Chapter 15: Cold Hearts Collide

For a long time afterward, Ruan Jing carried the weight of that conversation like a stone in her chest. The memory of her coldness toward Zhao Qiyan that day lingered, an unwelcome shadow that followed her through sleepless nights and distracted afternoons. She had never intended to sever what existed between them—whatever fragile, undefined thing it was.

She understood, with the cruel clarity that comes from being the object of someone's devotion, that Zhao Qiyan loved her. But understanding and reciprocation were entirely different beasts. What Ruan Jing craved was companionship without the suffocating weight of expectation, a connection that didn't demand the surrender of her carefully guarded heart. And so, she had trained herself—meticulously, painfully—to monitor every word, every glance, every unconscious gesture in his presence, terrified of giving him false hope.

Yet despite her vigilance, the situation had spiraled beyond her control. Like water seeping through cracks in a dam, Zhao Qiyan's presence had infiltrated her defenses, and she had grossly underestimated his persistence—that quiet, unwavering determination that was somehow more dangerous than any passionate pursuit.

When her carefully constructed walls crumbled again and again beneath his gentle siege, frustration bloomed into something darker: fear. Raw, primal fear. It was this fear that had driven her response when Qi Yan finally laid his heart bare before her—a complete, instinctive rejection born of self-preservation rather than reason.

It wasn't that she lacked experience with men. She had dated, played the requisite games of courtship, even imagined futures that never materialized. But none of those men had stripped away her courage the way Zhao Qiyan did. None had left her unable to think clearly, to calculate her next move, to maintain the emotional distance she'd perfected over the years.

Zhao Qiyan was different.

He possessed an effortless magnetism that drew people into his orbit without apparent effort. In many ways, he embodied restraint itself—low-key, composed, elegant in that understated manner that spoke of true breeding rather than affectation. His perception of others bordered on uncanny; he understood the unspoken currents of loyalty and obligation that governed human relationships. Friends gravitated to him naturally, and his professional success was the kind built on genuine merit and carefully cultivated influence.

She had admired these qualities once. Perhaps she still did. His capability, his generosity, his gentleness—these were the traits that had first captivated her, that had made her lower her guard just enough to let him in. But Qiyan had always regarded her with an intensity that set her apart from everyone else in his world. His eyes, when they found hers, carried something she couldn't quite name—a melancholy hunger, or perhaps the weight of something forbidden that he dared not speak aloud.

This deeper undercurrent, this hint of something more profound and potentially consuming, was what had ultimately driven her retreat. Four years ago, she might have been drawn to a man like Zhao Qiyan, might have allowed herself to fall into whatever abyss he offered. But that version of herself had been burned away by experience, leaving someone harder, warier, less willing to gamble with her heart.

Still, even in her refusal, she harbored no desire to wound him. This reluctance to cause pain was itself a testament to Zhao Qiyan's inexplicable power over her—the way he made indifference impossible, how he slipped past her defenses even as she reinforced them. Yet Ruan Jing had discovered an uncomfortable truth: when it came to Zhao Qiyan, even something as simple as an apology became fraught with complexity.

Early September arrived with its promise of new beginnings and inevitable endings. Qi Yan submitted his resignation from the research institute—a decision that surprised no one who knew him well—and departed for Jamaica. The island's tropical embrace lasted exactly one month before Zhao Lin found herself waiting in the sterile brightness of the airport arrivals hall.

It was four in the afternoon when she finally spotted him emerging from customs. The bottle of iced tea she'd consumed to pass the time sat empty beside her discarded fashion magazine.

Zhao Qiyan cut a striking figure in his light-colored casual wear, brown sunglasses perched on his nose, his perpetually neat black hair grown slightly longer so that his bangs fell naturally across his forehead. The effect added an unexpected sensuality to his usually polished appearance. He looked refreshed rather than worn, as if Jamaica's tropical heat had agreed with him.

"Still handsome," Zhao Lin observed with sisterly frankness.

"Thank you for coming."

Upon closer inspection, she noticed he'd lost weight—not dramatically, but enough to sharpen his already elegant features into something almost ethereal.

"You came and went in such a hurry. If I hadn't called you yesterday, I wouldn't have known you were coming back today."

Qi Yan's smile carried the practiced ease of someone accustomed to deflecting concern. "I'm sorry to trouble you to pick me up from the airport, ma'am."

"I think you're just playing coy. Tell me, have you been out fooling around with some woman?"

Zhao Qiyan shook his head with a hint of weariness. "You're overthinking it."

"Not just me, even my mom says you've been very active lately." They fell into step together, their footfalls echoing in the vast terminal.

Qi Yan pressed his temples with visible fatigue. "I have to go there again next week."

"Was the schedule really that tight?" Zhao Lin's observant gaze lingered on the sunglasses he hadn't removed. "By the way, why did you quit your job at the research institute all of a sudden?"

