Chapter 4: The First Snow of Chongcheng

Kaiser’s year-end parties were always a grand affair. The hotel even reserved its largest ballroom exclusively for the occasion, draped in glitter and luxury.

Xia Chan, however, had one complaint about such events—clothes were simply too expensive.

The annual gala gathered the company’s brightest stars: young, unmarried executives with talent and ambition to spare. But marriage or age did little to discourage the hundreds of women from the front office, housekeeping, and concierge departments. Everyone came armed with dreams—and designer dresses. Showing up shabby wasn’t an option.

A few years ago, Xia Chan stumbled upon a clever solution. While cleaning Zhou Lan’s room, she discovered an old trunk beneath the bed—inside lay seven or eight cheongsams, each elegant and timeless.

Zhou Lan, having gained weight in middle age, could no longer fit into them.

When Xia Chan tried one on, it hugged her figure perfectly. She sighed at the wasted beauty of the garments gathering dust, then quietly claimed them for herself. With seven or eight sets, she could rotate them for years without repeating a single look.

Zhou Lan had been furious—almost cut them up in rage—but in the end, she only gave Xia Chan a good scolding before venting her temper at the card table, losing everything that night.

This year, Xia Chan chose a dark blue cheongsam embroidered with large crabapple blossoms. The deep floral pattern glimmered subtly under the light. Because her stomach was always cold, she wrapped herself in an ankle-length down jacket and a soft scarf before leaving home.

In the lounge, she removed her jacket, draped a rabbit-fur shawl over her shoulders, and touched up her lipstick.

The door opened with a soft creak—Fu Ruyu stepped in, smiling. “A cheongsam again?”

Xia Chan dabbed at a smudge of lipstick with a cotton swab. “I’m poor. What choice do I have?”

Her eyes flicked toward Fu Ruyu’s sleek black dress. Xia Chan didn’t know the brand, but the refined cut and fabric whispered expensive.

She chuckled. “So, what’s the story this year? Who splurged on that one for you?”

Fu Ruyu smiled knowingly. “He got a big payout from a project with his advisor.”

“Tsk. I’m so envious.”

Fu Ruyu hesitated, then lowered her voice. “Xia Chan, I’ve been meaning to ask… you and Xie Xingzhou…”

Xia Chan’s smile faltered. “He’s heading to the capital. His company’s expanding there.”

“Not coming back?”

“He said he wouldn’t.”

Fu Ruyu sighed. “So decisive?”

Xia Chan didn’t answer. The silence between them was thick enough to taste.

Just then, the door burst open again, and a soft fragrance filled the air. Chen Aijia swept in, shrugging off her coat to reveal a striking red dress that glowed against her fair skin.

“How is it? Looks good, right?” she said, spinning slightly.

Chen Aijia was the kind who lived for the moment—never saving, always spending, and never half-hearted about it.

She grinned. “I’m counting on this dress to snag a rich husband tonight. Then I’ll just lie in bed, counting money for the rest of my life.”

Xia Chan smiled faintly. “Good luck.”

Fu Ruyu chuckled. “We’ll drink to that.”

The ballroom shimmered that night—soft lighting, laughter, and perfume floating like mist. Beautiful women glided across the floor in dresses that sparkled beneath chandeliers.

Xia Chan made her rounds, politely toasting the leaders one by one before slipping away to the bathroom. When she came out, she nearly collided with Liu Hongyi.

“Manager Liu,” she greeted stiffly.

He gave her a long look, then smiled faintly. “Have you heard? Layoffs are coming after New Year.”

“I’ve heard,” Xia Chan replied, expression calm.

“You don’t seem nervous.”

Of course she was nervous. But she could see there were people far more anxious than her.

“I just want to do my job well,” she said softly. “Whether I stay or go depends on the leadership.”

Liu Hongyi snorted and stepped closer, until only a fist’s space separated them. His tone turned suggestive. “Men can be tough. Women, though—they should learn to be soft at the right time.”

Revulsion surged through her. Xia Chan immediately stepped back, voice cold. “Boss Liu, I’ll return to the lobby.”

She hurried away—and almost ran into someone again. It was Fu Ruyu.

Fu Ruyu frowned. “What’s wrong? You look pale.”

“I’m fine.” Xia Chan forced a smile.

“Be careful then,” Fu Ruyu said lightly. “You might bump into someone next time.”

Xia Chan nodded and returned to the hall.

The ballroom’s heat pressed against her skin. She found a quiet corner and sat down, nibbling on food she barely tasted. Liu Hongyi’s words still echoed in her head, oily and suffocating. The air was thick with perfume and red wine, making her chest tighten.

She stood abruptly. Maybe a breath of cold air would help.

As she stepped into the elevator, her phone vibrated inside her handbag.

Xia Chan took out her phone and froze.
On the screen glowed two simple words — “Xie Xingzhou.”

For a moment, she could only stare, her heart tightening as though caught off guard by a memory. After a long pause, she finally answered.

Xie Xingzhou’s voice came through, faint and weary.
“Have you eaten?”

“Yeah.”

