Chapter 21
“Resign?”
The word hit Pei Songji like a bullet, silencing his prepared tirade.
He had never imagined hearing that word from Jing Ciying.
He had never considered what life would be like without him.
Jing Ciying had been by his side for six years, a constant, quiet presence, like a shadow.
He had become accustomed to his presence, and the past month had been unsettling.
He admitted his feelings went beyond anger; he was worried.
He knew Jing Ciying wouldn’t disappear without a reason. Something must have happened.
He needed an explanation.
Jing Ciying owed him an explanation.
He would forgive him, forget everything, as long as he explained his absence. He just needed a reason, an excuse.
But Jing Ciying’s resignation had thrown him off balance.
He instinctively wanted to refuse, but he stopped himself.
Jing Ciying had signed a contract, not sold his soul. He had the right to leave.
But…
He had never felt this panicked, but he maintained his composure, forcing himself to speak calmly. “Have you thought this through?”
He hoped it was a rash decision, an impulsive statement, but Jing Ciying’s reply was firm. “Yes. I’ll be at the office on Monday to finalize the paperwork.”
Pei Songji wanted to say something, but the call ended.
Jing Ciying had hung up on him.
It was the first time. He was always the one to end their calls.
Lately, so many strange things had happened that this small act of defiance seemed almost insignificant.
He didn’t dwell on it. He wanted to call back, demand an explanation.
What was going on? Why had everything changed so suddenly?
But he stopped himself.
He couldn’t call.
He had already lowered himself enough, and Jing Ciying had shown no respect.
He was the boss. Why should he beg an employee to stay?
He wasn’t the one at fault.
Jing Ciying was the one who had abandoned his post, disappeared without a word. He should be the one offering explanations, not Pei Songji.
Besides, he couldn’t imagine Jing Ciying finding a better-paying job.
He was so desperate for money; would he really leave Pei Group?
To his surprise, Jing Ciying arrived on Monday to finalize his resignation.
He barely recognized him.
Jing Ciying had always been thin, but now he looked even thinner, his white shirt hanging loosely on his frame, his demeanor lifeless.
He had always been quiet, but this was a different kind of quiet, a heavy, empty silence, as if he were a hollow shell.
Pei Songji was alarmed. He picked up the resignation letter, looking for a reason.
Jing Ciying had simply written “Personal reasons.”
“What personal reasons?”
He had been prepared to be angry, rehearsing the confrontation in his mind countless times.
He had intended to be cold, indifferent, but seeing Jing Ciying’s state, his resolve crumbled.
Something had happened, something serious, but Jing Ciying clearly wasn’t going to tell him.
“I was ill,” Jing Ciying explained, his voice weak. He wanted to keep it brief, but he knew he owed Pei Songji more than a flimsy excuse. “The doctor advised me to rest, so I can no longer work. I’m sorry, Mr. Pei.”
It was the most plausible explanation he could come up with. He did look ill.
Pei Songji didn’t respond, just fidgeted with his pen, the office falling silent.
In the past, Jing Ciying would have analyzed his every move, every expression, searching for clues to his thoughts, wondering if he was angry.
But now, he didn’t care. He just stood there, waiting.
Finally, Pei Songji looked up, his voice laced with displeasure. “Do you think I’m that easy to fool?”
Jing Ciying sighed inwardly. He hadn’t managed to avoid the confrontation after all.
He knew he was in the wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain everything to Pei Songji.
He was just a secretary, replaceable, insignificant. His grief wouldn’t matter. Even if he poured his heart out, all he would receive were a few empty words of comfort.
It wasn’t worth it. He knew his place.
“I’m not trying to fool you. I really need to rest.”
“What illness?” Pei Songji’s annoyance intensified, but he restrained himself. Jing Ciying looked genuinely unwell.
Jing Ciying avoided his gaze. “Please just sign the form.”
“Jing Ciying!”
Pei Songji felt like he was seeing him for the first time.
This stubbornness, this coldness…
He was a stranger.
But looking at his fragile state, his anger dissipated, replaced by concern.
“If you want me to sign this, you need to tell me why you’re resigning.”
“I told you, I was ill.”
“What illness? Do you have a medical certificate?”
Jing Ciying remained silent.
Pei Songji pushed the resignation letter back towards him. “I can’t approve this without a valid reason. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be effective for another month.”
“Why?” Jing Ciying finally reacted, his voice laced with a hint of desperation.
“You’re required to submit a written resignation letter one month in advance. Surely you know that?”
Jing Ciying recalled the company policy. He did know that. But the past month had been a blur.
Pei Songji was right. He hadn’t followed procedure.
He didn’t argue, taking the resignation letter back. “I’ll submit it to HR then. I’ll officially resign in a month.”
He turned to leave.
