After a long silence, Chen Aijia let out a low breath. "Go eat something."
"I'm fine." Xia Chan's head felt hollow. "I'm not hungry."
The more she turned it over, the more she regretted getting involved. She'd only pushed herself up against someone else's wall. If she were the one lying sick in a hospital bed, she'd still want He Huaisheng to come. That much she knew.
But now she wasn't sure of anything.
Chen Aijia's words kept circling back. What good does it do, him being here? Most men chased pleasure and fled from inconvenience. They wanted you young and beautiful, always. Let yourself get sick or plain, and they'd find reasons to disappear.
Xia Chan sat there until her chest felt cold all the way through.
Footsteps in the corridor. She looked up.
It was Fu Ruyu, back again, a plastic bag in her hand. She glanced at Xia Chan, eased the door shut, and set the bag on the bedside table. "He bought food. For you and Aijia."
When Xia Chan didn't move, Fu Ruyu began unpacking the bag herself, placing the takeout containers on the table one by one. She held out a pair of chopsticks.
Xia Chan looked at them for a moment, then took them.
Fu Ruyu stood there a little longer. "I'll head out."
Xia Chan kept her eyes down and said nothing.
Fu Ruyu glanced at her, a silent sigh in the pause, and left.
She came back again in the evening with food, dropped it off without a word, and went.
At ten o'clock, they wheeled Chen Aijia into the operating room.
Xia Chan waited in the corridor. Her phone lit up with a message from He Huaisheng: Has the operation started?
Yes.
I'm on my way.
She held the phone and couldn't think of what to add. She typed another okay and put it down.
He arrived twenty minutes later.
Xia Chan stood when she saw him. "You came."
He nodded and took her hand. It was cold again. He held it tighter.
They stood across from each other without speaking. After a while, Xia Chan said his name, quietly.
He Huaisheng's eyes shifted. He reached for her arm and pulled her in, holding her with both hands pressed flat against her back. His coat carried the smell of the night outside, that cool, damp cold that settled over the city in winter.
Cheng Zijin arrived sometime after that. He sat down without speaking and waited.
Appendicitis is a minor surgery. It didn't take long.
Xia Chan had meant to stay, but Cheng Zijin refused to leave. Chen Aijia pushed back hard. Cheng Zijin pushed back harder. It went on like that until Chen Aijia gave in.
Xia Chan told her to rest, said goodnight, and walked out with He Huaisheng.
In the car, she checked her phone. No calls from Zhou Lan. She tried calling her.
It rang for a long time before Zhou Lan picked up, voice impatient. "It's midnight. What are you calling for."
"I'm not home yet."
"I'm out. Playing mahjong. Do you need a ride or something?"
"..."
"Go to bed." The line went dead.
Before she could put her phone away, a message came in from He Huaisheng sitting right beside her: Come with me to Crescent Bay. I want to talk.
She had started typing I didn't plan to when the second message arrived. She deleted what she'd written and replied: Okay.
At Crescent Bay, Xia Chan put water on to boil and poured two cups. She turned to face him. "What is it?"
He Huaisheng spoke carefully. "He Qin, today..."
Just the name made Xia Chan sit up straighter without thinking. It was something she always did when her body knew tension was coming, as if the posture alone could hold her steady.
He Huaisheng continued, slowly, with stops and pauses. He Qin was barely six when their parents died. He'd raised her through it and made sure she didn't suffer for it. She'd grown up attached to Cheng Zijin, and that was why she'd followed him to the hospital without thinking.
Then he stopped and asked: "Could you...ask...Chen Aijia..."
Xia Chan was on her feet before she knew it. She'd been afraid of exactly this. Afraid the whole night that this was where the conversation would land.
Ask her what?
Ask Chen Aijia to walk away from Cheng Zijin on her own?
She pressed her lips together and let a beat pass. When she spoke, her voice came out flat. "No."
He Huaisheng blinked. He hadn't expected that. He stood and reached for her arm. "Don't misunderstand, I only meant—"
"You want me to ask her whether her feelings for Cheng Zijin are real." The words came faster now, and she didn't try to slow them. "Why not ask Cheng Zijin? Ask him if he's serious. Ask him what he actually wants. In your world, women come in two types: the ones after your money, and the ones foolish enough to fall for someone like you without knowing their place." She stopped for breath. "Which one do you think Aijia is?"
He Huaisheng's jaw tightened. The warmth left his face.
Xia Chan looked at him. "Which one do you think I am?"
She heard the sentence after she'd already said it. Something in her chest caved. She'd meant to say it. She had. But now that it was out there, the next thing to come was a kind of quiet despair she hadn't prepared for. The feeling that there was no coming back from this.
She picked up her bag, turned away, and walked.
