Chapter Fifty-Three: Hidden Thoughts

After the vehicle exited Xingzhou Avenue, the road widened. On the elevated high-speed railway, a white bullet train flashed past at the speed of light, heading toward Rong City. The minivan Lu Xugao was driving labored up the bridge, and upon reaching the top, it almost lost control, careening straight down the slope.

Yishu gripped the loose seat cover on either side of her seat, the force of the descent sending her heart racing into her throat, her stomach hollow as if emptied out entirely.

She couldn't help but gag dryly.

Almost to Yunbei, Yishu’s phone rang. The ringtone was that familiar tune, “Years and Time.”

She pulled out her phone and slid the virtual key toward the pulsating red circle to reject the call.

It rang again. She hung up once more.

“Why not answer?” Yan Lu shifted her gaze from the window to the back seat. “Is it a call you can’t pick up in front of us?”

Yan Lu’s old habit of making jokes was hard to break. Sometimes, this turned out to be a blessing, like now, easily dissolving the awkward silence.

Yet Yishu felt a wave of embarrassment. It truly wasn’t a call she could answer with others present, but Yan Lu’s teasing seemed to carry an unspoken implication.

“It’s just a spam call,” Yishu replied, flipping her phone face-down on her lap.

From Yishu’s fleeting expression, Yan Lu instantly judged this was no ordinary spam—it was more likely a “provocative call.”

“Yishu, as I always say, if you’re feeling upset, just tell me. Don’t ever stand on ceremony with me.”

Yishu nodded with a smile.

She was still the same as before, unchanged in the slightest.

A WeChat notification sounded—a crisp ding.

Yishu turned her phone over to check. The name displayed was “Shixi.” She paused, then double-tapped the message, unlocked her phone, and entered the chat interface.

—Still at work?
—It’s raining. Be careful on the road.
—Let me come pick you up.
—I’m in the underground garage now, I’ll drive over to get you.
—Yishu, did you get my messages? Reply if you did.
—I’m worried about you.
…

Xu Shixi sent several messages in a row, pouring out everything he’d bottled up all day. He understood all too well the anguish and gloom festering in her heart. The past with Tang Dai was supposed to have been buried eight years ago, yet now, unexpectedly, it had broken through the earth again.

He was already doing his utmost to keep his distance from Tang Dai. When faced with her persistence, the harsh, decisive words a man should say were simply too cruel for him to utter.

After the 10 a.m. meeting, Xu Shixi had, for the first time since becoming department manager, been sternly reprimanded by his superior.

—I have something to do, you don’t need to pick me up.

Only then did Yishu remember that she’d forgotten to tell Shixi about Yan Lu’s return. She’d planned to mention it that night, rehearsing explanations in her mind a thousand times, but he ended up entangled in a dinner engagement, and afterward, brought back a drunken ex.

—What is it?
—Are you still angry with me?

Those few ambiguous words sent his thoughts spiraling—worry, fear, anxiety, all surging at once.

Yishu didn’t want to say more. She lacked the mood for explanations. Let things be—leaving room for retreat was best for everyone.

—I’m not angry, but I have things to do.
—Please give me time and space.

Yishu needed time to digest the blows of the day, space to let the choking dust in the air settle.

It seemed Xu Shixi understood her meaning. His fingers hovered over the virtual keyboard, the cursor blinking in the edit box in time with the pounding of his heart. He deleted what he’d written, then typed again: Come home early. Then he exited WeChat.

He started the engine; the headlights pierced the darkness of the underground garage with twin beams. As he pulled out of the parking space, a large hand reached for the passenger door handle.

“Hitching a ride,” Qiao Siming announced, climbing in without ceremony. He tossed his briefcase onto the back seat, buckled up, and grinned foolishly at Xu Shixi.

“We’re not headed the same way,” Xu Shixi glanced at him in surprise. He was in a foul mood and couldn’t be bothered to make a detour.

“Usually we are, and today we definitely are,” Qiao Siming insisted, turning halfway toward him. “You’ve been absent-minded all day. After thirty years of life experience, I’d say you’re suffering from heartbreak—and it’s serious.”

