No response.
…
“Director Song?” Xia Wei tentatively called out.
No response.
“Director Song, what is your home address?”
Still no response. Her breathing was very even, not even furrowing her brows.
Xia Wei sighed, drove the car out of the parking lot, and stopped at an intersection.
She didn’t know where Song Qiao lived, nor which district, road, or residential complex her home was in.
She flipped through her mobile phone contacts for a long time. She hesitated for a moment before deciding not to call Xie Xiaoqing; it was very late now, and she didn’t want to disturb her.
She glanced at the car’s dashboard screen and, as if guided by some whim, tapped on the navigation’s history records.
A string of addresses popped up on the screen—the company, The Puli Hotel, a restaurant she frequently visited, and a residential complex called “Emerald Bay” (翡翠灣).
This complex appeared with very high frequency, visited almost every day or two, mostly around 8:00 or 9:00 PM, and sometimes in the middle of the night.
Xia Wei stared at the name for a few seconds and tapped it.
The navigation started planning the route, with an estimated travel time of eighteen minutes.
She put on her left turn signal and merged into the traffic.
Not long after the car drove out, Song Qiao turned over, facing Xia Wei’s side, and hunched her shoulders slightly.
The file folder slipped from her arms and fell beneath the seat.
She groped around in the air with her hand, failed to catch it, furrowed her brow, and muttered something incomprehensibly.
Taking advantage of a red light, Xia Wei leaned over, picked up the file folder, and placed it back on Song Qiao’s lap.
Song Qiao’s fingers brushed against the file folder and immediately gripped it tightly. Her brows slowly relaxed, and her breathing returned to a steady rhythm.
Xia Wei looked at her, feeling something in her heart being gently touched.
The green light turned on, and the car behind her honked its horn. She hurriedly withdrew her gaze and stepped on the accelerator.
“Emerald Bay” was located in the northern part of the city, a relatively well-established residential complex. From the outside, security was tight—there was a guard booth at the entrance, and entering required swiping a card.
Xia Wei parked the car on the roadside outside the complex, turned off the engine, and turned to look at the front passenger seat.
Song Qiao was still asleep.
Her breathing was heavier than before, her chest rising and falling very slowly.
The file folder was still tightly clutched in her arms, her hair disheveled, covering half of her face.
The streetlamp’s light shone in through the car window, casting her shadow onto the seat, rising and falling with her breathing.
Xia Wei watched her for a moment, then glanced at the main entrance of the complex.
She didn’t know which building, floor, or apartment number Song Qiao lived in. There were seven or eight buildings in the complex, each with over twenty floors; it was impossible for her to search building by building, and with guards at the entrance, she couldn’t even get past the gate.
She took out her phone, intending to call Xie Xiaoqing, but glanced at the time—it was almost midnight. Her finger hovered above the screen, hesitating for a long time before she finally locked the screen.
She glanced at Song Qiao, then at the complex entrance, and then back at Song Qiao.
“Director Song.” She reached out and gently patted Song Qiao’s shoulder.
No response.
“Director Song?” She patted her again, a bit harder than before.
Song Qiao’s brows furrowed slightly, her lips moved, and she emitted a muffled syllable that sounded like “Mhm” or “Don’t bother me,” before turning her face away toward the car window and continuing to sleep.
Xia Wei’s hand hovered in mid-air, wondering whether she should wake her one more time.
She recalled what was written in the “Rule Strange Talk” (rules and strange talks) — “If she falls asleep in the car, do not wake her up when you reach the destination; wait for her to wake up on her own.”
However, that assumed knowing what the destination was. Right now, she didn’t even know which building Song Qiao lived in; she couldn’t just park the car at the complex entrance and wait all night.
She waited a few more minutes.
The car heater was running, creating a thin layer of mist on the windows.
Song Qiao’s breathing sound was exceptionally clear in the quiet cabin—one, two, slow and deep.
Watching her curled up in the front passenger seat, Xia Wei suddenly felt that this woman, who struck fear into the entire PR and Production Department, was when asleep nothing more than a person who had drunk too much alcohol and couldn’t even return home.
She reached out and lowered the passenger seat back a little, letting Song Qiao lie down more comfortably.
Song Qiao’s body slid slightly as the seat tilted, her head tilting toward Xia Wei’s side, her hair spread across the backrest, with a few strands hanging down and resting on the back of Xia Wei’s hand—very light, slightly cool.
Xia Wei’s fingers paused, then slowly withdrew.
She leaned back against the driver’s seat and stared blankly at the guard booth at the complex entrance.
The security guard sat inside, looking down at his phone, occasionally raising his head to look outside.
The streetlights cast a dim, yellowish glow over the entire street. There were no pedestrians; occasionally, a car passed by, its headlights sweeping across the interior of the vehicle, brightening momentarily before plunging back into darkness.
Xia Wei took out her phone, opened the map, and zoomed in on the area around “Emerald Bay.”
There were no hotels nearby; the closest one was over three kilometers away.
She glanced at Song Qiao—wearing high heels and a business skirt, carrying only a file folder and a handbag, without even a jacket.
Leaving her alone in a hotel didn’t feel right to her.
Waking her up to ask for an address was something she couldn’t bear to do.
Xia Wei placed her phone face down on her knees, tilted her head back against the seat, and looked up at the car’s sunroof.
Outside the sunroof, it was pitch black; nothing could be seen.
The car was so quiet she could hear the breathing of both of them.
She suddenly remembered today in the elevator, when Song Qiao asked her “Does it look good?” along with that half-smiling expression.
