The words were like grayish-white smoke quickly rushing out of her body, and Zhou Mi’s heartbeat subsided significantly in those moments.
Her mind suddenly became clear, like windows being cleaned and brightened.
She gazed at Jijie, her chest rising and falling slightly.
The man also looked at her. In this moment, the emotion on his face was somewhat unfamiliar, but not intense.
His long-furrowed brow finally smoothed out as he walked toward her: “Calm down first. You don’t have to resign now. I won’t force you.”
His answer once again made Zhou Mi’s thoughts boil. A flash of disappointment crossed her eyes as her tone rose slightly: “Did you understand what I said? I feel like you didn’t understand at all.”
Jijie stood there: “All these issues you mentioned can be solved gradually. Last month I already said I could get you into another 4A agency similar to Aostar.”
His expression remained peaceful, like the still waters of early spring without any wind: “If you still want to continue our relationship, I’d still hope you could leave Aostar, because every additional day you stay there, you might see your ex-boyfriend, and you still won’t be able to let him go.”
Zhou Mi was momentarily stunned, then tightened her brow: “Did you even listen to what I said? I don’t want to leave Aostar because it’s my ideal, my original intention. What does that have to do with what you’re saying?”
As she spoke, Zhou Mi felt as if ice water was pouring from the back of her neck down her spine, making it cold and stiff.
Jijie looked at her: “You can realize the same personal value at another 4A agency. The work content and nature are the same. Is Aostar your original intention, or is Zhang Lian your original intention? It’s been several months. Have you figured it out yourself?”
Zhou Mi lightly clenched her fists: “I just want to tell you, I didn’t even know he was the boss when I submitted my resume to Aostar. The work that initially moved me came from Aostar, and other companies might not have Aostar’s style.”
She took a deep breath: “You always make decisions for me like this. Have you ever asked how I feel?”
Jijie said: “But have you ever told me how you feel?”
He slowly sighed: “To be honest, I’m having trouble understanding you, too.”
Zhou Mi’s eyes gradually welled up with barely noticeable moisture: “Now you should understand. This is the kind of person I am.”
Jijie didn’t say anything more, just stood there.
Finally, he went back to the sofa to get a milk-white knitted blanket, walked up to Zhou Mi, and completely wrapped her from the shoulders: “Are you cold? Don’t catch a cold. Just rest here today.”
Zhou Mi’s entire body stiffened for a moment: “I’d better go home. Will you think about what I said, please?”
Jijie touched her cold ears, his hand stopping there to warm them: “Alright, I’ll think about it. You stay here. I’ll go home for the night. I also hope you can think about me. I don’t like arguing with people, and I especially don’t want us to be unhappy.”
Zhou Mi quietly stared at his fair face, without looking away.
This was indeed their first argument since they started dating. Usually, everything was warm and peaceful, like April weather, without severe cold or scorching heat.
Jijie’s left hand went to warm her other ear, which was like an ice cube: “To be honest, you scared me a bit.”
Zhou Mi felt guilty: “Sorry.”
Jijie exhaled very softly, pulling her against him: “Let’s both calm down. I’ll take Nana and Lulu to Huajun for a night. It’s too cold outside. Don’t go out again. Just stay here.”
Zhou Mi pressed against his shoulder, circling his waist: “…Never mind, it’s too much trouble.”
Jijie agreed.
But that night, neither of them spoke another word. Until drowsiness overtook her and her eyelids grew heavy, Zhou Mi lay alone in the bedroom, while Jijie remained in the living room.
—
Like a watershed, after this day passed, Jijie no longer took Zhou Mi out to participate in activities, to sightsee, or to find various interesting or beautiful places to gather material and take photos.
Zhou Mi’s life began to depart from its colorful state.
Like graffiti on a wall or tattoos on skin being deliberately cleaned away, quickly returning to a pure, authentic state.
She would work late at the company, not wearing makeup, or only applying a light layer.
She also retreated from Jijie’s social circle, no longer being the focal point of his displays. The carefree and adorable Nana and Lulu returned to center stage.
Their desire to share gradually diminished.
Because there was no longer any overlap, because no one was willing to cooperate or compromise.
Zhou Mi clearly understood that everything surrounding her was not within Jijie’s range of preferences, just as the interaction mode that Jijie thought could bring happiness had long been wearisome.
Jenny rarely pried into her subordinates’ private lives, but she was curious: “You’re not resigning anymore?”
Zhou Mi gave a faint “mm” in response.
Jenny didn’t inquire further.
The chronic, dry cold mutual consumption gradually made this relationship become empty, not even reaching the point of hunger—always in a state of being three-tenths full, a lukewarm weight loss condition.
On New Year’s Eve that year, Zhou Mi received a breakup text from Jijie.
It was a long message, almost occupying the entire page. The greeting at the beginning was no longer “baby” or “Mimi”:
[Zhou Mi, after thinking for almost a month, I’ve decided to be clear with you.
Before that night when you opened up to me, I never felt that you were unhappy being with me. Of course, I noticed times when you seemed out of sorts, but I thought you just couldn’t let go of your ex-boyfriend. I’ve had profound emotional experiences too, so I could accept and understand to some extent.
I’ll also be honest that my initial attraction to you wasn’t entirely pure. There was the element of love at first sight, but also interest and a desire to conquer after discovering you were living with your boss. I was curious about what kind of girl you were, to be able to establish such a close relationship with the upper management, so I started pursuing you.
At the same time, the beginning of our relationship wasn’t so clearly defined either.
