Chapter 32

Jiang Sixun was all packed, with one large and one small suitcase. The big one held his personal belongings, and as his bodyguard carried them downstairs, he specifically instructed him to be extra careful with the smaller one.

Just as he grabbed his suit and was about to leave, his phone rang.

It was Qi Zhengchen, asking if Jiang was at home, as he’d be there in twenty minutes.

Jiang had already turned off the living room lights. “What’s the matter? Can’t you just say it over the phone?”

“It’s not something I can explain in a sentence or two.”

“Then your summarizing skills are seriously lacking.”

Qi chuckled, half amused, half exasperated. This was something important; he didn’t have time for banter. “You’re not leaving until tomorrow anyway. I’ll only take up thirty minutes of your time at most.”

Jiang glanced at his watch. “I can’t. I’m headed to Uncle Xu’s place, and I don’t want to disturb them too late.”

Qi had been ready to head out himself, car keys in hand, but hearing that, he tossed them back down and poured himself a glass of red wine instead.

Anytime it involved Xu Zhiyi, Qi couldn’t help but dig deeper. “What are you doing at Uncle Xu’s so late?”

Nearby, his wife Zhong Yanyue was having a late-night snack at the island in their kitchen, exhausted from work. She hadn’t had dinner, so she made a quick salad. Hearing her husband mention Xu Xiangyi, she glanced at him instinctively, only to see him sipping his wine, clearly not planning on going out after all.

“It’s already 10:30. By the time you get there, it’ll be past 11,” Qi noted, checking his watch again.

Jiang replied to his earlier question. “I’m going to see Zhiyi.”

People are funny sometimes. The more open someone is, the less suspicious they seem. Qi thought, He’s going to see Zhiyi this late—must be to discuss Shen Qingfeng.

Jiang stepped out of his apartment, heading to the elevator. “So, what did you need from me?” he asked again, patiently.

Qi, still stung by the jab about his lack of summarizing skills, decided to be succinct. He wanted to invest in a golf club, and to ensure everything went smoothly, he planned to run the funds through Jiang’s account.

“Zhiyi’s into golf now,” Qi added.

Zhong Yanyue, in the middle of her salad, almost looked up but stopped herself. Her husband never seemed to care about mentioning Xu Zhiyi in front of her.

Qi took another sip of wine and continued, “She often takes clients golfing.”

Jiang was silent as he entered the elevator.

Qi raised his voice slightly. “Hey? Can you hear me?”

“Bad signal. I’m in the elevator.”

“For all the money you spend on this place’s management fees, your elevator doesn’t even have signal coverage?”

“…”

Qi really had a knack for worrying about the wrong things.

Qi checked his watch, counting down the seconds. He’d been to Jiang’s place before—it took about 40 seconds to go from his floor to the garage.

“Zhiyi used to play badminton for over a decade. Now, because of me, she won’t touch it anymore.”

He didn’t care whether Jiang was listening or not. He just needed to say it, as if talking to a wall.

But Jiang heard every word loud and clear.

Qi glanced at his watch again. “You in the garage?”

“Yeah.”

The signal was even worse in the garage. Qi waited a few more minutes until he heard the sound of wind—Jiang’s car must’ve reached the surface. “I’ve pretty much closed the deal with the golf club. I’ll sign the agreement in the next few days.”

Jiang asked, “Why don’t you just have someone else run the funds? Why does it have to be my account?”

“I’m worried Zhiyi might find out one day.”

“Then don’t invest.”

“I can’t do that.”

“And you’re not even the slightest bit concerned about your wife?”

“We don’t interfere in each other’s lives.”

At that, Zhong Yanyue, who had been eating her salad, looked up again. That “we” clearly referred to her and her husband.

She put down her fork and went to the bedroom to wash up.

As she walked away, she could still hear her husband’s voice from the living room. “Yanyue’s got someone she likes. She doesn’t care what I do or who I care about.”

