The office fell silent for a moment.

Tao Zhi’s heartbeat, which had just steadied after the smooth and satisfactory shoot, began to stir again.

Expressionless, she turned off the camera and nodded. “Pick whatever time suits you. You can just contact the magazine directly.”

As she spoke, she walked to the sofa, packed up her things, and said nothing else. It looked like she was ready to leave.

Jiang Qihuai silently watched her zip up her bag. He lifted his hand to take the coat draped over the sofa’s backrest, and suddenly said, “Have a cup of tea before you go?”

“I don’t like tea,” Tao Zhi said flatly. “And I’m busy, I have other things to do.”

“I thought you liked it now,” Jiang Qihuai said, his tone emotionless. “Otherwise, why would you keep going to tea houses?”

Tao Zhi blinked, turned her head, and said innocently, “That depends on the person—depends on who I’m drinking it with.”

The words were clear and blunt, leaving no room for him to step down gracefully.

Tao Zhi wasn’t the kind of person who was especially sharp-tongued. Unless someone truly provoked her, she usually left others a little leeway when she spoke. With age, compared to when she was in high school, she had grown much gentler. So this remark wasn’t in line with her usual temperament.

But when facing him now, Tao Zhi didn’t know why—her emotions always turned suddenly sharp and sensitive, as if she couldn’t wait to get away from him, farther and farther away, as though she were afraid of something.

Jiang Qihuai didn’t respond. His eyelids drooped, concealing the look in his eyes. After a few seconds of silence, he only hummed softly.

Tao Zhi put on her coat. The corners of her lips faintly fell as she turned around.

She hung the scarf over her arm, picked up her bag, said nothing more, and silently walked to the door. Pushing open the frosted glass door, she stepped out of the office.

Wen Mingyue was conducting a brief interview with the assistant next door. When Tao Zhi came out, she happened to finish. She put away the recorder and looked up from her laptop. “All done? I’m about done here too, got enough material.”

She closed the laptop, winked at Tao Zhi, and whispered, “That director’s tough to deal with, huh? When I was interviewing him, I swear I had to poke him ten times to get five words out.”

“……”

Tao Zhi didn’t know how to respond for a moment and could only show an expression that said hard to explain.

Fortunately, Wen Mingyue immediately understood. She patted her on the shoulder, full of empathy. “I get it, I get it. Man of few words. But at least you were only photographing him and didn’t need him to talk—otherwise you’d be as desperate as I was.”

She packed up her things and, as they walked out together, muttered, “Still, for someone that silent—what’s the point of being handsome? Dating him would be boring to death.”

The ex-girlfriend who had dated him, found it not boring, and even quite happy, said: “…That’s right.”

When they left the Ruisheng office building, it was four in the afternoon.

Just after getting into the car, Tao Zhi received a WeChat message from Lin Suyan. He said he was a bit busy today and didn’t have time to meet her, suggesting they grab coffee another day.

He also asked why she had suddenly come to their company today.

Tao Zhi couldn’t be bothered to explain much. She only briefly said it was work-related and added three exclamation marks to stress that she wouldn’t be coming again another day either.

When she returned to the studio, Xu Suinian was still standing in front of his old equipment, grinding coffee beans. Seeing her walk in, he grinned brightly. “You’re back? How did it go? Everything smooth?”

Tao Zhi was still in a foul mood, and yet Xu Suinian had to hit the muzzle of the gun right on target. She immediately blamed the entire unfortunate encounter with Jiang Qihuai on him for not helping An Sese, and said mournfully, “Senior, can you please have a little ambition? For small, unknown photographers like us who just graduated a few years ago, this is the time to build our portfolio and hone our skills. If you keep grinding coffee beans every day like this, do you think the Hasselblad Award will come knocking on your door?”

“I was just thinking you could scam Sese out of another box of Lego,” Xu Suinian waved it off, completely at ease. “You’re the one with ambition—that’s enough. How could a small studio have two representative figures anyway? When you make it big, remember to give me some free publicity.”

Tao Zhi was used to his salted-fish-like unwillingness to turn over, and waved her hand. “I won’t come tomorrow. If there’s anything, call me.”

Xu Suinian responded with a hum. When she left, he turned his head to glance at the calendar and sighed. “Time really flies.”

Xiao Jin came over with a freshly washed coffee cup in her hands, curious. “Brother Nian, is the boss busy tomorrow? Around this time last year, when we went to Hamdan, she didn’t go either.”

