Chapter 11
Pei Songji watched the two men from afar.
He couldn’t hear their conversation, but judging by Jing Ciying’s expression, they were enjoying themselves.
Jing Ciying looked relaxed, a state Pei Songji had never witnessed before. He was always meticulous and reserved in his presence.
So… they were more than just acquaintances.
“Why is your secretary with Mr. Ji?” Chu Yang, ever the pragmatist, said, a warning in his voice. “Be careful. Remember what happened to the Zhao family’s secretary? Someone bribed him, leaked their private schedule, and then the car accident. People are treacherous, Songji. Don’t let your guard down.”
Pei Songji knew about the Zhao family incident but couldn’t imagine Jing Ciying doing such a thing. “He wouldn’t do that,” he said defensively.
Chu Yang raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Oh? You trust him that much?”
“Yes.”
Pei Songji glanced at Jing Ciying again, then turned and walked away.
“Hey!” Chu Yang called after him. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Let’s go somewhere else.”
“Somewhere else? Why? Are you feeling guilty? He should be the one feeling guilty!”
Chu Yang followed, chattering, but Pei Songji didn’t respond.
Despite Jing Ciying’s efforts to avoid the topic, Lu Mi was the reason they had met, and the conversation inevitably drifted towards him.
He learned about Ji Shuhuai’s recent struggles, confirming his suspicions. Ji Shuhuai hadn’t been coping well.
Jing Ciying wanted to offer comfort, but words seemed inadequate in the face of such grief.
He gave up on consoling him and listened as Ji Shuhuai reminisced about Lu Mi.
“He was sixteen when I first met him, full of temper, like a little yappy dog,” Ji Shuhuai said, a chuckle escaping his lips. “I didn’t like him much back then. He was so noisy. But I had promised his father, so I took him in.”
“He made me realize how much trouble children can be. He was a rebel, skipping school, smoking, drinking. A real delinquent. I hated people like that, but strangely… I didn’t hate him.”
“I’ve never had children, so I didn’t know what to do. I consulted a child psychologist. They said his behavior stemmed from his past experiences and advised me to be patient, to communicate with him, to observe him.”
“And then?” Jing Ciying asked.
“I followed their advice. I talked to him every day, sent him inspirational articles. He never replied, until one day, he sent me a meme…”
“What kind of meme?” Jing Ciying was curious.
“I didn’t understand it,” Ji Shuhuai admitted. “I don’t usually use memes. I just use the default emojis.”
Jing Ciying, for the first time, became aware of the age gap between them, wondering how a young man like Lu Mi could have fallen for Ji Shuhuai.
“But after that, he started replying. I downloaded a bunch of memes to try and connect with him.”
He showed Jing Ciying his phone.
Jing Ciying suppressed a laugh, seeing the outdated, middle-aged memes.
“Very… distinctive,” he commented.
Ji Shuhuai chuckled, sending a “Good evening” meme to Lu Mi.
The message remained unanswered, a silent monologue.
“I know they’re cheesy,” he said, turning his phone face down. “He used to call me an old man. I didn’t mind at first; I am older than him. But then it started to bother me.”
“Why?”
“Old man… it sounds like such a big difference. What if I die before him? Who will take care of him? But then I realized, I was supposed to die before him anyway, but…” He paused, a mixture of regret and bewilderment in his voice. “But he left first.”
He had replayed this reality countless times, becoming numb to the pain. He continued, a wistful expression on his face.
“I…” he began, but his voice choked. It felt like a lump of cotton was lodged in his throat.
He had thought he had moved on, but today, the memories were as vivid as ever. He remembered Lu Mi, years ago, deliberately wearing a black earring to provoke him.
He hadn’t been angry, just amused. The black, diamond-studded earring had reminded him of Lu Mi’s eyes.
Bright, mischievous, like a lost fawn or a cunning fox.
The memory triggered a wave of emotion, breaking through the carefully constructed dam he had built around his grief.
He turned away, looking out the window, hiding his emotions.
“Mr. Ji?” Jing Ciying sensed his distress.
Ji Shuhuai’s hands trembled under the table, hidden by the tablecloth. He maintained a calm facade, staring out the window.
“The night view is beautiful,” he said suddenly.
He wanted to say more but stopped himself, swallowing the words.
I just miss you so much.
It was late when they finished dinner. Ji Shuhuai offered to drive him home, but Jing Ciying declined.
The hospital wasn’t far; he could walk.
Ji Shuhuai didn’t insist, saying goodbye and leaving with his driver.
Jing Ciying walked back to the hospital.
He had enjoyed the dinner. Ji Shuhuai was considerate and easy to talk to, a refreshing change from Pei Songji. He understood why Lu Mi had fallen for him. Even he, a mere employee, found Ji Shuhuai’s charm difficult to resist, let alone a lovestruck teenager.
Ji Shuhuai had been mindful of his feelings, mentioning Lu Mi only briefly.
He hadn’t explicitly expressed his love, but it was evident in his tone, in the way he spoke of Lu Mi.
Thinking of them, Jing Ciying felt a pang of regret for what could have been.
He had felt this helplessness before, the frustration of being unable to change fate.
A single twist of fate could destroy a life.
But he was luckier than Ji Shuhuai. His sister was still alive.
He felt ashamed of his earlier thoughts.
He should be grateful.
Grateful that his loved one was still with him, that he still had family.
He quickened his pace, eager to see his sister. Being near her brought him comfort.
As he walked, a shadow fell over him.
He turned to see a familiar black Bentley parked beside him.
Was this…
The car door opened, revealing a familiar figure.
“Mr. Pei?”
He hadn’t expected to see Pei Songji here.
“Get in,” Pei Songji said.
