Xia Wei walked into the side room, which had a wall of bookshelves from floor to ceiling, packed completely full. She casually pulled out a book, sat in the chair by the window, and opened it.
Chen Yu entered the main house and closed the door. The sound of keyboard typing came from inside.
Xia Wei read two pages of the book, glanced at that closed door, then read two more pages, and glanced at her phone.
Time passed very slowly. The sunlight in the courtyard moved from left to right, and the shadow of the pomegranate tree crawled slowly on the ground. She read for about two hours, and Chen Yu never came out.
At noon, Chen Yu opened the door and came out. Seeing that Xia Wei was still there, she raised an eyebrow, “You haven’t left yet?”
“Director Song told me to come.” Xia Wei closed the book and stood up.
“Then are you coming back this afternoon?”
“Coming.”
Chen Yu looked at her for two seconds and smiled helplessly: “Alright, then come in the afternoon, but I don’t provide meals.”
Xia Wei came back in the afternoon.
Chen Yu was drinking tea in the courtyard and pointed to the opposite chair, signaling Xia Wei to sit down.
The two drank a pot of tea. Chen Yu asked two questions and gave an instruction.
“Is the tea good?”
“Mhm.”
“Do you usually read books?”
“I do.”
“Then go find one from the bookshelf yourself, don’t sit here watching me, I’m not used to it.”
Xia Wei went into the side room again, pulled out another book, and sat by the window.
This time she read more seriously than in the morning, because there really wasn’t much else to do.
The book was a collection of movie reviews written by Chen Yu. After flipping through a few pages, she found it was written very well—not the kind of deliberately profound academic articles, but the kind of sincerity from someone who had watched many movies and had things to say.
Before she knew it, she had read more than half the book, until the sky grew dark and Chen Yu came in to turn on the lights.
“You should leave.” Chen Yu stood at the door, “You don’t need to come tomorrow.”
Xia Wei was stunned: “Why?”
“I won’t be at the studio tomorrow,” Chen Yu said. “Come the day after tomorrow.”
Xia Wei packed her things, walked to the door, and looked back at Chen Yu.
Chen Yu stood under the pomegranate tree holding a watering can, watering the tree. The light of the setting sun fell on her, casting a faint halo around her body.
This was different from the Chen Yu she had imagined; the Chen Yu before her gave off a sense of tranquility.
This tranquility was also different from Song Qiao’s. Song Qiao was more like forcing herself to be calm, whereas Chen Yu’s was a pale tranquility left over after experiencing too much.
On the subway ride home, Xia Wei messaged Song Qiao to explain the situation.
Song Qiao told her to return to the company the next day and instructed her to come down at ten o’clock to buy her coffee.
Xia Wei was puzzled, but complied.
At exactly ten o’clock, Xia Wei took her phone and went downstairs.
While waiting for the coffee, Xia Wei understood why Song Qiao wanted her to come down at ten.
Aside from fewer people, more importantly, at this time in the coffee shop, there were people skiving off work and gossiping.
“The Production and Promotion Department is planning to drag this out to the end; even the assistant was sent to guard Teacher Chen Yu.” A voice came from a corner, carrying a tone of watching the fun.
“Why don’t you say they’re out of moves… hahaha.” Another voice followed quickly, the laughter not loud, but piercing.
Holding the coffee, Xia Wei deliberately walked past those two people, slowed her pace, and glanced sideways.
Two unfamiliar faces, probably from other departments, were chatting happily and didn’t notice her at all.
Or rather, they didn’t care whether she heard it or not.
Returning to the Production and Promotion Department, Xia Wei carried the coffee and knocked on Song Qiao’s office door.
“Come in.” Song Qiao lifted her gaze, moving it away from the computer screen to land on Xia Wei’s face.
She probably read something from Xia Wei’s expression and put down the pen in her hand.
Xia Wei placed the coffee beside Song Qiao, with the cup opening facing inward, adjusting the angle nicely.
“They’re all saying we’re out of moves.” Xia Wei reported truthfully.
Song Qiao leaned back against her chair, crossed her hands, and didn’t speak immediately. She looked at Xia Wei.
Xia Wei looked back at her, watching the calm-as-water expression in her eyes—no anger, no anxiety, not even a trace of a ripple.
“What do you think?” Song Qiao tilted her head slightly and asked.
“I don’t know.” Xia Wei shook her head.
She really didn’t know. Every day she ran around with Song Qiao, met various people, got rejected in various ways, and came back only to listen to various sarcastic remarks.
Sometimes she felt Song Qiao definitely had a plan in mind, and other times she felt Song Qiao might just be putting up a front.
Song Qiao looked at her, the corners of her mouth twitching—a very shallow curve.
“Then just do the things in your hands well, and leave the answer to the very end.” After saying that, Song Qiao picked up her coffee and took a sip, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked down at the label on the cup.
Double shot.