Xu Shixi’s heart gave a jolt. He steadied his frazzled nerves and replied calmly, “You, of all people, who treat feelings like a game—how could you possibly know what anyone else feels?”

Qiao Siming let out an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t be fooled by my popularity; even I get dumped sometimes by women who don’t know what’s good for them.”

“Those with good sense would dump you,” Xu Shixi said without interest, pulling the handbrake and flooring the accelerator. The engine roared as they drove up the ramp.

In the rearview mirror, a twisted face appeared.

Outside, the night food stalls of the business district gleamed alongside the upscale shopping center. White-collar and blue-collar workers alike gathered in groups, feasting at the stalls.

Not even the silky drizzle in the night sky could dampen their appetite for good food. Passing cars transformed the invisible rain into shining threads of light. In such a lively, bustling city, there was a beauty tinged with sorrow.

“Pull over,” Qiao Siming commanded.

“Weren’t you going home?” Xu Shixi shot him a glance. “You can’t park here.”

“There’s an underground garage up ahead,” Qiao Siming pointed. “Haven’t you been here before? How could you not know?”

Of course, Xu Shixi knew—but what puzzled him was how Qiao Siming knew that he knew.

There were plenty of empty spots in the garage, likely because the rain had disrupted everyone’s plans.

Xu Shixi glanced at his faint reflection in the windshield. The engine’s rumble reverberated inside the car. “So, what are we doing here?”

Qiao Siming lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and exhaled straight toward the glass, where a ring of ashen smoke blossomed like a firework—strangely beautiful. He pulled out another cigarette, holding it out to Xu Shixi with a shake, signaling him to take it.

Xu Shixi rarely smoked—only on social occasions, and even then, he’d let the cigarette burn out on its own, reduced to nothing but ash and dust.

He accepted it in a daze, took out his lighter, lit up, and took two drags. After that, he let it burn out as usual, his long-standing habit unchanged.

“Come on, let’s go unwind,” Qiao Siming clapped him on the shoulder, unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the door, and shut it with a decisive bang. In the dark, cavernous garage, the sound echoed like a mountain valley.

Xu Shixi’s limbs seemed beyond his brain’s control, as though some invisible string were pulling him onward.

Not far from the business district stood a bar that had been open for over twenty years, renowned throughout the area. Many young men and women in their twenties and thirties were regulars, as were groups in their forties and fifties, and even those just turned eighteen. Yet the bar’s owner was, above all, a law-abiding entrepreneur—minors were strictly kept out.

Qiao Siming was a fixture at this “Joyseekers” bar, showing up at least three times a week. Most of the flirtatious women around him originated from this very spot.

Xu Shixi looked up at the neon sign, its dazzling colors like a challenge thrown at the lonely night. For a man his age, bars were nothing special. Entertaining hard-drinking, pleasure-seeking clients meant bars and clubs were often unavoidable.

But in truth, Xu Shixi disliked such places—especially after meeting Yishu. Even for business, he would gently suggest meeting at a hotel instead.

Qiao Siming, however, gave him no choice, dragging him forcibly toward Joyseekers.

“What kind of man are you, scared stiff by a mere bar?” Qiao Siming taunted.

If a bar could prove one’s gender, then surely it could change it, too.

Such twisted logic worked every time as a form of reverse psychology.

Xu Shixi had no reply. Back in college, he’d already experienced Qiao Siming’s sharp tongue—a man more eloquent than most women.

Half-willing, half-reluctant, Xu Shixi ended up at the bar, sitting at the counter, lost in thought over a single drink. The brown liquid looked like poison; he dared not drink much, only taking small sips each time.

He knew with certainty he couldn’t afford to get drunk. No matter the time or the matter, he needed to face everything with a clear mind.

Qiao Siming took off his jacket, unbuttoning four buttons of his shirt from the top down, revealing youthful, taut skin. Amid the exuberant crowd of young people, he was the most striking presence.