Behind her, footsteps, maybe following. She didn't stop. She walked into the elevator and pushed the door-close button before she could think about it. On the ground floor she moved fast through the lobby, out of the complex, and flagged down a cab on the street.
Only when Crescent Bay was well behind her did she look back through the rear window.
A few lit windows at a distance, like signal lamps on the edge of something far away.
Home was dark and empty. Zhou Lan wasn't back. Xia Chan boiled water, bathed, and lay down. The apartment was completely quiet. It was the kind of quiet that felt like it had weight.
They had no contact after that night.
Once Chen Aijia was discharged, Cheng Zijin gave her two weeks of medical leave to recover. Xinghui was deep in preparations for the year-end reception, and Xia Chan was working late most nights, but she still stopped by Chen Aijia's place after work every day.
Chen Aijia healed. Her mood didn't.
On Christmas, Xia Chan stayed at her apartment the whole day. They watched movies until late and fell asleep there, in the bed by the window, with the noise of kids running outside drifting in through the glass.
Xia Chan opened the window and looked out. The city was still fully lit. Chongcheng was like that. The night never really settled.
Chen Aijia crawled over, wrapped in her quilt, and knelt beside her at the window. "I remember the first night I got to Chongcheng. I stepped off the train and it was this exact hour, neon everywhere like daytime. I thought: I'll make this work. I'm young, I'm not afraid of hard work. What's there to be scared of?"
Xia Chan didn't say anything. She had already begun to guess where this was going.
Chen Aijia was quiet for a moment. Then: "I'm not coming back after Chinese New Year."
Something caught in Xia Chan's throat.
The window stayed open. Outside, kids shrieked and ran. Neither of them spoke.
Chen Aijia smiled. "I used to think I wasn't the type. Not the kind to tie herself to one person, lose all that good time, and feel nothing but gratitude for it. I'd be the one in control. Enjoy it when it's good, leave when it isn't." She paused. "But you walk near water long enough, your shoes get wet. You know what people say about me, that I got promoted because of Cheng Zijin? It wasn't like that. I was already a supervisor. He came after. He was the one who chased me." She looked out at the city. "That's the one unfair thing about being a woman. It doesn't matter how you got in. If you're the one who ends up hurt, you're the one who looks foolish."
A beat.
"One night he carried me upstairs. I asked if I was heavy. He said I was the heaviest bag of rice he'd ever carried, and he hoped to keep eating it forever."
Xia Chan leaned her head against Chen Aijia's shoulder. "I'm sorry about that night. I shouldn't have called Cheng Zijin. If I hadn't, maybe—"
"I was a little angry." Chen Aijia shook her head. "But I thought about it. This was always coming. I know you meant well. You act tough, but you go soft the second someone's getting a raw deal." She smiled. "Honestly, I wanted to know if he'd come. I just didn't have the nerve to make that call myself. So I was glad he showed up. He stayed the whole night and apologized, properly. Whatever happens, that meant something. It was worth it, just for that."
Xia Chan said nothing.
"Everyone I know who plays the game too long eventually loses," Chen Aijia added. "If you're a green snake with no real experience, don't play at being a thousand-year fox spirit."
Xia Chan laughed despite herself.
Chen Aijia looked at her with complete seriousness. "I mean it, Xia Chan. Turn around now. You still have time."
People always get hurt. After that, every time Xia Chan thought about reaching out to He Huaisheng, Chen Aijia's words came back to her, and she held still.
The company's year-end reception arrived.
This time there was no borrowed cheongsam, no dress delivered to her door. Xia Chan had to find her own way. A woman named Zhang Yu in PR happened to know an independent designer who was looking for models. Zhang Yu made the introduction, and Xia Chan and the designer got along immediately. She agreed to shoot a look-book and attend one industry event in exchange for borrowing a dress for the evening.
At the reception, she worked the floor with the rest of the secretarial office, moving from table to table, toasting the board members.
When she reached He Qihua, he stopped her by name.
Xia Chan stood and waited.
He Qihua gestured to the director beside him. "Secretary Xia, have a drink with Director Gao."
Someone handed her a glass of red wine. She took it and stepped over to Gao Jianye.
He clinked glasses with her. "Director He tells me you play golf?"
"Barely," she said. "I've only just started learning."
"Everyone in that office is talented."
"You're too kind, Director Gao."
"When spring comes, Secretary Xia should join me for a few holes."
There was no graceful way to refuse. She agreed.
Xia Chan moved through the room until her feet ached. She finally slipped out during a bathroom break, ducked onto the balcony, and stood there.
"Xia Chan!"
She turned. Zhang Yu.
Xia Chan smiled and thanked her again for the dress connection.
"You've done more for me and Baona," Zhang Yu said.
"Are you two really together?"
Zhang Yu's face went pink. "Yeah."
"Good."
"Baona keeps telling me to look out for you at work. She says she doesn't know how to repay you."
