Amidst the vibrant competition of the other flowers, a bunch of white lisianthus was tucked away in the corner. Their stems were thin and frail, yet their beauty was pure.
From a distance, they were impossible to look away from.
Shen Qiu picked up the bouquet, his fingertips stroking the pure white petals.
The bell above the flower shop door chimed.
“How much is this bouquet?”
The cashier snapped back to attention. “Sir, that will be 99.9 yuan.”
When Uncle Zhang, the driver, saw his boss return with a bouquet of flowers, he asked curiously, “Is the President giving these to someone?”
Shen Qiu admired the bouquet in his hand. “Yes, a friend.”
Just as he spoke, a phone call came through.
“Mr. Shen, I came back from grocery shopping to cook, only to find your friend has left. The boy still has a low-grade fever, yet he doesn’t care about his health at all,” the auntie said.
A ripple of emotion crossed Mo Tong’s eyes—one he didn’t even notice himself—before they quickly returned to their usual calm. His thin lips pressed into a straight line. “Let him be.”
Good intentions are taken for granted.
White lisianthus petals were left scattered on the seat.
The pitch-black night deepened the loneliness.
The house was small and dark, so dark that one couldn’t even see their own hand in front of their face.
Meng Xinghui dragged his sick body forward, groping blindly as he stumbled and tripped, until he finally found the light switch.
The bulb’s filament crackled, flickering a few times before glowing bright.
The next instant, the world went black again. Meng Xinghui let out a bitter laugh. “Just my luck!” he muttered, tears streaming down his face as he wiped them away with his sleeve.
He curled up on the single-seater sofa, his eyelashes trembling with unease. The television screen remained lit, casting a constant glow.
It wasn’t until the cool morning air seeped through the gaps of the improperly closed window that his eyelashes fluttered open, his vision gradually clearing.
The room was a scene of utter chaos.
It looked as if a thief had ransacked the place. Clothes from the wardrobe lay scattered across the floor, covered in footprints and dirty water. Photos from his albums had been torn to shreds, impossible to piece back together.
Meng Xinghui clutched the album to his chest, his eyes aching uncontrollably, tears dried on his cheeks.
Dishes were piled high, and the sink was filled with foam. A sponge scrubbed the grease from the plates, which were then rinsed clean in hot water.
On the table beside Meng Xinghui, the freshly washed dishes were neatly arranged.
Meng Xinghui lifted a stack of clean dishes and placed them into the sterilizer. As he waited for the cycle to finish, he let out a soft, tired sigh.
The hotel manager walked into the kitchen, holding up his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Everyone, stop what you’re doing for a moment. Come over here, I have an announcement.”
The colleague who had asked Meng Xinghui to cover his shift earlier pulled the distracted young man forward, whispering, “What’s wrong with you lately? You’re so drained, like you’ve just gone through a breakup. It’s not because of the shift swap, is it?”
“No, it’s nothing,” Meng Xinghui replied, his lips pale. “I’m sorry I couldn’t cover for you after all.”
“Forget it, let’s not talk about that. Just take care of yourself. You’re out of it, completely unfocused. Don’t let the manager see you like this.”
“The Group announced that our hotel performed well this year, so they’re giving bonuses to all the staff!” the manager declared.
A few of the young chefs started clapping to build the mood. “Woohoo!”
The entire staff broke into smiles, cheering and celebrating. One by one, they lined up at the administrative office. As they emerged, their faces were beaming with joy. “We’ll work even harder!” one exclaimed. “We won’t let the Group down!”
Then it was Meng Xinghui’s turn to enter the office.
Meng Xinghui wiped the water from his hands, his eyes stealthily taking in the office layout, terrified of getting the floor dirty.
His gaze fell upon the man beside the black desk, whose exceptional aura suggested he was sent from the Group’s headquarters. Meng Xinghui immediately lowered his eyes.
A lottery box was brought into view. “You’ll get whatever amount you draw.”
With a trembling hand, Meng Xinghui carefully reached in and randomly pulled out a slip of paper, unfolding it.
He blinked, his mouth falling open in disbelief. “Excuse me, is there a mistake with the prize amount?” he asked, showing the slip to the man.
The number was too large.
Secretary Lin offered a cryptic smile, seemingly unfazed by the amount on the slip as he took back the lottery box. “No mistake. The funds will be credited to your account tomorrow afternoon.”
Meng Xinghui stood there, frozen.
Secretary Lin said nothing, nor did he rush Meng Xinghui to leave.
Left with no choice, Meng Xinghui finally walked away, his mind still reeling.
On the ATM screen, the bank account balance was clearly displayed.
Meng Xinghui silently counted in his head—one, ten, hundred, thousand, ten thousand—”I’m rich. I actually have 200,000 yuan.”
He rubbed his eyes. When the money truly hit his account, Meng Xinghui was completely stunned.
By the flowerbed, a low-profile yet luxurious black car watched the scene silently.
Meng Xinghui skipped away, his steps light and bouncy.
