Zhong Nian was a little surprised. In her impression, the words “Liang Yifeng” and “domestic life” had always seemed worlds apart. In the nearly half a year they’d lived together, she had never seen him cook, or even do laundry or mop the floor. Perhaps his family’s wealth made it unnecessary for him to handle such chores. Even at school, he had never taken a day on duty.
Maybe he had changed over the years.
Just like she had.
Zhong Nian used to be incapable even of cooking noodles properly, yet during her years in England, she had become adept at both Chinese and Western cuisine.
People eventually yield to life—they compromise slowly.
She thought to herself.
Liang Zhaozhao noticed her silence and assumed consent. She immediately set a date. “Then shall we come to my third brother’s house the day after tomorrow, Zhong Nian?”
She was naturally forward, as if they had known each other for years.
Zhong Nian, in contrast, had always lived alone. She neither liked clinging to others nor being clung to. Back in England, her uncle had once commented on this, and she had understood that there was a flaw in her personality. Understanding is one thing; changing is another.
People are hard to change, and even harder to have changed willingly. A true willingness to change often comes because of one person—or one love.
But people like her would probably spend this life alone.
“I have an interview the day after tomorrow,” Zhong Nian said. “Probably not possible.”
“Then next Wednesday?” Liang Zhaozhao counted off her days off on her fingers.
“I rarely have free time on weekdays.”
“Not even for one dinner?”
“Well… I’m not sure if I’ll have time next Wednesday.” As a reporter, wherever the news went, she went; overtime was routine. She rarely made promises she might not be able to keep.
Liang Zhaozhao half-understood. She glanced at Liang Yifeng, then added, “Can I make a tentative reservation? If you have time next Wednesday, we can have dinner together?”
Zhong Nian frowned thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t that bother you?” she asked, directing the question to Liang Zhaozhao, though her gaze never left Liang Yifeng.
Liang Zhaozhao winked at him. “Oh, it won’t bother him at all. Right, third brother?”
Liang Yifeng’s finger tapped rhythmically on the conference table. His tone was calm and steady as he said, “It won’t bother me.”
“You see? He says it won’t bother him!” Liang Zhaozhao exclaimed.
Zhong Nian pressed her lips together. “Alright, we’ll coordinate then.”
After finishing personal matters, Zhong Nian remembered their work. She checked the procedure for tomorrow’s fire drill with Liang Zhaozhao. She hesitated briefly when Liang Zhaozhao suggested she play the role of a trapped patient, but within seconds she nodded in agreement.
By the time they finished, it was already late. Liang Yifeng had left earlier while they reviewed the procedure, so Liang Zhaozhao escorted Zhong Nian downstairs.
The evening breeze carried a lingering chill of late spring.
Suddenly, Liang Zhaozhao remembered something. “Zhong Nian… ah, I hope it’s okay if I call you that?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
Liang Zhaozhao’s smile was effortless; dimples curved at the corners of her lips, her eyes lively, as if a dream were walking in the real world.
Her voice was soft but clear as she asked, “Can I ask something? Why didn’t you report it? You’re a reporter, and hospital disturbances… that’s newsworthy. Plus, I kicked that man. If you reported it, maybe your salary could go up!”
Zhong Nian hadn’t expected the question. She paused briefly, then shook her head slowly, tugging at the corner of her mouth. Her tone was calm, almost indifferent. “Because it’s unnecessary.”
“Hmm?”
They stopped at the flowerbed below the inpatient building. Wisteria draped along the corridor, lush green leaves filtering the moonlight, scattering dappled patterns across the ground.
Her features were partially hidden in the shadows, yet her eyes gleamed, and the corners lifted with a faint, captivating smile.
“Why unnecessary?” Liang Zhaozhao pressed.
Zhong Nian sighed. “Liang Yifeng wouldn’t like it.”
Of course, she could report it—maybe even gain recognition at the newsroom. But it was unnecessary. Any report would inevitably mention Liang Yifeng or Liang Zhaozhao. Liang Yifeng had always hated being the center of attention. Zhong Nian saw no reason to make her friend unhappy for the sake of a story.
After she spoke, she noticed Liang Zhaozhao looking at her meaningfully.