Song Qiao put down the cup, her gaze returning to the computer screen, her fingers hitting the keyboard and continuing to type, as if the conversation just now was merely a gust of wind blowing past the windowsill, not worth another second of thought.
Seeing that Song Qiao had nothing else to say, Xia Wei turned to walk out. When she reached the door, she heard Song Qiao say a sentence from behind: “The coffee was bought well.”
Xia Wei was stunned for a moment and looked back at the coffee. Song Qiao didn’t raise her head, her fingers still tapping on the keyboard.
Xia Wei closed the door, stood in the corridor, quickly pulled out her phone, tapped frantically, and the next second slapped her own forehead.
She had ordered a double shot for Song Qiao. No wonder Song Qiao frowned just now; she had thought Song Qiao was feeling annoyed.
Is it still salvageable if she goes back in and changes it for Song Qiao?
Probably not, Song Qiao had already drunk it.
Xia Wei returned to her workstation, opened her computer, and began organizing the materials Lin Yuan asked for help with.
Xie Xiaoqing leaned over and lowered her voice: “How is it? Is Chen Yu easy to get along with?”
Xia Wei thought for a moment and said, “Teacher Chen Yu is very nice.”
“Nice, but she still won’t accept our invitation.” Xie Xiaoqing sighed: “Anyway… as long as you weren’t wronged.”
Xia Wei wanted to ask Xie Xiaoqing why she was so certain, but Xie Xiaoqing had already sat back down, hammering away at the keyboard, giving her no chance.
On the third day, Xia Wei went again.
For the next few days, every day followed the same routine—arrive in the morning, Chen Yu would be watering flowers or drinking tea in the courtyard, point toward the side room, and say, “Read books inside.”
Xia Wei would go in and read, read until noon, go out to eat, come back in the afternoon, read until dusk, and leave.
Chen Yu would occasionally say an extra word or two to her—”What book are you reading today?” “That book suits you, not me.” “You really know how to sit still.”
Xia Wei didn’t know why she had to come, nor why Song Qiao wanted her to come.
She only knew that every day Song Qiao would ask, “How was today?”, she would reply, “Read books,” and Song Qiao would return a “Mhm,” with no follow-up.
On the last day of the week, Chen Yu suddenly said a sentence right as Xia Wei was about to leave.
“That leader of yours is a ruthless person.”
Xia Wei stopped and turned back.
“She didn’t dare come herself, so she sent you to wear me down.” Chen Yu leaned against the rattan chair, holding a cattail leaf fan in her hand and swaying it leisurely, “She knew I wouldn’t drive you away because you’re a kid and have nothing to do with it. She really knows how to pick people.”
Xia Wei stood in place, not knowing what to say.
“Go back and tell her, I understood her meaning,” Chen Yu said. “櫛 But I still can’t help her. It’s not that I don’t want to help, but I can’t help. However…” She paused, “If she manages to make the Starlight Project happen, she won’t need to invite me; I’ll go see it myself.”
Xia Wei left the small courtyard thoughtfully. Just as she stepped out of the alley, the familiar car appeared before her eyes, a few fallen leaves resting on its hood.
“Get in the car.” Song Qiao rolled down the window and said to Xia Wei.
Xia Wei got into the car and relayed these words to Song Qiao. After hearing them, Song Qiao was silent for a few seconds, and then said: “Come again on Monday.”
“Still have to come?”
“Come.” Song Qiao lowered her head to look at some documents, her tone very flat.
Xia Wei was silent for a moment, turned her head to look at Song Qiao who was driving, and asked boldly: “Why?”
“No why.” Taking advantage of a red light, Song Qiao turned her head to meet Xia Wei’s inquisitive eyes and asked: “You’ve read quite a few books lately, haven’t you?”
Xia Wei nodded: “Mhm, read quite a few.”
“Then it wasn’t a wasted trip.” Song Qiao said.
Xia Wei fell silent.
She came to work at the company, only to be sent to read books at a talk show host’s studio for a whole week.
If Fang Tian found out, she would probably say, “Are you going to work or going to self-study?”
Yet she couldn’t quite explain why, but she felt what Chen Yu said was right—”You really know how to sit still.”
She used to not be able to sit still.
But sitting by the window of Chen Yu’s studio, looking at that wall of books, watching the shadow of the pomegranate tree in the courtyard from morning till night, she suddenly felt that being a little slower didn’t matter; anyway, she had plenty of time.
Anyway, Song Qiao wasn’t in a rush.
She didn’t even know if Song Qiao was in a rush. Song Qiao never urged her, just asked how today was, much like—what a mother would ask a kindergarten child coming home.
Xia Wei turned her head toward the car window, watching the street scenes constantly receding outside.
It wasn’t the road back to the company, nor was it the road back to her home.
“Where are we going?” Xia Wei asked.
“To eat,” Song Qiao replied.
The car stopped in front of an old-fashioned restaurant. Xia Wei thought it was a business dinner and she was just there to make up numbers, until entering the private room and discovering there were only the two of them—her and Song Qiao.