Jiang replied, “Seems like your desensitization therapy isn’t working too well.”

Qi cut him off, “Do me a favor and stop. I don’t need to be ‘desensitized.’ I’ve already been desensitized to the point of numbness.”

Whether Qi needed it or not wasn’t for Jiang to decide. Jiang casually mentioned that Zhiyi and Shang Yun were over. It was unlikely to work out between them unless Shang Yun didn’t care about their status.

Qi froze. “What happened?”

Jiang, now the one dodging, answered, “My summarizing skills are lacking. It’s not something I can explain in a sentence or two.”

Qi was speechless.

Jiang continued, “You might want to prepare yourself for this—if Zhiyi falls for me, what do you think I’ll do? Or have you ever thought about the fact that if I married her, I wouldn’t mind giving up my no-marriage rule?”

Qi Zhengchen’s heart skipped a beat. It seemed like the desensitization had left some scars—his back started to sweat, and a fine layer of perspiration formed on his forehead.

He had long suspected that Zhiyi had feelings for Jiang Shenghe, her mentor. Jiang had been the one to guide her for years, working closely with her day in and day out, and it wasn’t hard to imagine how feelings could develop.

Jiang Sixun must have figured this out too and was using himself as an example to help Qi get over it.

As long as it wasn’t Jiang Sixun, Qi could live with it.

Jiang’s voice came through the phone again, “Starting tomorrow, keep your marriage certificate on your desk as a reminder—you’re married.”

Qi didn’t like hearing such blunt words. “You wouldn’t understand the relationship between Zhiyi and me. It’s been over twenty years—our bond isn’t something a marriage certificate can define. Forget it. Go see Zhiyi.”

He hung up abruptly.

Jiang casually tapped the back of his phone a few times before opening the chat with Qi. He typed: “Zhiyi cares about you. She hopes you can live your own life well.”

Qi replied: “Tell her I’m doing fine.”

He added a reminder, “And whatever you do, don’t let it slip to her that I’m seeing a therapist.”

Jiang didn’t respond and simply tossed his phone aside.

At 11:25 PM, his car pulled up to Uncle Xu’s villa.

On the way, he’d called Xu Xiangyi to let him know he’d be staying the night, making it easier to head to the airport with Zhiyi in the morning.

Jiang had often stayed over at their place—he’d even lived with them for two years during high school. To Xu Xiangyi, Jiang was like one of his own children, so he told him over the phone, “Come on in, your aunt and I are going to bed now.”

The butler left the door unlocked for him, and Jiang had his larger suitcase sent to the guest room on the third floor while leaving the smaller one in the living room.

Once everything was settled, everyone else had gone to their own rooms, leaving Jiang alone in the living room.

Zhiyi messaged him: “Why’d you bring suitcases?”

She’d seen him unloading them from the trunk from her balcony on the second floor.

Jiang replied: “Uncle and Aunt Xu are home, so I’m staying the night.”

If it had just been Zhiyi at home, he wouldn’t have stayed.

“Come down. I’m in the living room.”

He was so straightforward that Zhiyi didn’t feel the need to hesitate. She hadn’t changed out of her green dress and gave herself a quick glance in the mirror before heading downstairs.

On the coffee table sat a beautifully painted gift box, featuring a Midsummer Night’s Dream design. The box was custom-made, and it wasn’t immediately clear what was inside.

Jiang gestured for her to open it. “It’s for you.”

“What’s the occasion?” Zhiyi asked, looking at him but not in any rush to open it.

“Six years ago, you said the birthday gift I gave you wasn’t special enough. So, I’m making up for it now,” he said, adding, “I bought it six years ago.”

“…Six years ago?”

He nodded.

Back then, the gift he had given her was a necklace, which she still had tucked away somewhere.

Zhiyi took a deep breath and carefully opened the box. Inside was a set of matching coffee cups and saucers.

