Chapter 32:

Ji Xingyao’s phone was with Uncle Zhang, and he saw Mu Jinpei’s message first. He originally intended to reply and tell him that Xingyao was busy, but after thinking about it, it felt a bit awkward.

Since it wasn’t an urgent matter, he hesitated for a while, then exited the chat without replying.

Mu Jinpei kept glancing at his phone. It was as if the device had gone into hibernation—normally there would at least be some news notifications, but today it was completely silent. He checked the data signal—still on.

The window on the top floor of the building was still lit.

He looked at his watch. The second hand circled around soundlessly. The phone remained as quiet as a stone.

This kind of long wait reminded him of his childhood. Every time his great-grandmother would recount past grudges, the days felt unbearably long. He just wanted time to move faster, for night to fall—so that he could sleep and forget all the sorrow.

But daytime was always so long.

Finally, noon would arrive—but then there was still a whole long afternoon to get through.

Pulling his thoughts back, Mu Jinpei noticed it was already 1 a.m. To pass time, he opened his WeChat Moments—a feature he almost never looked at.

He rarely used WeChat. His contacts were few, and even fewer posted updates. Only Luo Song regularly updated his feed—he often shared medical tips, usually daily.

Just a few minutes ago, Luo Song had posted a rare personal update: he was having a late-night meal with a few colleagues in the office. They had just finished surgery, combining dinner and supper into one.

Mu Jinpei commented:
[You had surgeries scheduled this late?]

Luo Song replied:
[No, it was an emergency surgery.]

Not long after, Luo Song called him.
“What’s gotten into you, checking Moments today of all days?” His voice carried a teasing smile. “Love really does change people. Look at you now—scrolling WeChat like the rest of us.”

Mu Jinpei ignored the banter and asked instead, “How are things with Zhou Yuxi?”

“Same as always.” After a pause, Luo Song added, “I’m planning to propose to Xiaoyu in a few months. Honestly, things like proposals, weddings, even the marriage certificate itself—they’re not that important to us. But girls like that sense of ceremony.”

The word ceremony stirred something in Mu Jinpei. Xingyao probably liked that kind of thing too.

“Dr. Luo! Dr. Luo! Please come check on Bed 42!”

A nurse’s urgent voice came through the phone.

“Talk later, I’m busy now,” Luo Song said.

Before Mu Jinpei could reply, the call had already been cut off. That was typical of his conversations with Luo Song—always interrupted halfway, and who knew when the next one would be.

The car fell into silence, isolated from the world.

He rolled down the window a bit. The chilly wind rushed past his ears.

It had been hours since he sent that message, and still no response from Ji Xingyao.

Resting his chin in his hand, he continued to wait.

One by one, the lights in the building windows turned off. Fewer and fewer were still lit.

He tossed his phone onto the passenger seat and removed his watch. It was already 3:30 a.m.

When he looked up again at the top floor, the studio’s light had finally gone out. She must have finished her work and was getting ready for bed. Surely she’d check her phone before sleeping.

The night was silent, and the city gradually calmed.

…

Early the next morning

Ji Xingyao was still in deep sleep when the doorbell woke her—an elegant piano tune specially set by Uncle Zhang. She’d only been asleep for about three hours. Still groggy, the music continued as she forced herself up, got dressed, and opened the door.

“Morning, Uncle Zhang.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No, I was already up—just about to get to work.”

“I’ll go get you breakfast.” Uncle Zhang handed her the phone. “You’d better keep this with you from now on. Just leave it on silent. If you see a message, reply. If not, forget it. If your parents have an emergency, they’ll call me directly. Oh, and Mu Jinpei messaged you last night. You should reply to him.” He closed the door behind him.

Ji Xingyao saw the three words: “Don’t you miss me?”

Suddenly, she felt an inexplicable pang of heartache. He must’ve held back for a long time before finally giving in and sending that message.

Not knowing whether he was busy, she didn’t call. Instead, she sent:
[I miss you. And I love you too.]

Mu Jinpei was at his mother’s villa, just sitting down when he saw the reply. His heart, which had been suspended in mid-air, finally found peace. He asked:
[You’re awake?]

Ji Xingyao:
[Mm, just woke up. My phone was with Uncle Zhang yesterday. Are you busy at noon today?]

