Chapter 30
Jing Ciying took the early morning high-speed train back to Lincheng.
He didn’t know how much longer Pei Songji would stay in his hometown, but the thought of him taking the high-speed train amused him. Pei Songji had probably never taken public transportation before. It was a novel experience for him.
He was usually adaptable, but this time, leaving his hometown felt like withdrawal. He kept thinking about his time with his aunt and Ruoruo.
Those few days had been so precious, and he knew he would never have them again.
The emptiness lingered, and he forced himself to focus on work.
But even work couldn’t fill the void. He was surrounded by people, yet he felt utterly alone.
And in reality, he was alone.
He felt a strange, unsettling emotion creeping into his heart, like a persistent drizzle, a dampness seeping into his bones, turning everything cold and gray.
The feeling intensified on payday.
He received the notification just before leaving work. His salary had been deposited.
Ji Shuhuai paid him well, and in less than six months, he had accumulated a substantial amount.
But looking at his growing bank balance, he felt lost.
He had never had this problem before.
His previous salary had always been immediately consumed by his sister’s medical bills.
He had always been focused on earning more, never having a chance to see a surplus.
Despite the burden, he hadn’t felt this… emptiness.
His colleagues were excited about their paychecks, planning a celebratory dinner.
He just sat there, staring out the window, feeling a strange sense of apathy.
It was time to leave, but he didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to join his colleagues for dinner. But he didn’t know what else to do.
“Jing, come with us!” a colleague called out.
“Yeah, you haven’t joined us for dinner before. Come on!”
He realized everyone was looking at him.
He usually declined such invitations, either because of work or sheer exhaustion.
He instinctively wanted to refuse, but he couldn’t think of a good excuse. He remained silent.
His colleagues, interpreting his silence as agreement, became more insistent.
He was about to give in, not wanting to seem antisocial, when a sharp pain stabbed him in the gut.
He doubled over, clutching his stomach.
“Jing, are you okay?” his colleagues asked, concerned.
He didn’t know what was happening. It felt like a knife twisting in his gut. The intense pain subsided quickly, leaving a dull ache.
“I’m fine,” he said, shaking his head. “Just a stomach ache. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? Should we go to the hospital?”
“No, I’m fine. You guys go ahead. I’ll skip dinner.”
“Okay. Get some rest,” they said, leaving him alone in the office.
The ache lingered, but he seemed to be getting used to it, even finding a strange comfort in the pain, a desire to intensify it.
He knew it was a strange, unhealthy impulse, but he couldn’t control it, the urge growing stronger, seeking an outlet.
His phone rang.
It was Pei Songji.
He almost rejected the call, then hesitated and answered.
“Hello,” Pei Songji’s voice said.
“What is it?” he asked directly.
“Lindai University is celebrating its 120th anniversary the day after tomorrow. Are you going?”
Jing Ciying was surprised. He hadn’t been aware of it, his mind consumed by work.
Was Pei Songji still interested in such things?
Then he realized, alumni events often involved invitations to successful graduates. Pei Songji was probably invited.
He felt a pang of sadness, then considered the invitation.
He still had fond memories of his alma mater and hadn’t been back in years. He was tempted.
Pei Songji, sensing his hesitation, said, “I can pick you up the day after tomorrow, if you’re going.”
“No, thank you,” Jing Ciying said quickly. “I’ll go myself.”
“Okay,” Pei Songji agreed readily.
Jing Ciying, still feeling unwell, didn’t want to prolong the conversation.
But before he could hang up, Pei Songji stopped him. “Wait.”
“Is there something else?”
“Yes…” Pei Songji hesitated, knowing it was a long shot. “I’m downstairs at your office. Want to have dinner together?”
Jing Ciying considered it. It was a kind offer, after all. He lied without hesitation. “I’m already home.”
“Really?” Pei Songji sounded disappointed.
“Yes. Maybe next time.”
“Okay,” Pei Songji agreed easily.
Jing Ciying hung up, waiting a while before leaving, assuming Pei Songji had left.
But as he stepped out of the building, he saw Pei Songji leaning against his car, waiting for him.
Jing Ciying cursed his carelessness.
But it was too late to turn back. He walked towards him, forcing himself to appear calm.
“Mr. Pei,” he greeted him.
Pei Songji didn’t seem angry, just amused. “Little liar,” he said with a smile.
Jing Ciying, a master of composure after years of dealing with Pei Songji’s whims, didn’t flinch. “How did you know I wasn’t home?”
“I’ve been waiting here since this afternoon.”
“Waiting for me? Why?”
“For dinner. There’s a new Cantonese restaurant I thought you might like.”
“I…” Jing Ciying started to refuse.
“You said ‘next time’ on the phone,” Pei Songji interrupted. “You already rejected me once. This is ‘next time.'”
Jing Ciying was taken aback by his twisted logic. That had been a polite dismissal, not a promise.
Pei Songji knew that, but he was being deliberately obtuse, and Jing Ciying couldn’t refuse without seeming rude.
