Chapter 20

Zhou Lang ran all the way down and saw no sign of Ji Xiunian.

Her breathing was so ragged her throat burned.

She stood at the roadside catching her breath, then turned back to Le Cheng. “Drive. To Ning University.”

It was rush hour; the roads were jammed solid. A thirty-minute trip stretched into an hour and a half.

Zhou Lang couldn’t wait. She messaged Ji Xiunian:

“You came to see me?”

“What for?”

“Why did you leave without a word?”

“Say something!”

As she typed, notifications kept popping up—work group announcements, family group chatter, and a message from Duan Jiaru asking why she’d abandoned her in the conference room and run off.

Zhou Lang ignored them all.

But the one conversation she was waiting for stayed pristine and empty. Not a single reply.

Le Cheng had asked the young secretary on the way and learned that Ji Xiunian taught a dance class in the evenings.

The same dance studio Zhou Lang had visited before.

Outside the studio, Zhou Lang stood a while before the corridor windowsill, letting the night wind dry the sweat on her forehead. She straightened her clothes against the glass and turned to Le Cheng. “How do I look?”

Le Cheng nodded. “As always.”

Zhou Lang drew a few deep breaths, arranged her expression, and handed him her clutch. “Wait for me over there.”

It was just time for the mid-class break.

Zhou Lang pushed open the door of the dance studio and saw Ji Xiunian leading the students through their movements.

She wore a fitted white dance dress. This time, unlike before, she wasn’t baring most of her snow-white back—but the bodice was rather… snug across the chest…

She stood where she was and waited with all the patience she had.

Only when Ji Xiunian noticed a student repeatedly glancing backward did she turn around, mildly surprised. “What brings you here?”

Zhou Lang’s face was cold. “Come out and talk.”

Ji Xiunian told her students to wait a moment and stepped outside.

The night wind hit her still-damp skin; the thin dress offered no warmth, and she instinctively folded her arms around herself. “Is something the matter?”

She didn’t notice what the gesture did to her silhouette.

Zhou Lang’s eyes lingered a beat too long before she wrenched them away. “You came to see me this afternoon?”

“Mm, that’s right. There was a document needing your signature. I dropped it off.”

“Nothing else?”

“Oh… there was one thing.”

Zhou Lang’s eyes lit up, though she fought to seem calm. “What is it?”

“Over here,” Ji Xiunian said, lowering her voice. “Not where the students can hear.”

Zhou Lang said nothing and followed.

“It’s about Gao Qirui.”

“What about her?”

“I submitted the evidence. She’ll most likely be going to prison this time.”

“What?”

Zhou Lang hadn’t expected to be pulled aside for something so trivial.

“And?”

“So, you don’t need to worry. She won’t be bothering you again.”

Zhou Lang was silent a moment before speaking. “That’s all?”

“You want more details?”

“I don’t.” Zhou Lang laughed, but there was no humor in it. “And here I thought you’d called me out for something important.”

So she still wasn’t going to tell her—that Gao Qirui had once wounded her with rumors and slander.

Ji Xiunian didn’t understand her mood at all. “That was everything. Did you come for something else? Is it about the resubmitted approval being a hassle?”

Zhou Lang’s smile was icy. “Right. A hassle.”

Ji Xiunian said politely, “My apologies for the trouble. Please thank your staff for the extra work.”

“Ji Xiunian!”

Zhou Lang had been holding a knot of fire in her chest the whole drive over—her heart had been scorched to cinders with worry—and now this mild, polite distance made the irritation spike. “You really have nothing else to say to me?”

“Nothing.” The answer was crisp. Ji Xiunian checked the time. “Class is starting. I’m going in.”

Zhou Lang panicked and grabbed her wrist. “Don’t go.”

“What is it?”

The look on Ji Xiunian’s face was pure, natural puzzlement—the question one asks a stranger. It stung Zhou Lang into stillness.

“Come walk with me. Let’s talk.”

“Now?”

Ji Xiunian shook her head. “I’m teaching. This is my job. And it’s nighttime—it’s dark. If there’s a work matter, we can discuss it tomorrow, in daylight.”

Still that brisk, businesslike tone.

Zhou Lang stared at her coldly and said nothing for a long while.

Students were already passing by and seeing her gripping Ji Xiunian’s hand, throwing the curious looks of onlookers at a spectacle. Ji Xiunian grew anxious too. “That’s enough, Zhou Lang. Don’t make a scene.”

Don’t make a scene.

The voice was gentle and calm. She used to speak to her that way too.

Zhou Lang said nothing. The bristled fur along her spine seemed to smooth down a little. She released her hand but stayed planted outside the dance studio.

It was fine. She would wait.

She stood in the corridor, waiting. Students arriving late to the next class were plenty, and passersby stopped to gawk through the door, whispering as they peered in.

“Professor Ji’s figure is unreal.”

“Fair skin, gorgeous face, tiny waist, great chest… I’m actually starving…”

“Shh, let me get a pic. This dirty old pervert’s making it my wallpaper.”

Zhou Lang could barely stand it. Face dark, she cleared her throat meaningfully a couple of times.

The girls startled, whipped around, saw her grim expression, assumed she was the attendance-checking teacher, and scattered without a word.

Zhou Lang rubbed her temple. Had she really come all this way just to torment herself?

Brooding, she kept watching through the glass—and saw Ji Xiunian fold into a deep backbend.

How long had it been since her last injury? Did she cherish herself so little?

She endured until the second break, when Ji Xiunian stepped out for water.

