Qiao Jin looked at her.
She smiled gently and continued, “Mr. Lu strikes me as someone quite forceful in daily life. He once told me you were the complete opposite—very tolerant and gentle with him.”
Qiao Jin didn’t deny it.
“Do you think that tolerance… has anything to do with Mr. Lu being your benefactor?” she asked, trying to guide him. “Can you tell whether what you feel for him is gratitude—or love?”
Qiao Jin had often wondered about that himself, but he had never found an answer.
Lu Pingzhang had helped him through so many hardships: paid for his schooling, his mother’s medical treatment, and even arranged for an easy job and a comfortable life.
He owed Lu Pingzhang too much.
The psychologist seemed to see right through him and continued, “But is that really fair to Mr. Lu?”
Qiao Jin rested his forehead on his clasped hands, closing his eyes in the shadow between them.
He thought for a long time, peeling back layer after layer of his thoughts, and finally—reluctantly—let the words slip into the light.
“…I don’t deserve to say I love him.”
His expression was so despondent that the psychologist hesitated to press further.
“I have no right.” Qiao Jin stayed slumped in his defeated posture and finally added, “But Lu Boyang is his brother. It’s only natural for him to love him.”
“That’s a completely different kind of love,” the psychologist said gently. “Romantic love is singular—it wants exclusivity. You don’t have to convince yourself to accept that ‘Mr. Lu also loves someone else.’”
“I don’t know,” Qiao Jin whispered, pain clouding his voice again. “There’s never been a shortage of people around Mr. Lu. Maybe I’m just one of many. I can’t resist it. I can’t even fight for anything. My mom’s still in the hospital—her life depends on him.”
“You can resist. You can fight for yourself,” the psychologist encouraged him. “Whether it was in the past or now, you’ve always had the right to say no, or to go after what you want. That doesn’t contradict anything. And I don’t believe Mr. Lu would ever harm you or your family. In fact, I think… if he knew this is how you felt all along, he’d be heartbroken.”
“Am I being too greedy?” Qiao Jin asked, lips pressed into a tight line as he looked at her.
She knew that look all too well—she’d seen it in the eyes of countless patients before.
“I completely understand,” she reassured him softly. “What do you hope to change… through this struggle?”
“I don’t know,” Qiao Jin murmured again. “Maybe I just need time to cool down. To figure things out.”
“I’ll ask for you—about whether you can return to work for now, all right?” she asked gently.
Qiao Jin nodded, collapsing back into the sofa, completely drained.
The psychologist slipped on her coat, said her goodbyes, and stepped outside.
No wonder the branches outside had been rustling so fiercely—it was cold and gloomy. The first snowfall of winter had begun.
But the snowflakes were faint, weak—barely visible through the window.
Lu Pingzhang was standing in the street outside. The evergreen shrubs next to him had already gathered a thin white veil of snow, but the ground beneath his feet remained bare—cleared by his constant pacing.
The driver, Xiao Chang, and Assistant Yin stood a short distance away under a tree, occasionally frowning and glancing over.
Facing Lu Pingzhang, the psychologist exhaled in relief. Her breath clouded in the cold air as she spoke. “Qiao Jin is currently experiencing mild anxiety and depression—but it’s worsening.”
“I don’t know what he’s trying to do,” Lu Pingzhang was more irritable than the dark night itself. The snowflakes falling on him only added to the heavy, suffocating atmosphere. “Why won’t he let this go?”
“It seems there are other reasons as well,” the psychologist said. “Like the recent photos of you attending events with someone else. Qiao Jin’s gratitude toward you has kept him from resisting anything you ask of him. The longer he suppresses it, the more intense the outburst becomes. And now it’s happening.”
Lu Pingzhang frowned at her. “You think he only feels gratitude toward me? That’s impossible.”
The psychologist gave him the same disapproving look she had three years ago. “I warned you—twice—that something in your relationship with Qiao Jin needed to change.”
Lu Pingzhang took a deep breath, trying to contain the anger that even the snow couldn’t extinguish.
Every one of her predictions had come true, and that accuracy was exactly what made Lu Pingzhang so agitated now.
“What should I do?” he asked.
The psychologist smiled warmly, her scarf still holding the warmth from indoors. “I still recommend letting go. Give Qiao Jin his freedom.”
Lu Pingzhang went quiet for a long moment, pressing his fingers against his temple. “I can’t.”
“He needs normal social interaction. It’s essential for easing his anxiety.” She sighed, sounding helpless. “If not, when the next emotional trigger hits, things will escalate—worse than this time.”
“When?”
“I heard his mother’s condition isn’t good. Possibly… when she passes,” the psychologist said. “Qiao Jin has always believed that the imbalance in your relationship stems from the fact that you’re always the giver, and he’s always the one receiving. You’ve held the upper hand from the start.”
Lu Pingzhang had never thought of himself as having the upper hand, but out of respect—and some fear—for the psychologist, he didn’t argue.
“You should be grateful this is coming to light now. The longer it stays buried, the more damage it’ll do.”
She added gently, “Give him time. In the meantime, you can continue expressing your feelings—just in a pure, non-demanding way. He’ll understand.”