She had once told him that cups weren’t something to be casually given between a man and a woman; only couples exchanged cups. He knew how much she valued this detail but had bought them anyway, without ever giving them to her.

Zhiyi was eager to know, “Back then, you knew I had a crush on someone, but you still bought them, which means it had nothing to do with who I liked. Why didn’t you give them to me in the end?”

Jiang looked at her but didn’t respond.

Zhiyi guessed the only possibility. “Did my second brother tell you he liked me?”

Jiang gave a slight nod. “I thought the person you had a crush on was Qi Zhengchen. You had his WeChat pinned, and when you came back to Beijing, you even kept his glass cup.”

He had once asked her if the person she liked was someone he knew. She’d said she wasn’t ready to tell, which only solidified his assumption.

Even though he knew the feelings were mutual between them, he still had the urge to compete for her affection.

The day before her birthday, he stared at those cups for over two hours, wrestling with his thoughts.

In the end, he decided to put the cups away. He couldn’t become the kind of man he despised.

Zhiyi’s fingers tightened around the edges of the box. “If I had been a little older back then, and if I had known you longer, things might’ve been different.”

At twenty, she didn’t have the courage to confess her feelings to a boss she’d only known for less than four months.

“When did you find out my second brother confessed to me?”

“Not long ago, actually. Earlier this year,” Jiang said. Qi Zhengchen had returned to the group’s headquarters and was no longer handling overseas markets. Jiang had casually asked him if he planned to have a long-distance relationship.

Long-distance relationships were tough, and over time, they usually broke down.

Qi had replied that Zhiyi had rejected him.

That’s when Jiang realized Qi had confessed years ago. From the time Zhiyi had graduated with her bachelor’s degree through her master’s, and even after she started working, Qi had waited, thinking that maybe after Zhiyi’s career settled down, they’d finally get together.

After being rejected, Qi never really recovered. It got so bad that he needed to see a therapist, but he stubbornly refused to let go of the hope that he and Zhiyi could repair their relationship and return to how things were before the confession. He hadn’t told anyone about his feelings until Jiang brought it up.

When Zhiyi was pursuing her master’s, Qi was always at her university in Boston. They often ate together, and to others, they looked like a couple. Whether he confessed or not didn’t change how much they cared for each other.

Jiang had thrown himself into work to keep busy and decided to reenter the Lu family’s internal power struggle.

His father had distanced himself from the Lu family’s power center years ago, leaving the core industries in the hands of his uncles for more than twenty years. Now, with the ambitious Shen Qingfeng in the mix, Jiang knew that reclaiming a foothold in the family would be a monumental challenge, one that required careful planning, step by step.

For six years, he had been meticulously planning, especially in the last two. Almost all his energy and focus had been directed towards the Lu family’s affairs, making him a frequent resident of London and Hong Kong.

Looking back on those years, it appeared as though he was clear-headed and dedicated to his career, firmly sticking to his decision of avoiding love and marriage. Yet, in reality, he had been living in a daze, drifting through life like a man lost in dreams.

After so many years immersed in the business world, he had grown numb, forgetting that he had once felt jealousy and passion for someone.

It wasn’t until Zhiyi confessed her feelings that those long-buried emotions, restrained by time, distance, and self-control, began to resurface. He had been 26 when he first liked her.

That felt like a lifetime ago.

Between them, there had always been Qi Zhengchen, stuck in his own suffering.

For years, their conversations had revolved solely around work, both of them fully aware of the other’s professional life, but on a personal level, they had become strangers.

But today, when she playfully kicked him twice in the café, everything suddenly came alive again.

Zhiyi clutched her coffee cup in silence for what felt like forever.

“Go to bed early, we’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow,” Jiang Sixun said softly as he ruffled her hair before heading upstairs.

Sleep was out of the question.

Zhiyi took the coffee cup and carefully placed it in her tea cabinet.

She stood in front of the cabinet for over ten minutes, quietly gazing at the cups and saucers, her mind completely blank.

