The episode of “Friends of Song Xue” featuring Huang Xi Tang was broadcast on television two weeks after recording.
After the interview aired, more good news arrived. The spy drama she had filmed, “Shadows in Shanghai,” which had been shelved for over a year, finally got a broadcast date. Soon, fearless producers began sending scripts to her company. As winter approached, she resumed her life in Hengdian film studios, occasionally taking breaks to fly to Beijing when she had time off.
One day during her break, which happened to be a weekend, she took Xin Xin to a children’s toy store to buy balloons. On their way back, it started pouring. Winter had come early this year—cold fronts had arrived by late October. Fortunately, the rain had lightened by the time they reached the compound. Xi Tang parked at the entrance of the hutong, put a down jacket on Xin Xin, and carried her out of the car. The little girl clutched several colorful balloons tightly. Xi Tang opened her umbrella, and the balloons floated outside it, drifting in the rain. Xi Tang held the little girl’s hand, and the little girl held her balloons as they walked home smiling. As they entered the hutong, Xi Tang saw the door open across from Guo Sheng Hutong at the Zhao family home.
Zhao Ping Jin stepped out.
He was dressed formally in a white fine-checkered shirt, brown tie, and a blue-gray suit jacket—attire for attending a banquet. His driver waited under the eaves holding a black long-handled umbrella.
For a moment, both of them were stunned.
The little girl, always polite, noticed Xi Tang had stopped and immediately chirped, “Uncle Zhao!” Hearing this, Zhao Ping Jin smiled and said, “Xin Xin, you’re in elementary school now. Does your teacher still give you balloons as rewards?”
The little girl shook her head vigorously like a rattle drum and proudly answered, “Auntie Xi Tang bought these for me!”
Zhao Ping Jin glanced at her. Raindrops were continuously falling on her half-exposed shoulder as she held the umbrella for the child. He lowered his gaze and said, “It’s raining. You should hurry home.”
Xin Xin waved at him: “Goodbye, Uncle Zhao!”
When Fang Lang Ji returned home that night, Qing Qing was watching television in the living room. Seeing Fang Lang Ji enter, she came over to take his coat. He kissed her and asked, “Where’s our son?” Qing Qing replied, “He’s asleep.”
Fang Lang Ji sat down on the sofa. On the television mounted on the opposite wall, Jiang Song Xue’s interview program was playing. Qing Qing spoke to her husband while watching Xi Tang on the screen: “Did Zhou Zi go today?” Fang Lang Ji nodded: “He sat for a while, then left early. Everyone’s used to it now—he doesn’t personally attend many social engagements anymore. He comes to make an appearance. If he’s in a good mood, he stays longer; if he leaves early, it’s fine, usually, he’s going home to rest.”
Qing Qing asked, “Is his health better?”
Fang Lang Ji replied, “It’s alright, nothing unusual, same as before.”
Suddenly Qing Qing fell silent and focused on the program.
On television, Huang Xi Tang wore a red off-shoulder top and light blue jeans. Under the camera lights, her skin was luminously transparent. Her smile was serene, her demeanor gentle: “I haven’t dated anyone for several years.”
Jiang Song Xue smiled and asked, “When was the last time you were in a relationship?”
Xi Tang thought seriously: “Two years? Three years? I can’t remember clearly.”
Jiang Song Xue just smiled.
As a celebrity, recording a show like this would be completely inadequate unless you were exceptionally aloof and stunning. Otherwise, for such programs, if you don’t respond with talking points, the media and reporters can’t write their articles, the program won’t have good results, and you won’t be invited to good shows in the future. Having received years of professional training, both the host and artists were well aware of this point. Looking at the camera, she continued: “My life is quite peaceful now—filming, working, eating, entertaining, traveling abroad. We can even meet and pretend to shake hands. Both our lives have changed too much. Some things, once they’re past, they’re past.”
Jiang Song Xue looked at her guest with attentive listening: “Hmm.”
Xi Tang spoke with a slight smile: “I remember one New Year’s Eve, after finishing work at the countdown show, I returned to the hotel after 1 a.m. We had worked all day and everyone was exhausted. The lights were off, but none of us could sleep. The hotel room was very quiet. My assistant sat on the carpet beside the bed, playing music softly on her phone. At that moment, I suddenly heard a love song. At a particular moment, for an instant, even after so many years, I still think of a certain person.”