The waiter walked in with the menu, and Song Qiao raised a hand: “Give it to her.”
Xia Wei took the menu and heard Song Qiao say: “Order whatever you like to eat, my treat.”
“Okay.” Xia Wei didn’t order based on her own tastes, but instead picked some common dishes. She didn’t know Song Qiao’s preferences; the “Rule Horror Game” hadn’t mentioned it.
Not that it hadn’t mentioned anything—one rule did state that Song Qiao didn’t really like sweets, but she ate a certain kind of mint candy.
The waiter read back the dishes Xia Wei had ordered.
“You…” Song Qiao stopped herself mid-sentence, ultimately not continuing.
Xia Wei wiped her hands with a wet wipe and asked, “Director Song, have you finished your mint candies?”
“No.” Song Qiao’s expression didn’t look surprised at all, and she continued asking in a flat tone, “Can you drink alcohol?”
“Yes.” Xia Wei blurted out.
Song Qiao’s gaze changed slightly: “High alcohol tolerance?”
“Average.” Xia Wei replied modestly.
Song Qiao’s eyes moved slightly, telling the waiter to open a bottle of red wine.
“Director Song, we drove.” Xia Wei wanted to refuse, but Song Qiao had already asked the waiter to open the wine.
Xia Wei pressed her lips together and said nothing more. The wine was served, and Song Qiao poured two glasses, pushing one in front of Xia Wei and holding the other herself.
“Don’t be nervous, this isn’t a business banquet, no need to toast, no need to offer drinks.” Song Qiao swirled her glass, the red wine leaving a thin layer of color on the walls of the glass, “Drink if you want to drink, leave it if you don’t.”
Xia Wei picked up her wine glass and took a sip. She didn’t understand red wine much, only feeling that it wasn’t astringent, had a slight fruity aroma, and left her throat feeling warm after swallowing.
The two drank in silence for a while.
The private room was very quiet. Outside the window was the sound of traffic on the street, muffled through a layer of glass, like it was raining somewhere far away.
Xia Wei took another sip.
The alcohol made her brain work a bit slower than usual, but it also floated up some words she usually wouldn’t dare to ask.
“Director Song,” she spoke, her voice a bit louder than she expected.
“Mhm.”
“Why do you want to do the Starlight Project?”
Song Qiao’s hand holding the wine glass paused, and she raised her eyes to look at her.
“I mean,” Xia Wei put down her cup, her finger tracing a circle along the rim, “every day you talk about the Starlight Project, talking about it in meetings, talking about it when meeting people, maybe even talking about it in your dreams. But I’ve never figured out—everything you’re doing, pulling investments, negotiating business, staking out hotels, getting rejected—what on earth is it for? Is it to prove something to the Business Department? Is it to get promoted to VP? Or… is there another reason?”
After she finished speaking, she felt she might have asked too much. Alcohol gave her courage, but once the courage wore off, there was only a guilty conscience.
Song Qiao didn’t answer immediately.
She looked at the remaining red wine in her glass, swirling it gently, the wine liquid reflecting a dark red glow under the light.
“You asked this question very well,” Song Qiao said, her voice lower than usual. “So well that I don’t know how to answer it.”
Xia Wei said nothing and waited.
Song Qiao placed the wine glass on the table, leaned back in her chair, and her gaze landed somewhere outside the window.
“The core of the Starlight Project isn’t star-making,” she said. “It’s giving people a chance.”
Xia Wei was stunned.
“These six kids aren’t the prettiest, aren’t the most well-connected, aren’t the smoothest operators.” Song Qiao’s voice was flat, but every word sounded like it had been thought over for a long time.
“They’re just—when everyone else tells them ‘you can’t do it,’ they’re still persisting.”
“Lu Ang took the Central Academy of Drama exams for two years; his family told him to give up, but he didn’t. Cheng Nuo’s audition video was rejected by eight production crews; she shot a ninth one and sent it out a ninth time. Shen Yixing didn’t have any acting gigs for a year after graduation, moving props in the theater for a full year.”
She paused.
“Lin Tang is a civilian with no resources and no background; she waited in line for four hours during open auditions, and right before her turn, she suffered heatstroke and fainted, only to come back the next day. Zhou Ye came back from overseas and was rejected by seven talent agencies, who said his looks ‘did not fit the Chinese market.’ Su Qing shot a web drama whose parts were edited down to just three minutes, and her phone call from her mom asked, ‘Are you lying to me?'”
Listening to this, Xia Wei felt her throat tighten a little.
She had read the materials on these things and had even memorized them.
But coming out of Song Qiao’s mouth, it felt completely different.
“I’m doing the Starlight Project not to prove it to the Business Department, nor to get promoted to VP.” Song Qiao turned around to look at Xia Wei, her gaze very calm, but that calmness was different from usual—it wasn’t armor, but the true calmness exposed after shedding armor. “I want to prove it to those kids—what you’re holding onto is right.”