“….”
Zhong Nian pressed her lips together. “After all, he’s my friend.”
Liang Zhaozhao blinked, then asked an entirely unrelated question. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Zhong Nian was never one to discuss her private life, even with Liang Yifeng’s cousin.
The cultural customs at home were unpredictable. She had been asked similar questions at the newsroom. Say yes, and they’d immediately probe his looks, work, family background, tracing back generations. Say no, and the next moment they’d be recommending all sorts of eligible men.
Zhong Nian disliked such enthusiasm. She was not one for shallow chatter.
She smiled, but unlike others, she did not answer. She said nothing, and after a while, left the hospital.
Liang Zhaozhao wasn’t angry; in fact, Zhong Nian’s silence piqued her curiosity.
People who were too silent often held a particular allure, making others want to explore, to engage more. And this was Zhong Nian—beautiful and mysterious.
On her way back to the office, Liang Zhaozhao passed Liang Yifeng’s office. She stopped, eyes sparkling, and knocked. “Brother.”
Liang Yifeng was facing the wardrobe, lost in thought, his side profile slightly stalled, gazing at some distant point.
“Brother?” Liang Zhaozhao asked, puzzled.
He blinked slowly, placed what he held back into the cabinet, and with a sharp bang closed the stainless steel door, the sound crisp and cold like cracking ice.
He walked over, sat beneath his desk, seemingly ignoring her presence entirely.
“…”
Liang Zhaozhao slumped. “Look at me—I am your sister, after all.”
Did that sound like a scolding? She added, “I’m your long-lost sister!”
Liang Yifeng cast a cold glance, silencing her instantly.
“Nothing to discuss, leave,” he said.
“There is something!” Liang Zhaozhao sat across, hands cupping her face, eyes bright. “I just sent Zhong Nian out and asked her a question.”
“Hmm.”
He appeared indifferent, detached. Liang Zhaozhao wondered if she had been mistaken—wasn’t he the one who blocked those two blows for Zhong Nian? Could it have been Wang Yifeng or Chen Yifeng?
But it was definitely him.
Liang Zhaozhao rarely saw him smile. His face was like ice—handsome like a celebrity, yet cold as the Arctic.
But today… he had smiled. Lightly. Subtly. When his gaze fell on Zhong Nian, his features softened unexpectedly.
She noticed his gentle expression in the reflection on the conference room window. Even his tense jaw relaxed slowly, and the glass slightly blurred, highlighting the tender hint in his demeanor.
Liang Zhaozhao mimicked his faint smile, curling her lips, raising an eyebrow, her own grin coldly playful. “Want to hear? Since you’re curious, I won’t say it then.”
Liang Yifeng’s hands never stopped their motion.
Liang Zhaozhao, nearly at the door, pleaded, “Ah, my gossiping heart won’t take it! I must say it.”
Liang Yifeng’s pupils were dark, like ink, his normally flirtatious eyes rarely showing warmth.
“Speak quickly,” he said.
Liang Zhaozhao blurted out, “Do you know why Zhong Nian didn’t report it? Because she didn’t want to make you unhappy! That’s it!” She watched his expression carefully.
Yet the anticipated surprise, joy, or astonishment never came.
He remained silent, cold, and unreadable.
Liang Zhaozhao sighed.
It had all been an illusion—everything, utterly false.
She shook her head heavily and left the office, disappointed.
Liang Yifeng lowered his gaze, as if nothing had happened. He returned to reviewing medical records.
Five minutes passed.
Ten minutes passed.
Half an hour passed…
Finally, he stood and opened the wardrobe. Inside was a lace ribbon. He picked it up—emerald green, carrying the scent of lily of the valley. The delicate lace was soft and fine, and holding it felt like touching someone.
He lifted it to his nose.
At that moment, his eyes transformed. A near-obsessive, almost pathological desire glimmered in his gaze. He inhaled the scent, the same as when he had helped her remove the ribbon in the hotel bathroom—greedy, compulsive, like a man possessed.
As if smelling every strand of her hair, every cell of her being, every scent belonging solely to her.
She had feared displeasing him.
He chuckled lowly.
Those two blows… had not been in vain.