Zong Chi immediately regretted asking the question.
However, He Dongli answered frankly, “She’s a girl. After the subjects split, she ended up in my class. She knows you, but you don’t know her.”
“Hmm, now I do.”
Silence fell between them.
He Dongli hesitated in her heart.
This was the best moment to socially connect and make an impression, and Zong Chi was a man who cared about face.
Since she had already said this much, regardless of anything else, she believed that if she spoke up, he would at least give her that bit of respect.
Yet, his habitual arrogance in scrutinizing the genders of people around her made her unwilling to approach him or lower her head.
She had argued before that as long as she didn’t make him happy, that was her greatest satisfaction.
Zong Chi rubbed the cup in his hand, still tasting the oolong tea.
He took another sip, then put the cup down and looked across at her.
The room was spacious but the recessed lights only covered so much.
She sat focused before her laptop, diligently working without complaint.
He had said before about her, that the reason she never gained weight was because she treated hardship as her daily meal.
Back then, when she helped him with problems, she explained her thought process but he didn’t understand.
He Dongli’s brows would furrow as if going to court, and then she would start scolding him: “Zong Chi, what exactly are you doing in class? You don’t take notes, you don’t remember formulas, your reasoning is unclear.”
Just when Zong Chi thought he’d escaped that lecture and could go home, the next day, after morning exercise training, He Dongli came to the classroom door with her special one-on-one tutoring notes, openly and straightforwardly calling for him.
Lin Jiaoyu had seen how He Dongli managed Zong Chi’s attitude, calling her a “mom on a mission.”
They would joke around with him, then He Dongli would suddenly think of a simpler way to solve a problem and shout from the stands in the basketball court: “Zong Chi, are you ready? I figured it out.”
Calm, straightforward, more effective than any coercion from his parents.
After tutoring him, He Dongli wouldn’t stay even a minute longer—she would leave to go home.
Once, she left a half-finished Starbucks Frappuccino behind and went back to get it.
She overheard Lin Jiaoyu and others mocking Zong Chi for being weak: “What does he have on her? She listens to everything she says like a little wife. She even teaches better than those top instructors.”
Zong Chi was working on problems on the stands.
He threw aside He Dongli’s rough notes and re-derived everything himself.
To Lin Jiaoyu and the others, that was just too pretentious—like trying to reform from bad habits.
So, as usual, Zong Chi pinned the blame on the woman in his life.
“Get lost!”
Zong Chi cursed.
She retorted, “She’s just good at explaining. What does it matter to you? She helps me get through exams—can you? If I don’t meet the scores your family expects, will you go to school with me alongside those deadbeats? Or will you pick up my body if I get mad and die?”
Lin Jiaoyu teased, “Alright, you’ve got a crush on her. The prince is about to take a consort.”
He Dongli walked silently like a cat onto the stands.
She approached with a playful smile, as if mocking the teasing around them.
Zong Chi asked, “Why are you back again?”
He Dongli took back her drink.
Zong Chi warned her about the dangers of drinking things out of his sight.
She didn’t listen and only lamented, “I barely had a few sips.”
Zong Chi complained again, “He Dongli, too much sugar will make you dumb.”
She looked at his homework steps with supreme arrogance, “Hmm, I’ve got more than enough to teach you.”
Before leaving, she reminded Zong Chi, “The Four Minor Subjects results are out. Remember to pay me the make-up fee in cash. I don’t want it charged to the student card.”
Zong Chi scolded her, “You’re practically throwing money away.”
He Dongli didn’t argue back.
Lin Jiaoyu begged her to stay, “Zong Chi is treating. Let’s go eat hotpot.”
He Dongli refused without looking back, “You guys all play basketball together, the smell of growing up there is just too strong.”
Lin Jiaoyu took a moment to respond, then asked Zong Chi, “What does that mean?”
Zong Chi: “Get lost.”
He threw the wrapper of a butterfly pastry on the bar and finished his tea.
Slowly, he realized something—
He Dongli wasn’t keen on socializing.
When she had taken her cousin and that Shen Mingchong to visit Yizhong, she happened to bump into Zong Chi, who was training with the school swim team.
Zong Chi asked who they were.
He Dongli only vaguely said they were relatives.
That’s when Zong Chi once mistakenly thought Shen Mingchong was also a relative.
Tonight, for the rare occasion that she took the initiative and introduced someone to him, he asked, “You’re close to her?”
He Dongli looked up at him in confusion.
Zong Chi continued, “Jiang what?”