She remembered the look when she said “I don’t drink Chinese medicine, thank you” without even raising her eyelids.
She remembered her drinking cup after cup in the private room, maintaining a polite smile on her face the whole time, though that smile never reached her eyes.
She remembered her straight back as she walked out of the private room, and the weight she pressed against her shoulder when she leaned over in the elevator.
She remembered her curled up in the back seat, holding the file folder tightly in her arms.
She remembered that when she said “Can’t go back like this,” there was a hint of vulnerability in her voice that Xia Wei had never heard before.
Xia Wei turned her head to look at the front passenger seat.
Song Qiao was still sleeping soundly, breathing evenly, her lips parted slightly. The file folder had slipped to her waist, and one hand rested on top of it, her fingers curled slightly.
Her makeup-free face looked a bit younger than usual, and somewhat more fragile.
Her eyelashes were very long, casting a small shadow under the streetlights, her bridge of a nose straight, and her lips redder than usual due to the alcohol.
Xia Wei watched her for a long time, then withdrew her gaze and started the car engine.
She put on her right turn signal, made a U-turn, and drove toward her own home.
Song Qiao did not wake up.
The file folder slid from her waist onto the seat. She reached out and grabbed at nothing, felt around on the seat with her fingers for a moment, and let her hand drop back down.
Catching this in her peripheral vision, Xia Wei turned up the heater by one degree.
The car merged into the traffic. Streetlights passed by one after another outside the car window, casting flickering light and shadow across Song Qiao’s face.
Xia Wei drove very steadily, slower than usual, and was extra careful when making turns.
She didn’t know where Song Qiao lived, nor which building, floor, or apartment she stayed in. She didn’t know Song Qiao’s phone number, her parents’ contact information, or anything about Song Qiao’s past—why she didn’t want to go home.
She only knew that this person was currently asleep in her passenger seat, with the file folder slipped onto the floor mat, her hair messy, her lips chapped, curled up into a ball like a cat that couldn’t find its nest.
She only knew that she couldn’t let this person stay alone.
By the time the car drove into the residential complex, it was already midnight.
Xia Wei parked the car, turned off the engine, and looked over at the front passenger seat. Song Qiao was still asleep, breathing deeply, her head tilted toward the car window, the file folder dropped on the floor mat.
Xia Wei leaned over to pick it up, placed it in the back seat, and then unbuckled her seatbelt, got out, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the door.
“Director Song.” She called out softly and patted Song Qiao’s shoulder. “We’ve arrived.”
Song Qiao didn’t move.
“Director Song?” She called out again, her voice a bit heavier than before.
Song Qiao’s brows furrowed, her lips moved, and she uttered an indistinct sound that was impossible to decipher.
Xia Wei sighed, leaned over to drape Song Qiao’s arm over her shoulder, supported her waist with her other hand, and helped her up from the seat.
Song Qiao’s body leaned over, very light. Her head rested on Xia Wei’s shoulder, her breath blowing against Xia Wei’s neck, carrying the scent of alcohol and that familiar cedar fragrance.
Xia Wei closed the car door, locked the car, and supported Song Qiao as they walked toward the building.
Song Qiao’s feet exerted almost no force, her high heels dragging across the ground with a rustling sound that echoed through the empty underground parking garage.
There were only the two of them in the elevator.
Xia Wei pressed the floor button and leaned against the elevator wall, letting out a breath.
Song Qiao leaned against her, completely motionless as if asleep.
As the elevator ascended, Xia Wei lowered her head to look at her—long eyelashes, prominent nose bridge, lips parted slightly.
She hurriedly withdrew her gaze and stared at the digital numbers changing on the elevator display.
Arriving at her doorstep, Xia Wei supported Song Qiao with one hand while rummaging through her bag for keys with the other. After searching for a long time, she finally touched them. As the key slid into the keyhole, Song Qiao stirred and murmured something sleepily.
“What?” Xia Wei turned her head.
“—Where is this?” Her voice was terribly hoarse, sounding as if squeezed out from her throat.
“My place.” Xia Wei pushed the door open, supporting her inside. “You drank too much, and I didn’t know where you lived. The car navigation only had a complex name, and once we got there I didn’t know which building it was, so…”
She rattled off a long explanation, and halfway through realized Song Qiao wasn’t listening at all—her eyes were closed again, her breathing had turned even once more, and leaning on her shoulder, she had fallen back asleep.
Xia Wei stopped talking, half-embraced her, guided her into her bedroom, and laid her down on the bed.
Song Qiao’s body sank into the mattress, her hair spreading out across the pillow.
The file folder was no longer in her arms. Her fingers clawed at empty air, caught nothing, and her brows knitted together as if searching for something in a dream.
Xia Wei picked up a piece of her own loungewear from beside the bed and placed it into Song Qiao’s hands.
Song Qiao’s fingers grasped the clothing, her brows slowly relaxing, and her breathing steadied.
Standing by the bed, Xia Wei looked at the way Song Qiao was clutching her clothes, feeling a mixture of amusement and a twinge of heartache.
She recalled that residential complex called “Emerald Bay” on the car navigation, and remembered parking at the entrance, staring blankly at seven or eight buildings.
She remembered flipping through her phone’s entire contact list, not knowing who to call.
She remembered turning the car around and leaving, watching the complex entrance get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror while Song Qiao slept soundly in the passenger seat, completely unaware of anything.
Xia Wei reflected on it, and it was true. When Song Qiao dropped her off home last night, she had never said “drop me off at my door,” nor let her know where she lived.
She seemed to be deliberately maintaining a certain distance, never letting anyone cross that line.