That ring existed on Zhang Lian’s hand for only one day.

The next day, when Zhou Mi came to work as usual, her colleagues had already moved on to other topics of conversation. She saw Tao Ziyi praying very devoutly in the group chat: “I hope it was just a decorative item, otherwise I won’t have any motivation to continue working for Aoxing, wah wah wah.”

The company never lacked various girls who admired Zhang Lian.

A mysterious, handsome, flawless executive would never lose his attractiveness. His existence was a privileged embellishment, a shrine in the gray and depressing corporate jungle, suitable for girls who still admired power to worship in their hearts.

During previous dinners or group chats, Zhou Mi would occasionally hear about Zhang Lian’s various moments of charm or romantic rumors.

But no one would know that she had once been deeply involved in these experiences… an insignificant nobody.

If this were a personal biography, she thought, she would probably be summarized in a single sentence: “He once had a secret entanglement with a female subordinate.”

—She wouldn’t even merit the detailed description “ended without incident,” and would be quickly passed over by readers.

Zhou Mi wore black-framed glasses today, like a low-key female academic.

Ye Yan was somewhat surprised and asked what was wrong.

Zhou Mi pointed to her left eye, saying it felt uncomfortable, unsure if she was developing a stye or conjunctivitis.

Ye Yan was looking at a contract in her hand, but didn’t forget to express concern: “If it’s uncomfortable, go see a doctor first. People’s Hospital isn’t far from here.”

Zhou Mi gratefully curved her lips slightly, saying it wasn’t necessary.

The box of chocolates Zhang Lian had given her still sat in the corner of her desk, unfinished. She cherished it greatly, eating only one piece a day, and had saved her favorite white heart-shaped one for last.

She treasured everything he had ever given her.

Zhou Mi opened WeChat. She had already unpinned Zhang Lian from the top of her chat list. He was quickly washed away and buried by numerous work conversations, reverting to an irrelevant username with whom she would no longer have any connection.

But what she couldn’t prevent was that even without seeing his name, the moment she logged into the app, her heart would still ache.

This pain was bewildering.

All-pervasive, yet never landing anywhere concrete—just purely at certain moments, it would suddenly make her want to cry.

It had nothing to do with a broken heart; it was the rush of wind through a hollowed-out space.

Last night, she had curled up alone on her small bed at home, as if nearly freezing to death, clenching her jaw, her shoulders trembling as she cried for almost the entire night.

Her mother hadn’t reproached her once because, in Zhang Lian’s explanation, he had taken all the responsibility, and she was the complete victim.

Zhou Mi had pried indirectly to learn that Zhang Lian had told her mother he had always been a latent anti-marriage advocate, unknown even to his parents. At that time, because he liked Zhou Mi and feared separation, he had deceived her and both families, but now that things had come to this point, he felt he couldn’t hold her back any longer.

Her mother said he sounded calm and hypocritical on the phone.

She had also ranted in disbelief for a while, concluding: “I don’t believe it at all. A perfectly fine young man, how could he suddenly not want to get married? Saying one thing and doing another. He was fine when he visited last time. How did he suddenly change his mind? I think it’s just an excuse. After being together for a while, he regretted it. Different social classes just don’t work out. In the end, we’re the ones who lose…”

Her scolding abruptly stopped when she saw her daughter’s tear-streaked face.

Zhou Mi didn’t want to recall the chaos and extreme awfulness of last night. She took a deep breath, picked up her bag, and left the company with Ye Yan.

Today, they were going to the set to supervise the filming of the Dragon Boat Festival food bucket.

As they approached Zhang Lian’s office, his door was open. Zhou Mi only glanced once, and her heart experienced another tearing pain.

She had to breathe through both mouth and nose, adjust her breathing, and then walk past without looking sideways.

They took a taxi there.

At the studio, Zhou Mi was somewhat surprised to see Jijie.

Given his rank, he didn’t need to personally handle many things, but he seemed to have an amazing attention to detail and patience for work.

It could only be said that high appearance gives boldness—Jijie wore a T-shirt printed with large, lush pink floral patterns today, probably an artist collaboration piece. It was eye-catching, but particularly suitable on him, making his smile appear even more full of spring-like atmosphere.

Following her leader, she greeted him warmly. Jijie smiled and said: “First time seeing you wear glasses.”