“And I also want to prove it to those people who said ‘you can’t do it’—you misjudged.”
The fingers Xia Wei used to hold her wine glass tightened slightly.
“So you go beg people, go drink, wait outside hotel doors, and take cold shoulders without leaving?” Xia Wei’s voice was a bit hoarse. “It’s all to give them a chance?”
“Yes,” Song Qiao said. “A chance to be seen.”
The private room was quiet for a moment. Xia Wei lowered her head, looking at the remaining red wine in her cup, her eyes feeling a bit hot. She didn’t know why she wanted to cry—maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe something else.
“Then who do you want to prove it to?” Xia Wei raised her head. “Besides those kids, besides those people who said ‘you can’t do it’—who else?”
Song Qiao was silent for a few seconds, picked up her wine glass, and took a sip.
“Someone who wants to prove themselves just like them,” she said.
“Who?” Xia Wei asked.
“Let’s eat,” Song Qiao put down her glass and turned her gaze toward the window.
Xia Wei looked at Song Qiao, looking at her profile illuminated by the light. There was no expression on that face, but Xia Wei suddenly felt this was the most unguarded moment of Song Qiao she had ever seen.
Picking up her wine glass, Xia Wei downed the rest of the red wine in one gulp. The liquid slid down her throat, burning and hot.
“Director Song,” she said.
“Mhm.”
“The path you chose is the right one.”
Song Qiao looked at her for several seconds, then picked up her wine glass and took a sip as well.
“You’re drunk,” she said, the corners of her mouth curving—not that kind of smile cold as a blade, but a very faint, yet genuine smiling arc.
“Maybe a little,” Xia Wei admitted.
Song Qiao said no more and lowered her head to eat quietly. Xia Wei quietly noted down the dishes Song Qiao picked up and remembered her preferences.
Only the sound of chewing filled the private room. After a long while, Song Qiao picked up her phone from the table and glanced at the time. “Let’s go, I’ll send you back.”
She stood up, walked to the door, paused, and looked back at Xia Wei.
“Everything you just asked,” Song Qiao said, “once you walk out this door, forget it.”
Xia Wei was stunned: “Why?”
“Because you’re the first person to ask me this question.” Song Qiao pulled open the door. “I don’t want a second.” She walked out.
Xia Wei sat in her chair, looking at that open door. The light from the corridor shone in, illuminating the floor at the doorway in a pale white.
She heard the sound of Song Qiao’s high heels stepping on the floor—thud, thud, getting further and further away.
Xia Wei stood up, grabbed her bag, and followed.
When she reached the door, she glanced back at the private room—half a bottle of red wine left on the table, two cups, a few eaten dishes, dim lighting, curtains swaying slightly, everything very quiet as if nothing had happened.
But she knew something had already changed.
She closed the door and briskly caught up to Song Qiao.
The two walked side by side down the corridor, neither of them speaking.
In Xia Wei’s mind, the words Song Qiao had said were still spinning—”Give people a chance,” “Prove it to those kids,” “Someone who wants to prove themselves just like them.”
She was curious about who that person was, but she didn’t ask, because Song Qiao had said that once she walked out this door, she should forget it.
Then she would forget it.
Yet she knew she couldn’t forget it.
The interior of the car was very quiet. The two sat in the back seat, Xia Wei leaning sideways against the car seat, her gaze falling outside the window where pattering threads of rain fell onto the glass, slowly converging into lines. Song Qiao sat upright, looking as though she hadn’t drunk at all.
The car stopped. Xia Wei looked outside; it was the downstairs of her residential building.
“I’m heading back first, Director Song.” Xia Wei pushed open the car door, turned back, and said softly.
Song Qiao nodded without speaking.
Xia Wei watched the car drive away before turning to walk home.
Back home, Xia Wei changed her shoes and threw herself onto the sofa. Zhou Ci was already asleep, leaving only a small nightlight in the living room.
She pulled out her phone and messaged Fang Tian: “Asleep yet?”
Fang Tian replied instantly: “Nope, binge-watching a show. How are you doing?”
Xia Wei typed a few letters, deleted them, and finally dialed a call directly.
“What’s wrong?” Fang Tian’s voice carried a hint of amusement. “Listening to your movement, working overtime again?”
“No.” Xia Wei rolled over, resting her feet on the sofa armrest. “Director Song treated me to dinner today.”
The other end of the line went silent for a second, and then Fang Tian’s pitch rose by eight octaves: “What?! Dinner?! Alone?!”
“Keep your voice down.” Xia Wei pressed the phone closer to her ear. “It’s just dinner, nothing much.”
“If it’s nothing much, why’d you specifically call to tell me?” Fang Tian’s tone was full of gossip. “Quickly tell me, what’s going on.”
Xia Wei hesitated for a moment, but still shared recent events—Chen Yu’s studio, the gossip heard in the coffee shop, Song Qiao asking her “What do you think?”, her replying “I don’t know,” and Song Qiao saying “Leave the answer to the very end.”