“Xingyuan. ‘Xing’ like star, ‘Yuan’ like field.”
“You’re introducing her so seriously—do you need something from me?”
The mechanical tapping of her keyboard paused then resumed.
Zong Chi keenly caught the hesitation and guessed correctly.
Though a little disappointed, he thought that a friend He Dongli would speak up for once couldn’t be simple.
Not for anyone else, but for her ex-boyfriend’s sake, she wouldn’t respond empty-handed.
Zong Chi reached out his hand.
He Dongli asked warily and dryly, “What for?”
“Phone.”
“While I’m still in Jiangnan, if your friend has something to say, say it quickly. If it can be done, I’ll help you. If it can’t—”
Zong Chi stopped and corrected himself firmly, “Alright, anyone who can be your friend won’t make unreasonable demands.”
She had no choice but to hand over her phone.
Zong Chi typed his number into her WeChat search bar and sent a friend request.
His phone wasn’t on.
“Once I get back, I’ll approve it and send you my secretary’s contact card. Then you tell your friend to reach out to her.”
“No need to make it so complicated. She does new media. She wants an exclusive for your daily chemical acquisition.”
“That’s even more troublesome. You probably haven’t paid any attention to me these years. When have I ever done a new media interview?”
Indeed, if he wanted, he could handle any photos or private life exposures without his consent.
His father managed the family’s public affairs strictly, and the Zong family only accepted interviews officially.
“Forget it then.”
He Dongli took back her phone, “I’ll tell her.”
“Send them the official account first to prove credentials.”
Zong Chi’s tone was proper but clearly negotiable, better than outright rejection.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me for nothing.”
Zong Chi responded, then carried his empty cup over to her sink.
He looked back at the screen full of literature on her computer.
He thought he should leave—whether she really had work or was just staying up for him.
“You focus on your work, I’m leaving now.”
He Dongli watched him approach.
Before she could say anything, Zong Chi said, “Chen Xiangyang’s driver can stop tomorrow.”
“I’ll call you a driver.”
“No need.”
“I’ll arrange a car. Your car will be picked up tomorrow.”
“No need.”
“I’ll give you money…”
“He Dongli, what are you afraid of?”
Her heart was exposed.
She finally admitted, “I can’t bear the responsibility if something happens to you.”
Zong Chi paused, then in the same tone as always, “If I don’t even take care of myself, why should you take responsibility for me? Don’t worry, if something happens to me, no one will blame you. The law and my will can clear your name.”
He Dongli felt dizzy hearing those terrifying words, her blood pressure rising sharply.
Zong Chi saw her struggle and felt a strange satisfaction—almost a perverse release.
At least in front of that Zou Yan, she’d never lost her composure like this.
Compared to a flawless, perfect figure, Zong Chi preferred the lively, imperfect He Dongli.
That summer after they graduated from the Yizhong Affiliated High School, he had dragged her by the hand running wildly to the ancient temple near the school.
Under the centuries-old trees, she bent over with her hands on her knees, and from intense exercise, her nose started bleeding.
She cried and scolded everyone, including Zong Chi, holding her nose, “Nothing good ever happens when I meet you. Laugh at me if you want—you have plenty of capital to do so, Zong Chi. You wanted to know, so here it is: my mom went back to Jiangnan to marry a man. Xu Xilin was right—without her dad, I wouldn’t have even gotten near the school gate.”
“I want to go back, but I don’t have the means. I don’t know what to do. Mom sold the house before she returned. How do I tell her? I don’t want her to marry another man. I thought she’d love Dad forever…”
“Is it really true that when someone dies, it’s like a light goes out and nothing remains? That love can only be for someone alive.”
Fourteen-year-old He Dongli’s face flushed and paled in waves.
Zong Chi worried she might bleed out and die.
That night he told his parents he would stay at Yizhong and not go to the UK, then went out to find her, bringing her milk and chocolate.
She cried it out and was still alive—that was good news, even if he realized it late.
Fifteen years later, Zong Chi was still the same jerk.
The fact that he could still make her angry and that she was fully present before him was the best news.
The car keys were on the coffee table.
When he stood earlier, a box had been knocked over.
Zong Chi picked up the keys and put the box back in place.
The box contained all kinds of things: Ibuprofen extended-release tablets, burn ointment, a sewing kit, carbon batteries, an AirPod, a glass bottle for incense, green long matches…
Under the matches was a pack of Marlboro.
Zong Chi’s hand froze as he tidied.