So I was eager to bring you into my world, to give you all the best things, to let these joys cover your previous emptiness and pain, to help you transfer your emotions, to help you move past the pain of your previous heartbreak, to quickly become 100% of your world. I thought I would succeed, but instead, it plunged you into another kind of pain.
During this time, I’ve been thinking about how to find a balance point between us, but I’ve discovered there isn’t one. I have my own life, my own interests, my own mission, and I’ve lived this way since I was old enough to understand. When we both live for ourselves, we lose a great deal of our intersection.
I’ve tried to persuade myself many times, but I still can’t bear you staying at Aostar. I’m not a completely magnanimous person; I have the possessiveness that normal men have. But I think you won’t want to resign now or in the future, and I don’t want to force you anymore.
So we can only end here.
Tomorrow is the new year. I hope we’re both happy.]
Zhou Mi read this message countless times, and suddenly covered her nose and mouth as tears surged forth. The overwhelming emotions were not about relief or liberation, but rather being moved—a heartfelt stirring. Her previous two relationships hadn’t ended well; both had been deeply painful and left her with lingering regrets, unclear and explosive. Only with Jijie did she truly achieve a good beginning and end.
Finally, she replied to him: [Thank you. Wish you a happy new year too. May every year be filled with joy.]
After responding, Zhou Mi sat with her legs bent, lost in thought, slowly waiting for her tear tracks to dry. She jumped off the chair, slipped on her slippers, and strode purposefully toward the living room.
Her parents were sitting side by side on the sofa watching the Spring Festival Gala. Seeing her come out, they both widened their eyes simultaneously.
Zhou Mi stood there, blocking most of the television.
At first, Tang Peili waved her hand, telling her to move aside, then noticed her slightly reddened eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked with concern.
Zhou Mi clenched her fists: “Before midnight arrives, I want to announce two things.”
Seeing her grand manner, Tang Peili’s forehead slightly twitched: “What?”
Zhou Mi spoke clearly and articulately: “First, Jijie and I have broken up.”
Tang Peili opened her mouth in surprise, just about to speak, when she was interrupted by her daughter again: “Second, after the New Year, I’m moving out. I want to rent my place.”
Then she turned and left, full of vigor and determination.
Tang Peili sprang up, wanting to follow and shout a few words, but was pulled back down by Zhou Xing, who frowned and held her in place: “It’s the countdown. Why are you running off? Don’t you want to spend New Year’s with me this year?”
Tang Peili sat down, swallowing her anger.
——
At midnight, Zhou Mi sent out her carefully edited New Year’s Eve greeting messages with many emoji expressions to a group, arranging corresponding exclusive versions for important elders or friends.
Flowery and garish.
This was Zhang Lian’s first thought when he received Zhou Mi’s message.
Xun Fengzhi was beside him, licking ice cream while watching the Spring Festival Gala. She casually glanced over and saw her son staring at his phone, his lips slightly curved upward as if no one else was around. She couldn’t help but ask: “Do you have new developments?”
Zhang Lian looked up, his expression instantly cooling: “No.”
Xun Fengzhi snorted, “Do you think I believe that? No new development means it’s the old situation.”
She finished her ice cream in two or three bites and also raised her phone, muttering: “Let me see—”
She clicked her tongue, feigning surprise: “Oh, my student even sent me a separate New Year’s greeting message.”
And read it aloud: “‘Teacher Xun, happy Spring Festival. May your new year be better than the last…'”
Then she asked her son with a smile: “Did you receive a separate New Year’s greeting message from your employee?”
Zhang Lian ignored her completely, turning his head to watch television, his elbow against the sofa armrest, his posture relaxed.
“Why isn’t her boyfriend in Zhou Mi’s Moments anymore? Did they break up? That young man looked very good. I quite liked seeing their photos together,” Xun Fengzhi’s expression turned worried: “Ah… I guess the young girl is probably crying at home again. On this big New Year’s Day, I feel bad for her too. Such a good girl, why is her love life so bumpy?”
Zhang’s father peeled an orange for her, laughing: “That’s enough from you.”
Xun Fengzhi took it, putting a segment in her mouth: “New year, new beginning. I’m just seeing that some people can sit still.”
Zhang Lian turned to glance at her, then directly left the living room.
—
Before going to sleep, Zhou Mi received a reply from Zhang Lian.
She had locked herself in her room to prevent her mother from coming in later to nag and criticize her until dawn.
As it was a festive season, many of her friends had changed their profile pictures to auspicious red backgrounds for wealth and blessings. So when the man’s not-at-all lucky-looking avatar popped up, she was startled, her eyes widening slightly.
Besides, it was already past one in the morning, the busiest and most clamorous period on social media had passed, and everything was quiet.
He replied with four characters: Happy New Year.
Zhou Mi didn’t know what to say, but also felt that leaving it cold wasn’t good. Finally, she chose an original [cute] smiley face.
He asked: Not asleep yet?
Zhou Mi slowly typed: Mm, are you not asleep either?
After sending it, she realized this question was stupid.
But Zhang Lian quickly answered: Mm.
He asked again: Are you doing okay?
Zhou Mi immediately understood what he was referring to, bit her finger, and paused for a moment: I’m okay.
The chat box was quiet for a while.
Then another message appeared from him: Sleep early.
Zhou Mi glanced at the faint night, suddenly realizing she had forgotten to draw the curtains. The window was like a large black pupil looking into the room. She slid off the bed, with a swoosh completely blocking out the night, and only then stood there to reply: Okay, you too.