Thirty

No one knew how much time had passed until the car suddenly dipped, jerking Zhang Momo awake as if from a dream. She straightened with a start. There, leaning against the hood of her car, was a man. His figure stood tall; though his dark suit was handsome, it appeared almost too thin for the biting winter night. Yet he remained there stubbornly, motionless, the white mist of his breath curling in the chilly, dim streetlight—somehow betraying a weariness and loneliness too deep for words.

His usually neat hair was now somewhat disheveled; head tilted back, he gazed intently at a window in the building above, eyes bright yet strangely hollow, as if fixed on something distant and unreachable. Following his line of sight, Zhang Momo felt as though she could hear the sound of her own heart breaking in two.

Perhaps her sudden movement sent a shudder through the silent, dark car, for Xiang Zuo turned in surprise. Through the tinted windshield, he caught sight of her face. Neither spoke; the silence stretched until even their heartbeats faltered. At last, unable to contain herself, Zhang Momo opened the door.

“Momo…” Xiang Zuo’s voice held a note of bewildered embarrassment, awkward and unsure under her cold, silent gaze. He seemed ill at ease. “I shouldn’t have come to find you so late, but there’s something I must ask you.”

Something to ask her? Shouldn’t he have simply called her or come upstairs and knocked? Why stand here under her window, lost in thought?

But Zhang Momo didn’t voice these questions. She remained silent, scrutinizing him with a wary, even guarded expression. A faint, bitter smile tugged at Xiang Zuo’s lips. Of all the people in the world, she trusted him the least, yet he couldn’t stop himself from seeking her out. A wave of self-loathing rose in him—then receded as he looked upon the face he had longed for so many times. He pressed on, voice growing heavy with restraint. “Hu Yongnian’s only son, Hu Xiaosong—how well do you know him?”

Zhang Momo was taken aback. Hu Xiaosong, like Tang Hao, had been one of her closest childhood friends, growing up together with her and Nianqing. He’d even been her schoolmate during her studies in England. That first year abroad, while she was still finding her footing in a strange land, Hu Xiaosong, then in his final year, had set aside a room for her in his rented apartment. The two became each other’s support, almost like family in a foreign country. Later, after earning his degree, he returned to China and joined Dongyin. But fate is unpredictable; while expanding the market in Boyuan City, he got into an argument with a group of local thugs in a bar—and was tragically killed.

This incident was not only a pain Hu Uncle never wished to mention, but for Zhang Momo, it brought an ache in her heart whenever she thought of it. Yet what did this matter, or this person, have to do with Xiang Zuo?

At that moment, her mind was elsewhere. Since he mentioned Hu Xiaosong, her thoughts naturally turned to the news she’d just heard from Hu Uncle: after more than thirty years at Dongyin, he’d recently been stripped of all his administrative duties. She remembered the forced smile with which he tried to comfort her—“I’m getting old, it’s good to rest”—but behind his words, the sorrow in his eyes was plain to see. The pain of it twisted in her chest, and when she finally spoke, her words became weapons. “What business is it of yours?!”

Xiang Zuo looked genuinely surprised, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. He hesitated for a moment, then ignored her bluntness and asked, half sure, “Did you meet with Hu Yongnian?”

Hearing the name, Zhang Momo’s mood plunged further. After all, he was an elder; how could he be treated so harshly? Hu Uncle had devoted his life to his work, even serving as vice-chairman of the Chamber of Commerce—a nominal post, perhaps, but still a testament to decades of diligence. And now, with a single word from Xiang Zuo, he’d been relieved of it! In the end, it was Hu Uncle who comforted her indignation—“Momo, I was wrong to suggest you meet with President Xiang on behalf of Nianqing. You were young and inexperienced, but for me, an old man, to offer such advice… if you blame me, I have no one to blame but myself.”

On her way back, Zhang Momo had tried to convince herself such things were only human nature and not his fault. Yet, face-to-face, her resentment surged uncontrollably. Why him? Why did it have to be him who hurt those closest to her?

She couldn’t bear to hate him, but pretending nothing had happened would betray those dearest to her. Lost in her tangled emotions, she turned to leave. Before she could reach the steps, he seized her wrist from behind—a grip too forceful in his agitation, pressing her slender form against a nearby car. She could feel the heat and trembling in his hand, mirroring her own heart.

“Speak to me!” His voice, suddenly loud with desperation, betrayed his agitation. “Did Hu Yongnian say something to you? What did he say?”