As he reached the door, he heard footsteps behind him. A hand reached out and slammed the door shut.
He turned to see Pei Songji staring at him, his silence radiating anger.
“Jing. Ci. Ying.” Pei Songji enunciated each syllable, his voice low and menacing.
Jing Ciying had never seen such a range of emotions on his face: concern, anger, frustration, helplessness.
“Do you think you can just come and go as you please?”
Jing Ciying knew he was at fault. He apologized again. “I know this is sudden. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your apologies!”
Pei Songji’s voice rose, his control slipping. “I just want to know why you left Colorado without a word, why you disappeared, why you’re resigning now! I just want an explanation! Is that so much to ask?”
Jing Ciying finally looked at him, seeing his usually composed boss unraveling, and it was because of him.
There was no point in hiding it anymore. It was a simple explanation. He just didn’t understand Pei Songji’s persistence.
He had never questioned other employees’ reasons for leaving, just signed the forms without a word. Why was he so insistent on knowing his reasons?
He didn’t want to share his grief, his burden. He had become accustomed to carrying it alone.
But Pei Songji was adamant.
He owed him an explanation.
“A family member passed away. It was… sudden. I didn’t have time to request leave.”
“A family member? What happened? Was it serious?” Pei Songji’s heart sank. He understood such sudden loss all too well.
But his concern felt intrusive to Jing Ciying. They were just boss and employee.
“It’s over now,” he said simply.
Pei Songji was hurt by his evasiveness. They had worked together for so long; why wouldn’t he confide in him? He would have helped him.
“If it’s over, why are you resigning?”
Jing Ciying hesitated. He hadn’t initially intended to resign, but Pei Songji’s ultimatum had triggered the thought.
He knew Pei Songji just wanted the truth, but in that moment, he had simply wanted to quit.
He had never liked this job. He had endured it for his sister. Now that she was gone, it didn’t matter anymore.
But he couldn’t tell Pei Songji that. He repeated his previous excuse. “I’m not well.”
“I can give you some time off. You can rest and then come back,” Pei Songji offered, trying to retain him.
But Jing Ciying refused. “Thank you, Mr. Pei, but no. I’m tired. I need a break.”
“You can take as much time as you need, with pay.”
“Thank you, but I’m not coming back.”
Pei Songji had never been rejected so firmly. Despite his feelings for Jing Ciying, he had his pride. He wouldn’t beg him to stay. He fell silent.
He felt something cold in his hand.
He looked down at the pen he was holding.
It had been warm, but now it was cold, like their dying relationship.
“Fine.”
He took the resignation letter and signed it. “Since you’re so eager to leave, there’s no need to wait a month.”
He handed the signed form back to Jing Ciying.
“Congratulations on your resignation.”
Life after resignation wasn’t much different.
He still woke up early, but he didn’t have to go to work, didn’t have to go to the hospital. He spent most of his time at home.
He realized how empty his two-bedroom apartment felt.
So empty he could hear the silence.
Perhaps he should move to a smaller place. But he dismissed the thought immediately.
He couldn’t give up his sister’s room, even though she was gone.
He had to find another way to fill the emptiness.
He started leaving the TV on all day, the sounds filling the silence.
That’s what his aunt saw when she arrived: Jing Ciying sitting on the balcony, staring into space, the TV playing a sitcom, the cheerful sounds amplifying his loneliness.
Seeing him like this, her eyes filled with tears.
“Xiaoying.”
He turned, finally noticing her.
Lost in his grief, he had forgotten to inform her about his sister’s death. He had only remembered when he saw her missed calls.
He had called her back.
She had just finished work and answered quickly. “You finally called back! You must have been busy.”
“Yes…”
He had thought he had processed his grief, but hearing her voice, he felt a wave of emotion.
“What’s wrong? Is it work?”
“No.”
“Then what is it? Is it Junjun? Is she… not doing well?” Her voice was filled with anxiety. “I’ve had a bad feeling these past few days, worried something had happened. You weren’t answering my calls, and now…”
“Aunt,” he interrupted. There was no point in hiding it any longer. “My sister… she’s gone.”
His aunt, usually so talkative, fell silent.
After a long pause, he heard muffled sobs, then a heart-wrenching cry. She was weeping uncontrollably.
She quickly hung up, perhaps not wanting him to hear her grief.
He didn’t call back. He couldn’t comfort anyone; he was crying too.
His aunt must have taken leave from work. She looked exhausted, her eyes red-rimmed, but she wasn’t crying, just avoiding his gaze.
He did the same, fearing his tears would spill over.
“Has Junjun been buried?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Take me to her.”
“Okay.”
He took her to the cemetery.
It wasn’t the most expensive place, but it was peaceful, surrounded by trees.