Besides, the ache in his stomach persisted, a constant reminder of his unsettling desire for self-destruction.
He didn’t want dinner, but he suddenly craved alcohol.
The urge was unexpected, but it quickly intensified, like a wildfire.
He didn’t have many close friends in this city. Pei Songji, despite everything, was the most familiar.
And since he was here… why not?
“Fine,” he agreed after a moment of hesitation. “But I don’t want dinner. I want to drink.”
“Drink?” Pei Songji seemed surprised. Jing Ciying wasn’t much of a drinker.
But he didn’t refuse. He agreed readily, driving him to a private bar.
He had assumed Jing Ciying just wanted to relax, but as soon as they sat down, he ordered several strong cocktails.
“Is something wrong at work?” Pei Songji asked, concerned.
“No,” Jing Ciying shook his head.
The ache in his stomach made him reluctant to speak. He waited for his drinks.
They arrived quickly.
He didn’t bother offering Pei Songji anything, just started drinking.
The alcohol and ice seemed to numb the pain, and as he drank, he forgot about his discomfort.
He lost track of how many drinks he had consumed.
As he reached for another glass, Pei Songji stopped him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice serious.
Jing Ciying looked at him and chuckled. “Do you think I’m here to pour my heart out to you?”
He pulled his hand away. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to drink.”
“You shouldn’t drink like this.”
Jing Ciying knew he was concerned but deliberately misinterpreted his words. “It’s my treat tonight.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Pei Songji said quickly.
“I know.” He swirled the liquid in his glass. “I just got paid. I have money to burn. Consider it a treat.”
Pei Songji seemed to understand, his concern shifting to a quiet observation.
Jing Ciying continued drinking.
The alcohol and ice mixed with the pain in his stomach, creating a strange, twisted sense of pleasure.
He must have been drunk to show Pei Songji his bank balance on his phone.
“I have a lot of money,” he said, slurring his words.
Yes, he had a lot of money, but it was insignificant compared to Pei Songji’s wealth.
But Pei Songji didn’t look disdainful, just concerned.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Do you pity me?”
“No,” Pei Songji replied immediately.
Jing Ciying chuckled. “I’m not pitiful.”
“I’ve never felt sorry for myself, even when I was broke.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know. You don’t know anything.” The pain intensified, spreading through his body, engulfing him.
The pain brought a moment of clarity, a fleeting urge to stop himself.
He had never shared his struggles with anyone. Why tell Pei Songji now?
Especially Pei Songji.
They were from different worlds; he wouldn’t understand.
He bit his lip, trying to stop himself, but the words poured out, fueled by the alcohol, years of suppressed emotions finally finding an outlet.
“I was so broke… My sister was in the hospital. The bills were piling up: nursing care, treatments, medication, hospital bed rental, rehabilitation equipment… and the lawsuit, the lawyer’s fees… I was constantly worried about money. I couldn’t afford the hospital anymore, so I had to transfer her to a cheaper, charity-funded care facility. The doctors and nurses there were kind, but I felt so guilty, like I had failed her. Finally, after I started working, things got better, and I could afford the hospital again.”
“I got to know the doctors and nurses there. They tried to comfort me, told me to be strong, that I was working too hard, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t mind the hard work. Being able to trade money for her life… it was worth it. As long as she was alive, it was all worth it. I wasn’t suffering, I was happy. Every day.”
“But then… she left.”
He wanted to stop. He knew Pei Songji had investigated him, knew about his sister.
His grief was his own; it wouldn’t resonate with Pei Songji. He didn’t want to burden him with his story.
But he couldn’t stop.
“After she died, I kept dreaming about her, always happy and smiling. It made me wonder… was I really doing it for her, or was I just… being selfish?”
“Everyone said I was suffering, but she was the one truly suffering. Maybe she wanted to be free, but she held on for me, for so many years. She was probably aware, trapped in her own body, unable to speak, unable to move… she was the one truly suffering.”
His voice choked with emotion. He drained his glass, the burning liquid intensifying the pain.
The numbness gave way to a sharp, agonizing ache.
He reached for another glass, welcoming the pain.
But the glass was snatched from his hand.
He looked up to see Pei Songji holding it.
“Don’t do this to yourself,” Pei Songji said softly, his voice filled with concern.
“And how do you know she didn’t want to live? If your positions were reversed, she would have done the same for you. And you would have wanted to live, hoping to wake up one day, to be with her again.”
The constant ache in his stomach subsided slightly.
He sat there, his vision blurring, unable to see clearly.
He didn’t notice when Pei Songji sat beside him, his arm hovering protectively, as if wanting to embrace him but holding back.
“Don’t punish yourself. You did everything you could,” Pei Songji said gently.
Jing Ciying must have been truly drunk to seek comfort from Pei Songji.
But he needed reassurance, so he asked, despite everything, “Did I… do a good job?”
“You did an amazing job,” Pei Songji replied.