A light cough followed. “I’ve set the date to go to the capital. After thinking about it, I wanted to tell you myself.”

Xia Chan’s gaze was unfocused, her mind blank. “What day?”

“The fifth day of the New Year. Nine in the morning.”

“Hmm.” Her voice softened. “You sound sick.”

“It’s fine.”

The elevator doors slid open. Xia Chan followed the crowd out, clutching her phone. “Get more rest.”

“Okay,” he replied between coughs. “You too.”

A silence stretched.

Finally, Xia Chan spoke, her tone faintly hoarse. “If there’s nothing else… I’ll hang up.”

“Alright.” He hesitated for a second. “It’s snowing. Keep warm when you get off work.”

Xia Chan blinked, caught off guard. Snowing?

She lifted her eyes, but saw only the chandelier’s glow spilling across marble floors. Then she realized — she had gotten off on the wrong floor.

The call ended, and Xia Chan lowered her phone slowly, dazed.

As she stepped toward the hotel entrance, someone held the door for her. A rush of icy wind swept in, carrying with it a flurry of snowflakes.

Chongcheng’s first snow of the year.

Her cheongsam and thin shawl were no match for the chill, yet she lingered, drawn to the quiet beauty of the snowfall. Folding her arms tightly, she descended the steps into the cold.

The wind cut through her, biting and sharp. She shivered, then suddenly felt a craving for a cigarette. Reaching into her handbag, she remembered—she had left her pack upstairs in the lounge.

Just as she turned to go back, her phone vibrated again.

With trembling fingers, she unlocked the screen.

A message from He Huaisheng:

“Miss Xia, are you selling matches?”

She blinked in surprise. At that very moment, two headlights flickered in the distance—brief flashes that caught the falling snow like shards of glass.

Her phone buzzed again.

“Where are you going? I’ll give you a ride.”

She looked up, but the lights went dark.

After a moment’s hesitation, she began to type a reply—just two words—when the back door of the car opened.

He Huaisheng stepped out, tall and composed despite the whipping wind. The hem of his coat billowed behind him as he strode over, each step leaving deep prints in the snow.

When he reached her, he wordlessly slipped off his coat and placed it over her shoulders.

Caught off guard, Xia Chan froze, then murmured a quiet, “Thank you.”

He Huaisheng was left in only a knit sweater and shirt, the wind cutting through his clothes. It made his frame look even leaner.

Feeling a twinge of guilt, Xia Chan took out her phone.

[Thank you, I’ll be back soon.]

His reply came instantly.

Annual meeting?

She nodded.

Then why are you out here alone?

Xia Chan hesitated, then decided to test him. Looking up, she said aloud, “Came out for a smoke.”

He glanced down at his screen.

Where are the cigarettes?

“I didn’t bring them.”

He paused, then reached into the pocket of the coat she wore, pulling out a pack of Davidoff cigarettes and a lighter. He handed them to her.

She raised an eyebrow. “These are a bit fancy.”

Are you used to them?

“I’ve never tried them.”

Might be a little strong.

“It’s okay,” she replied with a faint smile. “I used to smoke Camel.”

Their conversation drifted back and forth—half in words, half in text—until Xia Chan’s nose turned red from the cold.

She sneezed softly. “I should go back. It’s freezing.”

Taking off his coat, she held it out.

He Huaisheng didn’t put it on. Instead, he draped it over his arm and watched as she pulled a cigarette from the pack, placed it between her lips, and tried to light it.

The flame died instantly, snuffed out by the wind.

She frowned, ready to give up, but he stepped closer, shielding the lighter in his hands.

The small flame flickered again, lighting her face in a soft, trembling glow. Her fair skin gleamed faintly beneath the dim light as the cigarette caught fire.

Xia Chan exhaled, smoke curling from her lips, delicate and cold as winter breath.

“I’ll head back now, Mr. He. Thank you.”

Under the golden light, she stood there—dark blue cheongsam, hair pinned in a bun, red lips faintly parted. The snow whirled around her, her fur shawl quivering in the wind.

For an instant, she looked like someone from an old Shanghai film—graceful, aloof, and untouchably distant.

He Huaisheng averted his gaze and nodded.

“See you next time,” she said softly.

He nodded again.

Back inside, Xia Chan finished her cigarette in silence. Then she lay on the lounge sofa for a while, unwilling to face the noise of the ballroom again.

She called Fu Ruyu and Chen Aijia separately. Fu Ruyu didn’t answer. Chen Aijia picked up after a delay, her voice slightly slurred.

“Where did you go?”

“Aijia, I’m heading home. Tell Ruyu for me.”

“I didn’t see her.”

“If you do, tell her. If not—never mind.”

“Got it,” Chen Aijia laughed. “You know me. If I really wanted to live off charm, I wouldn’t wait until tonight.”

Xia Chan chuckled faintly.

“Be careful on your way back,” Chen Aijia said before hanging up.

Xia Chan gathered her things and left the hotel.

At the parking lot, she paused instinctively.

The Lexus was gone. The spot where it had been parked was still half dry—snow had yet to cover the traces he left behind.

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