Shen Min suddenly slammed on the brakes. The car stopped at the entrance to the hutong. With an expressionless face, he said: “We’re here. Please get out.”

Shen Min slowly backed the car out of the hutong entrance. The phone placed beside the driver’s seat rang. He glanced at the screen—it was Zhao Pingjin’s secretary.

Shen Min reached out and answered.

After a two-minute call, Shen Min ended the conversation and drove toward his home.

Following the main road for two streets, he got onto the Third Ring Road. Lights flickered endlessly on the elevated bridge. While driving, he thought about matters. After getting off the elevated bridge, Shen Min suddenly turned the steering wheel and parked the car by the roadside.

He composed himself, then raised his hand to dial a number.

The call connected, but no one answered.

Shen Min stared at the illuminated phone screen, motionlessly waiting. Almost at the last moment, a soft, gentle female voice came from the other end: “Hello.”

Shen Min knew immediately it was her and said softly: “Xi Tang?”

Huang Xi Tang politely responded on the other end: “Shen Min, it’s me.”

Since she left Beijing, none of Zhao Pingjin’s friends, including invitations to Qingqing’s 100-day celebration, had called her private number—everything went through her agent.

She knew Shen Min wasn’t someone who acted impulsively.

She heard Shen Min asking amiably: “Are you in Beijing?”

Xi Tang responded: “Yes, how did you know?”

Shen Min glanced at the LCD screen in front of the car. It was past eleven at night, a bit late. He said: “I just left Langdie’s banquet and saw your agent there.”

Xi Tang didn’t want to ask more, just gently acknowledged: “I see.”

“Are you busy?”

“Not too bad. What is it?”

Shen Min stopped beating around the bush and asked directly: “Xi Tang, could I—ask a favor of you?”

Shen Min arrived at work punctually at eight o’clock the next day.

Zhongyuan Group’s headquarters in Beijing stood in front of Chaoyangmen, solemn and austere. From a distance, one could only see a huge gray building with sentries guarding the entrance—tourists couldn’t approach.

Shen Min’s car entered the garage. He saw Zhao Pingjin’s large black car already parked in its designated spot.

He went upstairs to his office. Zhao Pingjin had two-morning meetings—one with the management department to review a recently developed civilian explosive materials project. In such meetings, sometimes Shen Min would speak on his behalf. Zhao Pingjin generally didn’t say much; he would listen, and then make decisions.

The meeting ended at ten. Zhao Pingjin had another meeting with the Board of Directors. For such high-level meetings, apart from a trusted secretary taking minutes, all participants were board members. Zhao Pingjin needed to discuss remuneration assessments—a matter that had been proposed for over half a month without approval. Every time Zhao Pingjin went up to discuss matters with those old fellows, it was extremely difficult.

Sure enough, it was almost one o’clock when Zhao Pingjin came down from the boardroom upstairs.

He went directly to his office.

His secretary knocked on the door, dutifully saying: “President Zhao, it’s one o’clock. Remember to eat on time.”

Zhao Pingjin was lying on the sofa with his eyes closed. Hearing this, he turned his head slightly and responded hoarsely: “I know.”

He kept his eyes closed, waiting for a wave of dizziness to pass, then lay there a while longer before sitting up and opening an insulated lunch box on the coffee table.

A bowl of white porridge, soft and glutinous, with rising steam. Another box contained several side dishes.

Bright green vegetables, a portion of steamed eggs, and a dish of pickled radish.

The secretary had ordered quite a refined lunch today.

Zhao Pingjin picked up a spoon and casually took a mouthful.

The porridge was cooked just right—soft and thick, warming his stomach as it went down his throat, making him feel very comfortable.

Zhao Pingjin held the spoon, freezing for a second.

The next moment, Zhao Pingjin supported himself on the sofa to stand up, walked to the desk, and pressed the intercom.

The secretary answered immediately. He said in a deep voice: “Ask Shen Min to come in.”

Shortly after, Shen Min knocked and entered: “You asked for me?”

Zhao Pingjin gestured for him to sit.

Shen Min sat down across from him.

Zhao Pingjin didn’t speak, just stared at the bowl of white porridge in front of him, slightly furrowing his brow, his hand gripping the spoon, pressing down on the soft rice grains one by one.

Shen Min grew restless and cleared his throat: “Zhouzi…”

Hearing him speak, Zhao Pingjin raised his head and looked at him, saying flatly, “You saw her?”

Shen Min’s heart skipped a beat. He thought Zhao Pingjin would at least have some doubts, but unexpectedly, he knew without even asking.

He pretended to be clueless, responding: “What?”

Zhao Pingjin lowered his eyes briefly, then looked up at him again, his gaze calm, showing no trace of emotion: “Huang Xi Tang.”

He said it so calmly and directly that Shen Min felt inexplicably fearful. Knowing he couldn’t hide it, he just nodded.

“She’s in Beijing?”

Shen Min nodded again.

Zhao Pingjin remained silent for a while, his expression far from pleased. Shen Min thought he was about to be scolded, but instead, Zhao Pingjin sighed deeply, his tone somewhat sad: “Don’t trouble her like this in the future.”

Shen Min didn’t dare breathe.

Zhao Pingjin sat by the coffee table, methodically eating his porridge.

