Chapter 28: Cold Rooms, Warmer Lies
Back home, the kitchen was cold.
No fire. No food. No energy to pretend otherwise.
Zhou Lan sat collapsed into the sofa, her body almost swallowed by the dim shadows behind her, as if she wanted to disappear into them.
Xia Chan didn’t say anything. She ordered takeout on her phone, then walked straight into her room and began digging through her things.
The apartment was rented—again.
Two bedrooms, one living room, barely over sixty square meters. The light never reached properly, the air always damp. Even this place, worn and unimpressive, grew more expensive every year.
At this rate, she thought, they’d be on the street soon enough.
She found what she was looking for.
A handful of cards.
When she returned to the living room, she didn’t hesitate—she placed them directly into Zhou Lan’s hands.
“That’s all I have,” she said flatly. “Take it. Do whatever you want with it. But from now on, don’t expect me to clean up your mess.”
Zhou Lan stared at her, stunned.
Slowly, she reached out and took them.
“The password is my birthday.”
Silence stretched.
Zhou Lan’s lips moved, as if she wanted to say something—but in the end, nothing came out.
Xia Chan turned and walked back into her room, sitting on the edge of the bed, head lowered.
Her mind felt empty.
Then—
Her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
“Ping An Insurance.”
She almost ignored it.
Then it hit her.
He Huaisheng.
She had forgotten to change the contact name.
A message came through.
“I’m back in Chongcheng.”
Xia Chan typed quickly.
“What, do you want me to come and serve you in bed?”
She smirked.
But the feeling didn’t last.
“Come out. I’ll treat you to dinner.”
“I already ordered takeout. Tomorrow.”
“Then eat first. Then come out.”
She stared at the screen for a moment, sighed, then asked, “Where are you?”
She fixed her makeup. Changed clothes.
Grabbed her bag.
At the door, she paused, glancing once at Zhou Lan.
“I ordered food for you. Eat it yourself. I’m going out.”
No response.
Maybe she heard. Maybe she didn’t.
Xia Chan didn’t wait.
The restaurant was tucked away—a private courtyard, quiet, discreet.
She parked far away, just in case, and walked the rest.
But when she stepped into the private room—
She froze.
Not just He Huaisheng.
Cheng Zijin was there too.
For a brief second, she didn’t know what expression to wear.
Then she nodded. “Mr. Cheng.”
“Sit,” Cheng Zijin said easily, gesturing beside He Huaisheng.
He smiled, relaxed as always. “It’s been a while, Miss Xia. How have you been?”
“Winter’s here,” she replied lightly. “You can guess how I am from my name.”
He laughed.
“Working with He Qihua isn’t easy.”
“Working anywhere isn’t easy.”
She kept it vague.
She didn’t know how much he knew.
Didn’t know why she was really here.
Cheng Zijin poured her tea. “Don’t be nervous. Old He wanted to meet you alone, but I had something to discuss. So I shamelessly joined.”
“Are you done talking?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” Xia Chan said dryly. “Otherwise I’d feel like a third wheel watching you two gesture.”
“Why not learn sign language?”
“Why should I? I won’t need it in the future.”
Cheng Zijin smiled and glanced at He Huaisheng.
He Huaisheng had been watching her lips the entire time.
Quiet. Focused.
Unreadable.
The food arrived.
Halfway through, Cheng Zijin asked casually, “Have you met Lao He’s sister yet?”
Xia Chan paused.
“Miss He is in Chongcheng?”
“You didn’t know? She’s been here for almost two months—keeps pestering me for a job.”
Two months.
Xia Chan lowered her gaze.
“I’m afraid I don’t have that honor.”
Cheng Zijin chuckled. “Once you meet her, you won’t want it.”
Xia Chan said nothing.
Some lines weren’t hers to cross.
After the meal, Cheng Zijin left.
Just like that, it was only the two of them.
Quiet settled in.
Xia Chan continued eating slowly, as if nothing had changed.
Then—
A hand came around her shoulder.
She stilled.
Put down her spoon.
Turned.
The warm light above softened everything—the room, his face, his eyes.
Too deep.
Too close.
Her heart skipped—unexpected, unwelcome.
He Huaisheng leaned in slightly, brushing her earlobe with his finger, voice low.
“…Did you miss me?”
She smiled.
“I don’t know if I missed you,” she said lightly. “But you definitely didn’t.”
Otherwise—
He wouldn’t have disappeared for nearly a month.
He paused.
She leaned forward and kissed him briefly.
“Let me eat first.”
Outside, the wind rose.
Cold. Restless.
It reminded her of last year.
Their first meeting.
Under a streetlamp.
“Is someone picking you up?” she had asked.
He shook his head.
“Then I’ll walk you.”
She had been freezing that night, shoulders hunched, urging him to hurry. He couldn’t hear, so she grabbed his hand instead.
Her fingers were ice-cold.
He paused—
Then wrapped his coat around her.
Simple.
Unspoken.
And somehow… unforgettable.
Back in the present, the silence between them felt familiar.
Complicated.
Unfinished.
Later, in the car, she leaned closer, her voice softer now.
“Or… do you want me?”
No answer.
She smiled, teasing, pushing, testing.
“Tell me. Do you want me?”
He didn’t reply.
So she made him.
The hotel was small.
Cheap.
Not his world.
He frowned the moment they stepped inside.
At the door, she teased him lightly. “Want me to take you back?”
He just looked at her.
No answer.
The door clicked shut.
And everything blurred.
Later—
Silence again.
The storm outside had quieted, but something inside hadn’t.
She lay there, staring at the ceiling.
“Do you remember your first time?” she asked suddenly.
No answer.
“And you?” he asked after a long pause.
She smiled faintly. “You don’t need to tell me. I don’t need to tell you. This is fine.”
It was easier this way.
Less real.
Less dangerous.
Eventually, she got up.
“Let’s go. I’ll take you back.”
“You… want to leave?”
“It’s dirty here. You won’t like it.”
She dressed slowly, piece by piece.
He watched her.
Then suddenly pulled her close, kissed her softly.
“I’ll stay in Chongcheng… until after the New Year.”
She blinked—just for a second.
Then smiled.
“Okay.”
After dropping him off, she drove alone.
The road was empty.
Too quiet.
She turned on the radio.
Love songs.
One after another.
Annoying.
She switched it off.
And for a moment—
She felt it.
That quiet, sinking feeling.
Going to a hotel.
Dropping him home.
Driving back alone.
It felt like—
Somewhere along the way—
She had taken the wrong role in the story.
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