"I want to take a break for a while."

"Are you resting for a bit?" Zhao Lin couldn't help the teasing note that crept into her voice, then her expression shifted. "Did Ruan Xian call you?"

"Who?" The question came out sharper than intended. Qi Yan stopped mid-stride.

Zhao Lin halted as well, studying him with new interest. "What? This powerful woman is planning to strike you out, and you're just pretending not to know her?"

"No... I just didn't react for a moment."

"Honestly, Ruan Xian is such a wonderful woman, why don't you consider her?"

The thought flickered unbidden through his mind: So, Zhao Qiyan isn't bad, why doesn't she consider him...? He drew a measured breath, forcing himself to move forward. "She's a female PhD, and I'm just a playboy who doesn't do anything productive. In terms of qualifications, I'm not good enough for her."

"An excuse." Zhao Lin's scoff was both affectionate and exasperated. Then her tone shifted again, adopting that casual air that preceded pointed observations. "Yesterday I ran into Ruan Xian's sister at your shop and chatted with her for a bit. She didn't say anything, but it seemed like she wanted to see you about something. Are you quite familiar with Ruan Jing?"

The words emerged before he could properly formulate them: "I just come out for a coffee occasionally."

Even to his own ears, the lie sounded hollow. The truth was far more complicated, far more painful. Ruan Jing had become his personal taboo, a beautiful datura flower whose every petal promised agony. Each time he allowed himself to think of her, to remember, the pain bloomed fresh and sharp.

Nearly two months had passed since they'd last seen each other, since he'd last heard her voice through anything other than his own torturous memory. He imagined she was still living her carefree existence, blissfully unaware of the violent impulses that plagued him. Zhao Qiyan had successfully suppressed his destructive tendencies since turning twenty—eleven years of careful control. But lately, that control had begun to fracture with alarming frequency.

He'd always known he wasn't perfect, that beneath his polished surface lurked shadows he preferred not to examine. But he'd never expected to be so thoroughly undone.

Qi Yan understood, with the bitter wisdom of the self-aware, that salvation required the severing of all attachments. What he didn't know was how long it would take him to master this particular art of letting go.

The next day found Qi Yan at the coffee shop, attempting to address the month's worth of neglected business matters. His assistant's report blurred into background noise as he discussed coffee bean imports with the deputy manager. The continuous travel and persistent insomnia had taken their toll; his attention drifted like smoke, dissipating before he could grasp any single thought.

Qi Yan rubbed his temples, surrendering to the fatigue, and pressed the intercom on his desk. "Give me a blue...mocha."

Meanwhile, Ruan Jing found herself conscripted into Ruan Xian's latest campaign—managing school opening ceremonies across the city. In this deceptively pleasant autumn weather, she shuttled between three different institutions, her energy depleting with each obligatory speech and ceremonial ribbon-cutting.

That evening brought dinner with several university leaders, an affair that inevitably involved alcohol. Ruan Jing's constitution simply wasn't built for drinking; even a few glasses left her temples throbbing with the promise of a headache. Jiang Yan sat beside her throughout the meal, observing her discomfort with what could only be described as clinical detachment. The realization settled like ice in her chest: this man possessed an extraordinary capacity for coldness. Even basic courtesy—the simple gallantry of deflecting drinks from a woman clearly struggling—seemed beyond him.

Ruan Jing pressed her forehead and excused herself to the bathroom, where cool water against her flushed skin brought marginal relief.

She looked up, confronting her reflection. Her hair clung damply to her temples, water droplets tracing paths down her face before disappearing into her collar. The image triggered an unwanted memory—Zhao Qiyan...

Emotions arrived without invitation or explanation. Lately, her mind had developed the habit of circling back to her entanglement with Zhao Qiyan, each recollection bringing a fresh wave of agitation and unease. Several times, she'd experienced moments of clarity, fleeting insights that promised understanding. But when she tried to examine them more closely, they dissolved like morning mist.

The bathroom's harsh light caught on her lowered lashes, making them glisten with unshed tears. After a moment's hesitation, she retrieved her phone and dialed his number.

Tonight, Zhao Qiyan had accepted a friend's invitation to a bar opening—one of those glittering establishments where inhibitions went to die.

In such dazzling environs, alcohol flowed as freely as conversation among his circle of friends. Yet amid the excitement and revelry, Zhao Qiyan remained an island of composure, stationed at the bar with a drink that seemed more prop than pleasure. His eyes carried a loneliness that no amount of ambient noise could disguise.

KK approached with practiced grace, her hand finding his where it rested on his glass.

"Qiyan, will you stay with me tonight?"

Zhao Qiyan withdrew his hand with gentle firmness. "Sorry, KK."

As if summoned by his refusal, his phone began to ring. Qiyan retrieved it from the bar, glancing at the screen before answering with carefully neutral tone. "Hello?"

