Chapter Ninety: The Swift Return to Xunyuan

Under a shroud of clouds, Xunyuan Corporation pierced through the constraints of the upper floors, etching an irregular shape into the skyline above.

Tang Dai stepped out of the taxi, raised her hand to shield her eyes, and squinted upward. The rain had passed, the sky had cleared, and a faint, fragile light bathed the city. A silver-white airplane sliced through the clouds overhead.

When she reached the reception desk, the receptionist’s smile appeared swiftly, greeting Tang Dai with practiced cheerfulness. With a quick, flirtatious blink and a gentle, shallow smile, the receptionist watched as Tang Dai turned toward the elevators, her expression shifting to something more complicated—a look she dared not reveal in front of others.

Passing by the planning department’s office area, she drew all eyes. The planners paused their work in unison, turning their faces toward Tang Dai as she strode in, trailing an invigorating breeze through the doorway.

She was a woman who naturally drew the spotlight. Tang Dai had felt this truth acutely since childhood. Yet often, this forceful attention was like a great stone entwined with vines—the other end of those vines, nurtured by shallow pretense, threatened to drag her into the depths. She would flail beneath the water, never quite able to break the surface.

Only occasionally did Tang Dai allow herself to recall those brief days with Xu Shixi—not even a year in all. She could not say if the time was too short to heal, or too long, the wounds having seeped into her very skin. During her month in the hospital, she would wake right on cue at midnight. Through the small pane of glass on the door, the last remnants of the corridor’s fluorescent lights would creep in. The generous light from the window outside spilled equally into every room.

She would simply watch the room in silence. At night, people are creatures of feeling. They recall the day’s events, they revisit old memories. The more she thought, the more her heart ached; the longer it ached, the more numb it became. Only in numbness could the heart revive. Perhaps, she reasoned, she ought to learn to let go, just as she once had—reluctantly, yet truly. Whatever the reason, the outcome would be the same. Did the process really matter so much?

Qiao Siming had once said something true: love is a transaction—one willing to buy, one willing to sell, and everyone is satisfied. Forced exchanges violate the fairness of the deal. Love that is begged for will forever be a burden too heavy to bear with pride.

At first, Tang Dai could not accept his words. In her mind, the so-called wisdom he possessed was little more than tired platitudes, offering only spiritual indigestion.

But the blackness of night granted her space to reflect. She laid out the notions and truths she had refused to face, projecting them onto the dark ceiling, and with her right index finger, sifted through them one by one. In every memory with Xu Shixi, there lingered a blurred silhouette in the corner of each photograph—a half-face, a hand, a foot, the hem of a lifted coat. He had always been present in her life, she realized, like a seed hidden in the soil turned out and cast aside.

Dandelion seeds, when the wind comes, ride the currents—they do not wait for anyone to carry them away. For them, that is survival’s hope. Yet their destination is not theirs to choose, but left to the whims of the merciless wind in whose care their lives rest.

In countless dark nights, Tang Dai struggled onward toward the distant dawn.

Halfway through the office, she paused, turned her face to the right, and offered the staff a complex, uncertain smile.

“It’s been a while, everyone.”

“It has! Welcome back, Manager Tang!” came the chorus.

Such stiff, polite greetings, after a few sentences, always slid into awkward silence. The colleagues at their desks cast glances at their keyboards, their watches, the objects on their desks—anywhere but at her.

Proud as Tang Dai was, her attempts at friendliness met with cold indifference. She had no wish to linger. After a few steps forward, Xu Shixi’s assistant, Xiao Ye, hurried over.

“Manager Tang, you’re finally out of the hospital! We missed you so much.” Xiao Ye’s joy was plain on her face; her happiness was genuine.

Over the past month, she had visited Tang Dai in the hospital every few days, sitting by the bed to talk, to keep her company, to chase away the tedium.