Also that dinner tonight, the bottle of red wine, and how she used the alcohol courage to ask Song Qiao about the core of the Starlight Project, and what Song Qiao had replied.
The only thing she didn’t mention was what Song Qiao said at the very end—proving it to someone just like them.
The other end of the line was quiet for a long time.
“Fang Tian?” Xia Wei called out.
“I’m here.” Fang Tian’s voice suddenly turned serious. “What you said… she actually said all that?”
“Mhm.”
“Give people a chance, prove it to those kids…” Fang Tian repeated it and sighed. “Why is this person different from what I imagined?”
“What did you imagine her to be like?”
“A female devil, cold-blooded, heartless, a workaholic, using any means necessary to get promoted.” Fang Tian paused. “But hearing you say this, she seems… actually quite humane.”
Xia Wei didn’t speak.
She remembered when Song Qiao said those things, her gaze falling somewhere outside the window, her voice very light, as if speaking to herself.
“Then what do you think now?” Fang Tian asked. “Still resigning?”
Xia Wei fell silent for a moment. Resigning? She didn’t seem to have thought about this matter anymore. Busy running around every day, busy memorizing materials, busy buying coffee for Song Qiao…
“I don’t know,” Xia Wei said. “Let’s finish the work on hand first.”
“For the figurine?” Fang Tian probed.
Xia Wei smiled and didn’t answer; that laughter sounded a bit hollow even to herself.
Hanging up the phone, Xia Wei lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Chen Yu’s words echoed continuously in her head—”You really know how to sit still”—intermittent with Song Qiao’s “Then it wasn’t a wasted trip.”
She suddenly had a thought: she would go to Chen Yu’s studio on Saturday too. Not because Song Qiao told her to go, but because she wanted to go herself.
On Saturday morning, Xia Wei woke up bright and early.
Zhou Ci was boiling porridge in the kitchen. Seeing her dressed neatly, she paused: “Isn’t it the weekend today? Still have to work?”
“Not working overtime.” Xia Wei changed her shoes at the doorway. “I’m going to see someone.”
“Who?”
“A… teacher.” Xia Wei thought about it and felt the word “teacher” quite appropriate.
The alley after the rain looked as if someone had washed it from head to toe.
The blue-brick ground soaked up deep and shallow water marks, and tiny patches of moss popped out of the cracks, green and bright.
Xia Wei took a deep breath. The air was full of the scent of earth and vegetation, damp and moist. Breathing it into her lungs made her whole body feel clear.
Pushing open the half-open vermilion double doors, the leaves of the pomegranate tree were washed shiny by the rainwater, water droplets still hanging from their tips. A gust of wind blew them down in a rustle, hitting the stone table below to emit an extremely light “thud” sound.
Chen Yu was sitting on a rocking chair outside the side room’s tearoom, a thin blanket draped over her knees, a small low table placed beside her, and a purple clay pot sitting on a small stove.
The chair rocked slowly, emitting a creaking sound, unhurried and steady, like an old song without lyrics.
With her eyes closed and no expression on her face, the corners of her mouth curved slightly, as if recalling some pleasant event, or perhaps thinking of nothing at all, simply enjoying this rare post-rain leisure.
Hearing movement, Chen Yu slowly opened her eyes—serene as always, seemingly unsurprised by Xia Wei’s arrival—and raised an eyebrow slightly.
“I thought you wouldn’t come again until Monday.” Chen Yu straightened up and pointed to the chair beside her.
Xia Wei walked over and sat down. The tea had already been brewed, and a faint tea fragrance drifted out from the pot’s spout, blending into the post-rain air, now and then.
Chen Yu picked up the teapot and poured two cups.
The tea was amber-colored, translucent, and steaming with fine white vapor. She picked it up, brought it close to her nose to smell, then took a sip, put the cup down, and continued rocking.
Sunlight filtered out from behind the dark clouds—not harsh, but soft—falling on her graying hair, on the back of her hand resting on the thin blanket, and on that warm purple clay pot.
Seeing Xia Wei hadn’t moved, Chen Yu asked, “Not reading books today?”
“Today I want to ask you a question.” Xia Wei placed her hands on her knees and sat very straight.
Chen Yu picked up her teacup and took a leisurely sip. “Go ahead.”
“You said before, ‘It’s not that I don’t want to help, but I can’t help.’ I want to know, if you could help, would you?”
Chen Yu put down her teacup, looked at Xia Wei, and something extra appeared in her gaze: “You coming today—did Song Qiao tell you to come, or did you want to come yourself?”
“Myself.”
“Why?”
Xia Wei thought for a moment and said, “Because I want you to go.”
Chen Yu put down her teacup, her gaze landing on Xia Wei with a kind of unhurried appraisal.
The courtyard after the rain was exceptionally quiet, save for the creaking sound of the rocking chair occasionally touching the wooden floor and the sound of rainwater dripping from distant eaves.