Zhou Lang turned to Le Cheng. “Find a way to send the students home early. Tell them they’ll make it up later.”

Le Cheng: “…”

Help. What possible way did he have!

A decorated Stanford finance graduate, executive assistant to the Zhou Group—and now facing the greatest crisis of his career.

But the boss had spoken. What could he do but obey?

So he went into the dance studio to persuade the students.

He was no Fang Xun; the students had never seen him. He announced that Teacher Ji was feeling unwell and class would end early. The students were skeptical—if he weren’t so handsome, they’d have suspected a scammer.

When stern-faced lecturing failed, Le Cheng hit upon a wicked solution.

Money.

Two hundred yuan a head.

At first no one dared take it—but then some Art College students recognized him as Dean Zhou’s assistant, remembered the little gossip about Zhou Lang and Ji Xiunian, and suddenly it clicked… that tall, coldly elegant beauty leaning on the windowsill earlier was Dean Zhou!

Girls that age lived for gossip. In twos and threes they whispered, reached a consensus, and agreed!

Take the money and watch the show.

Whether it was a blood feud or lovers’ quarrel, either would do!

Brilliant. Thrilling.

Like a money-scattering god of fortune, Le Cheng emptied his wallet of cash; when that ran out, he could only scan WeChat codes and transfer.

He had never done anything this depraved in his life!

By the time Ji Xiunian returned, the packed dance studio was empty.

She looked at the culprit. “Zhou Lang. What did you do?”

Last time it was “inspecting the equipment.” What was the excuse this time?

Zhou Lang asked idly, “What did I do?”

Ji Xiunian stated the facts with level reason. “I was teaching. This is my job. If you have a problem with me personally, don’t take it out on my students. How am I supposed to be a teacher like this?”

Zhou Lang shot back, “Do you have to teach this class? Haven’t you specialized in art theory these past few years? Leave the dancing to young people. A great professor like you spending this much time on it—isn’t that a criminal waste of talent?”

“How I plan my career is my business. It has nothing to do with you.”

Zhou Lang smiled. “Mm. Nothing to do with me. But I’m still curious, Professor Ji. If you love dance so much, why have you never entered a single professional competition in all these years? Never won a single major award?”

If she truly loved dancing, why had she never once competed?

She had searched the official sites of every major dance competition for Ji Xiunian’s name. Always blank.

Back then she’d been overseas, and on countless sleepless nights she couldn’t stop herself from wanting news of her.

Anything at all—so long as it carried her name.

But no matter how long she searched, that person had vanished like a drop of water into the sea. Gone without a trace.

Ji Xiunian’s face drained of color.

Professional competitions… competition awards.

In that instant, the coolly rational mask she always wore seemed to crack clean through, as if someone had struck the most tender spot she had. She turned and walked away.

Faster, and faster.

“Ji Xiunian!”

Zhou Lang was startled by the sudden change and moved to chase her—but some instinct held her back.

She stood in place, and only after a long moment followed at a distance.

It wasn’t until she saw Ji Xiunian drive off—heading home, by the direction—that she slowly turned back.

By the time she left Ning University, the hour was late.

Xue Yining got a call from Le Cheng and drove to a bar, where she found the person drowning her sorrows. “Zhou Lang. You’ve had this much already?”

Zhou Lang’s mother had sponsored many impoverished children through school. Xue Yining’s mother had been the Zhou family’s cook, and had died pushing Madam Zhou out of the path of a car. Madam Zhou had kept her on afterward, raised her daughter as her own, sent her to a top university, sent her abroad—half a daughter in every way.

The girl was clever and knew the debt she owed. After graduation she joined Zhou Enterprises and rose quickly to the top. With Zhou Lang, she was a friend, and something like family besides.

Zhou Lang managed a smile when she saw her. “How did you… Le Cheng, honestly.”

“Rough day?”

“You could say that. Am I not allowed to drown my sorrows?”

“Is this about Professor Ji?”

“…Yining, can you not mention her right now?”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to hear it. It’s exhausting.”

Ji Xiunian was gentle but stubborn. She quietly looked after everyone around her, yet never accepted a shred of kindness for herself. She was never stingy with her care for others—but she never once treated herself well.

Zhou Lang told herself not to care so much. She couldn’t manage it.

The result was that she only made herself miserable.

Xue Yining studied her. “Your heart is in disorder. You need to calm down. Song Qi’s side…”

“Stop.” Zhou Lang waved a hand, helpless. “I’m begging you. Can you not bring that up right now?”

“You can’t bring yourself to make a move?”

“I just haven’t decided yet.”

Xue Yining fixed her with a look. “Do you still love her?”

Zhou Lang smiled faintly. “She abandoned me sixteen years ago. I have a heart, you know. How could I possibly still love her?”

She kept bullying her, needling her, provoking her—as if making Ji Xiunian angry would make herself feel better.

But it didn’t seem to be working.

“Then why did you insist on coming back? Ask your own heart.”

“I don’t know.”

“Really?”

“No.”

The moment the words left her, Zhou Lang laughed—a laugh full of bitterness.

All these years she had exiled herself beyond her homeland’s borders, fleeing everything to do with Ji Xiunian. Yet every time a figure resembling hers appeared on some street, Zhou Lang couldn’t help stopping in her tracks.

Until one afternoon, she read an essay that wrote: I tried, across mountains and rivers, to forget her face—yet in a manor on foreign soil, I searched for those who bore her silhouette.

In that moment, something silent struck her through the heart.

She boarded a plane that very night and came home.