Ji Xingyao shook out her wrist, finally done. She read over what she had carved and was pretty satisfied with her little project.

She put away her tools. “Come on, I’ll walk the lake with you.”

He’d already circled the lake once, but she’d been completely absorbed in her carving, unaware of what he had been doing.

Fingers intertwined, they walked hand in hand. It was so quiet—it felt like they were the only two people left in the world.

“I haven’t seen you smile yet,” she said.

She looked at the serene, blue lake. “Sometimes I wonder what your smile looks like. I’ve wanted to paint it but never knew where to begin.”

“Managing M.K… must be a lot of pressure, right?”

Mu Jinpei replied, “Of course there’s pressure.” He paused for a few seconds. “Internally—within M.K. and even our family—it’s nothing like what outsiders see. All that harmony is just for show. My mom and aunt haven’t spoken in years. Our family is… too complicated.”

Ji Xingyao was surprised. She hadn’t expected him to open up. “I could sense it, from the way you interact with Xie Yuncheng.” She gripped his hand tighter. “From now on, don’t carry everything alone. You have me too. Don’t forget—when you’re up there, I’m right there with you. Just turn around, and you’ll see me.”