“You’ve been here for so many days, and I haven’t really asked you properly.” Chen Yu’s fingers slowly traced the rim of her cup. “Today happens to be a good time, since I’m idle anyway.”
Xia Wei’s throat tightened; she knew what Chen Yu was going to ask.
“The Starlight Project, you said you understand it. Then I’ll ask you—what do you think is the most touching part of this project? Not what Song Qiao told you to say, but what you yourself felt.”
Xia Wei was silent for a few seconds as the rain gradually drifted into denser drops.
She thought of the afternoon when she first saw the materials of the six trainees, and Song Qiao’s lonely profile standing by the window saying, “Give people a chance.”
“It’s ‘possibility,'” Xia Wei said. “Not the kind of possibility where ‘they will definitely become famous in the future,’ but the kind of possibility where ‘they finally get a chance to be seen.’ There are too many talented people in this industry who never get seen in their whole lives. The Starlight Project might not make everyone famous, but it at least gives them a chance to stand on stage.”
Chen Yu neither nodded nor shook her head; she just looked at her and waited.
“Second question.” Chen Yu picked up her teacup and took another sip. “What do you think is the biggest difficulty for Song Qiao in doing this project?”
Xia Wei almost blurted out: “It’s that no one believes she can succeed.”
She paused and added: “The Business Department doesn’t believe it, Party A didn’t believe it at first, even the people she invited didn’t believe it. But she didn’t stop to explain; she just kept doing it, kept doing it, until others had no choice but to look.”
The corners of Chen Yu’s mouth twitched. “Then do you believe it?”
Xia Wei was stunned.
“Do you believe she can succeed?” Chen Yu asked again, her voice not loud, but every word very clear.
That bird on the pomegranate tree chirped once, then fluttered its wings and flew away.
“I believe it,” Xia Wei said, her voice firmer than she expected. “Not because I think the Starlight Project will definitely blow up, but because I saw what she paid for this project. Someone willing to pay this much shouldn’t lose.”
Chen Yu looked at her, a bit more appreciation entering her gaze.
“Third question.” Chen Yu put down her teacup, leaned back in the rocking chair, and the chair rocked gently once. “What do you think is the core of the Starlight Project?”
Xia Wei raised her head and looked at Chen Yu.
The answer to this question had already been told to her by Song Qiao over dinner, but she couldn’t quote Song Qiao’s original words—Chen Yu would figure it out.
“It’s ‘giving people a chance,'” Xia Wei said, her voice dropping a little lower. “Giving those six kids a chance to be seen, and also giving Song Qiao herself a chance to prove herself.”
“Prove what?”
“Prove that the path she chose is the right one.” Xia Wei paused.
Chen Yu’s fingers stopped on the armrest. She looked at Xia Wei for several seconds, then sighed softly.
“You’re more honest than her,” Chen Yu said.
Xia Wei didn’t understand.
“Song Qiao wouldn’t say these things to anyone.” Chen Yu picked up the purple clay pot and poured herself another cup of tea. The tea liquid shimmered with an amber glow under the sunlight. “She carries everything on her shoulders, never telling anyone she’s tired, never telling anyone she’s suffering, and never telling anyone why she has to do this. But you said it out for her.”
Xia Wei lowered her head, looking at her hands resting on her knees. No wonder Song Qiao told her to forget it last night.
“Fourth question.” Chen Yu’s voice was a bit lighter than before. “Why do you want to help her?”
Xia Wei raised her head.
“Not because you’re getting paid, not because she’s your leader.” Chen Yu looked at her, a pale, indescribable thing in her gaze. “You genuinely want to help her. Why?”
Xia Wei opened her mouth, finding herself unable to speak.
Not because she didn’t know the answer, but because the answer was too long—so long she didn’t know where to start.
From getting into her car at the subway entrance? Or from seeing her curled up looking exhausted in the car seat when drunk? From the vulnerability in her voice when she said, “I can’t go back like this”? From the sight of her hanging clothes on the balcony with sunlight hitting her?
Or starting from Song Qiao’s “truth spoken under the influence” last night.
“Because…” Xia Wei began, her voice a bit hoarse. “Because I don’t want her to carry it all by herself.”
Chen Yu said nothing, just looking at her.
“Everyone thinks she’s a female devil, thinks she’s heartless, thinks she does all this just to get promoted, but I know it’s not.”
Xia Wei’s voice lowered: “She just doesn’t know how to speak up. She won’t say how tired she is, won’t say how sad she is when rejected, won’t say she actually gets scared too. She just does it… keeps doing it, doing it alone.”
Xia Wei paused and took a deep breath.
“If even I don’t help her, she really will be all alone.”
The courtyard was quiet for a long time. The wind passed through the pomegranate tree branches, making the leaves rustle.
Chen Yu picked up her teacup, took a sip, put it down, and the rocking chair rocked slowly, creak, creak.
“You can go back,” Chen Yu said.
Xia Wei was stunned, thinking she had said something wrong again.
