That overnight stay was like a stone thrown into a deep pool. At first the ripples were violent; afterward the surface returned to calm, yet no one knew that beneath it the current had already changed its course.
Zong Yi did not move into the villa immediately, but some invisible barrier seemed, along with that stormy night, to have been quietly chiseled open with a crack that could never again be repaired.
She could no longer righteously refuse Yan Hanxie's seemingly "natural" summons.
Looking at design plans, choosing soft furnishings, even simply "passing by" to conveniently deliver a document, eventually turning into sharing a cup of tea together and discussing some insignificant detail.
Under Yan Hanxie's efficient control and aesthetic sense, the villa transformed at astonishing speed from a cold architectural shell into a "home" full of design and the atmosphere of life.
And Zong Yi, through one involuntary "participation" after another, watched helplessly as traces of herself were embedded bit by bit into the texture of that space by Yan Hanxie, in a way that allowed no refusal.
Exclusive slippers (the same style as Yan Hanxie's but a different color), a fixed coffee cup (that pair of golden ripples), a desk and filing cabinet reserved in the study customized according to her habits of use, even that area in the walk-in closet that had always been left empty for her yet already held pajamas and home clothes in her size… everything silently declared: there is a place for you here.
Yan Hanxie no longer mentioned "living together."
She replaced words with actions, and with the patience of boiling a frog in warm water turned "Zong Yi will be here" into an established fact, a component already preset in the blueprint of the villa, something unquestionable.
Zong Yi's resistance, under this silent and gentle infiltration, became weaker and weaker, more and more… practically nonexistent.
It was as if she had been swept into a huge, warm vortex. She knew it was dangerous, yet in the strange calm at the center of the vortex she gradually lost the strength to struggle.
In the blink of an eye it was the end of the year.
Company affairs were complicated. The 'Spark' project entered the year-end sprint, and various summary, budget, and planning meetings came crashing down like a mountain.
Zong Yi was so busy her feet barely touched the ground; sometimes she simply spent the night in the office.
Yan Hanxie's body had basically recovered. Although she was still more easily fatigued than ordinary people, she could gradually take back part of her core work, only the pace had slowed a great deal.
The two of them were each busy with their own work, and the frequency of their meetings instead decreased.
But the connection between them did not break. Because of the distance, those brief exchanges through calls or messages even carried a strange, tacit understanding.
Yan Hanxie would calculate the timing and, when Zong Yi might forget to eat, have a familiar restaurant deliver food that suited her taste; she would "just happen" to send a reference document that greatly improved efficiency when Zong Yi stayed up late working overtime; she would call when Zong Yi finished a long meeting and was exhausted, with no real content, simply asking, "Finished?"
These small, perfectly timed gestures of concern were like a cup of hot water kept warm in winter—not scalding, yet continuously warming a person's limbs and bones.
On the night before Christmas Eve, Zong Yi finally finished the last annual report.
Outside the window the city lights were already brilliant, and the streets were filled with a strong festive atmosphere.
The office was empty, leaving only her alone, checking the final data on the computer screen, her neck and temples throbbing with pain.
Her phone vibrated. It was Yan Hanxie.
[Still at the company?]
[Mm, just finished.]Zong Yi replied, her fingers somewhat stiff.
[Come over for dinner.]It wasn't a question, but a concise notice. [I stewed soup. I can't finish it alone.]
Soup again.
Zong Yi could almost imagine Yan Hanxie standing in that spacious kitchen in the villa, slightly frowning at the stew pot.
She subconsciously wanted to refuse, wanted to say she was tired, wanted to go straight home and collapse into bed.
But her fingertips hovered over the screen for a long time. In the end what she typed was: [Okay. It might be a bit late.]
[No rush.]
Putting down the phone, Zong Yi looked at the dazzling city outside the window and suddenly felt that the empty, cold apartment, with only takeout boxes and coffee cups, seemed… not that appealing anymore.
She packed her things and drove toward the suburban villa.
The road was somewhat congested. The festive atmosphere made everyone hurry along, smiles on their faces—some genuine, some perfunctory.
Zong Yi drove through the traffic and neon lights, and in that barren place inside her heart there even appeared a faint, blurry longing for "togetherness."
By the time she arrived at the villa, the sky was completely dark.
The ground lights and corridor lamps in the courtyard were all on, their warm yellow glow outlining the building's contours and dispelling the chill of the winter night.
There was even a simple little wreath made of pine branches and red berries hanging at the door, carrying a restrained hint of holiday spirit.
Zong Yi entered the password and pushed the door open.
Warmth and the rich aroma of food instantly surrounded her.
Only a few ambient lamps were lit in the living room, the light warm and hazy.
A huge Christmas tree had already been set up. The decorations were not complicated, mainly silver-white and pale gold, quietly flashing soft light in the corner.
Yan Hanxie walked out of the kitchen.
She wore a soft dark-red cashmere sweater that made her skin look even fairer, with beige home trousers below. Her long hair was loosely tied up, a few stray strands falling beside her cheeks.
Seeing Zong Yi, she nodded slightly. "You're here? Just in time, the soup can be drunk now."
Her tone was as ordinary as if they ate dinner together like this every day.
Zong Yi gave an "mm," changed her shoes, and hung up her coat.
She walked to the dining room. On the long table two sets of bowls and chopsticks were already placed. In the middle was a white porcelain stew pot steaming with heat, and beside it several small refreshing side dishes.
"Sit anywhere," Yan Hanxie said as she filled two bowls of soup and placed them on the table, then sat down in the main seat.
Zong Yi sat opposite her.
The soup was Chinese yam and pork rib soup, stewed until the broth was milky white and fragrant.
