Chapter 13:

Mu Jinpei finally saw Ji Xingyao’s chafed foot as she was changing shoes—both her ankle and heel were rubbed raw, with a patch of skin nearly torn off and faint traces of blood seeping out.

Her feet were pale and delicate, so translucent that fine blue veins were visible. The wounded spots stood out sharply.

“And you said it wasn’t broken.” He bent down and grabbed the ankle of the foot she was about to put into a shoe.

Ji Xingyao was startled by the sudden movement. She looked up abruptly, her forehead brushing past the side of his face. Skin touched skin—who knew whose warmth flared and whose face cooled.

Her foot was still in his hand. The atmosphere turned strange and awkward.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt. What girl hasn’t had their foot rubbed raw by shoes?” She tried to keep her tone casual and natural.

The driver’s side door opened, and the driver got out.

Mu Jinpei gestured to her, “Let me see your left foot.”

Ji Xingyao replied, “The left shoe fits fine. No blisters.”

Soon, the driver returned with a medical kit from the trunk.

Ji Xingyao disinfected the wound and applied a bandage herself. Mu Jinpei offered to help, but she refused.

Then Mu Jinpei decided they wouldn’t go for a late-night meal after all. He instructed the driver to take them back to Ji Xingyao’s apartment. “I’ll treat you next time.”

Ji Xingyao said, “I’m not that delicate. I can walk just fine. You’ve probably never seen how messed up a ballerina’s feet get.”

Mu Jinpei explained, “It’s not that. I just don’t have time for supper tonight.”

Ji Xingyao didn’t say more. She leaned her head against the window, watching the stream of cars outside. Something between her and Mu Jinpei was quietly shifting—so subtly it caught her off guard.

—

In mid-December, another wave of cold air hit. The outdoor temperature dropped to minus eight degrees Celsius.

That evening, Ji Xingyao was set to attend a party with Tang Jialai. She had arranged for her stylist to do her makeup at home by early evening. It was already 3 PM when she packed up her work desk to return to her apartment.

Three weeks had passed, and her piece Starry Skies 4 was halfway done. The state she was in while painting her focus, her feelings—was something she’d never experienced with previous works.

The easel beside hers remained blank.

That was the canvas Mu Jinpei had planned to use for painting a still-life vase last month, yet it remained untouched.

Since the auction night, she hadn’t seen Mu Jinpei in over 20 days. He’d called once, saying he was swamped with end-of-year work and had business trips lined upon time to visit.

He hadn’t mentioned when he’d be free.

She had a feeling he wouldn’t return to the studio before the Lunar New Year. The M.K. Group had too much going on, and he still had to fly back to New York to spend Christmas with his family, followed by New Year’s and then Spring Festival.

Ji Xingyao messaged Uncle Zhang for a coffee to-go while locking up and heading downstairs.

The studio had top-tier coffee machines and beans, so Zhang didn’t understand why she suddenly wanted takeout coffee—it would affect the flavor.

“If you’re too busy, I can make it for you,” he offered.

Ji Xingyao replied, “No need. I just want to try something different.”

Zhang didn’t say any more and started the car.

The coffee was hot. Ji Xingyao unscrewed the lid and blew gently.

In an instant, the rich aroma filled the car.

She hadn’t had coffee in over 20 days. One sip disappointing.

Ever since Mu Jinpei stopped coming to the studio, the coffee machine hadn’t been used. After getting used to his brews, she found even her own coffee hard to swallow.

She and the stylist arrived at her apartment at roughly the same time. The stylist was borrowed again from her mother’s team. After working together several times, they developed a tacit understanding.

The stylist no longer suggested she change her watch. Clearly, that watch held special meaning for Ji Xingyao. This time, she’d chosen a pair of gray high heels for her.

But Ji Xingyao had no plans to wear them. “I’m sticking with flats,” she said, reaching into the most prominent spot in her shoe cabinet and pulling out a pair of colorful flat shoes.

The stylist glanced at them. Aside from being expensive, there was nothing else remarkable about them—and they clashed terribly with her gown.

Still, Ji Xingyao insisted. “I’m wearing these,” she explained. “Heels are torture. Last time, my feet were rubbed raw.”

The stylist suggested, “What about a mid-heel? Three or four centimeters—it won’t hurt at all. Feels just like flats, but they look better with the gown.”

In all her styling experience, she had rarely seen anyone pair haute couture with flat shoes. Especially not such plain-looking flats. She couldn’t imagine who had the eye to pick them.

It wasn’t just the stylist—Tang Jialai couldn’t help but comment as soon as she saw them: “Xingyao, what were you thinking wearing those shoes?”

As Ji Xingyao linked arms with her and walked toward the banquet hall, she laughed. “Ugly?”

Tang Jialai gave her a “What do you think?” look. “Don’t tell me Uncle Ji gave them to you.”

Ji Xingyao shook her head quickly, then paused and said, “Needed a pair last minute. My assistant bought them. She didn’t say whose assistant.