“You don’t need to come on Monday.” Chen Yu looked at her, the corners of her mouth curving. “For the Starlight Project’s debut ceremony, save a seat for me. I want to go see—what that project you described as ‘not wanting her to carry alone’ actually looks like.”
Xia Wei stood frozen in place, taking several seconds to react. She suddenly stood up, and her chair slid backward, making a harsh scraping sound.
“Teacher Chen, you…”
“Don’t get excited,” Chen Yu waved her hand, her tone returning to that nonchalant calmness. “I’m just going to take a look, didn’t say I’ll definitely help you guys with anything.”
Xia Wei stood in place, her eye sockets feeling a bit hot. She opened her mouth wanting to say thank you, but felt the word “thank you” was too light.
“Teacher Chen, would you be willing to…” Xia Wei wanted to ask something more, but the courtyard suddenly darkened.
She looked up at the sky; a patch of dark clouds blocked the sun, and a few drops of rain fell, hitting the leaves of the pomegranate tree and rustling.
The rain was getting heavier.
Xia Wei prepared to hide in the side room when her gaze swept across the doorway. A figure holding an umbrella stood at the entrance.
Song Qiao.
She wore a dark gray trench coat and held a black long-handled umbrella in her hand. Rainwater slid down the ribs of the umbrella, pooling into a small puddle near her feet.
A few strands of her hair were blown messy by the wind, clinging to her cheeks, but her back was straight and her expression very pale; it was impossible to tell whether she had just arrived or had been standing there for a while.
“Director Song?” Xia Wei was stunned.
Song Qiao didn’t look at her; her gaze landed on Chen Yu. “Teacher Chen.”
Chen Yu rose from the rattan chair, holding a teacup in one hand and the blanket in the other, her expression showing no surprise at all. “You certainly know how to pick your timing.”
“I came to pick her up.” Song Qiao glanced at Xia Wei. “The rain is too heavy, and she didn’t bring an umbrella.”
Xia Wei felt a shock in her heart. How did Song Qiao know she didn’t bring an umbrella?
She did bring one, right in her bag.
Chen Yu looked at Song Qiao, then looked at Xia Wei, the corners of her mouth curving. “Alright, then take her away. No need to come on Monday.”
Song Qiao stood at the entrance, not entering nor urging.
Xia Wei packed her things, walked to the door, and glanced back at Chen Yu. Chen Yu had her back to her, seemingly searching for a certain book among the wall of books.
“Teacher Chen, thank you,” Xia Wei said.
Chen Yu didn’t turn back, just waved her hand.
Xia Wei ducked under Song Qiao’s umbrella, and the two walked out of the alley together.
The rain was falling heavily, hitting the umbrella surface with a popping sound. Song Qiao’s umbrella wasn’t large, and Xia Wei’s shoulder was splashed wet on one side, but she didn’t dare lean toward Song Qiao’s side.
“Why did you come?” Xia Wei asked.
“Passing by,” Song Qiao said.
Xia Wei glanced at her. From the company to the creative park took a long time to drive, and Jade Bay wasn’t in this area either. This route was not “passing by” at all. But she didn’t expose the lie.
The car stopped by the roadside outside the residential area, the rain showing no sign of stopping. Xia Wei unbuckled her seatbelt, hesitated for a moment, and glanced at the time—just past twelve, prime lunchtime.
“Director Song, do you want to come up for a meal?” she spoke, her voice lower than she expected. She remembered how Song Qiao had looked before saying she wasn’t hungry, and her retreating figure driving away alone at night, and she thought Song Qiao would refuse.
Song Qiao didn’t answer immediately. She looked at the rain outside the car window, her fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel twice.
“Is your mom home?” Song Qiao asked.
“She is,” Xia Wei said. “She usually doesn’t go out on weekends.”
Song Qiao was silent for a few seconds, then started the engine.
Xia Wei was stunned: “Where are we going?”
Song Qiao didn’t speak, driving the car out of the residential area, making two turns, and stopping in front of a supermarket.
“What does your mom like to eat?” Song Qiao unbuckled her seatbelt and turned her head to look at Xia Wei.
Xia Wei didn’t react in time. “What?”
“Visiting someone’s house, you can’t go empty-handed.” Song Qiao pushed open the car door and stepped out.
Xia Wei sat in the passenger seat, watching Song Qiao hold an umbrella and step in her high heels toward the supermarket entrance. She stared in a daze for several seconds, then smiled, unbuckled her seatbelt, and hurried after her.
There weren’t many people in the supermarket. Song Qiao pushed a shopping cart and walked quickly.
She went to the health supplement section first and grabbed a box of bird’s nest; then she went to the fruit section, picked out a box of oranges, felt them one by one by hand, and chose for a long time; finally, she went to the gift section and grabbed a box of tea leaves, exquisitely packaged and looking quite expensive.
Xia Wei followed behind, watching Song Qiao seriously picking items out. Song Qiao understood life far better than she imagined; she wasn’t some fairy detached from worldly affairs.