Xu Suinian turned his head, smiling as he changed the subject. “Xiao Jin’s already grown into a big girl,” he said with the sigh of an old father. “I still remember when you first came to the studio—you were only twenty-one. In the blink of an eye, look at you now.”

Xiao Jin: “…I’m only twenty-two this year.”

Xu Suinian: “Really? Ahaha.”

Before the alarm even rang, Tao Zhi opened her eyes.

In the deep of winter, the sky at five in the morning was still half-dark. Not a hint of light could be seen in the room. Lying in bed, Tao Zhi blinked at the dim ceiling.

How many years had passed now?

She still remembered that winter break years ago, when Tao Xiuping woke her from sleep. In the dim half-darkness, she rushed in panic to the hospital.

By the time she arrived, Ji Jin was already fading. Her eyes were ringed with darkness, her body so thin she seemed to sink into the bed, her delicate, beautiful face unable to conceal the traces of illness, an oxygen tube resting beneath her nose.

When she heard someone come in, she opened her eyes with difficulty. Her dark eyes looked at her and curved softly in a faint smile.

Her voice was still gentle, her words threaded with rasping breaths, as she called her name softly.

She said, “Zhizhi, Mama is a little tired. I want to sleep for a while.”

She said, “Zhizhi is a grown-up now, you have to take good care of Xiaofan and listen to your father.”

She said, “I’m sorry Mama couldn’t watch you grow up, but Mama is also very happy—to see that you have.”

She said, “I have no regrets.”

They say that if someone passes away with unfulfilled wishes in their heart, they will appear in their loved ones’ dreams after death. Yet strangely, in these four years, Tao Zhi had never once dreamed of Ji Jin.

Perhaps she truly had no regrets.

Tao Zhi had never seen her in a dream, but in those early nights, she would sometimes wake up suddenly in the middle of the night—only to realize afterward that she had been crying.

Birth, aging, sickness, and death—an ordinary cycle. As she continued to grow, her parents grew old. In every person’s life, these things always come to be borne a few times—only a matter of sooner or later.

Tao Zhi merely felt reluctant to let go. Back then, when Ji Jin named the twins Zhi and Fan, she had joked that she hoped to see them grow from small saplings into towering trees—lush with branches and leaves.

That way, when she and Tao Xiuping retired after a lifetime of hard work, they could rest in the shade of those trees—quietly, lazily, enjoying the peace of being cared for by their children.

But now, those trees had already grown tall and leafy, enough to cover the sky—yet she hadn’t lived long enough to sit beneath them.

In the darkness, Tao Zhi blinked, then slowly lifted the blanket and got out of bed. After washing up, she changed into a black cashmere long dress and went out.

Standing at the entryway, she chose a dark red scarf.

When she was little, Ji Jin had always loved dressing her in red during winter—red hats, red scarves. The little girl’s pale skin set off by the bright color, standing in the snow, looked as beautiful as a paper-cut girl in a New Year’s picture.

Slowly, one loop after another, she wrapped the scarf around her neck. Then she took the elevator down to the underground parking lot, started the car, and drove toward the suburbs.

By the time she reached the cemetery, the sky had brightened. Tao Zhi looked at the engraved initials on the marble steps, walked past rows of tombstones, and from a distance saw another figure standing before Ji Jin’s grave.

Ji Fan stood quietly before the tomb, head lowered, no one knew how long he had been standing there.

Tao Zhi’s steps paused for a moment before she walked forward.

Hearing the sound, the young man lifted his head and glanced at her, then raised his hand to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.

Tao Zhi pretended not to see it. She walked over, bent down, and placed the bouquet of lilies she held beside the grave, then stood shoulder to shoulder with him.

She didn’t bow, nor did she say any words of remembrance—she simply stood there quietly, gazing at the woman’s photograph, her gentle smile still soft even after the color had faded.

Ji Fan’s voice was hoarse. “Why are you so late? I’ve been here half the day.”

Tao Zhi lowered her reddened eyes and said calmly, “I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

“What, are you on a diet?” Ji Fan sniffed and rubbed his face with his hand. “Breakfast should be eaten. Don’t try to act trendy like the young people nowadays—you’re not young anymore. You’re an old lady now; act like one. Weren’t you the one who could eat eight bowls of small wontons in one sitting?”

