After the incident, Song Que instructed Su Chen to notify security that Zhao Guangyuan was never to be allowed in again.
Song Que had once punched Zhao Guangyuan out of spite, but he had long forgotten that during Zhao’s first year on the job, the man often made mistakes. Back then, Zhao would stand there pale, saying, “I am sorry.” Song Que looked at him without much reproach. Zhao would act frightened, claiming he could not lose his job because he needed the money to treat his mother’s illness. Consequently, Song Que had often used his spare time to guide him.
Although Zhao Guangyuan lacked talent, he had found the respect he needed to survive. However, that respect changed in nature amidst the greed that grew day by day. Once Zhao realized that Song Que despised Song Hongfang, he wasted no time in defecting to Song Hongfang’s side. Unfortunately, because he had failed to establish absolute trust with Song Que over the years, whatever he knew was only superficial. In the end, the only person left stomping his feet in frustration was Song Hongfang.
Song Que still chose to answer Bian Jirou’s calls depending on his mood, but as for Song Hongfang, he ignored him completely.
The old man’s face was filled with greed, as if giving Song Que life meant he could reclaim a hundred or a thousand times that value in return. When he could not get it, he would tell everyone that the son he raised was an ingrate. Fortunately, while Song Que’s reputation was not the best, Song Hongfang did not fare much better. For the first decade or so, the only person he kept by his side was Song Wu, whom he declared to the world as his only daughter. Everyone tacitly understood the messy and rotten history behind that.
Song Que exhaled a murky breath, leaning against the lounge chair on the balcony, watching the dim, starless sky. The balcony was not heated, and the night wind was cold. He knew to wrap himself in a wool blanket, but it did little to help. He was like a plant exceptionally tolerant of the cold, forcing himself to regain clarity amidst the biting wind.
Until his throat began to itch, Song Que coughed twice, knowing he could not stay any longer. With stiff limbs, he returned to his room, lay down, and slept until broad daylight.
Pei Cheng had warned Song Que not to neglect his health, but Song Que had never offered a single word of explanation.
How could he even describe it? The passing of his family, the scarcity of resources, the bottled up depression, and being driven away by his own parents as if he were a flood or a beast; for a young child, it was a cataclysmic spiritual destruction. For a long time, Song Que felt there was something wrong with him; otherwise, no matter how hard he tried, it would all be in vain. He was not necessarily asking for anything; he only wondered if they could have at least treated him like a human being. Under this damp and dead silence, physical pain brought a sense of pleasure that was hard to put into words.
Song Que had seen a psychologist for a while. The man was in his early thirties, considered top tier in his field, and maintained a clear professional boundary, never showing empathy. But after listening to Song Que’s sparse descriptions, he eventually fell into a long, profound silence. He looked Song Que up and down, discovering that there were no traces of self harm. Song Que met his complex gaze, tugged the corner of his mouth in a mocking smile, got up, and left. He never went back.
When he woke up, the sky was overcast and it was raining. The construction site was a mess of mud, but the workers were still full of drive.
Song Que wore a safety helmet, looking up at the steel rebars reaching toward the sky; they had already reached the sixteenth floor. Qian Feiwen noticed that Song Que was dressed quite warmly, with a fur lined collar around his coat, but his complexion did not look well. The blood had drained from his thin lips, and his eyelids drooped listlessly. Qian Feiwen sometimes had to strain to distinguish the sound of his voice.
“Stop work for today,” Song Que said. “Let us avoid any accidents.”
It was rare to meet a big boss like this; the previous one would have insisted on continuing even if it were raining knives.
Qian Feiwen asked, “I am afraid of delaying the project.”
“It will not be delayed,” Song Que interrupted. “The progress is excellent.”
“Would the President like to go take a look over there?”
Song Que nodded.
He walked slowly but steadily. His coat clung flatly to his body, and from the side, he appeared thin. A few foremen who had spoken with Song Que could not help but say, “President Song, we are stewing meat for lunch! You should stay and eat!”
Song Que revealed a gentle smile, his eyes suddenly becoming vivid. He was very easygoing. “Mhm, your cook has great skill.”
A vague commotion came from the front gate. Song Que turned his head casually. It seemed someone had arrived in two black cars.
The development of this area involved many parties; it was not just Song Que who was concerned.
On the other side, the safety protection was not perfect. Even standing two meters away, the cool wind would rush into one’s face. The steel pipes on the side were gray and dusty, with clumps of cement sticking to them. As the raindrops took the opportunity to strike in, Song Que felt the last bit of warmth in his body being blown away instantly.
“President, look over there.” The foreman stepped forward, standing on the edge, pointing in a certain direction. “According to your requirements, it is aligned right with the future Xingzi Building. The reserved space in the middle is just right. It will definitely be enough for the government to build a…”
The wind suddenly turned ferocious. The foreman instinctively covered his face.
Song Que’s expression changed instantly.
Qian Feiwen shouted, “Old Liu!”
Old Liu’s figure swayed outward, a sight that could make one’s heart jump right out of their throat. Qian Feiwen was so scared he turned pale as a sheet. Before the crowd could even react, Song Que took a large step forward, grabbed Old Liu by the wrist, and yanked him back.
“Are you insane?!” Song Que’s tone was stern. “Is there no other time to look? This is the sixteenth floor! I emphasized caution repeatedly, and you treated it like wind in your ears!”
Old Liu was frightened himself, his heart pounding wildly from the near death experience. However, he had started as a laborer and had seen even more dangerous situations in the past. Still, looking at Song Que’s expression, he dared not say another word, simply continuing to apologize and knowing he would be scolded by Qian Feiwen later.
Song Que intended to head back, but as he cast a random glance, he saw the abyss beneath his feet.
His gaze stopped instantly.
His so called clarity was swallowed up in an instant, and everything around him returned to silence. He saw the jagged, protruding steel rebars, the piles of stone and bricks on the ground, and the flowing sewage. The cold wind poured in from bottom to top; even if a single feather were to fall, it would be eroded through and through. Song Que knew in his heart that this was not right and that he had to leave quickly, but his feet felt as if they were fixed to the ground. The abyss became distorted and gentle, and something issued a lethal attraction, calling to him in silence.
This situation had not happened for a long time. Song Que was not afraid of heights; he was even calmly analyzing whether the Zhao Guangyuan situation had brought about negative effects he had not even noticed.
Many times in his youth, Song Que had quietly watched the unfinished building across from his rented apartment. The broken, jagged roof looked somewhat menacing in the night, yet Song Que had once felt that was his true destination.
But now that he had grown up, his mindset was naturally very different. He could not say his past was immature; he could only say he was strong now. Song Que gave himself enough psychological hints that he finally felt strength return to his feet.
Self-destruction and self-salvation were always an overlapping process. Song Que accepted this calmly.
He finally heard Qian Feiwen’s shouting, so he moved his feet backward.
A fierce wind suddenly surged behind him, and the once steady sound of footsteps became chaotic. Song Que felt a sense of familiarity, but before he could react, his back pressed against a hot chest. The person who arrived moved to completely encircle him, drawing him into an embrace, leaving not even his hands free. The heavy breathing carried suppressed anger. Song Que turned his head instinctively, meeting a pair of dark, churning eyes.