But the more anxious he became, the colder her heart grew. A faint, ironic smile curled at her lips as she flung off his hand. “Don’t worry. Uncle Hu is not the sort to stab anyone in the back. He keeps telling me you have your reasons, your hardships. He’s never blamed you, and he’s urged me not to blame you either.”

Xiang Zuo was silent for a long time, unable to speak. He’d expected this, and yet, faced with her utterly impassive expression, all his rationality and calculations were swept away. He exhaled deeply, deliberately avoiding her gaze, forcing himself to speak with the last vestiges of reason and caution. “Momo, there are things I can’t explain to you now—give me some time. But for now, don’t contact Hu Yongnian again. No contact at all!”

As he spoke, he looked straight into her eyes. The hazy yellow streetlight cast a blurred aura behind him, softening his features. Yet his gaze remained piercingly bright, making her heart tremble. Zhang Momo suddenly found it hard to breathe, overcome by a surge of tears she couldn’t explain. She wanted to pound her fists on his chest and demand to know how he could do such things, or bite his hand just to spite him. If only he would take her in his arms and say, “I was wrong,” she could forgive everything. Even if Dongyin was truly dissolved because of him, it wouldn’t matter—so long as he said the word, she would accept anything.

But in the end, she only bit her lip so hard she nearly drew blood, her mind filled with the image of Hu Uncle’s desolate, defeated face. That widowed, childless old man, battered by fate into utter loneliness, still managed to comfort her with a forced smile—“Look forward, don’t dwell on grudges; President Xiang probably did all this because he cares about you.” At that, every grievance and longing she felt for Xiang Zuo was forcibly suppressed.

“Xiang Zuo! Uncle Hu is my family. I can’t interfere with what you do, but whom I choose to see is my business, not yours.”

At this, Xiang Zuo’s expression finally turned cold. “See whomever you like, except him!” His tone brooked no argument, not even the slightest indulgence.

His unreasonable demand only stoked her own stubbornness. Zhang Momo stepped back. “I can give up seeing anyone, except Uncle Hu!” With that, she turned and walked away. As she stepped onto the stairs, a clear sigh sounded behind her. Xiang Zuo straightened helplessly, watching her stubborn, slender figure recede, a tumult of emotions surging within him. He spoke, each word heavy with surrender.

“If you see him again, I’ll make Dongyin go bankrupt immediately!”

Zhang Momo spun around in disbelief. “What did you say?! Are you insane?”

“Yes, I am. Completely insane!” This time, his voice was firm and unyielding. As she glared at him, furious yet helpless before his threat, Xiang Zuo slid decisively into his car and sped away.

The winter night was shrouded in gray-black gloom. The road was cold, the ground unyielding, and even the bare branches by the roadside seemed lifeless. Inside the car, Xiang Zuo drove with habitual numbness, his grip on the steering wheel tight.

Thinking back on what Momo had said, he realized it was true—he was indeed mad. She’d done everything to distance herself from him, yet he refused to let go. How had things come to this? What madness had seized him? Even when he stumbled upon Hu Xiaosong’s personnel file in Dongyin’s archives—a man who should have been unrelated—he’d investigated it thoroughly, as if he were meant to be a detective rather than a businessman.

Sometimes he wondered if what he felt for Zhang Momo was love or obsession. Whatever the answer, he simply couldn’t help wanting to see her, think of her, involve himself in everything connected to her. He was mad—mad to the core. Even on such a powerless, exasperating night, his mind was filled with thoughts of Hu Xiaosong, that brilliant young man gone too soon. All the glowing academic and work records in the file couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper lay hidden beneath it all. Thus, this irrational, unlicensed amateur detective reached a meaningless conclusion—since he could get no answers from Momo, he would go to Zhang Nianqing.

Returning once more to Jiangnan City, Xiang Zuo felt a strange sense of dislocation. How long had it been since he’d come back? How much longer would that stubborn “Mrs. Xiang,” maddening in her persistence, cling to her pride before she finally repented and changed her mind? It was impossible to know. Everyone has their price, their breaking point; only Zhang Nianqing seemed indifferent to all, her persistence bordering on apathy. Even someone as decisive as Xiang Zuo couldn’t help but admire her in his heart. It was almost ironic—between the three of them, it felt more like a contest of endurance between him and Zhang Nianqing.

Two stubborn fools and a hopeless, confused idiot—this was a contest that drained both heart and mind.

When Xiang Zuo reached his door, he didn’t knock right away. To his surprise, he heard the voice of an unfamiliar man coming from inside the house.