“This must have been expensive. Why didn’t you bury her back home?”
“She always wanted to stay in Lincheng.”
“Then… let her be.”
His aunt fell silent.
Time hadn’t eased their grief.
They were both holding back, pretending to be strong.
Standing before his sister’s grave, his aunt gently touched the cold stone. “Junjun, Aunt is here to see you. It’s good that you’re at peace now, no more suffering. But you left too soon. Walk slowly on your journey. Come back to us in your next life. We’ll be family again.”
“Don’t hate me for telling Xiaoying to give up on you. I didn’t want to. I just… I felt so sorry for you both. I didn’t want you to suffer. I just… I couldn’t help you. It’s my fault. How could I say such a thing? Now that you’re really gone, I… Junjun… Junjun…”
Her carefully constructed composure crumbled, tears streaming down her face, splashing onto the cold stone.
She slid to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably, clutching the tombstone.
Jing Ciying knew words were useless. He knelt beside her, holding her.
They were alone in the cemetery.
The trees swayed gently, the wind whispering through the branches, like a mournful cry.
His aunt stayed for only a day, leaving him some money before she left. He tried to refuse, but she insisted.
After she left, he found the money hidden in the refrigerator.
He smiled sadly, accepting it.
He didn’t have much money left. After buying the burial plot, he had less than 10,000 yuan.
He had to get back on his feet.
Ji Shuhuai was right; life had to go on.
But without his sister, he no longer had the same drive, the same desperation for money. He just needed enough to survive. He wanted to try something he enjoyed.
He started looking for jobs, sending out resumes.
His academic credentials were impeccable, but his recent work experience as a secretary didn’t align with his degree, raising concerns among potential employers. He received no responses.
He wasn’t worried.
Ji Shuhuai visited him one day, noticing the resumes on his computer. “Are you looking for a job?”
Jing Ciying, considering him a friend now, knew what he meant. Ji Shuhuai had offered him a job several times. He felt a pang of awkwardness but answered honestly, “Yes.”
“Why not consider Huaisi?”
Jing Ciying hesitated. He knew the offer was motivated by kindness, but Ji Shuhuai had already done so much for him. He didn’t want to be indebted to him any further.
Ji Shuhuai seemed to read his mind, smiling gently. “Do you feel like you owe me?”
Jing Ciying smiled back, acknowledging his debt.
Ji Shuhuai sighed. “Xiaoying, you really lack confidence. Why do you assume I’m only offering you a job out of pity? Why can’t it be because I genuinely admire your abilities?”
“Admire… me?”
“Yes. You’re resilient, hardworking, dedicated, responsible, and capable. You have an excellent education. I believe you would be a valuable asset to Huaisi. It would be a win-win situation.”
“Really?” Jing Ciying smiled shyly.
“Yes. You’re very capable. Trust my judgment. If you feel like you owe me, wouldn’t working for me be a way to repay your debt?”
“But…” he still hesitated.
“No buts. Just try it, Xiaoying. If you don’t like it, you can leave anytime. How about that?”
Ji Shuhuai’s words finally swayed him. He couldn’t refuse him any longer.
“Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll try it.”
Monday was overcast.
The forecast predicted rain, so he took an umbrella.
Ji Shuhuai had given him a business card, instructing him to contact his assistant on Monday.
He arrived at Huaisi promptly at 9:00 am.
He went to the 27th floor and met with Ji Shuhuai’s assistant.
Ji Shuhuai had already informed his assistant, who recognized Jing Ciying’s name immediately.
He gave him a tour of the office, explained his duties, and completed the onboarding process.
With the assistant’s help, everything went smoothly. By noon, he was familiar with his new role.
He expected to start work immediately, but the assistant said, “Mr. Ji said you can go home and rest this afternoon. You can officially start tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he replied, although slightly confused.
The assistant gave him a key card and led him to a private elevator.
“This is Mr. Ji’s private elevator. You can use this from now on. No need to crowd with the other employees.”
“That’s too much,” Jing Ciying said, flustered.
The assistant simply smiled and pressed the key card into his hand. “Mr. Ji’s instructions. I’m just following orders. Don’t make it difficult for me.”
The elevator arrived. Jing Ciying couldn’t refuse any longer. He would return the key card to Ji Shuhuai later.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
He stepped into the elevator.
He knew the private elevators were reserved for executives and important guests. The cabin was luxurious, decorated in gold, with a subtle fragrance, much more comfortable than the regular elevators.
He pressed the button for the first floor.
The elevator descended quickly, without stopping.
The private elevator exit wasn’t near the main employee exit, so he didn’t expect to see anyone.
But as the doors opened, he saw several figures standing there.
He glanced at them casually, then something registered.
He looked again.
And met Pei Songji’s gaze.