Xiao Ye had always seen Tang Dai as a role model—a woman not yet thirty, already achieving what many might never reach even by forty. It was a height Xiao Ye doubted she herself could ever attain.

The only daughter in her family, she had rarely known parental affection. Her parents, old-fashioned and favoring sons, had tried for another child when she was eight, hoping for a boy she could help look after. Yet after a year’s effort, there was no news. Tests revealed years of labor had damaged her mother’s health, making future pregnancy unlikely and dangerously risky. The doctor’s words were carefully chosen, but her parents understood the risk might be fatal to both mother and child.

Perhaps realizing a son would never come, her parents’ attitude softened, and their love for Xiao Ye gradually grew.

Kind-hearted by nature, Xiao Ye never blamed them. Seeing them aging and worn, her only wish was to earn more and care for them as best she could.

She liked to imagine Tang Dai had known similar struggles. People are drawn, irresistibly, to those who share their pain—no one quite knows why, any more than why migrating birds flock together.

Xiao Ye’s smile was infectious.

She really must have missed me, Tang Dai mused. “I was discharged just this morning.” She reached out, gently smoothing Xiao Ye’s hair—fine and silky as spun silk.

Tang Dai took her in: shoulder-length hair curled inward, framing her round, delicate face. Were she not already twenty-six or twenty-seven, Tang Dai might have introduced her to Tang Chao—perhaps a match made in heaven.

“What?!” Xiao Ye’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Straight from the hospital to work? That’s dedication.”

Tang Dai smiled, gave her shoulder a light pat, and made her way toward Xu Shixi’s office.

After a few steps, Xiao Ye hurried after her. “Manager Tang, take care of yourself!” she called, catching up. “Are you looking for Manager Xu?”

Tang Dai stopped. “Is he in his office?”

“He’s not,” Xiao Ye replied. “He came in this morning but then drove straight out to Rongcheng.”

“What happened?” Tang Dai asked, her worry sharp.

“He didn’t say,” Xiao Ye answered, eyes darting. “But I think it’s connected to the Happy City project.”

Tang Dai fell silent, contemplating. Then she turned toward her own office. “Xiao Ye, compile the progress reports on the Happy City project from the past month. I want a thorough look.”

“Of course.”

Xiao Ye now served as assistant to both Xu Shixi and Tang Dai. But it didn’t feel like a burden—the tasks and workload remained roughly the same. She just printed one extra set of documents, brewed one more morning coffee, walked one more office’s distance, took one more leader’s call. That was all.

For now, Tang Dai was only the project liaison from Tang Corporation stationed at Xunyuan, so many confidential documents never crossed her desk. Any files she received had already been vetted by senior management to minimize risk.

“Well now—” Wan Xinheng barged in unannounced. “Manager Tang, you’re out of the hospital! Congratulations! The company’s felt so lifeless without you.”

Tang Dai shot him a glance. “Manager Wan, do you not knock before entering? Clearly, you’re a man unconcerned with details.” She bent again to her work. “I’m busy. If there’s nothing urgent, please leave.”

“Just out of the hospital and already throwing yourself into work—aren’t you afraid of going back in?” Wan Xinheng, poisoned by his marginalization by Tang Dai and Xu Shixi, had lost his usual tact, blurting out words better left unspoken.

With the company’s personnel changes delayed, Wan Xinheng was all but semi-retired—a department manager in name only, less influential than a rookie.

Senior management was reluctant to dismiss him because he controlled much of the company’s client data—suppliers, developers, prospective buyers. While leading the planning department, he also served as acting head of sales, setting astonishing records for the frontline staff.

If he left, the company would suffer most. Besides, only the balance between him and Xu Shixi kept the company stable in the long term.

“Watch your tongue,” came Qiao Siming’s voice, ghostlike behind him.

“So it’s Young Master Qiao,” Wan Xinheng said, taking the cue. “Then I won’t disturb you.” With a cold snort, he pushed open the door and left.