It seemed that every time she called Zhao Qiyan, she had to identify herself, as if he might have forgotten her existence between conversations. "I'm Ruan Jing."

Silence bloomed between them, heavy and expectant. Ruan Jing wasn't entirely sure why she'd made the call; alcohol had likely played a starring role in this particular decision.

Finally, Qi Yan drew a breath that sounded like it cost him something. When he spoke, each word seemed carefully measured, deliberately controlled. "What is it?"

Ruan Jing wondered if he would simply hang up if she admitted she had no real reason for calling. The thought prompted her to say, "I heard you're back."

"Mm."

His coldness registered like a physical blow. Ruan Jing turned to lean against the sink's edge, suddenly unable to accept this indifferent version of the man who had once regarded her with such devastating intensity. The realization struck her with uncomfortable clarity: if Zhao Qi Yan chose to retreat to his true nature, this was what she would face—polite, distant, fundamentally unreachable.

"Qiyan—" She looked up at the dim blue ceiling light, the words emerging before conscious thought could censor them. "I don't—reject you."

"I know."

Those two words cut through her defenses with surgical precision. She had finally encountered the genuine Zhao Qiyan—the capable, magnanimous man who existed beneath the gentleness he'd always shown her. This was what he looked like when he stopped trying.

A friend approached Qiyan at that moment. He gestured briefly, hesitated for two heartbeats, then spoke into the phone with clinical courtesy. "Is there anything else?"

"It's nothing, then—bye." Ruan Jing ended the call with unseemly haste.

The brief, frigid exchange had somehow intensified her headache. When she finally splashed more water on her face and emerged from the bathroom with marginally clearer thoughts, she discovered Jiang Yan standing approximately five meters away in the hallway, silhouetted against the window.

A slight urge to flee welled up inside her; interactions with Jiang Yan invariably left her drained. But he had already turned, had already seen her. Escape was no longer an option.

Ruan Jing steeled herself, summoning a smile she'd perfected through years of social necessity. This, at least, was something she excelled at. "You have something to say to me?"

Jiang Yan possessed a particular talent: he either maintained absolute silence, or when he did deign to speak, his words had the precision of weapons designed to leave one speechless. "Ruan Jing, you used to pursue me relentlessly, why are you giving up now?"

Absolutely breathtaking in its arrogance. Ruan Jing gazed up at the dark sky visible through the window, where a few stars managed to penetrate the urban light pollution. She suddenly remembered what Zhao Qiyan had told her once: that stars were there most of the time, whether you could see them or not. And indeed...

With her hands buried in her pockets, she tilted her head thoughtfully. "Are you trying to say that I chased you like a dog four years ago, so why did you suddenly change your mind?" She paused, selecting her next words with deliberate care. "Well, the law doesn't stipulate that Ruan Jing has to be completely devoted to Jiang Yan."

Observing Jiang Yan's stern, furrowed expression, Ruan Jing issued herself a silent warning: do not fall in love, do not soften your heart. Jiang Yan had always been the hardest-hearted, the most ruthless. She would do well to remember that.

"May I leave now?"

"Ha, you get along quite well with that man surnamed Zhao." Jiang Yan's tone shifted, turning hostile with alarming speed.

Ruan Jing's brow furrowed. "These are two different things. Don't confuse them."

Jiang Yan's expression morphed into something ugly, his face contorting with poorly disguised disgust as some thought occurred to him. "Were you two having a good time comforting each other at the dock?"

The dock. That period of loss and vulnerability that she'd carefully avoided examining too closely. Jiang Yan's casual invocation of it felt like someone had driven a blade between her ribs. Rage flooded her, hot and immediate. "You'd better shut up."

"You did it, why are you afraid of what others will say?" Jiang Yan's smile carried pure mockery.

Ruan Jing glared at the man before her, fury and incredulity warring in her chest. How did he manage it? How could he maintain that veneer of virtue and gentlemanly refinement while spewing such poison?

"—Jiang Yan, you disgust me."

Thoughts:

It marks a critical turning point in the complex emotional dynamics between Ruan Jing and Zhao Qiyan. After nearly two months of separation following Ruan Jing's rejection, both characters are forced to confront the consequences of their choices. Zhao Qiyan returns from Jamaica emotionally transformed—no longer the gentle, persistent suitor but someone who has retreated into cold politeness as a form of self-preservation. Meanwhile, Ruan Jing begins to recognize the depth of her feelings only after experiencing his withdrawal, leading to an agonizing phone call where she admits she doesn't reject him, only to be met with devastating indifference. 

It also reintroduces Jiang Yan, Ruan Jing's former obsession, whose cruel remarks about her relationship with Zhao Qiyan reveal both his jealousy and his fundamentally callous nature. This chapter expertly explores themes of regret, emotional self-defense, and the painful realization that we often only value what we've lost.