Zheng Rongguang sat frozen, afraid to move a muscle. Only his eyes shifted nervously between Qiao Jin and the phone.
After a long pause, Lu Pingzhang finally asked, “Why?”
That voice was dangerously low, enough to make anyone uneasy. Zheng Rongguang stole a glance at Qiao Jin and cautiously said, “He said he needs to take care of a family member…”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Lu Pingzhang’s tone was so sharp it sounded like he might reach through the phone and strangle someone. “Let him answer.”
Qiao Jin paused, then said, “I need to take care of a family member.”
Lu Pingzhang was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke again, his tone—rarely—softened a bit. “Can you hold off for a while longer? It’s the end of the year, and the company’s short-staffed right now.”
That wasn’t true at all. The layoffs had already been completed, and there were still more employees than needed.
Qiao Jin opened his mouth, about to correct him—
But Lu Pingzhang cut in again: “At least stay long enough to properly transition the new HR manager.”
Qiao Jin said, “I’ve already selected someone internally.”
“No internal promotions,” Lu Pingzhang rejected the controlled, predictable option. “We’ll recruit externally.”
Qiao Jin hesitated, then agreed. “Alright.”
—
Qiao Jin left work right on time and headed to the hospital to visit his mother.
Her health had steadily declined over the past three years. She’d first been admitted to a convalescent home, but frequent episodes forced her into the hospital’s intensive care unit.
Aside from patients in a vegetative state, it was rare for someone to remain in the ICU this long.
At first, her mental state had still been sharp—she could hold a conversation when awake. But as time went on, the illness drained not just her body but her spirit as well.
Now she was rarely conscious. Most of the time, she lay asleep in a daze.
Qiao Jin changed into sterile clothing and sat at her bedside. The night nurse on duty quietly updated him: “She last woke up three days ago, in the middle of the night—around two. I happened to be getting up to use the bathroom and saw her awake. She just stared at the ceiling for a while, then closed her eyes again. Maybe two or three minutes.”
Qiao Jin nodded and thanked her.
The nurse adjusted her gloves and offered to give them space. “Mr. Qiao, if you need anything, just call me. I’ll be just outside.”
“Alright. Thank you.”
She closed the door behind her. The room was quiet and sterile, filled only with pale white light. Qiao Jin sat alone, watching over his mother.
He gently held her frail, withered hand and leaned on the bed, exhaling softly.
Outside, the sky had gone completely dark. Not even the faintest trace of snow lingered on the branches. The season’s first light snowfall had come and gone without a trace.
Qiao Jin never had much desire to talk—and now, even less so.
Twenty minutes passed. Maybe thirty.
The nurse returned, knocked gently, and entered to remind him: “It’s almost time, Mr. Qiao. She needs to be wiped down and settled in for the night.”
Qiao Jin nodded, gently tucking his mother’s arm back under the blanket before standing up and flexing his numb legs.
He stood there, quietly watching her colorless, sunken face. He reached out to touch her cheek, but through the sterile gloves, he couldn’t feel a thing.
The nurse pulled out a piece of paper from a drawer and handed it to him. “She tried to talk the last two times she woke up. Couldn’t speak clearly, so I helped her write it out bit by bit.”
Qiao Jin unfolded the paper. The handwriting was messy and distorted—so jumbled he couldn’t make out what it said.
A different nurse knocked on the door, urging him to leave.
Because of his mother’s severely weakened immune system, the doctors had advised limiting visitation to avoid triggering complications. But every time Qiao Jin chose to come in, he made sure to follow every sterile protocol to the letter—and stayed until his time was up.
He stood there in silence, watching his mother. His lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he said nothing.
He turned and left.
He changed out of the sterile gown and put on his clothes, walking out of the hospital alone.
The street was clean and dry. The streetlights cast a dull yellow glow across the pavement, where tree shadows occasionally swayed, drawing flickering animations on the ground.
The winter wind was cold and dry. Pedestrians hurried past him, no trace left of the snow that had quietly fallen the night before.
Qiao Jin stood under a streetlight, exhaling a puff of white breath. He pulled out that piece of paper and studied the handwriting carefully, making out what seemed to be the characters for “Xiao Jin” at the beginning.
His fingers went numb from the wind. He folded the paper and slipped it away, then followed the road forward, walking aimlessly.
He didn’t want to go back to the hotel. He didn’t know what else to do. He wandered through the night like someone who no longer belonged in this city.
A black car trailed behind him at a careful distance, keeping its speed low.
At the end of the road, Qiao Jin stood at an intersection, waiting for the long red light. The car behind him didn’t dare get too close. Even when the light turned green, he didn’t move.
The black car waited from afar. Xiao Chang leaned out of the window and saw him raise a hand and beckon.
He quickly pulled the car over and jogged over a few steps. In a low voice, he asked, “Brother Qiao, do you need a ride?”
Qiao Jin stared at him for a long moment before asking, “Why are you here?”
“I—was just passing by…” Xiao Chang gave a dry, awkward smile.
Qiao Jin looked him over with narrowed eyes. The cold wind sharpened the irritation between his brows, making him seem distant and unapproachable.
Xiao Chang scratched his head and finally muttered, “…President Lu told me to follow you. He was worried something might happen and no one would know. It’s too cold out here. Let me drive you back, Brother Qiao.”
Qiao Jin stared at him for a full minute before turning and opening the car door, getting in without another word.