Shen Min texted on the side.

At this moment, Zhao Pingjin’s phone on the desk rang.

Shen Min glanced at his expression, and seeing his tacit permission, went over to hand it to him.

The screen flashed the name “Yu Xiaoying.”

Zhao Pingjin took the phone but didn’t answer, just silently put down his spoon.

As if calculated time after time, the phone rang over and over, until the fourth ring, when Zhao Pingjin reached out to answer.

Yu Xiaoying said gently on the other end: “Have you had lunch?”

Zhao Pingjin replied: “Yes.”

Yu Xiaoying continued: “Mother returned to Beijing today and wants you to come home for dinner tonight.”

Zhao Pingjin responded: “Alright. Are you driving? Do you need a driver to pick you up?”

…

Shen Min turned his head to type a few lines on his phone. When he looked back, he found Zhao Pingjin had already hung up.

Earlier during the call, Zhao Pingjin had unconsciously pressed his hand against his stomach. Now he lowered his hand, but couldn’t hide his gradually paling face and the fine beads of sweat appearing on his temples.

Shen Min stood up to hand him medicine and a glass of water.

He took them, saying casually: “That’s all, don’t let me keep you. Aren’t you having lunch with Teacher Xiao Tan?”

Shen Min had been dating recently—a girl introduced by Ms. Zhou’s secretary. Zhao Pingjin knew about it, and it was possibly Ms. Zhou’s intention. Seeing that Shen Min hadn’t refused, he let it be. Zhao Pingjin knew that although his mother was strong-willed, her love for her children was unquestionable. Any girl examined by Ms. Zhou would undoubtedly be respectable in appearance, character, and family background. The young woman was a Chinese language teacher at a key middle school, working near Zhugan Hutong, quite close to Chaoyangmen. When work wasn’t busy, the two would sometimes have lunch together, and Shen Min would take her back to school afterward.

Shen Min said unhurriedly: “No hurry. Please take your medicine first.”

Zhao Pingjin took the medicine and rested on the sofa.

Shen Min organized a few documents for him, occasionally turning to look at him.

Zhao Pingjin remained silent, lying motionless. He had been like this lately—having stomach pain after eating.

Shen Min pulled up a stool and sat beside the sofa.

Zhao Pingjin noticed he was still there: “I’m fine, you can go.”

Shen Min couldn’t comply with him this time and said in a low voice: “Just lie down for a while, don’t worry about me.”

Shen Min knew that the Zhao family had been good to him, treating him like their own child. They didn’t expect anything from him. With his parents gone and Zhao Pingjin being an only child, the old man hoped they could look after each other. The older generation couldn’t manage the affairs of young people anymore. Shen Min had been pure-hearted and loyal since childhood, and now working for Zhao Pingjin, he could provide some guidance.

But getting Zhao Pingjin to take care of his health was extremely difficult for Shen Min now.

From last winter until now, since getting married, various storms have followed one after another. He had been so busy that he’d hardly rested, and had lost too much weight.

Previously, it was his uncle’s matter—everyone in the family was worried. After more than a year, they couldn’t keep him alive. The funeral was grand. During this time, the old man fell seriously ill after losing his eldest son. Zhao Pingjin was busy arranging the funeral and coordinating with the medical team to establish a treatment plan for his grandfather, running between the hospital and home.

His father, stationed at a military region, couldn’t return. Rumors spread that the old man was also critically ill. Only Zhao Pingjin maintained his composure, coming and going as usual. Fortunately, the Yu family, his new in-laws, frequently visited the hospital. Plus, with Ms. Zhou’s tireless mediation between Beijing and Shanghai, the situation gradually stabilized.

During the most intense period, which lasted more than a month, Shen Min suspected Zhao Pingjin hadn’t had a single sound sleep. The hospital is often called in the middle of the night. Concerned for his mother—Ms. Zhou was already sixty and couldn’t withstand such shocks at night—Zhao Pingjin instructed that any changes in his grandfather’s condition should be reported to him first. The old man stayed in the hospital for half a month, followed by over forty days of recuperation, and Zhao Pingjin had endured it all.

On the day of his uncle’s funeral, it was grand and solemn, with officials sent to pay respects.

In the evening, as the family ate, perhaps because Zhao Pingjin looked so unwell, even his father noticed.

For their generation of children, those who joined the military were better off. For families with strong political backgrounds like theirs, most men in their early thirties were still being tested at the frontier. Those who stayed in Beijing and caused trouble mostly had poor relationships with their families. Zhao Pingjin had always been intimidated by his father. General Zhao Zhuguo, following in his father’s footsteps, had the same strict discipline and iron-like severity as when his father was young. Every time he came home, he wore a stern face and never showed any warmth to Zhao Pingjin, unable to stand his son’s careless manner. That day, General Zhao rarely said to his son at the dinner table: “Young man, take better care of your health.”

Zhao Pingjin responded with a “Yes.”

After the funeral, Zhao Pingjin was promoted to General Manager of Zhongyuan United Holdings Group. Work was busy, the family harmonious, and everything returned to normal.

Only Shen Min knew in his heart that Zhao Pingjin had not improved. The constant work pressure, poor digestion, and lack of appetite persisted.

And there was something Shen Min dared not presume—he had something weighing on his heart.