Back in her room, she sat on the sofa for a long time. Absentmindedly, she tied her long hair into a loose bun, ready to take a shower, when she remembered—she hadn’t even thanked Jiang Sixun for his gift.

She searched for her phone. It wasn’t in the bedroom.

After thinking for a moment, she realized she must have left it on the coffee table in the living room.

As she headed downstairs to retrieve it, she heard a noise halfway down the spiral staircase. Startled, she turned around. There, standing between the second and third floors, was Jiang Sixun, dressed in a black shirt. From this angle, they could clearly see each other.

He was still wearing his clothes from earlier that afternoon, just like her. Neither of them had taken a shower.

“I’m just grabbing a bottle of cold water,” Jiang said.

Zhiyi nodded. “I’m looking for my phone—I think I left it downstairs.”

As she spoke, she unconsciously stepped back down a stair, holding onto the heavy metal railing.

Jiang looked at her from above. Her hair was tied up messily, with a few loose strands falling near her ears.

The villa’s staircase had been designed to her taste—a French-style spiral staircase that wound down from the third floor. Several vintage crystal chandeliers were arranged perfectly, hanging from above.

Zhiyi stood under one of the chandeliers at that moment, bathed in its warm glow. The layered crystal tassels sparkled with a luxurious brilliance, and she, dressed in a green slip dress, stood amidst the light, so stunning that she seemed almost unreal.

“Don’t walk backward—you might miss a step,” Jiang warned her.

‘Zhiyi, why don’t you look forward?’

‘Because I’m walking backward—I can’t see what’s ahead.’

Back then, he hadn’t known she liked him. He had always advised her to stop chasing and look ahead.

Both of them momentarily lost in thought, they quickly snapped back to the present.

“Wait for me,” Jiang said.

Zhiyi assumed he had something important to say, so she leaned against the railing, waiting for him.

As he approached her, she asked, “What is it you want to say?”

“Nothing,” Jiang replied.

It turned out he had simply wanted to walk downstairs with her. As they descended together, Zhiyi took a step ahead of him, moving in front.

Suddenly, she realized her hair was tied up, leaving much of her back exposed.

She felt awkward for about five or six seconds before regaining her usual grace.

Once on the first floor, Jiang went to the kitchen for water while Zhiyi searched for her phone in the living room.

It wasn’t on the coffee table, so she moved over to the tea cabinet and found it resting there. She grabbed it and headed back.

Jiang stood at the foot of the stairs, holding a half-empty bottle of sparkling water, watching her as she walked towards him.

Back in her room, sleep was even more elusive. The next morning, she dragged herself to the airport, dark circles under her eyes, barely making her flight.

At the airport terminal, she felt someone staring at her. Too focused on discussing her latest project with Jiang, she didn’t notice anyone else.

“President Shen?” her assistant called.

Shen Qingfeng turned away and adjusted her sunglasses.

Her flight to London was in an hour and a half. What a coincidence, running into Jiang Sixun and Zhiyi here at the airport. Over the past few years, she hadn’t had any direct encounters with Zhiyi, and today was the first time she had seen her up close. Zhiyi’s aura was nearly identical to He Yian’s.

Back then, the only woman Shen had ever considered her equal in beauty was He Yian. But now, after taking a closer look at Zhiyi, Shen had to admit that Zhiyi had surpassed both of them.

Jiang Yue wasn’t bad-looking either, but the eldest daughter of the Jiang family had such a fierce presence that it overshadowed her beauty.

Shen turned to her assistant. “What do you think Jiang Sixun’s relationship with Zhiyi is?”

The assistant glanced at the two walking ahead, maintaining a respectful distance from each other with no signs of intimacy. “Haven’t they always had a boss-subordinate relationship?”

If anything, the only notable connection was that their families were close, so naturally, the two of them would be somewhat closer than ordinary colleagues.

“Maybe,” Shen mused.

They both headed to check-in.