Zhao Pingjin was busy with work and temporarily took two days off to visit her hometown. He had no time to stay longer in Shanghai and needed to return directly to Beijing.

Xi Tang accompanied him to the airport.

In the VIP waiting lounge, Zhao Pingjin didn’t want to talk. Last night’s chest tightness and palpitations, combined with poor appetite over the past two days, had now also made his stomach uncomfortable.

Xi Tang also didn’t say much, just sitting quietly. Soon, the boarding announcement came over the loudspeaker.

Zhao Pingjin picked up his coat, and braced himself against the chair to stand up: “I’m going now, the driver will take you back.”

“Zhao Pingjin,” Xi Tang suddenly called his name softly beside him.

Zhao Pingjin looked down at her.

Xi Tang lowered her gaze, her voice very soft: “Thirteenth Master said if I don’t go with you, I won’t be able to film at the company anymore. Is that true?”

Zhao Pingjin thought for a moment, understanding what she was getting at, and replied calmly: “What do you think?”

His voice was neither loud nor soft, showing no emotional trace yet making one shiver. Xi Tang understood very well what this tone of voice meant.

Xi Tang bit her lip, bravely raising her head to look at him once: “After you get married, let’s not see each other anymore.”

Zhao Pingjin froze for a few seconds, then slowly answered: “And if I don’t agree?”

Xi Tang lowered her head again, her voice still very soft: “My mother will beat me to death.”

Zhao Pingjin’s brows remained slightly furrowed: “Does your mother often beat you?”

Xi Tang said: “No.”

Zhao Pingjin hesitated before saying: “Her mental state…”

Xi Tang immediately cut off his words, speaking softly: “It’s not her fault, I did something wrong.”

She kept her head down, her long eyelashes trembling slightly, tears dropping onto her dress, staining it with circular marks.

Zhao Pingjin silently watched her delicate figure, a dull, persistent pain spreading in his heart. Long ago when she was still young, during the two-plus years they were together, she had always loved to smile. Except when arguing with him, she never cried.

The airport ground staff walked over, standing at a respectful distance with a bow: “Mr. Zhao, you may board now. Please use the VIP passage.”

Zhao Pingjin rose and walked toward the passage. Xi Tang secretly wiped away her tears and stood up to accompany him.

Zhao Pingjin walked silently to the entrance. With the boarding bridge right before him, he turned his head: “I promise you.”

Xi Tang looked up in a daze: “What?”

Zhao Pingjin’s voice was very calm, with a touch of hoarseness: “What you just said. I promise you. Don’t be sad anymore.”

Zhao Pingjin developed a high fever on the plane. He curled up in his seat with his eyes closed. In his delirium, he seemed to hear again the sound coming from that room—Huang Xi Tang’s faint crying constantly echoed in his ears. Listening to it caused his heart to twist in pain. The head flight attendant wrapped a blanket around him. As the plane ascended into the sky, his body felt even worse. He had just vomited once in the bathroom but nothing came out. The bile was bitter in his mouth, and his stomach cramped with pain. He could only endure it silently, his vision blurring with dizziness.

Ni Kailun happened to be flying to Beijing on business that day. After the plane stabilized, she got up to wash her hands in the front cabin. On her way back, she asked for a glass of red wine. Returning, she noticed a young flight attendant standing motionless near a seat across the aisle. She looked over curiously, only then noticing the adjacent cabin position. The spacious seat had been flattened, with a black figure lying on it, whose back looked somewhat familiar.

Ni Kailun held her wine, standing to the side to watch with interest for a while.

The young flight attendant had been instructed to watch over him. The young girl regularly flew this route, and Zhao Pingjin was a frequent first-class passenger. The entire cabin crew often saw him, but except for the VIP list that only the head flight attendant could see, no one knew the passenger’s identity or background. They only estimated he was a business elite as handsome as an advertising model, frequently traveling between Beijing and Shanghai. He wasn’t difficult to serve—though somewhat picky about food and often not eating airplane meals, he never gave the cabin crew a hard time. Whenever they could see him on the plane that day, all the girls in the crew would be happy for the entire day. Yet this was the first time they had seen him ill. The head flight attendant had instructed her not to go near and disturb him, so the young girl could only watch silently from the corner, looking so concerned she was almost in tears.

Ni Kailun watched for a while, then walked directly over and called out: “Hey, Zhao Pingjin?”

Zhao Pingjin hazily raised his head, his face as pale as the cabin ceiling lights.

Ni Kailun looked and said: “Well, Young Master Zhao, you’re sick, aren’t you?”

Zhao Pingjin felt too unwell to speak, just nodding his head.

Ni Kailun smiled particularly happily: “Young Master Zhao, do too many bad things and it comes back to you. You’re precious, you should be careful.”

She turned to leave with her wine glass.

“Ni Kailun—” Zhao Pingjin called out to stop her.

Ni Kailun turned back at his voice.

Zhao Pingjin supported himself to sit up. He was somewhat dizzy, and his words seemed to float: “When she went back to her hometown back then, what happened?”

Ni Kailun smiled: “What could have happened? She dumped you and went home, that’s all.”

Zhao Pingjin knew he wouldn’t get much from her and struggled to think: “For the next film, arrange for her to shoot in Beijing.”

Ni Kailun’s shrewd mind immediately spun through eight circles: “That won’t work. It’s written in the contract—not going to Beijing.”

Zhao Pingjin’s head was splitting with pain. Breathing weakly, he said: “I’ll have Shen Min renegotiate with you.”

Seeing his condition, Ni Kailun couldn’t help saying: “You’d better lie down. Getting sick at high altitude is no joke.”

Zhao Pingjin could no longer speak, nodded and lay back down. The head flight attendant came over again, crouching beside his seat, speaking softly: “Mr. Zhao, should we contact ground staff to notify your doctor?”

Zhao Pingjin shook his head.

The head flight attendant said: “Then shall we call Secretary Shen?”

Zhao Pingjin knew his body probably couldn’t hold out, weakly nodded, and could no longer persist. His consciousness drifted away, and he slowly passed out.