He Dongli noticed and stood up to approach.
As she neared, Zong Chi picked up the pack.
The classic health warning was marked with black pen ink—a date annotation.
Zong Chi didn’t know what day it was exactly, but the handwriting was He Dongli’s.
She had written the number 7, emphasizing the left stroke to distinguish it from 1.
“Whose is this?”
Zong Chi almost blurted out as she reached for it.
He Dongli was silent and took the pack back.
Unexpectedly, Zong Chi crushed it in his hand and snapped, “I’m asking, whose is it?”
He Dongli was startled by his sudden burst of anger but then realized something—he hadn’t changed, but she had become someone even she could hardly accept.
The accusing man looked at her silence, his heart like ghostly blue-black flames flickering in a graveyard.
Zong Chi threw the crushed pack aside with a sharp, scornful tone, “He Dongli, so your principles only apply to me.”
“I smoke, and you can’t stand it anywhere. I promised you but didn’t keep it—that’s just who I am. Smoking feels like breaking a heavenly rule to you.”
“When I’m upset and smoke one, does it make me look like I have no troubles to deal with? Not letting me smoke, treating me like a grandson—turns out, you only bark orders at me,” Zong Chi stepped right up to her, his face cold and his posture pressing down, demanding, “He Dongli, I’m asking again, whose is it? That Zou Yan, right? You’re already this close, he comes in and out of your place at midnight, smokes here, and this day—October 17th—is it some special day worth remembering? So much you’re afraid to forget and had to write it on his cigarette pack, huh?”
He Dongli’s anger flared listening to his wild accusations.
Any calm and tactful demeanor he’d built over the night instantly vanished.
Yes, don’t forget how you and he broke up in the first place.
Don’t be fooled by illusions and a momentary rush of blood—broken mirrors are broken mirrors.
Trying to glue them back only leads to repeated failures.
“He Dongli, I’m talking to you.”
“What? Zong Chi, I need to correct you—I have the right and freedom to let anyone in or out of my place at midnight.”
Freedom.
Zong Chi laughed uncontrollably.
Right, her freedom was something he had voluntarily returned to her.
“Is that so? Then I’m still standing here because you graciously gave me that right, looking at past favors.”
He Dongli said nothing.
Zong Chi was relentless, “I want you to tell me exactly what your relationship with Zou Yan is. His cigarettes are here, and you’re still going to blind dates? He’s that pathetic or are you wearing some green hat…?”
“Zong Chi!”
“Tell me! Or it’s not over between me and him.”
“Zong Chi, say that again! You’re seriously sick! We broke up years ago! Who I see is none of your business! What right do you have…?”
“My right is these cigarettes!”
Zong Chi cut her off, “What has he done to deserve your exceptions? And why the hell was I under your control for so many years!”
He Dongli was so furious, she was speechless.
They looked at each other.
Suddenly, Zong Chi reached out.
He Dongli’s heart was like an oil lamp, carefully held, not letting it tilt or spill.
A single spill might ignite a blaze.
Tonight, she avoided him twice.
This time, Zong Chi didn’t hide the gesture, his hand stopping mid-air.
Then she said softly, “I’m sorry.”
“If you think I controlled you all those years, then I apologize. Yes, I shouldn’t have forced you with my dad’s illness making me overly cautious. Smoking is harmful to health—that contradiction even printed on cigarette packs—and I shouldn’t have worried so much to ban you.”
“So, you admit you reflected on your mistakes through me, and ended up helping someone else.”
“He Dongli, I’ve become the martyr of your new love.”
Zong Chi withdrew his hand, slipping it back into his pocket.
He Dongli’s gaze was unwavering.
In their silence, she let him misinterpret her as someone who could so easily betray herself for marriage or career by going along with another man.
He turned and left.
In the vast, empty building, only the sounds of him walking away, the sliding door, and the closing door remained.
He Dongli crouched down and picked up the crushed cigarette pack, the date on it written by her own hand.
That cigarette pack was bought at the small shop across the street on October 17th, on a day when she felt utterly suppressed.
She sat on the sofa, struck a match from the long green box, almost burning her eyebrows, and lit half a cigarette.
She brought it to her lips to help it burn…
Zong Chi, soaked and cold, got into his car and slammed the door shut.
Burning with rage, something in his trouser pocket poked him—adding fuel to the fire.
It was a humiliating reminder that he had done anything for her, shameless and without scruples.
The next second, he pulled out the Black Pearl Cufflink from his pocket and threw it fiercely at the windshield.