He Dongli felt that she absolutely didn’t want to eat any refrigerated leftovers, so she took out the box of shredded eel she had brought back to offer as a quick meal for someone.
The eel had been cleaned meticulously.
All He Dongli needed to do was stir-fry some scallions, ginger, onions, and green peppers with the eel, thickening the sauce with a rich, dark glaze.
The next step was to cook some noodles, and soon she had a steaming bowl of dry-tossed eel noodles.
Just as she was about to carry the bowl out of the kitchen, someone parted the curtain and came in.
Seeing the finished dish ready to be served, his “Can I help you with something…” sounded a bit ridiculous.
“I just made a quick call,” Zong Chi explained.
He Dongli handed him the bowl and told him to eat it and then leave the bowl in the sink when he was done.
Zong Chi stirred the noodles and commented that it was quite a lot.
“I’ll share some with you.”
“No need, I already ate.”
“Also eel noodles?” he asked.
He Dongli didn’t respond to that. In the warm room, she took off her coat, revealing a black wool base layer beneath a white shirt, paired with blue jeans.
Sitting on the sofa, she watched videos on her laptop.
Beautiful.
The Eighteen Scholars plant that Liang Jianxing pretended to give her was actually a foothold for Zong Chi.
It was placed in a corner, thriving under her care.
Zong Chi walked closer, bowl in hand, but her gaze remained fixed on the screen as she warned, “I’m watching surgery videos, better not come over here.”
Zong Chi picked up a forkful of noodles and said honestly, she still had a ways to go before matching Yu Nüshi.
As for the surgery videos, he was already used to them; he just avoided looking over at her screen.
“Did your mom give you this eel?”
She leaned sideways on the sofa, a coral fleece blanket over her legs.
Zong Chi approached with the bowl.
He Dongli looked up at him with a hint of displeasure, and Zong Chi lifted a piece of eel as proof, asking, “Did your mom kill and slice it?”
Behind her was the orange glow of a floor lamp, casting a fuzzy halo around her.
“Is there a problem? Spoiled? Smelly?”
Zong Chi clicked his tongue.
“If you’re trying to put me off on purpose, just say so.”
Then he fed himself some eel, “You can tell by the technique. She cuts the eel strips pretty thick. I remember back then she always made us double-cooked dishes—eel with kidney slices.”
He Dongli closed her eyes in irritation and tried to urge him, “Eat up and get out.”
In the blink of an eye, Zong Chi sat on the sofa, nearly on her feet.
Covered by the blanket, He Dongli pulled her feet back as he asked, “Did she end up hating me?”
“No. She’s not very educated, limited in understanding, and superstitious—she avoids killing fish on the first and fifteenth days of the lunar month. For her to hate some irrelevant person would be hard.”
Zong Chi choked on those words, “So you mean hatred is a specialty of your intellectuals.”
He Dongli said nothing and turned the volume up on her laptop.
Zong Chi glanced at the screen, which showed a skin graft surgery on an arm.
Just looking gave him a scalp-tingling kind of pain.
He’d heard their surgeons claim the pain was “only a little bit,” but he knew better.
He hadn’t taken many bites of noodles when his phone rang.
Setting the bowl aside, he answered.
After a few words, he noticed the video’s sound had gone silent.
He tilted his head to look at He Dongli, but she didn’t look back.
Zong Chi froze for a second.
On the other end, Qi Representative called out, “Are you there, Mr. Zong?”
Zong Chi told him to continue.
He Dongli was about to stand, but Zong Chi grabbed her ankle.
Covered by the blanket, she felt awkward but made no sound, while he nonchalantly changed position—facing her, one leg bent, foot pressed under the blanket.
Before she could glare, Zong Chi put the phone on speaker on the blanket between them and reached for the noodle bowl on the table.
He Dongli tried to take advantage of his movement to get up, but Zong Chi was quicker, turning his head with the bowl in hand and staring at his phone, repeatedly saying, “Don’t move, my phone fell.”
Qi Representative sounded confused, “Mr. Zong, are you there?”
“I’m not talking to you. Go on.”
With the call on speaker, Zong Chi swiftly finished the meal.
Qi Representative heard the young boss eating and laughed, putting business aside for a moment to tease, “Looks like you really hate Western food. Sneaking off to have your own private meal.”
Zong Chi put down the chopsticks, expression unchanged, and replied, “Yeah, today’s chefs all slipped up. The Russian-made steak tasted like a bitter gourd that’s lost its flavor the moment the wife ran off with the lover on the thirtieth anniversary. And our Eastern chef seemed to hold a grudge against someone, salting everything to the point it’s either poison or perfectly marinated!”