“Enough, enough.” Xia Wei stopped her. “If you keep buying stuff, my mom’s going to think we really have something going on.”
Song Qiao’s hand paused, and she raised her eyes to look at her. There was a subtle, indescribable thing in that gaze.
“Alright.” Song Qiao withdrew her gaze and pushed the shopping cart toward the checkout counter.
Xia Wei stood beside her, watching Song Qiao take out her phone from her bag to pay naturally.
Carrying large and small bags out of the supermarket, the rain had lessened a bit. Holding the umbrella in one hand and carrying the bags in the other, Song Qiao walked with a bit of difficulty.
Xia Wei reached out to take them: “I’ll carry them.”
Song Qiao didn’t let her, simply tilting the umbrella slightly toward Xia Wei’s side. The two walked side by side in the rain, neither speaking.
Something was slowly fermenting in Xia Wei’s heart, like dough rising bit by bit, swelling until her chest felt tight.
She suddenly remembered the question Fang Tian asked—”Are you feeling sorry for her, or are you complaining about her?”
At the time she said, “I’m complaining about her,” but now she knew the answer.
Yet she didn’t dare say it.
“Which floor?” Song Qiao stood at the elevator entrance, freeing up one hand to press the up button.
“Fifth floor.” Seeing both of Song Qiao’s hands occupied, Xia Wei still reached out and took the box of oranges: “I’ll take this one, you take the rest.”
Song Qiao didn’t insist further, her fingers gripping the handles of the bags tightly as if adjusting something.
Only the two of them were in the elevator.
Xia Wei pressed the floor button, and the elevator slowly ascended, the numbers ticking upward one by one.
Song Qiao stood beside her, her waist and back held very straight, no different from usual at the company. But Xia Wei noticed her fingers kept lightly rubbing against the bag handles—a small habit she only had when feeling uneasy.
“My mom is a very nice person,” Xia Wei suddenly said.
Song Qiao turned her head to look at her and let out a “Mhm.”
The elevator doors opened. Xia Wei walked in front, pulled out her keys to unlock the door, turned the key a full circle, and with a click, it opened.
“Mom, we’re back.” Xia Wei pushed the door open, stepping sideways to let Song Qiao enter first.
Zhou Ci was poking her head out from the kitchen, wearing an apron and holding a spatula.
Seeing Song Qiao, she first froze for a moment, then her gaze landed on the bird’s nest and tea leaves in Song Qiao’s hands. The expression on her face shifted from surprise to enthusiasm, and then into a kind of understanding that Xia Wei couldn’t quite read.
“Oh my, Director Song is here? Come in, come in quickly, no need to bring things.” Zhou Ci put down the spatula, wiped her hands on her apron, and came forward to welcome them.
“Hello, Auntie Zhou.” Song Qiao’s voice was a bit lighter than usual. She handed the items over. “Sorry to bother you last time. I didn’t know what you liked, so I just bought some random things.”
“Too polite.” Zhou Ci took the items, carrying a certain satisfied look as she appraised Song Qiao up and down. “You guys sit first, the soup will be ready soon. Xiaowei, go pour tea for Director Song.”
Zhou Ci turned around and walked back into the kitchen, the sound of the spatula scraping the pan ringing out again. Xia Wei changed her shoes, took a pair of slippers that Song Qiao had worn before from the shoe cabinet, and placed them at Song Qiao’s feet.
“Wear these.”
Song Qiao changed into the slippers, bent down to place her removed high heels neatly beside the shoe cabinet with the toes facing outward, lined up right beside Xia Wei’s shoes.
Looking at those two pairs of shoes side by side, Xia Wei felt something in her heart gently plucked.
“Sit down first, I’ll go pour tea.” Xia Wei pointed to the sofa.
Song Qiao sat down on the sofa, her back held very straight and her hands placed on her knees, identical to how she sat in the conference room.
She glanced around the living room—not big, but tidied up very cleanly. A plate of fruit was placed on the coffee table, and the television was on with the volume turned low, broadcasting the family drama Zhou Ci usually loved to watch.
A hand-knitted woolen blanket was draped over the sofa, and the cushions were a bit old, but washed very clean.
Xia Wei walked over carrying two cups of tea, placing one in front of Song Qiao and holding the other herself.
“My mom cooks very fast, it’ll be ready in just a little while.”
“Mhm.” Song Qiao picked up her teacup, blew away the floating foam, and took a sip.
Her gaze landed on a photo frame under the coffee table—inside was a family portrait. Xia Wei was still wearing her school uniform, her hair tied in a ponytail, wearing a black electronic watch on her wrist, smiling to reveal two little fangs. Zhou Ci and Xia Yiyuan stood behind her, and the family of three stood beneath a tree in full bloom.
Song Qiao’s eyes fixed on the black electronic watch Xia Wei was wearing. Her breathing hitched, and her fingers tightened slightly.
“When was that taken?” Song Qiao asked.