Mu Jinpei wanted to see her and replied:
[Not busy.]

Ji Xingyao decided:
[Then come pick me up at noon. Let’s go home for lunch.]

After sending it, she added:
[My house. I want my dad to cook.]

Mu Jinpei wasn’t too keen on sitting down for a face-to-face meal with Ji Changsheng, but he didn’t want to disappoint her—so he agreed.

Pei Yu asked her son, “Coming to my place first thing in the morning instead of going to the office—did something happen you’re unsure about?”

After a brief silence, Mu Jinpei said in a low voice, “Mom, I want to propose to Xingyao.”

Pei Yu had recently become obsessed with tea brewing. She was just pouring tea into a cup when those words stunned her. Her hand trembled, and the tea spilled everywhere, dripping off the edge of the table.

Mu Jinpei quickly got up to wipe it.

The news caught her completely off guard. Pei Yu stared at her son, afraid she’d misheard.
“Say that again.”

Mu Jinpei:
“You didn’t hear wrong, Mom. I want to propose to Xingyao.”

Pei Yu slowly pulled herself out of her shock and confusion. Her joy was overwhelming.
“I haven’t even figured out what gift to prepare for you two yet!”

It had been a long time since Mu Jinpei saw his mother smile like that—from the inside out.

“No gifts needed. Your blessing is enough.”

“That won’t do,” she said, sighing emotionally. “You’ve finally grown up.” Then curiously, “Why so sudden? Did something happen?”

Mu Jinpei answered honestly,
“I waited outside Xingyao’s studio for over eight hours last night.”

Pei Yu immediately understood.
“Felt like those eight hours were longer than your entire life, didn’t they?” She empathized, “Waiting for someone really is tormenting.”

But Mu Jinpei clarified,
“It wasn’t because of the waiting.”

Pei Yu didn’t quite get it at first, and didn’t bother guessing. Instead, she asked directly:
“Then what was it? Did you realize you love her more than you thought?”

Mu Jinpei didn’t answer that directly.
“She’s locked herself in the studio for nine days straight—didn’t contact me even once—just to finish the works for her gallery contract.”

Pei Yu understood. She herself was the same. Once she began painting, she would ignore everyone and everything, not wanting to be contacted at all.

Any emotional disturbance could disrupt inspiration—and losing inspiration was a terrible feeling.

She could guess why her son was suddenly in such a rush to propose. Maybe he felt that when Xingyao became fully immersed in painting, she could even forget about him completely. He had grown used to being in control, but Xingyao was already well beyond the boundaries of what he could manage.

She comforted him:
“It’s not that Xingyao doesn’t care about you. She just needs total focus. You probably wouldn’t even admire a woman who gave up her career for love—right?”

But Mu Jinpei knew that wasn’t the point.
He said, “That’s not why I want to propose. I’m not that dramatic.”

Pei Yu followed up,
“Then why?”

Mu Jinpei:
“She wants to finish all her current projects early—because she’s planning to learn to fly after April.”

Pei Yu was stunned.
“Xingyao wants to fly planes?”

Mu Jinpei:
“Yeah. Helicopters.” Then added, “The one Grandpa gave me.”

Pei Yu carefully asked,
“She doesn’t know about your fear of helicopters, does she?”

“She knows,” he said after a pause. “But not the reason why.”

Pei Yu sighed inwardly. The reason Mu Jinpei feared helicopters so much—his instinctive resistance, even dread—was because his biological father’s entire family, including his grandparents, had all died in a helicopter crash.

It was a nightmare that had haunted him for years. Even now, he still had nightmares about it.

She reached out and held her son’s hand. “Is Xingyao learning to fly so she can help you overcome your psychological fear?”

Mu Jinpei nodded. “She said she’ll fly personally and accompany me.”

Not just that—she was also thinking about how to bring him out of his loneliness.

At this moment, he was fully aware—aware that all the little things she had unknowingly done for him were slowly chipping away at his rationality. His heart had already gone off track, and there was no turning back.

Pei Yu didn’t know about the inner struggle and pain her son was experiencing. She was simply happy that he was finally willing to get married. “Well, what do you think? The girl your mother likes is amazing, right? Only couples like you two can last long. Those who just get by together in name but live as strangers… well, I wouldn’t say they’re bad,” she hesitated.