Zhou Mi adjusted her frames somewhat self-consciously.

Ye Yan teased appropriately: “You two seem to have met many times.”

Jijie looked at her: “Not that many.”

Ye Yan smiled, imitating a female host’s tone: “Really? I don’t believe it.”

Jijie led them inside, asking if they wanted coffee.

Ye Yan was pleasantly surprised, shaking her head in disbelief: “Why does it feel like we’re the clients?”

“I bought them for everyone, how could you not have any?” Jijie was still smiling.

Zhou Mi greatly admired Ye Yan’s social skills in all situations. With clients like Jijie, whose personality and attitude were very nice, she would enter friendship mode, but with obviously difficult clients, she would be cautious, weighing every word.

When Jijie handed Zhou Mi an unopened paper cup of coffee, Ye Yan tactfully found an excuse to leave, walking over to the photographer.

Zhou Mi took a sip and noticed her lipstick had left a small mark on the white cup rim. She lowered the cup, fidgeting as she lightly wiped away the small red stain with her finger.

Jijie noticed her self-conscious small movements: “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

Zhou Mi looked up at him, not denying it: “No, thank you for taking me home.”

Jijie said, “You already thanked me last night.”

Zhou Mi made another sound of acknowledgment, unable to prevent herself from falling into silence again.

Jijie’s eyes were very different from Zhang Lian’s—clear black and white, with concrete emotions.

“Do you have plans for lunch?” he suddenly asked.

Zhou Mi said, “I need to go home for a bit.”

Jijie asked: “What time are you leaving?”

Zhou Mi glanced at the progress over there: “Around noon.”

Jijie said, “I can drive you to your residential area on my way. It might save some time, but it’s fine if you’d rather not.”

Zhou Mi considered for a moment: “That would be great.”

Jijie smiled slightly.

Near noon, Jijie first drove the two of them back to the company. On the way, Zhou Mi informed her leader in advance that she had something to do at home during lunch. Ye Yan glanced curiously at the driver’s seat but didn’t ask for specific reasons.

Ye Yan got out of the car in front of the Jiuli Building.

When only the two of them remained in the car, Zhou Mi twisted the brown leather strap of her bag and raised the question that had troubled her since last night: “Why did you know… about this?”

Jijie answered quickly without thinking: “Intuition, I guess. After that time, I ran into your boss.”

Zhou Mi’s lips parted slightly in surprise: “You can sense that?”

Jijie’s tone approached joking, but wasn’t flippant: “Maybe?”

“Okay…” Zhou Mi lowered her voice.

Jijie continued: “At first I thought you were being…” he paused for a second: “kept. I’m sorry, that guess might have been offensive. You don’t seem like that at all. I quickly dismissed that idea myself.”

Zhou Mi exhaled slowly, grateful: “Thank you for keeping this secret for me.”

Jijie said, “It’s nothing.”

Zhou Mi didn’t speak anymore.

They drove in silence for a while.

Jijie spoke again, his tone calm: “Was it an argument?”

“No,” Zhou Mi’s eyelids flickered quickly a couple of times, not concealing anything: “I’m going there at noon to pack my things and move back home.”

Jijie fell silent.

His eyes reflected the countdown of the traffic light outside. When the green light suddenly appeared, he abruptly asked: “Are your parents coming with you?”

Zhou Mi looked up: “Hmm?”

Jijie asked: “Has your father been to Huajun before? Outside vehicles aren’t allowed to enter freely.”

Zhou Mi shook her head: “No.”

Jijie glanced at her: “I’ll come with you all at noon.”

Zhou Mi asked: “Won’t that be too much trouble for you?”

Jijie smiled slightly: “Not at all. I was planning to go back to walk my two masters at home anyway.”

—

Sitting in her father’s car, the three members of the Zhou family were momentarily silent, the low pressure extending from last night until now.

As they approached the community entrance, Zhou Mi leaned her head forward, raising her voice to instruct: “Stop next to that black Mercedes car up ahead.”

Tang Peili peered through the front window, her eyes momentarily dazzled by the car model: “What for?”

Zhou Mi hesitated slightly in defining Jijie’s identity: “That’s my… client’s car, waiting for us.”

Tang Peili turned to look at her daughter, her gaze a bit more inscrutable.

Zhou Mi met her eyes and explained clearly: “He also happens to live in Huajun. Without him leading, Dad’s car can’t get in.”