He Dongli felt an awkward flush on her face as the middle-aged man on the other end chuckled again.
She became even more uncomfortable.
Only when Zong Chi ended the call did He Dongli finally speak up, “If you thought it was too salty, why didn’t you just say so? No need to be so passive-aggressive!”
Zong Chi responded with a question, “Oh? It wasn’t on purpose?”
He Dongli struggled to extract herself from the sofa and went to retrieve the bowl.
“I’m not that boring.”
Zong Chi got up with her and took the bowl from her hands.
“I’ll wash it myself.”
He Dongli looked at him. Zong Chi insisted on washing and objectively admitted, “It is a bit salty, especially compared to your mom’s. Maybe it’s like you said—she avoids killing on the first and fifteenth, but you’re an atheist and use the knife every day. It’s understandable you don’t have a perfect sense of saltiness.”
Since he volunteered, He Dongli didn’t argue.
Calmly, she told him washing dishes wasn’t just the bowl—it included the pots, stove, cutting board, knives, and putting everything back in order.
Even collecting and changing the trash bags for kitchen waste.
Zong Chi agreed to everything, saying he couldn’t do it well but that she could do whatever she wanted with him tonight.
He Dongli pretended not to hear and let him be.
Less than five minutes later, a bottle rolled and clattered on the floor in the kitchen.
She went over and saw the pepper shaker had been knocked off the counter but, fortunately, didn’t break.
Zong Chi looked back and saw her standing there.
He recalled those days in the villa on Sangtiandao, when he didn’t let her leave and they were trapped in the mountains, feeling like survivors in a safe house eating leftover supplies.
He Dongli hated to see him waste food, so she still made meals for him three times a day.
The villa’s walk-in cold storage was packed with supplies, including two large fresh yellow croakers.
Yu Xiaohan often made yellow croaker noodles for them.
That day, He Dongli woke up with a slight fever.
Zong Chi found medicine for her, but she refused to take it. She felt very uncomfortable.
Zong Chi coaxed her, “I’ll cook yellow croaker soup and make noodles for you, okay?”
He Dongli was too weak and hot from the fever to argue, so she agreed and said, “Zong Chi, if you can make yellow croaker noodles that satisfy me, I’ll forgive you. I admit, I can’t beat you.”
He took it seriously, rolling up his sleeves, determined to prove himself.
Before he could gut and clean the two fish, the villa was broken into.
Zong Jingzhou’s shoulders were still dusted with snow that hadn’t melted in the warmth as he slapped his son in front of everyone.
“How dare you, you bastard! Holding someone captive—what do you want? To force them to change their mind? Or do you plan to settle things here for the rest of your life?”
“Zong Chi, it’s my fault for spoiling you with your mother. You go to someone else’s mother’s house and meddle in their affairs, disrespect your elders, and even bring people here, cutting off all communication. Damn you. I spent the whole Spring Festival trying to break that blockade. If I had a hundred daughters, I wouldn’t marry one to a bastard like you! You’re going to escort Little He down the mountain right now. If you dare say no, I’ll break your legs.”
Amidst everyone’s stunned silence, He Dongli always remembered the door wide open that day, wind and snow swirling.
Zong Chi escorted her to the entrance, where a car was waiting to take her down the mountain.
He wore a single layer of clothing, said nothing, and turned back inside.
He Dongli got in the car.
The driver handed her a box of fever medicine that she had refused to take earlier.
On the way down the mountain, He Dongli fought through the high fever.
Her tears tasted bitter and scalding.
At that moment, the only feeling she had was how numb and shattered a breakup could be, just like in the books.
She couldn’t explain it, but she was certain she might never see him again in this lifetime.
Afterward, his lawyer and his mother came looking for her, confirming her suspicions.
Yu Weishi apologized for her son’s recklessness and stubbornness.
He Dongli endured almost to the point of suffocation.
She said she never blamed him but didn’t know where to go from there.
She wanted Yu Weishi to tell Zong Chi, “We’re just not right for each other…”
Before she could finish, Yu Weishi coldly interrupted, “Back then, Xiao Chi agreed to go abroad. He promised to leave. It wasn’t yours—that kind of thought wouldn’t have haunted him this long.”
Not just in high school, but Yu Weishi and Zong Jingzhou had been sure that when he was in ninth grade, if he stayed, it was because of He Dongli.