Since they were recording a program, Jiang Song Xue could only smile. At this moment, she was delighted inside—she knew exactly who Xi Tang was talking about, and gently guided with a subtle hint: “Since you still think about this person, have you ever considered trying again?”
Xi Tang replied, “I don’t dare to think about it.”
Jiang Song Xue asked meaningfully, “You cherish the past because you haven’t met anyone better?”
Xi Tang immediately shook her head and smiled, her expression still soft—a softness that came from inner certainty: “No, that wouldn’t be fair to say. There are many excellent people out there. It’s just that love isn’t easy to find. Of course, I still hope to find happiness. I’m just no longer fixated on finding love.”
Jiang Song Xue looked at her with a slightly surprised expression: “Xi Tang, isn’t that a bit pessimistic?”
Xi Tang thought for quite a while before speaking, her voice soft and gentle: “I don’t know if it’s pessimism. I still believe there are certainly people who find love and live happily, but this doesn’t necessarily happen to everyone. It seems unrelated to your profession, whether you’re beautiful or not, how much wealth you possess, or how hard you work in life. It’s a kind of luck. Love isn’t something you can have just by trying hard.”
Xi Tang smiled playfully, yet with acceptance: “Maybe I’ll still meet someone. Love is an encounter, not an achievement of merit.”
At that moment, Jiang Song Xue suddenly turned her head, tears glistening in her eyes.
Just as it reached this captivating point, the television program suddenly stopped. The content was cut from this section and commercials began playing.
Fang Lang Ji sat dazed for a moment, looked at his wife, and sighed deeply. Qing Qing said resentfully, “Look at what you men have done.”
Fang Lang Ji reached out to hold his wife. He knew she felt sorry for Zhou Zi. By now, everyone in their Beijing circle secretly knew—occasionally at important events, Li Shu An would bring Xi Tang to entertain guests. Huang Xi Tang was a celebrity; those who had seen her wouldn’t forget. Li Shu An’s daughter from his previous marriage was also very close to her. Li Shu An’s attitude made things clear—the two were heading toward marriage. That Jing Luo Zai Wu Jia Ren 2 – Chapter between Zhao Ping Jin and Huang Xi Tang was over. In the past, Qing Qing had dared to argue with Zhao Ping Jin and defend Xi Tang. But now, no one dared mention Huang Xi Tang in front of Zhao Ping Jin.
That day, the recording paused for five minutes.
Jiang Song Xue’s eyes glistened with tears, and the audience below began to applaud, but all the directors and cameramen were stunned.
Xi Tang looked at those below—her assistant and makeup artist didn’t dare move. She reached out and patted Jiang Song Xue’s shoulder across the sofa seat. At the end of the program, Jiang Song Xue asked if she could sing.
Xi Tang laughed: “I studied acting, my singing is ordinary.”
Jiang Song Xue intentionally praised her, smiling and saying, “Didn’t you recently take vocal lessons? Come on.”
Xi Tang understood that Jiang Song Xue was elevating her and giving her an opportunity. She thought for a moment, then suddenly said, “Our undergraduate performance class lost a classmate last month.”
Jiang Song Xue’s smile faded and she said, “It was Fu Ming Kun.”
Xi Tang continued smiling gently, controlling her emotions as she said softly, “This is a song we sang in school. I dedicate this song to him.”
She sang “Love’s Proverb.”
In October, during the university’s 60th anniversary celebration, many classmates returned. Their undergraduate performance class organized a gathering.
At the reunion, Zheng You Tong spoke on behalf of the male students, and Huang Xi Tang represented the female students.
That night, Xi Tang rarely drank any alcohol. Someone played the piano, and someone sang. In the light, looking around, it seemed as if everyone’s appearance remained unchanged, their young faces still shining brightly.
Fu Ming Kun was gone, forever at thirty-one.
Zhong Qiao Er was gone, forever at twenty-two.
But their lives had to continue.
Zhao Ping Jin remembered that song.
At Huang Xi Tang’s graduation ceremony, he sat in the family section.
He was still working at Jing Chuang then and had specially canceled work that morning to rush to their school. Once inside the campus gates, he saw graduating students in black graduation gowns running throughout the campus. When he found Huang Xi Tang, her class was taking a group photo. While the photographer hadn’t yet pressed the shutter, she had winked at him.
The Film Academy’s graduation ceremony was held in the school’s standard screening hall. Zhao Ping Jin sat cross-legged below the stage, surrounded by counselors, class advisors, and parents of graduates. When it was their class’s turn, their class monitor led the entire class in singing a song dedicated to their alma mater and mentors—it was that same song.