Tang Peili turned her head away without asking more.

Zhou’s father slowly stopped the car to the right of the Mercedes G-Wagon.

Zhou Mi lowered the rear window and called to him.

Tang Peili also looked over. A young, handsome face leaned over from the higher window: “Ready to go now?”

Zhou Mi: “Yes.”

Jijie’s gaze moved to Zhou Mi’s parents in the front seats, his lips curving into an extremely polite arc: “Uncle, Auntie, good afternoon.”

Zhou’s parents nodded to him almost simultaneously.

Jijie said, “Just follow my car.”

The two cars drove out into the traffic flow one after another, maintaining an appropriate following distance.

Tang Peili turned around again, eyeing her daughter suspiciously.

Zhou Mi frowned: “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Tang Peili said, “You seem quite close with your client.”

Zhou Mi said, “We’re not that close. He’s just being helpful.”

Tang Peili asked again: “Does Zhang Lian know?”

“Of course he knows,” Zhou Mi’s earlobes immediately turned red, her tone becoming sharp: “So what? What does it have to do with him?”

Tang Peili pressed her lips together, changing the subject: “Did you tell him we’re coming to pack things at noon?”

Zhou Mi’s voice was surprisingly calm even to herself: “I told Chen Ayi. He won’t be coming back at noon. I chose this time specifically because I didn’t want to see him. I don’t want to see him ever again.”

Tang Peili said nothing more.

With Jijie’s help, scanning his face and registering, Zhou’s father’s white Ford passed through without obstruction.

After briefly saying goodbye in their respective cars, Jijie turned in the direction of the fourth building.

Tang Peili watched his car leave, her expression softening somewhat: “Your client seems like a nice person.”

Zhou Mi said, “Yes, he’s very nice.”

Tang Peili asked curiously: “Is he married?”

Zhou Mi thought for a moment: “Probably not.”

Upstairs, Zhou Mi didn’t directly enter by pressing the password as before, but knocked and waited.

The first day was like this, and so was the last.

Chen Ayi received them, and she was the only one at home.

She warmly asked if they had eaten lunch, her demeanor somewhat unable to hide her discomfort.

Tang Peili was transferring her anger and didn’t give her any pleasant looks. Zhou Mi could only help by falsely claiming they had already eaten.

After changing shoes, Zhou Mi took a light breath and walked inside.

Arriving at Zhang Lian’s bedroom, she found her belongings all still in place, the bed neat, as if no one had ever lain on it.

Zhou Mi pressed the back of her hand hard against the tip of her nose, forcing back tears, then walked back to her bedside to put things into bags.

There weren’t many items in the master bedroom, just some charging or sleep-aid gadgets, and toiletries.

After confirming that no trace remained in the room, she walked toward the second bedroom.

Tang Peili followed behind, asking strangely: “Which room did you sleep in?”

Zhou Mi paused: “Both.”

Tang Peili furrowed her brows, full of doubt: “Did you two often argue and sleep in separate rooms?”

Zhou Mi didn’t answer.

In fact, before yesterday, they had never had a real argument. Her temperamental moods, he accepted them—with embraces, with kisses, with tender gazes.

Zhou Mi numbly took clothes from the closet, removed them from hangers, mechanically repeating the same actions, then stuffed them all into the suitcase. Finally, she went to pack her mountain of accumulated books.

Her mother folded and arranged items one by one behind her, regretful and angry: “I thought you’d be living here long-term. I even sent things here. I created trouble for myself…”

Zhou Mi seemed not to hear, stopping at the desk in the second bedroom.

In the center sat the delicate music box the man had brought back for her from his Hong Kong business trip.

Zhou Mi stared at the Pinocchio inside for a very long time.

An indescribable pain that made it hard to breathe slowly drowned her, destroyed her. She stood there frozen like a doll with a broken spring, allowing tears to flow uncontrollably from her eyes.

It turned out she was the real liar.

He had never been terrible in her heart; he had always been as wonderful as at the beginning, unattainable.

A secret, enormous expired lottery ticket that would make her heart bloom, give her endless fantasies, but could never be redeemed.

With a hiss, Zhou Mi tightly pulled the zipper of the suitcase, like closing a treasure chest that had finally fallen from a height, completely sealing away all that was beautiful and broken.