Tang Jialai looked relieved. “That makes more sense.” Then, as an afterthought, she asked, “But with all the shoes you own, why insist on these?”

Ji Xingyao explained, “It’s not like I’m going on a blind date. No need to show off.”

She looked down at her shoes again. Okay, yeah—not great.

But also… not terrible.

When Chu Zheng bought those shoes, he’d only said one thing:
“Your most expensive pair of flats in size 37.”

That night, Ji Xingyao and Tang Jialai were inseparable, like conjoined twins. After a quick greeting to the birthday host, they grabbed some desserts and found a place to chat.

To avoid interruption, they spoke in French.

Once the party was fully underway, Tang Jialai noticed the guests included not just young people but also several older guests.

She spotted her own father, Tang Hongkang, and Chairman Qi from RuiChen Group. She put down her dessert, dubbed her lips with a napkin, and tapped Ji Xingyao’s arm. “Let’s go somewhere more private—I just saw my dad.”

“Where?”

“By the entrance.”

Ji Xingyao turned and saw several older guests. Thankfully, not her own father, Ji Changsheng. She grabbed her wine glass and quickly walked away with Tang Jialai.

Tang Hongkang presented his gift and asked the host, “Has Jialai arrived yet?”

“She came early,” the host replied. “She’s with Xingyao.”

Tang Hongkang looked around but couldn’t spot his daughter.

Soon, the birthday girl’s parents came to greet him, and he didn’t have time to keep searching.

After the pleasantries, Tang Hongkang and Chairman Qi moved to the elders’ lounge. The room was filled with distinguished guests from all sectors.

“What are you looking for?” Chairman Qi noticed Tang Hongkang kept glancing around the banquet hall distractedly.

Tang Hongkang sighed. “I’m looking for Jialai. I had a blind date arranged for her tonight, and she’s run off somewhere with Xingyao.”

Chairman Qi laughed. “You and Ji Changsheng must be hitting menopause—always worrying about the kids. Just the other day, Ji called me asking if I knew any decent boys to introduce to Xingyao.”

Tang Hongkang rubbed his brow, exasperated. “What else can we do? The New Year’s almost here, and Jialai will be thirty. She’s still not dating anyone—it’s killing me.”

As for Xingyao, “She’s even worse. All she does is paint. Zero social life. Jialai’s the only one she ever spends time with. These kids don’t consider how we feel. They call it ‘living for themselves.’”

“Unlike you—no worries at all.”

Chairman Qi joked, “What do you mean no worries? That son of mine is useless—you all know that.”

Tang Hongkang said, “But at least you’ve got a great daughter-in-law. Xu Rui is such a blessing.”

That was true.

In fact, Xu Rui was Chairman Qi’s only real source of comfort. She and Qi Chen were about the same age and had grown up together. She’d been well-behaved and clever since childhood.

At that time, he had wanted to take Xu Rui home and raise her like a daughter. His wife also adored Xu Rui and had even wished they could swap Qi Chen out and send him to the Xu family instead.

At least now, Xu Rui has finally become their daughter-in-law.

Tang Hongkang took a few sips of tea, which was visibly frustrating. “Arrange a one-on-one blind date for her, and she’ll come up with a hundred excuses not to go. I thought maybe she’d cooperate in a crowd, but no—still uncooperative.”

“You’re just making things worse like this,” Chairman Qi advised. “Isn’t your Ji Group’s year-end gala coming up? Just invite them both to that. Don’t pressure them, maybe if they don’t feel forced, they’ll actually talk to someone naturally.”

Tang Hongkang nodded—he didn’t have any better ideas.

After a bit of small talk, Chairman Qi got to the point. “I tried pulling some strings to set up a meeting with Mu Jinpei, but no luck. This young man’s even harder to pin down than his father.”

Tang Hongkang simply replied, “Like father, like son.”

—

Out in the hallway outside the banquet hall—

Ji Xingyao and Tang Jialai had asked the driver to bring their coats. The two stood by the window with wine glasses in their hands.

“Jialai-jie, can I ask you something?” Ji Xingyao turned around and leaned against the windowsill.

Tang Jialai smiled. “What could I possibly know that you don’t?”

“Plenty,” Ji Xingyao replied frankly. “Have you ever pursued someone?”

Tang Jialai swirled her red wine. After a few seconds, she said, “I’ve hovered on the edge of going to him.”

“Hm?” Ji Xingyao was surprised. She thought she’d misheard.

Tang Jialai gazed out at the dark night sky—deep and endless.

Her voice was soft. “Switching to M.K. was partly for him. I don’t know how it’ll turn out.” She confessed, “He’s Mu Jinpei’s cousin—Xie Yuncheng, Executive Vice President of M.K. Group.”

Ji Xingyao took a moment to digest that. M.K.’s headquarters was in Manhattan, and its core business was in Europe and the U.S., so if Xie Yuncheng was the EVP, he was mostly based in New York.