"Is she still teaching sign language?"
"She doesn't earn much from it. But she says the more people she teaches, the more people can reach into the deaf community." Zhang Yu smiled. "She makes it sound like a calling."
Xia Chan laughed. It did sound exactly like Baona.
Zhang Yu left after a while. Xia Chan stood alone on the balcony. The sky was fully dark. The wind cut cold, but there was no snow, just that dry, biting air that made it feel like snow had already been and gone.
She thought of the reception at Kaizer the year before. The snow coming down, He Huaisheng cupping his hands around a lighter for her.
She took out her phone and found his chat. She hadn't deleted it. She scrolled without meaning to.
The Yangcheng branch would be holding their own year-end party. He would be busy.
She opened Fu Ruyu's profile instead and checked her Moments. The first post was a group photo of the leadership team.
He Huaisheng stood in the center. Face still, unreadable. He always looked like that when he wasn't smiling. Like he was somewhere slightly out of reach.
Xia Chan looked at him for a moment, locked her screen, and went back inside.
The new year closed in.
Zhou Lan threw herself into it this time, cleaning every corner of the apartment, pasting up Spring Festival couplets, buying New Year goods. Every time Xia Chan came home, something new had appeared: a pot of kumquats in the entryway, a red lantern over the door.
As long as she wasn't making trouble, Xia Chan let her do as she liked.
The day before New Year's Eve, the company broke for the holiday.
Xia Chan drove to the train station to see Chen Aijia off. Everything that needed saying had already been said. She only told her to stay in touch and come back to Chongcheng when she could.
Chen Aijia said yes to everything.
Xia Chan knew she meant it kindly and that it probably wouldn't happen. She walked her all the way to the gate and watched her move toward security. At the checkpoint, Chen Aijia looked back and waved with a smile.
Xia Chan waved back. Then Chen Aijia turned, passed through the scanner, and was gone.
She drove home with a heaviness she couldn't shake. Turning into the alley, she saw Zhou Lan standing outside the building.
She parked and got out. "Are you guarding the door?"
Zhou Lan didn't banter back. She looked at Xia Chan with an odd expression, like she was trying to start a sentence and couldn't.
"What happened?" Xia Chan asked.
"Nothing, nothing, it's just..." Zhou Lan hesitated, then got it out. "Someone's come to spend New Year with us."
"Who?"
"Wang Hongtao."
Xia Chan stopped. "Say that again."
"Wang Hongtao, you remember, he's—"
"He's out?"
Zhou Lan nodded.
It took a moment for it to settle. "When?"
"About a month ago."
So that explained it. The evasiveness, the strange looks, the way Zhou Lan had been acting like she was waiting for something to detonate.
"Where is he?"
"Upstairs."
Xia Chan walked past her without a word.
"Xia Chan!" Zhou Lan grabbed her arm. "Don't be angry."
"Did you ask me?" Xia Chan pulled free. "You just brought him back. What am I to you?"
"It's New Year, he had nowhere to go—"
Xia Chan wrenched her arm away and went up the stairs fast.
At the door, she reached for her key. The door opened before she could use it.
She stepped back.
A man stood in the doorway. Gray at his temples. Slightly stooped. His face hollowed out at the cheeks.
When he saw her, his nostrils moved. Two syllables dropped from his mouth: "Xia Xia..."
Xia Chan frowned, her memory working hard, trying to lay this man over the one she'd known before: vigorous and well-dressed, all sharp edges and loud confidence, a man who walked into rooms like he owned them.
She couldn't make them match.
Behind her, Zhou Lan reached the top of the stairs, breathless, and squeezed her hand. "Xia Chan."
Xia Chan stood there a moment, letting all of it move through her. Then she eased her hand out of Zhou Lan's, walked past Wang Hongtao, and went inside.
Zhou Lan and Wang Hongtao exchanged a glance and followed her in.
The apartment felt different with another person in it. Too full.
Whenever Xia Chan came out of her room, the conversation in the living room would stop, and a stiff silence would stretch across the space until she went back in. After it happened a few times, she stopped coming out. She stayed in her room and worked on her computer.
At dinner, Zhou Lan knocked. Xia Chan put down the laptop and went out. She sat at the table and waited. After a moment she realized she was still sitting alone. She turned around. Zhou Lan and Wang Hongtao were standing there watching her, both of them stiff, like they were waiting for a verdict.
Xia Chan's face didn't move. "Are you eating or not?"
Zhou Lan pulled Wang Hongtao over at once.
They ate in near silence. The two of them barely dared breathe. Xia Chan finished her bowl, set down her chopsticks, and went back to her room.
At nine, Wang Hongtao left.
Xia Chan came out to find Zhou Lan sunk into the sofa, looking hollowed out.
"What's wrong?"