That was Yu Weishi’s greatest regret.
They shouldn’t have listened to Zong Jingzhou’s push to transfer him.
Maybe if he hadn’t been in the system those years, he wouldn’t be like this.
They only had one child, and from birth, Xiao Chi’s father had planned to hand over all domestic assets to him, which was why he insisted Xiao Chi study domestically for a few more years and also why Xiao Chi had a different nationality.
But because of this, his father almost kept him under house arrest, forcing him to agree…
He Dongli understood everything.
She lowered her head, numb from grievance and humiliation, and finally muttered an agreement to Yu Weishi’s demands as a mother: Delete all contact with him, including his friends, everything.
If he comes back, don’t respond or meet him.
Don’t give him any hope.
Yu Weishi knew that He Dongli took the money Zong Chi had left her for expenses and reinvested it under his name with Chen Xiangyang.
Before leaving, she told He Dongli she would transfer her another sum within three days.
This money wasn’t only compensation from Zong Chi over the years but support for her studies and living.
This way, she could complete her education and further her studies without relying on her mother’s side.
He Dongli smiled and, before Yu Weishi left, asked her, “Do you know why even though I still liked him a lot, I insisted on breaking up? It’s because he’s like you—able to blame and shame others without any burden. But I can’t. I can’t be like him, arguing with the other person’s mother whenever words fail. When I say I can’t, I mean ability, talent, even class. That’s the biggest problem between us.”
Yu Weishi stood coldly silent.
He Dongli got up, politely thanked Mrs. Zong for the breakup money her son paid, and told her, “I don’t think my mother’s support is anything to be ashamed of. She just has limited understanding, pressured by life and the fate of a woman needing a husband and centering her world around that radius. She chose a new partner for some intuitive exchange that would benefit her daughter. She remarried; remarriage isn’t a trick or deception.”
Five years passed.
Zong Chi came and went like a ghost or divine intervention, playing his games repeatedly.
He Dongli knew but found it hard to expose him.
Even harder to reject him.
“Zong Chi, please leave. Maybe if you’re gone for another five years, I can finally make peace with myself.”
“I don’t want to become the instigator your mother calls me.”
The speech she had prepared was completely shredded by Zong Chi approaching with a rag in hand, and her clear, rehearsed words scattered like confetti.
He was about to speak when He Dongli turned and left the kitchen.
Eventually, the kitchen chores were barely finished.
His phone kept ringing, and He Dongli couldn’t help herself, taking the phone and telling him to answer quickly.
Zong Chi washed his hands and called her over to check.
He Dongli said nothing.
He took the phone back and hurried to leave before she could say anything.
“I have to rush back. A last-minute meeting was added. I’ll be here at five tomorrow, okay?”
He Dongli thought he had the time wrong.
“Six.”
Zong Chi chuckled, “Oh, as long as you remember.”
Before leaving, He Dongli reminded him, “Take your clothes.”
Zong Chi replied casually, like he was at home, “I wore them. They need washing. You’ll send them to the dry cleaners.”
“Zong Chi!”
“I’m off. Sleep early and remember to lock the door.”
He reached the sliding door and closed it for her.
Seeing He Dongli standing there blankly, he smiled and teased, “Aren’t you going to see me off?”
He Dongli walked over and instinctively closed the sliding door.
After a moment, footsteps hurried away outside.
As the front door closed, everything He Dongli saw felt like the calm after a storm.
The next morning, He Dongli went to the hospital, then napped at home in the afternoon.
After waking, showering, changing, and putting on makeup, around 5:30 p.m., Zong Chi called to say he had arrived.
He Dongli came out dressed in white casual pants, a denim shirt with a navy blue sweater vest, a camel-colored wool coat, and her pumpkin-colored work bag adorned with an Anpanman keychain.
When she got in the car, her bag rested on her lap. Zong Chi reached out his hand.
Her hand paused halfway while fastening the seatbelt, almost about to say something.
His hand landed on the bag’s keychain.
“I noticed you’ve been regressing over the years. You were eighteen before, now you’re almost eight.”
He Dongli pulled his hand away from the keychain.
Zong Chi leaned sideways, letting her free her hand as he examined her.
She buckled the seatbelt.
The car didn’t start immediately, so she glanced at him.
Zong Chi sat upright but didn’t start the engine.
Instead, he rolled down both side windows, letting the cold wind rush in and blow into her face.
She said nothing.
Zong Chi complained, “Fresh air. Smells great.”