She scooped up a spoonful and put it into her mouth. It was smooth and fresh-sweet, instantly soothing her tired stomach.
The two of them quietly ate.
Only the faint sound of bowls and chopsticks touching, and the distant Christmas songs drifting in from somewhere outside the window.
The atmosphere was not lively, yet there was a kind of reassuring tranquility.
"Any plans for tomorrow?" Yan Hanxie suddenly asked, picking up some greens with her chopsticks.
"In the morning there's a short international video meeting, in the afternoon… nothing for now," Zong Yi answered.
In previous years during holidays like this, she either worked overtime or stayed home alone reading or watching movies. She had long been used to it.
"Mm." Yan Hanxie responded and said nothing more.
After dinner, Zong Yi took the initiative to stand up and clear the dishes. Yan Hanxie did not stop her. She simply walked to the living room, sat down in the armchair in front of the fireplace, and picked up a book she had been halfway through.
Inside the fireplace flickered simulated electronic flames, giving off a warm glow and faint crackling sounds, adding a bit more coziness.
When Zong Yi finished tidying the kitchen and came out, what she saw was this scene: warm lights, a sparkling Christmas tree, the dancing "fireplace flames," and the woman leaning quietly on the sofa reading.
Everything was so beautiful it didn't seem real, like a carefully painted illusion of "home."
She stood there, somewhat at a loss. Should she say thanks and leave, or…
"What are you standing there for?" Yan Hanxie lifted her head from the book and looked at her. "There's hot tea over there. Pour yourself some."
Her tone was natural, as if Zong Yi were already a resident here.
Zong Yi hesitated for a moment, but still walked to the tea counter beside it and poured herself a cup of hot tea.
Holding the cup, she did not sit down. Instead, she walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked at the dark courtyard outside and the faint band of city lights in the distance.
"This winter seems especially cold," Yan Hanxie suddenly said. She closed her book and also walked to the window, standing not far beside her.
"Mm," Zong Yi replied, holding the warm teacup as the chill in her fingertips gradually faded.
The two of them stood side by side before the window, looking at the same stretch of night. Indoors it was warm like spring; outside it was silent and cold.
The enormous glass window was like an invisible barrier separating the two worlds.
"Actually," Yan Hanxie suddenly spoke, her voice not loud but especially clear in the quiet living room, "spending holidays alone isn't very meaningful."
Zong Yi's heart stirred slightly.
"In the past I always thought holidays were nothing more than marketing gimmicks and social burdens," Yan Hanxie continued, her gaze resting outside the window, her tone calm, as if stating an objective fact. "Now I realize it might be because… there was no one I wanted to spend them with."
No one she wanted to spend them with.
That sentence was like an extremely thin needle, suddenly piercing the softest and most desolate place in Zong Yi's heart.
Was she not the same?
Those holidays spent alone, the loneliness beneath noisy celebrations, the numbness with which she subconsciously avoided the word "reunion"…
She turned her head and looked at Yan Hanxie.
Yan Hanxie happened to turn her face at the same moment.
Warm yellow light reflected on her face. In those eyes that were always deep and unfathomable, the tiny lights of the Christmas tree were now clearly reflected, and… Zong Yi's own silhouette.
There was no longer the usual calculation and control there, only an honest, almost fragile loneliness.
Their eyes met.
The air seemed to freeze.
Only the faint crackling sound of the electronic flames in the fireplace, and their uneven breathing intertwined.
Yan Hanxie's gaze slowly lowered, falling on Zong Yi's fingertips, slightly reddened from holding the hot tea. Then it lifted again, meeting her eyes once more.
Very softly, almost inaudibly, she asked:
"Zong Yi, this year… shall we spend it together?"
It was not an order, not an arrangement, not even an invitation.
It was a question.
A question carrying uncertainty, carefulness, placing her in an equal position.
As if saying: I know this may be presumptuous. I know you might refuse. But I still want to ask.
Because I don't want to be alone anymore.
And you… are the person I want to spend this winter with, and many winters afterward.
The fingers with which Zong Yi held the teacup turned slightly pale from the force.
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, her ears buzzing.
Reason gave a faint warning at the last moment, but emotion—or rather, the dependence, habit, concern, and something deeper she had long been afraid to face—finally burst past every barrier at this moment.
She looked at the clear starlight in Yan Hanxie's eyes that reflected only herself, and the faint, almost earnest waiting within them.
A long time passed.
So long that the night outside seemed to deepen a little more.
Very softly, very slowly, she nodded.
The movement was small, yet extraordinarily firm.
"Okay."
Only one word.
Yet it was like a key that finally opened that long-sealed, rust-covered door of the heart.
Yan Hanxie's eyes instantly lit up.
That light was warmer than the fireplace flames, brighter than the starlight of the Christmas tree.
The corner of her lips curved into a genuine and gentle smile. The smile no longer carried calculation or triumph, but pure, undisguised joy.
She said nothing more, nor made any further move.
She simply reached out and gently held the hand Zong Yi used to hold the teacup, the one that trembled slightly.
Her fingertips were slightly cool, but her palm carried a reassuring warmth.
Zong Yi did not pull away.
She lowered her head and looked at their clasped hands, at the string of dark prayer beads around her own wrist pressed against Yan Hanxie's fair hand.
Outside the window, there was silent stillness.
Inside, it was warm like spring.
The Christmas tree quietly shimmered.
The long road of pursuing a wife seemed, at this moment, to finally glimpse its end.
Or perhaps it was the beginning of another journey, longer and warmer.
And the hunter and the prey, after countless tests, pursuits, struggles, and approaches, finally found each other in this warm and bright world and held each other's hands.
From now on, no matter how fierce the wind and snow, there was someone to walk beside.
—
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