Snowflakes still drifted down from the sky, and the wind hadn’t stopped.
Pale, moonlike light spilled through the window above.
Lu Pingzhang stood motionless, chilled to the bone. After a long silence, he finally moved his numb feet. “I’ll try.”
When he returned home, Qiao Jin was still sitting on the sofa.
Lu Pingzhang shrugged off his snow-dampened coat and tossed it onto the cabinet by the door. Something in the pocket—left unnoticed—clattered loudly against the wood.
He was wearing a white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar in frustration, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms.
He walked toward the sofa. Qiao Jin kept his gaze lowered, ignoring the pressure he was used to feeling from him.
Lu Pingzhang pushed his hair back, then sat down on the coffee table in front of him. All he had to do was lean forward, and they’d be face-to-face.
“Want to go back to work?” Lu Pingzhang asked.
Qiao Jin hadn’t expected such a direct start. He hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod.
Lu Pingzhang nodded as well, studying him. “What else do you want?”
Qiao Jin couldn’t answer.
Lu Pingzhang sat there, silently burning through his own time, waiting for Qiao Jin to make a request.
The temperature inside the room continued to rise, and Lu Pingzhang unbuttoned another button from his shirt.
“I want to move out for now,” Qiao Jin finally lifted his eyes to look at him. “Is that okay?”
The breath Lu Pingzhang let out was scorching. He picked up the pack of cigarettes on the table, held it in his hand for a moment, then tossed it back down.
“You want to leave… and you’re asking me if it’s okay?” He stared at Qiao Jin, his gaze unreadable. “Why?”
Qiao Jin looked away and let his head drop slightly.
Lu Pingzhang leaned forward. “The doctor said it’s because I’m your benefactor—because you feel indebted to me. Is that it?”
Qiao Jin’s thoughts grew muddled. The silence in the room was so loud it made his ears ring.
Lu Pingzhang’s stare was relentless, nearly tangible. Under its weight, Qiao Jin gave the faintest nod.
Lu Pingzhang nearly felt his heart stop.
After everything he’d given—money, time, effort—all he got in return was… “gratitude.”
“That’s it?” he asked, trying to keep his face from betraying disbelief. But he couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice. “That’s all?”
The tension was unbearable. Qiao Jin instinctively leaned back, trying to distance himself.
Lu Pingzhang clenched his jaw. “Look at me, Qiao Jin. Look at who I am.”
Of course Qiao Jin knew. He knew all too well. He might never forget it, even in his next life.
Lu Pingzhang grabbed the pack of cigarettes again, this time pulling one out and biting it between his lips. His hands trembled slightly as he lit it.
Smoke began to fill the room. By the time he lit the second cigarette, Qiao Jin finally looked up.
Lu Pingzhang said nothing.
By the time he finished the third one, the scent that had once belonged to Qiao Jin—the quiet, snowy pine air that had followed in from outside—was completely smothered by the acrid smell of smoke.
Lu Pingzhang ground the last cigarette out on the coffee table, leaving behind a blackened mark. He didn’t even look at it.
“Fine,” he said, flicking away the cigarette butt and resting his elbows on his knees. His stubble had grown in overnight, making him look worn out and disheveled.
His voice was hoarse. “Go, then.”
Qiao Jin had moved into the Lu household on a bright, sunny day. Three years later, he was about to leave under the veil of midnight snow.
He didn’t have much to take. After packing up a few daily essentials, he was just about to open the wardrobe to gather his clothes when Lu Pingzhang, who hadn’t spoken for a while, said softly:
“Go tomorrow. It’s cold out tonight.”
Qiao Jin stood still for a moment before finally pulling open the wardrobe door.
He was afraid he might change his mind in the morning.
Lu Pingzhang was afraid of the same thing. He steeled himself and said, coldly, “There’s too much stuff to pack all at once. Just make a list for the driver tomorrow—he’ll bring it to you… Where are you planning to stay?”
If Qiao Jin had said the name Fu Linxiao right then, Lu Pingzhang would’ve gone and killed him on the spot.
Luckily, Qiao Jin knew him well enough not to push the boundary. “Haven’t decided. I’ll go to a hotel for now.”
Lu Pingzhang pulled a card from his wallet and handed it over. “Jiali Hotel.”
Qiao Jin paused, but didn’t take it.
Lu Pingzhang’s face darkened. He looked like he was on the verge of exploding.
Qiao Jin figured if he didn’t take it, he probably wouldn’t be allowed to leave the bedroom, so without a word, he reached out and tucked the card into the inner pocket of his suitcase.
Lu Pingzhang finally let out a breath.
Qiao Jin grabbed a few clothes. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he also retrieved a book from the balcony.
Lu Pingzhang silently watched his every move.
Dragging his suitcase, Qiao Jin reached for the door handle and twisted it open.
Lu Pingzhang’s gaze followed him, unwavering, until the door creaked open. “Qiao Jin.”
Qiao Jin paused, eyes lowered, saying nothing.
Lu Pingzhang swallowed hard and looked at him. “You’re just gonna leave without even saying goodbye?”
Leave a Reply