“Why didn’t you apply for a position at M.K. headquarters? Odds of seeing him in Beijing are pretty much zero.”

Tang Jialai opened her mouth but hesitated, unsure how to explain.

Ji Xingyao understood. “So, you’ve known Xie Yuncheng for a while?”

Tang Jialai nodded. “Yeah, for a few years now.”

Ji Xingyao didn’t press further. She raised her glass. “Hope everything works out. I’m waiting for your wedding candy.”

Tang Jialai smiled. “I’ll take your blessing.” Then she looked outside again and suddenly frowned. “Hey, Xingyao, look—is that snow?”

It really was snowing.

Light flakes drifted from the sky.

Soft snow fell and melted instantly.

—

Just as Mu Jinpei stepped off the plane and into the car, the snow had begun to fall. He had no interest in the scenery, rubbing his temples hard—his headaches had been intense these past few days, like his head might explode.

He told Chu Zheng, “Go to the hospital.”

—

It snowed all night. By morning, the whole city was blanketed in white. The sky was clear, but the cold wind was bone-chilling.

The drive to the hospital took over an hour due to traffic. Mu Jinpei texted Luo Song:
[Are you busy this morning? I’m picking up my scans at the hospital—might stop by your office after.]
He had undergone tests the previous night and was scheduled to meet the neurosurgery director today.

Luo Song didn’t have clinic hours that day and had surgery scheduled at 10 AM, so he wasn’t busy. He replied in surprise:
[What scans?]

Mu Jinpei:
[Did a series of brain scans at your hospital.]

A trip that should’ve taken 30 minutes ended up taking two hours. After finishing with the neurosurgeon, Mu Jinpei went to find Luo Song.

“How’d it goes?” Luo Song asked.

Mu Jinpei placed the scans on his desk. “Nothing wrong.”

Luo Song said, “It’s all in your head. Once you’re back in New York for a while, it’ll ease up. This only happens when you’re in Beijing.”

Mu Jinpei grunted in agreement. Maybe the headaches had started because he hadn’t been to Ji Xingyao’s studio in a while.

Luo Song looked through the scans. “You came yesterday and didn’t even tell me.”

Mu Jinpei pulled out a chair and sat down. “It wasn’t a big deal, and you’re always busy.”

Luo Song made tea for them—just tossed leaves into a cup and poured hot water. “Bare minimum, but next time come to my place on the weekend and I’ll make it properly.”

The tea was hot. Mu Jinpei set the cup aside. “I’m not picky. If it tastes like tea, it’s fine.” Then he added, “My flight to New York is at noon. I’ll visit after the new year.”

Luo Song asked, “Didn’t you say you’d leave next week? Why the change?” He had planned to invite Mu Jinpei over for dinner this weekend—guess that’d have to wait until after the holidays.

Mu Jinpei replied, “My dad’s idea.”

He’d originally planned to leave next week. This period had been packed—he’d even had to go on a business trip to France. Only now had things calmed down, but just that morning, his father called and said he’d already arranged a flight for him and his mother.

Honestly, his father probably just wanted to see his mother sooner. He’d been wanting to come to Beijing, but work had kept him tied up.

Luo Song poured himself a glass of warm water and sat at his desk. “Coming back in January?”

Mu Jinpei said, “Not sure.” It could be February. Hard to say. Several holidays were clustered together this year, and M.K. headquarters still had a lot for him to handle.

Then he asked, “How’s Ji Xingyao doing lately?”

Luo Song paused before he even remembered who she was—that painter. “She seems fine. Hasn’t been back since. Weren’t you planning to sign her as a represented artist? That done yet?”

Mu Jinpei replied, “Not yet. We couldn’t agree on the price.”

Luo Song was surprised. Mu Jinpei was always decisive and efficient. When had he ever dragged his feet like this? It wasn’t his style. “There’s actually a deal you can’t close?”

There was a moment of silence.

Mu Jinpei said, “This one’s tricky.” Neither he nor Ji Xingyao was willing to back down, so they’d hit a stalemate.

Luo Song suddenly understood and half-joked, “Looks like you’re about to break your no-compromise streak.”

Mu Jinpei didn’t respond. He stared into his cup of tea. In truth, the longer their negotiations dragged on, the more he was already conceding—just by letting her stand firm on her terms.

After finishing the tea, he checked the time. “You’re busy—I should get to the airport.”

Traffic outside was still terrible. The car crawled along in fits and starts.

Mu Jinpei gazed out at the rows of tall buildings. In the distance, he could make out the building where Ji Xingyao’s studio was—the one on the top floor, in the far north corner.

As the car turned left, the building disappeared.

He wasn’t really in the mood to look out the window. Leaning back, he closed his eyes to rest. Strangely, a number popped into his mind—23.

He’d been so busy lately that even rest had become a luxury. Yet somehow, he still remembered—it had been 23 days since he last visited her studio.