Xi Tang walked through the airport’s passenger concourse.

In the summer capital of Beijing, the sky was a vast azure blue. Xi Tang remembered how at the Film Academy before, looking up revealed an endless blue sky where pigeons’ prolonged whistling sounds would cut through the air. Outside Gulou were large patches of greenery, but now, from the airport’s enormous glass windows, she could only see a hazy gray sky.

She hadn’t been back to Beijing for many years.

Once she had loved Beijing so much, this spacious northern city. She had thought she would settle here with a deeply loved man and spend her entire life here.

Later when she left, she was lying in an ambulance, unconscious, facing life and death, with nothing worth remembering anymore.

In these five years, Xi Tang had only come to Beijing once. She hadn’t gone anywhere else—she got off the train at Beijing West Station and went directly to Jiugong Mountain Cemetery to visit Zhong Qiao.

She knew she was no longer suited for Beijing in this lifetime.

A man wearing a casual suit met her at the passenger exit. He specifically confirmed by asking: “Miss Huang Xi Tang?”

Xi Tang nodded.

His expression at that moment even showed a slight surprise, but he quickly adjusted. He politely said: “Hello, my surname is Gong. I’m Mr. Zhao’s assistant.”

Xi Tang had just finished shooting her previous film. Her hair had started to grow out, fuzzy at two to three inches, and the company’s stylist had trimmed it for her.

She looked somewhat like a delicate, cute young boy.

Her expression was a bit dazed: “What happened to him?”

Gong Qi said: “The car is fine. Nothing serious. Mr. Shen couldn’t get away, so he specifically instructed me to come.”

In the hospital, Zhao Ping Jin woke up from his afternoon nap to see a small figure curled up on the sofa opposite his hospital bed, hugging a pillow and dozing.

Zhao Ping Jin called her name, his voice weak: “Hey, why did you come?”

Xi Tang wasn’t asleep. Hearing him, she stood up: “You’re awake? Do you want some water?”

Zhao Ping Jin nodded. Xi Tang brought the water cup over to him. Zhao Ping Jin reached out to take it and moved his right hand slightly, but couldn’t help wincing. He had broken two ribs in his chest, causing pneumothorax and blood accumulation, but fortunately, his internal organs were fine. His chest was bound with bandages, and he couldn’t stand the pain, requiring painkillers every day.

Xi Tang saw his face turn pale: “Should I call the nurse?”

Zhao Ping Jin replied irritably: “Can’t you just hold it for me to drink?”

At dinner time, Xi Tang fed him. Zhao Ping Jin’s irritable mood from days of lying around unable to do anything suddenly dissipated upon seeing her. He looked at the person before him, head lowered, carefully picking bones from the fish soup. Her short black hair had newly grown out, and he could see a layer of soft, fuzzy fine hair on her forehead. He couldn’t help smiling slightly: “Hey, you’re so gentle and modest, are you doing a period drama next?”

Xi Tang shoved the spoon into his mouth: “Just eat your food.”

At night, the doctor on shift came to check on him. He was also Zhao’s childhood friend. Seeing Xi Tang there, he winked suggestively while keeping a serious tone: “Recovery is going well today. Zhouzhou, shall we reduce the painkillers tonight?”

Zhao Ping Jin made a formal introduction: “This is Xi Tang, and this is Doctor Zhou Zi Yu.”

Xi Tang greeted him politely: “Doctor Zhou.”

Zhao Ping Jin said: “Zi Yu is from Shanghai. Xi Tang makes excellent Shanghai cuisine, hairy crab and spring bamboo shoots, and such. You’re lucky, you’re on day shift tomorrow, come over for lunch.”

Xi Tang knew how to cook. From a very young age, she had helped her mother in the kitchen. After arriving in Beijing, this girl raised in the land of fish and rice from Jiangnan began learning to make various noodle dishes. Zhao Ping Jin was usually particular about his food, but he never found fault with anything Huang Xi Tang cooked, eating even lumpy noodles without changing his expression. His deepest impression was once, not long after they had moved in together when Huang Xi Tang began learning to cook for him. That evening when he returned from work, she emerged from the steamy kitchen proudly carrying out a bowl of zhajiangmian (noodles with soybean paste).

That bowl of noodles was beautifully made, the meat cubes thoroughly stewed in yellow sauce, with glossy reddish meat skin, and the garniture of Chinese toon sprouts and green peas a brilliant green.

Perhaps it was an illusion, but he felt he could taste his old housekeeper’s cooking.

She sat at the dining table with a slightly anxious expression, repeatedly asking if it tasted good.

He just put down his chopsticks and said lightly: “Not bad.”

Even with just that, Huang Xi Tang was so delighted she cheered, rushed over, and kissed him hard.

He had almost forgotten those times. She had cared for him wholeheartedly.

Now, hearing about cooking, Huang Xi Tang just stood to the side staring at him.

The expensive private hospital’s VIP ward in Beijing resembled a five-star hotel, with an entire gleaming kitchen.

Zhao Ping Jin smiled innocently at her.

The handsome doctor in the white coat laughed when he heard this: “Really? That’s fortunate. Thank you in advance. Are you also from Shanghai?”

Xi Tang’s Shanghai dialect wasn’t authentic, and she had no intention of establishing a connection with him, so she still answered properly in Mandarin: “My mother is from Shanghai.”

In the evening, after Zhao Ping Jin finished his IV drip, he grew tired early—he was still a patient after all. Xi Tang tidied up his change of clothes for him, and when she returned to the room she saw he was still awake, so she said: “Go to sleep.”