“Show some respect for your sister,” Tao Zhi said coldly. “Do you really want me to beat you up in front of Mom?”

“Mom would just let you. She’d probably even smile watching you hit me.”

“Which proves how much of a brat you are. I’m basically upholding justice.”

Tao Zhi turned her head. “What about Boss Tao? He left already?”

“He didn’t come. When I got up, I saw him just getting home.” Ji Fan pointed to the third bouquet in the center—roses whose outer petals had wrinkled slightly from being left out too long in the cold air. “You’re so inconsiderate. Give the old man some privacy, will you? How could they have a heart-to-heart talk if we two light bulbs were hanging around?”

Tao Zhi smiled faintly and didn’t reply.

After a while, Ji Fan rubbed his frozen nose, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and said, “Let’s go. Time for some wontons. Today I’ll watch you eat eight bowls again.”

Tao Zhi raised her hand and smacked the back of his head.

They walked past rows of tombstones, and at one of them, something caught the corner of Tao Zhi’s eye. She stopped abruptly.

She stared for a moment, then turned her head and looked down.

She had come here many times, yet never noticed it before. In the same row beginning with the letter J, about ten or so spaces away from Ji Jin’s, a gray-white tombstone came into view—and an elderly man’s kindly, familiar face entered her sight.

His wrinkled face wore a gentle smile. Reading glasses rested on his nose, and his cloudy eyes curved softly, calm and kind, as though quietly watching everyone who looked at him.

Beneath the photograph, familiar handwriting had carved black words:

—— Jiang Qinghe.

—— Erected by his grandson, Jiang Qihuai, in 20xx.

The temperature in the city was noticeably higher than in the suburbs. After Tao Zhi and Ji Fan ate a bowl of small wontons at an old breakfast shop near their neighborhood, they headed home.

When they arrived, Fu Xiling was just about to go out. Seeing Tao Zhi return, the girl didn’t say much, just fussed over her—reminding her to eat lunch, to warm up the milk before drinking, mentioning there were washed strawberries and freshly made sandwiches in the fridge. Checking the time and realizing she was about to be late, she finally rushed out the door in a hurry.

Tao Zhi smiled as she sent Fu Xiling off, then went back inside and sat on the sofa, spacing out.

She didn’t know how long she sat there before she came back to her senses and glanced at the time—it was already close to noon.

She took a shower to ease her slightly heavy mood, changed into loungewear, and took the sandwich Fu Xiling had made that morning out of the fridge.

Tao Zhi picked out the fried egg and vegetables from the sandwich first, ate them, then bit into the bread while tying up her hair. She took out her camera and laptop, sat back on the sofa, and got ready to process the photos she had taken of Jiang Qihuai earlier.

One photo after another flashed past. Tao Zhi looked at the man’s cold, detached eyes and fell into a daze.

Ever since meeting Jiang Qihuai again, Tao Zhi had only felt that he must be doing very well now.

He had skipped grades in university, finished his master’s in art abroad in just one year, and returned to the country as the youngest investment director ever hired at a top domestic firm for an enormous sum. What he showed to the world—and what everyone saw—was only his brilliance and composure, his dazzling, effortless success.

As a result, Tao Zhi had never truly thought about how he had lived through these years.

She only felt that he was dangerous. She only wanted not to be drawn to him again—not to repeat her mistakes, not to lose control and gravitate toward him once more. That was why, every time she saw him, she grew irritable; and every time she thought of him, her first instinct was to figure out how to escape.

Tao Zhi hugged her laptop and buried her head into the sofa cushion.

Her own life over these years couldn’t really be called bad. Sometimes she cried, but most of the time she laughed. She had gone through some sad things, but there had also been plenty of happiness. She had lost people, but she had always had friends by her side, and Tao Xiuping and Ji Fan had watched over her with care along the way.

And Jiang Qihuai?

He had always been someone solitary by nature. From the time she first met him, he was always alone—his personality a mess, unable to get along with people, and too lazy to even try.

She didn’t know what had happened in his family, or how much he had gone through in these six long yet fleeting years to reach where he was now.

Did he have friends? Did he ever feel happy? Had things gone the way she once hoped for him—smoothly, peacefully, with an open road ahead?

Tao Zhi didn’t know. Without Grandpa Jiang, she didn’t know who, if anyone, still walked beside him on this path.