Back at the apartment, Gu Ziyao changed into her loungewear—a lotus-pink knitted cardigan—and let her hair down, draping it over her shoulders. The whole person softened considerably, losing the sharpness she displayed at the company during the day.
She poured herself a glass of warm water, curled up on the sofa, and opened her laptop to handle a few work emails. By the time she replied to the last one and closed the computer, it was almost eleven o’clock.
After washing up, she lay down in bed and turned off the light. She stared wide-eyed at the ceiling.
In the darkness, nothing was visible. The city lights outside seeped through the gaps in the curtains, casting a slender streak of light onto the ceiling. The air conditioner vent gently blew out a soft breeze.
Gu Ziyao turned over in the dark, burying her face in the pillow. The pillow carried the scent of laundry detergent—white tea, light and clean. She closed her eyes, and Second Brother’s face surfaced in her mind, along with the expression he wore when he said, “Let’s get a divorce.”
In those bright eyes, there was heartache, reluctance, and guilt.
He was the one who was sick, yet he was still worried about whether she was doing well.
Second Brother’s words were like seeds, taking root and sprouting in the darkness, their vines winding around her, leaving her nowhere to escape.
A tear slid from the corner of her eye, sinking into the fabric of the pillow and leaving a small, dark stain.
Divorce.
She had indeed considered it.
The days that followed felt as if they had been put on fast-forward.
Gu Ziyao’s life became a two-point line—the company and the hospital.
Every morning at nine sharp, she appeared at the Gu Group, handling documents, presiding over meetings, and signing contracts. Dressed in a sharply tailored suit skirt, wearing seven-centimeter high heels, her makeup flawless, her speech steady and her logic clear. The department heads in the meeting room looked at this young female CEO with a mix of awe and admiration.
Every afternoon at four, she would leave on time.
She swapped her high heels for flats, exchanged her suit jacket for a soft knitted cardigan, and drove to the hospital.
She would stay in the hospital room for hours.
She kept Gu Zeming company, peeling fruit for him, adjusting the height of his pillow, and drawing the curtains to an angle that wouldn’t strain his eyes. Sometimes she did nothing at all, just sat in the chair by the bed, watching the dusk settle outside and the city lights gradually illuminate.
Most of the time, Gu Zeming was in good spirits, able to chat, eat on his own, and even crack a few jokes.
“Yaoyao, that color looks good on you today. It makes your skin look fair.”
“Yaoyao, did you skip another proper meal today? Your face looks thinner.”
“Yaoyao, don’t push yourself too hard with company matters. Your health comes first.”
She would smile and respond to him, saying “Okay,” “I know,” or “Second Brother, you’re as naggy as Mom.”
Only once.
That afternoon, Gu Zeming underwent an interventional treatment. When he returned to the ward, he was extremely weak. His face was as pale as paper, and fine beads of cold sweat dotted his forehead. The nurse gave him a painkiller injection, and he drifted into a drowsy sleep.
Gu Ziyao sat by the bed, watching the medication drip one drop at a time through the IV tube. She reached out and gently held Second Brother’s hand, the one without the IV. The skin on the back of his hand was so thin it was almost transparent, the blue veins winding like rivers on a map.
She didn’t cry. Tears welled up in her eyes, circling a few times before she forced them back.
When Gu Zeming woke up, he saw his sister sitting by the bed, using a damp towel to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Her movements were gentle, as if afraid of breaking something fragile.
“Yaoyao,” he spoke, his voice terribly hoarse.
Gu Ziyao’s movements paused.
“You must be scared.” He forced a smile, “It’s nothing, just a bit tired.”
Gu Ziyao looked at him. The light shone from the side, casting half-lit, half-shadowed patterns on her face. Her features appeared especially distinct in this interplay of light and shadow—the curve of her brow, the line of her nose, the outline of her lips.
But there was something in her eyes that made Gu Zeming’s heart tighten abruptly.
“Second Brother.” Her voice was soft, “I’ve seriously considered what you said last time.”
Gu Zeming was momentarily stunned, then realized—it was about the divorce.
“I’ve decided to divorce.” After saying these three words, Gu Ziyao seemed to have expended a great deal of effort, her shoulders relaxing slightly, “No need to wait the full three years.”
Gu Zeming looked at his sister’s face. Her expression was calm, her voice steady, as if she were discussing something unrelated to herself.
But he saw it—saw the hand holding the towel, her knuckles slightly whitened.
“Yaoyao.” He clasped her hand in return, the warmth in his palm cooler than usual, but his grip firm and sincere, “Second Brother isn’t forcing you to do anything. I just don’t want you to be trapped. You’re so wonderful, you deserve to be treated well.”
Gu Ziyao lowered her eyes.
“I know.” She whispered, “I know.”
That night, Gu Ziyao stayed at the hospital until very late.
It was almost eleven when she walked out of the inpatient building. The night wind carried the chill of early autumn, brushing against her face. She instinctively tightened the front of her cardigan. The parking lot was sparsely lit, her white car parked alone under a streetlamp, a thin layer of dust settled on its body.
She got into the car, started the engine, but didn’t drive off immediately.
Her hands gripped the steering wheel, her gaze fixed on the gray cement ground illuminated by the headlights outside the windshield. A moth fluttered toward the streetlamp’s bulb, its wings hitting the glass lampshade with a faint sound.
She suddenly remembered the message Qin Yining had sent three days ago.
There was an update on the Shen Group’s search for a hacker. Someone in the group revealed that Shen Junyan wasn’t looking for a hacker for business purposes, but for a private commission—he was searching for a person.
Qin Yining added at the end of the message: 【Yaoyao, he’ll find you sooner or later. You need to be prepared.】
She had been reviewing a contract at the time. After reading the message, she placed her phone face down on the table and continued with the contract. She didn’t reply with a single word.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to reply, but she didn’t know what to say.
Prepared? What could she possibly prepare for?
In three years of marriage, she had never even met her husband.
Now, because of an accident, he was searching the world for her—not looking for his wife, but for the woman he had slept with. He didn’t even know that these two people were the same.
Gu Ziyao closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and pressed the accelerator.
The car drove out of the parking lot, turning onto the empty late-night street.
The streetlights’ beams swept over the car roof one after another, casting alternating light and shadow on her face. Her brow, nose, lips, jaw—each passing beam seemed to trace her silhouette anew.
After returning to her apartment, she didn’t turn on the lights. Guided by the faint city glow from outside the window, she walked to the sofa and sat down, placing her bag beside her, sinking entirely into the soft cushions.
In the darkness, her eyes shone. Like two sparks floating in deep water.
Divorce. This thought had transformed from a vague notion into a clear resolve.
She took her phone from her bag and opened her contacts.
She found the number that had been saved for three years but never dialed—Lu Heng (Shen Junyan’s assistant).
Her thumb hovered.
This time, she did not hesitate.
The light from the screen illuminated her face, highlighting the slight furrow between her brows and the resolute look in her eyes. Her lips pressed into a firm line, neither too tight nor too loose, carrying the calm of a decision made.
She wanted to see Shen Junyan. The sooner, the better.