Zhao Ping Jin looked at her and suddenly asked: “Why were you willing to come to Beijing?”

In the contract Ni Kai Lun had signed, there was a stipulation that she would never come to Beijing to see him.

Xi Tang looked back at him and answered indifferently: “Shen Min said, extra pay.”

Zhao Ping Jin cursed angrily.

Xi Tang, seeing his face pale with anger, raised her chin and smiled at him, then walked out directly.

Early the next morning, Gao Ji Yi came to visit. As soon as he entered the room, Xi Tang was feeding Zhao Ping Jin breakfast. Upon entering, he laughed: “Well, Zhouzhou, where did you find this little housekeeper?”

Xi Tang instinctively turned her head to look, but quickly turned back, slowly putting down the bowl.

Zhao Ping Jin’s expression was also slightly unusual, but he still maintained a nonchalant attitude: “You’re here? Have some breakfast together.”

Gao Ji Yi instantly realized, hesitated for a few seconds, pondering how to address her, finding it truly difficult to gauge her importance in Zhao Ping Jin’s heart, and finally chose the safest option: “Miss Huang?”

Xi Tang seemed not to have heard him, did not answer his question, stood up and wiped her hands, and silently walked out.

Zhao Ping Jin called after her from the hospital bed: “Hey, where are you going?”

Xi Tang ignored him too, walking away with her head lowered without saying a word.

Zhao Ping Jin had eaten only half his breakfast and had no choice but to continue himself. His left hand was unaccustomed, and his right hand pulled at the wound on his chest, causing him to gasp in pain.

Gao Ji Yi immediately rang for a nurse: “Hey, is this how you take care of patients?”

A young nurse came to feed him, picking up the spoon while secretly glancing at Zhao Ping Jin, looking again, unable to stop herself from pressing her lips together in a suppressed smile.

Gao Ji Yi pulled up a chair and sat nearby, looking the nurse up and down: “Foreign hospital nurses are vibrant. Sister, do you have a boyfriend?”

The young nurse’s cheeks flushed red.

Zhao Ping Jin managed to eat a couple more bites but had no appetite, so he asked her to leave.

Gao Ji Yi sat to the side eating an apple, watching Zhao Ping Jin, and suddenly said out of nowhere: “Is she really that good?”

Zhao Ping Jin knew what he meant. Lying on the hospital bed with his head back, his expression calm: “With her around, I still feel life has some pleasure.”

Gao Ji Yi nodded, his tone pitying: “You got taken in by her just that once. I think you’ve become demoralized.”

Zhao Ping Jin’s eyes showed a layer of weariness: “It’s all in the past. Let it go.”

Gao Ji Yi smiled: “If you could move on, you wouldn’t be Zhao Ping Jin. Just keep that vindictiveness inside. It’s not like you have anything better to do. Play around for now. In the end, you’ll find she’s nothing special.”

Zhao Ping Jin neither confirmed nor denied: “Maybe so.”

When Gao Ji Yi walked out, he saw Huang Xi Tang standing by a small flower bed in the courtyard smoking.

Gao Ji Yi walked over, took out a cigarette from his pocket, put it in his mouth, and said: “May I have a light?”

Xi Tang handed him the lighter.

Gao Ji Yi lit his cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled a cloud of smoke: “You and Zhouzhou have a special connection. After so many years, you can still get together.”

Xi Tang still didn’t speak. Through the smoke, the corner of her mouth showed a faint, mocking smile.

Gao Ji Yi looked at her, seeing in her eyes and brows that she was no longer the young girl from years ago: “Still making films?”

Xi Tang finally spoke: “Director Gao, I’m not worth your small talk.”

She extinguished her cigarette and turned to leave.

Gao Ji Yi slowly said behind her: “Xi Tang, if you want status and recognition, pushing him outside the rules of our circle’s game puts him at too much risk.”

Xi Tang laughed silently: “I want? Mr. Gao, you give me too much credit.”

Gao Ji Yi looked down at her: “You think Zhouzhou is that good? That he can’t forget old feelings for you and wants to rekindle your past relationship?”

Xi Tang stopped, and turned back to smile at him—a smile pure and flawless. She naturally knew how to irritate these arrogant privileged children: the best way was to not take them seriously at all, to not give them even the slightest satisfaction of that inexplicable sense of superiority. She smiled with a curve that kept people at a thousand miles’ distance: “What I think is none of your business.”

Sure enough, Gao Ji Yi frowned in disdain, speaking vaguely through the smoke: “Many women outside want to meet people like us. They think we like to play, we’re generous, and we have resources. Just look at Zhouzhou—one of Beijing’s top elite children, with that fair-skinned handsome face. He’s never been without companions these years. But none of you know that many things, especially marriage, are things we absolutely cannot choose. He’s probably going to officially enter Zhongyuan’s board office this year, and the wedding with the Yu family is just a matter of time. You think he’s special to you, that means he loves you? Stop dreaming. He’s grown up in this circle since childhood, and still thrives so well now—what game rules doesn’t he understand? You think he would ruin his relationship with the Yu family for you?”

Gao Ji Yi coldly said: “Xi Tang, I advise you to take some money and get out while you can.”

Xi Tang stood rigidly for a moment, then suddenly turned around, her eyes bright as cold stars, staring directly at his face: “Mr. Gao, did Zhong Qiao jump down herself?”

Gao Ji Yi stood by the flower bed, the smile on his face like a hideous claw: “Xi Tang, you’re still so naive.”