Just like her and Mu Wenhuai. Only she knew the bitterness and heartache in between.

“Do you have the ring ready?” she changed the subject herself.

Mu Jinpei snapped back to reality and nodded. “I called Uncle Corey this morning and asked him to design it.”

Pei Yu rubbed her forehead, exasperated. “Corey is a watch designer. You asked him to design an engagement ring?”

Mu Jinpei didn’t think it was a problem. “It’s the same. Aesthetic taste in design is universal. Xingyao likes the watches Uncle Corey designed.”

Pei Yu had no comeback. She could only hope Xingyao would also like the ring Corey designed.

She gave up on making tea and didn’t have time to chat idly with her son anymore. She got up and said, “You have tea by yourself. I’m going to paint a portrait for the two of you as a gift.”

Mu Jinpei was stunned, disbelief written all over his face. “Mom, what did you just say?”

Pei Yu smiled. “I said, I’ll personally paint a portrait of you and Xingyao.”

She wasn’t surprised by her son’s reaction. She hadn’t painted a portrait in over thirty years and once believed she would never do so again in her life. She never expected that Ji Xingyao would heal that part of her.

Maybe their bond was destined since the filming of Xingyao 2. Sometimes when she had trouble sleeping at night, she would get up and admire that film.

She often asked herself whether she regretted not having more children.

If she hadn’t been so stubborn back then—if she and Mu Wenhuai had had a daughter—maybe their marriage wouldn’t have ended up like it did. Maybe she would’ve long escaped that prison. Maybe if Mu Jinpei had a sweet little sister, his personality wouldn’t be so cold—perhaps he would’ve been warmed and healed by that kind of familial love.

But unfortunately, time couldn’t go backward.

She collected her thoughts and said to Mu Jinpei, “I’ll paint based on what I feel in my heart. I wish you a successful proposal and a lifetime of happiness together.”

Pei Yu went into the studio. Mu Jinpei sat there, staring blankly at the tea tray on the table. A lifelong marriage with Xingyao wasn’t something he dared to hope for. He had never allowed himself to dream that far.

He was selfish and greedy—he just wanted to give her everything he could, to leave her with memories deep enough that, when they eventually parted, she wouldn’t forget him so easily.

He downed the cold tea in the cup, then went to find his mother in the studio. “Mom, I won’t be staying for lunch today. I’m going to visit Xingyao’s parents.”

Pei Yu was sketching the layout of the painting. Without looking up, she waved him off.

Mu Jinpei then called Chu Zheng to check if the gifts had been prepared.

Chu Zheng: “Just came out of the mall. Everything’s ready.” He asked, “Mr. Mu, where should I wait for you?”

Mu Jinpei: “The same flower shop where you bought the carnations last time.”

Only when Chu Zheng arrived did he realize why his boss had chosen to meet at the flower shop—Mu Jinpei personally picked out a bouquet of roses and another of carnations.

Then came Chu Zheng’s favorite part—time to be nosy. “Mr. Mu, what’s our next move?”

He had two intentions with that question. First, to remind his boss not to get too lost in love—one misstep and years of careful planning could go to waste. Second, to warn that while they might be lowering their guard, Ji Changsheng likely wasn’t, so caution was still necessary.

Mu Jinpei: “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Chu Zheng: “…”

Clearly, what Mu Jinpei meant by take it one step at a time referred to his relationship with Ji Xingyao, but Chu Zheng had misunderstood.

“Go to the studio,” Mu Jinpei told the driver.

—

Ji Xingyao had no tasks scheduled for today. She had called her father in the morning, then gone back to sleep. After waking up, she did a face mask, applied her makeup, and went downstairs to the bank to withdraw cash.

By the time Mu Jinpei arrived at the building, she was already waiting at the entrance. Seeing his license plate, she quickly walked over.

It had been ten days since they last saw each other.

Mu Jinpei got out of the car with the bouquet of roses. Ji Xingyao smiled gently and rushed into his arms, threading her arms through his coat and wrapping them around his waist over his shirt.

The kiss and the hug were spontaneous.

Not a single word was spoken—all their longing poured into that kiss.

Luckily, Chu Zheng didn’t come along, or he would’ve started questioning life again.