Zhou Lan looked up. "He said you seemed unhappy. He won't come tomorrow."
"Am I supposed to put on a performance?" Xia Chan's voice went sharp. "Beat a drum, dress up, make sure the guest feels welcome? Who does he think he is to me? And what exactly is the plan here? You're going to support him on what you make playing cards?"
"He has work." Zhou Lan sat up. "You don't need to worry about any of that. He puts in more than you give me each month."
"What work? Some other scheme?"
"A consulting job." Zhou Lan's eyes slid sideways. "For a company."
"Which company?"
Zhou Lan looked away. "It won't cost you anything. That's all that matters."
"How much did it cost to get him out? Who did you go to?"
"Two hundred thousand, roughly."
"Two hundred thousand. So you have nothing left."
"Nothing."
"Nothing? You sold that cheongsam collection yourself, that was over a hundred thousand—"
She saw Zhou Lan's face and stopped. "Who did you ask for help?"
"You don't know them." Zhou Lan stood, turned, and went to her room.
The next day, by methods Xia Chan didn't bother to ask about, Wang Hongtao was back.
It was New Year. Xia Chan decided it wasn't worth fighting. She took over one end of the sofa, watched television, scrolled through her phone, and treated him as part of the furniture.
In the evening, red envelope drops started flooding the WeChat groups. She grabbed a handful, counted them up, and pulled Chen Aijia, Liu Baona, and Zhang Yu into a new group. She sent three red envelopes.
Baona claimed hers first and sent back a row of kiss emojis. Xia Chan! You're the best!
Xia Chan smiled and started to reply. Then she saw Chen Aijia had claimed hers, too, and opened a private message.
Is your New Year going well?
Chen Aijia took a few minutes to reply. ...Cheng Zijin is here.
Xia Chan read that twice. What did you just say?
...I'm trying to get him to go home. I'll tell you everything later.
Xia Chan sat with her phone in her lap for a long time. When she tapped back into the group, Baona and Zhang Yu were already posting couple photos.
She closed the app.
Wang Hongtao saw her put down her phone. "Xia Xia, I heard you're at Xinghui now?"
"Yeah."
"How is it? Good pay?"
"Fine."
"Long hours?"
"Fine."
He tried a few more angles, got three-word answers each time, and gave up.
Xia Chan glanced at him. "My mother said you took a consulting job. For who?"
Wang Hongtao shifted. "Just, a company. The CEO."
"What do you know that's useful to a CEO?"
"We've met before, an old business contact. He's the one who helped get me out."
Xia Chan looked at him steadily.
She didn't believe it. If this contact had been willing to help, he would have helped when it happened, and Zhou Lan wouldn't have spent the last years running herself in circles trying to fix it.
Wang Hongtao grew uncomfortable. He said he was going to the kitchen and got up.
Xia Chan made a note to look into it after the holiday. She'd go to the prison, ask around. She wasn't about to let Zhou Lan get tangled up with the wrong people and spend the next few years cleaning up another mess.
After dinner, the red envelope rounds started again in the group chats. Xia Chan kept picking up her phone, opening WeChat, drifting to the top of her chat list, closing it, opening it again.
Eventually she noticed she'd been staring at one pinned conversation for ten minutes.
The name hadn't moved. No messages. No Moments update.
He would be on Huaiyin Road by now, at Aunt Shen's place with He Qin.
Xia Chan sat still for a moment. Then she got up, went to her room, and dug through her bag until her fingers found the key at the bottom of the inner pocket.
She stood there for a while, holding it.
Then she took her down jacket from the closet, wrapped her scarf around her neck, and walked out.
"Where are you going?" Zhou Lan looked up. "It's New Year's Eve."
"Out for a bit." The door clicked shut behind her.
She put on her coat as she went down the stairs.
Outside, the air was sharp and cold. Every window in every building was lit. The streets were empty, almost no cars, just the cold and the quiet.
She drove through it, straight to Crescent Bay.
On the eighteenth floor, she took out the key and let herself in.
The lights came on. The apartment had the still, cool smell of a place that had sat closed for a long time. She found her slippers in the shoe cabinet and changed into them.
She cracked a window. Cold air slipped in through the gap. She stood beside it.
The cold made her want a drink. She went to the kitchen and checked. No wine. The refrigerator had yogurt. That would have to do.
She turned on the television, lay down on the sofa, and watched the Spring Festival Gala alone.
She'd been burning overtime before the holiday. The warmth of the apartment and the noise from the TV pulled at her, and before long her eyes were closing on their own.
When she woke, the Gala had ended.
She grabbed her phone. Seven or eight missed calls from Zhou Lan. Messages from various group chats.
She opened WeChat. A wave of new year greetings from everyone.
At the top of the list, under the name she had pinned there, four characters appeared.
Happy New Year.