Seeing Meng Xinghui’s joyful little figure, Shen Qiu thought the pain of his heartbreak would be a little easier to bear.
Today, Meng Xinghui decided to splurge and bought a roast duck for dinner.
The familiar pair of leather shoes sat on the shoe rack. He could clearly hear his heart pounding wildly, his palms clenched tight.
The boyfriend he had lived with day and night appeared in the rented apartment, his eyes rimmed with red. “Jiade, we—”
Gao Jiade had been waiting for two hours and was already impatient. The moment they met, Meng Xinghui started sobbing. “Why do you always cry the moment something happens?”
Meng Xinghui, stunned and confused, continued, “Jiade, I went to your company to find you, and your colleagues said you left.”
“I quit!”
Ever since the reporters broke the scandal about Gao Jiade and Lin Miao, Gao Jiade could no longer stay at the company and was forced to resign. Lin Miao returned to work at her family’s company. Their relationship had hit rock bottom. He had spent so much effort persuading Lin Miao to support him in starting his own company, but just as it was getting off the ground, the scandal caused many clients to treat him with cold indifference. The ones who were being polite just pretended; the others flatly refused to work with him.
Lin Miao was also facing overt and covert ridicule in their circles because of this incident. President Lin was dissatisfied with this, having never approved of Lin Miao being with him in the first place.
He had to restore his and Lin Miao’s reputations, even if it was only for appearances.
He stated his intentions directly, gripping Meng Xinghui’s arm. “Xinghui, I need your help. I can’t lose Lin Miao. You’re the only one who can help me. Clarify with the reporters that you and I are just friends, and that Lin Miao isn’t a mistress. I still remember my promise to you—once I’ve made it big, you’ll never have to worry about money again.”
“You can have as much money as you want!”
Meng Xinghui shook his head frantically, tears streaming down his face as he refused his boyfriend’s plea. “I don’t want it. What am I to you? What do I mean in your eyes? Do you know how much I love you?”
“How much is love worth, Meng Xinghui? I don’t want to live in poverty anymore, struggling every day just to put food on the table.”
Meng Xinghui cupped Gao Jiade’s face, sobbing. “Jiade, I’ll work harder to earn more money. I can take on extra jobs. I can do cleaning during the day. The hotel where I work needs a night security guard—it pays twenty thousand a month.”
As Meng Xinghui spoke, the light in his eyes grew brighter. He reached out and grabbed Gao Jiade’s hand.
“Jiade, I can’t live without you. Please don’t leave me. Let’s just pretend that night never happened. We can still be okay.”
“You know what? I got a bonus from the hotel today—200,000 yuan! With the money we’ve saved up, we can finally pay the down payment on that house in the Kyoto suburbs.”
Meng Xinghui had no idea that their joint savings account was already empty. Every last cent, except for the ring, had been drained to plug the bottomless pit of Gao Jiade’s startup.
Ever since he’d accepted Lin Miao’s intimate advances, Gao Jiade had crossed a line he couldn’t come back from. “Help me,” he pleaded. “For the sake of our childhood bond, for how much we loved each other—you can’t let your selfishness ruin my future.”
Faced with Gao Jiade’s repeated pleas, Meng Xinghui shook his head resolutely. His words were a desperate litany: Come back, Jiade. Don’t leave me.
He looked completely unhinged, his eyes bloodshot and his voice strained with hysteria.
Clinging to Gao Jiade, he murmured about their past. “You always forgot your keys, and I’d rush back to open the door for you. Whenever you drank, you’d throw things all over the place. I’d clean it all up, only for you to start throwing up again.”
“Your stomach was always so bad, yet you never ate properly. Whenever I had a spare moment, I’d bring you food, rain or shine.”
“You hate spicy food. You can’t stand cilantro.”
“I remember it all. I love you so much, Jiade! Don’t go!” Meng Xinghui tried to grab Gao Jiade’s hand but tripped, falling hard. His knees slammed against the white tiled floor. He scrambled to his feet, his movements frantic and clumsy as he tried to chase after him.
Seeing Meng Xinghui refuse to help clear his name, Gao Jiade turned and left without hesitation. No matter how desperately Meng Xinghui screamed, Gao Jiade’s departing steps never faltered.
His retreating figure blurred, nearly vanishing from sight.
The stairwell was dimly lit. Meng Xinghui rushed down the stairs, his eyes fixed on Gao Jiade, his voice crying out, “Don’t go!” His already injured ankle twisted again. A sharp surge of pain struck, his foot missed a step, and he tumbled down the stairs.
He slammed into a nail on the handrail. When he reached up to touch his face, his palm came away covered in blood.
Meng Xinghui’s vision went black. A streak of blood ran down his face. The spreading pain surged through his nerves to his brain, leaving him too weak to even lift his voice. He could only whisper, “Gao Jiade,” as he watched Gao Jiade step by step disappear from his sight, the light fading from his eyes.
In the deserted stairwell, blood soaked his upper body and trickled down the old concrete steps, making a barely audible drip, drip, drip.