A group of beautiful, energetic young people. Huang Xi Tang stood on stage like a fresh, thriving young tree. By then, she was already filming “Orange Youth,” with excellent prospects and full of dreams. Even standing among a group of beautiful girls, her beauty still stood out—her small face radiant.
At that time, she was still his little one.
“I gave my youth to you, keeping the years for myself.”
Ten years later, when she sang this song again, too many things had changed.
Zhao Ping Jin lay at home, with the window of his west-wing study half open. The afternoon sunlight streamed in—Beijing’s weather had been quite nice since spring began this year.
Teacher Zhou had gone to Shanghai yesterday. Since he had insisted on returning to Beijing, she spent about half her time in China, sometimes visiting him, sometimes visiting his grandmother, and half her time abroad with her maternal relatives.
His father remained in Nanjing, planning to work until retirement.
It was said that his father had found that female soldier from the cultural troupe years ago. She had married and had children but was facing financial difficulties. His father had visited once and seemed to have arranged a logistics position at a school for her, but never returned to that city afterward.
His mother no longer concerned herself with these matters.
He continued working at Zhongyuan Board of Directors, with a workload less intense than before, but he managed without major issues. Shen Min had become the general manager and would consult him in advance on important matters.
Zhao Ping Jin heard soft footsteps behind him outside the screen door. The nanny came in to cover him with a blanket, feeling his cold hand while gently scolding: “Sitting by an open window in the wind—early spring is still cold. You’re not careful about catching cold.”
She was already in her seventies. Though still physically strong, she couldn’t take care of people actively anymore. Zhao Ping Jin urged her to retire, offering to support her, but the elderly woman said if she became useless at home, she would return to her hometown in Northeast China.
The old nanny carefully tucked the blanket around him, casually mentioning: “It’s quite lively across the street today. Jing family’s second daughter got engaged to Shu An today.”
Zhao Ping Jin naturally knew about this, but hearing it still left him momentarily speechless. The nanny, feeling his hands warm up a bit, slowly walked out.
A few nights ago, returning home from work, he saw Li Shu An about to leave, followed by his secretary. Both carried several food containers. He called out, “Shu An, going out?” Li Shu An responded, “Xi Tang is recording. She’ll probably be late, so I’m bringing her some late-night snacks.”
Zhao Ping Jin glanced at the food containers he was carrying: “The hand-pulled noodle place at the corner?” Li Shu An smiled: “Yes, Dong Lin also says it’s good.”
Zhao Ping Jin nodded without saying more and walked toward the hutong.
Li Shu An got into the car and started the engine.
“Shu An,” Zhao Ping Jin suddenly came back and called to him, “that place is quite good, but the noodles are made with fresh eggs. She’s allergic to egg whites.”
Li Shu An was visibly startled but quickly recovered, smiling and waving at him: “My secretary bought these for the staff. I’ll buy something separate for her.”
Zhao Ping Jin stood by his car, smiled slightly, and walked home again.
Behind him, Li Shu An leaned out of the driver’s seat and said, “Hey, Zhou Zi, thanks.”
Zhao Ping Jin heard him, raised his arm, and waved without looking back.
He is still worried. No matter who she married, he feared she might be mistreated. Sometimes he suddenly realized that when she was with him, she suffered the most grievances. In an instant of clarity, his heart ached terribly.
Recently, he often thought of that year when he visited her in Hengdian.
She was filming a night scene. He waited at the set for her to finish. At that time, she was still an obscure extra. When the lead stars left, they took a large crowd of reporters and fans with them. The surroundings suddenly became empty as the two walked along the ridge of a field in the deep night.
On the distant opposite shore, a film crew was setting off fireworks in the fields.
It was too far away—silent—only seeing the fireworks bloom in the night sky, then fade.
Huang Xi Tang stopped walking and looked up for a while. At that moment, standing beside her watching the fireworks was a man she deeply loved.
Unfortunately, he didn’t understand then.
They walked in the deep night in a small town in southeastern China, neither speaking.
Now, in the warming afternoon of early spring in Beijing, outside the study window grew a crabapple tree. At the tips of its tender leaves and small branches, clusters of pink-white flowers had bloomed.
Zhao Ping Jin lay quietly in the spring light for a while, feeling a bit tired, and gently closed his eyes.