Ji Xingyao took the flowers from Mu Jinpei, gently sniffed them, and said, “Wait for me.” Then she ran to the parking area, handed the flowers to Uncle Zhang, and said, “Uncle Zhang, please bring these upstairs. I’ll paint them tonight.”

It was the first bouquet of roses Mu Jinpei had ever given her—she wanted to paint them to preserve the memory.

Flowers eventually wither. But the ones in a painting do not.

She got into the car. From her bag, she pulled out an envelope and handed it to him. “A little tip to make up for the longing.”

“You made this envelope?” Mu Jinpei didn’t open it right away—he admired the cover first. Her doodles, soft lines in a pastel blue and pink theme.

Ji Xingyao leaned over to look with him. “Does it look good?”

Mu Jinpei nodded. He opened the envelope. Instead of a letter or a sketch, it was filled with cash—down to the exact amount of 2,020 yuan, including a stray 20.

He didn’t count the exact number of bills but glanced at her sideways and asked, “2,020?”

Ji Xingyao: “Mm-hmm.” She placed her hand over the back of his.

This simplicity, this quiet joy—made everything feel dreamlike to Mu Jinpei. It didn’t feel real… because deep down, he knew these moments didn’t truly belong to him.

But in that moment, he was endlessly greedy for them.

—

The car drove into the Ji family courtyard.

Ji Changsheng and Yin He came out to greet them. It had been days since they last saw their daughter. Their last meeting was during the year-end banquet, which had felt a bit like meeting the in-laws. Today’s reunion was much more relaxed.

The acting from both Mu Jinpei and Ji Changsheng remained impeccable. Whether it was Ji Xingyao or Yin He, neither noticed any tension between the two men.

After some pleasantries, they all went inside.

Ji Changsheng didn’t want to sit face-to-face with Mu Jinpei, so he put on an apron. “You guys talk. I’ll go make lunch.”

Mu Jinpei stood up as well. “Uncle Ji, I’ll help you.”

Ji Changsheng gave a faint smile. “You know how to cook?”

Mu Jinpei: “Not really, but I can help out. I often help my dad wash vegetables at home.”

“Chairman Mu cooks too?”

Before Mu Jinpei could reply, Ji Xingyao jumped in. “Uncle Mu’s cooking is as good as a chef’s. Last time I went to his house, he cooked a whole table of dishes himself.”

What else could Ji Changsheng say? Since Mu Jinpei insisted, he had to let him help.

The two of them headed into the kitchen, while Ji Xingyao stayed in the living room to arrange flowers with Yin He. The dew on the carnations sparkled under the crystal chandelier, casting rainbow-like glints.

“Xingyao,” Yin He said, “you’re in a relationship now. You can’t just go off doing your own thing and leave him hanging.”

Ji Xingyao carefully snipped the flower stems and listened patiently to her mother. “I know. That’s why I brought him home for lunch today—and even gave him a little red envelope of love.”

Yin He: “…” She could only shake her head helplessly.

In the kitchen, Mu Jinpei turned out to be a fairly competent assistant. He asked questions when he didn’t know what to do and was especially attentive since the food was for Ji Xingyao.

“Uncle Ji, how many lemons should I juice?” he asked.

“Three should be enough,” Ji Changsheng replied.

Their conversation was casual—neither too warm nor too cold—perfectly matching both of their temperaments.

Ji Changsheng handed him a glass bowl filled with lemon juice. “Xingyao said you two are going back to New York to celebrate Valentine’s Day?”

“Yeah.” Mu Jinpei didn’t hide anything. “Xingyao says I don’t talk much and that I’m always busy with work—it’s too lonely. She wants me to take her to experience that loneliness.”

Ji Changsheng interpreted “loneliness” in the literal sense and assumed Mu Jinpei meant it that way too. That kind of loneliness, he deeply understood.

As a corporate leader, he dealt with endless responsibilities every day. When challenges arose, he had to shoulder them alone. The isolation of being at the top was something only those who had lived it could truly understand.

Speaking of experiencing loneliness, he said, “You could take Xingyao on a road trip along Highway 50.”

“I was planning to take her there,” Mu Jinpei replied, surprised they had the same idea. “But I haven’t told her yet.”

That highway was known as the loneliest road in America, stretching straight toward the horizon.

He was also planning to propose to her there.