Xiao Chang turned up the heat slightly. The sudden warmth was suffocating; Qiao Jin leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. “Hotel,” he said quietly.
Xiao Chang didn’t say a word. He started driving carefully, sneaking glances at Qiao Jin through the rearview mirror.
At some point, Qiao Jin opened his eyes again, watching the scenery blur past the window. After a while, he leaned his head against the glass.
Xiao Chang lowered the temperature by two degrees and asked softly, “Brother Qiao, are you carsick?”
Qiao Jin shook his head—then nodded. He sniffled. “A little. It’s fine.”
Xiao Chang didn’t dare speak again. He drove as smoothly as possible, trying not to jostle the man in the back seat.
Qiao Jin’s fingers had slowly warmed up again. He took the paper out from his pocket and, using the light from the window, tried to decipher what was written on it.
Seeing him squint at the smudged handwriting, Xiao Chang quietly turned on the interior light. Qiao Jin didn’t seem to notice—his brows were still furrowed as he focused intently on deciphering the scattered strokes.
They took a little longer than usual to arrive at the Jiali Hotel. Qiao Jin knew they’d arrived, but stayed seated in the backseat. He held that piece of paper in his hands, his fingers trembling from the cold.
He finally figured out what it said—and that was exactly why he felt like he couldn’t breathe.
Xiao Chang didn’t dare say anything, only stealing anxious glances at him.
Qiao Jin put the paper back in his pocket and got out of the car alone. He stood dazed for a moment, staring at the glittering lights of the hotel, then slowly walked toward it.
In his coat pocket, he clenched the paper into a tight ball. The sharp corners jabbed painfully into his palm.
What was written on it was:
“Xiao Jin, if it happens again, don’t resuscitate me.”
Xiao Chang watched him walk into the hotel lobby in a daze, and quietly raised his phone to record a short video of his retreating figure. Only when Qiao Jin disappeared into the elevator did he stop recording and send the video to Lu Pingzhang.
Lu called almost immediately.
“How is he?” Lu asked.
Xiao Chang struggled to find the right words to describe Qiao Jin’s condition but failed. After a moment of hesitation, he guessed, “I think… he might have cried.”
Lu Pingzhang said nothing. After a long silence, he hung up without a sound.
That night, in a half-conscious haze, someone helped Qiao Jin sit up to drink water and coaxed him into taking some medicine. He was too drained to tell what he was even swallowing.
In the blur of it all, he thought he caught a faint whiff of Lu Pingzhang’s usual cologne—but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t open his eyes.
It was a night of numb confusion. When Qiao Jin woke the next morning, his whole body ached. He stared blankly at the cold medicine and fever reducers on the table before realizing: last night hadn’t been a dream.
Lu Pingzhang had come, stayed with him for a while, and left before he fully regained consciousness.
Qiao Jin sat up, got out of bed, washed up, and headed to work.
He didn’t touch the coat from the night before. Instead, he chose a thicker one. The paper in the pocket stayed behind on the coat rack. He didn’t dare touch it—didn’t even dare look at it.
He had just arrived at the office when his assistant handed him some documents and informed him there were two interview candidates scheduled for today.
Qiao Jin flipped through them. Both had strong credentials.
Though his assistant knew Qiao Jin was planning to resign, they remained respectful and professional, not daring to ask too many questions. “The second candidate hasn’t submitted their resignation yet—they’re waiting to see the salary offer before deciding.”
Qiao Jin took a closer look. The résumé was impressive—definitely someone with the leverage to shop around before jumping ship.
He was considering how to reel the candidate in when his phone rang. He picked up without checking the screen.
“Hello, Qiao Jin.”
A light laugh followed: “Hi, it’s Sui Ran.”
Qiao Jin glanced at the caller ID—no name saved. He gave a small laugh in return. “I thought you were someone calling for an interview. What can I do for you, President Sui?”
Sui Ran laughed. “Lin Xiao said you’re switching jobs?”
Qiao Jin smiled but didn’t reply.
“Come work for me,” Sui Ran said. “How much are they paying you right now? Are you free to talk?”
“I am.” Qiao Jin leaned back in his chair, reported a number, then added, “I’m planning to take a short break first. My family member’s in the hospital—I want to spend more time with them.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Sui Ran replied. “We can do half-days—though it means no weekends off. But for you? We can make an exception.”
Qiao Jin smiled at that.
“If every boss did business like you, President Sui, life would be a blessing for all us corporate drones.” His voice was still a bit nasal from the cold, but not too noticeable. He cleared his throat. “No need for any special treatment. If I decide to join, I’ll give it my all—do my best to create value for the company.”
Sui Ran sounded genuinely pleased. He also commented on the salary number Qiao Jin had just mentioned:
“Big-name companies are what they are. The number’s not low, but for your position, it’s not exactly generous either. If you come over, I’ll bump it up by 30%.”
Qiao Jin raised an eyebrow, recalling what Fu Linxiao had once joked about Sui Ran, and repeated it now for effect:
“No wonder you made the cover of Finance Weekly.”
Sui Ran chuckled, “Pfft.” Then asked, “When can you give me an answer? We’re really short-handed—especially in HR. The whole department’s about to fall apart.”
Qiao Jin stared out the window at the gusty wind blowing past the bright LED screen on the building across the street, playing nonstop 24-hour ads.
At that moment, a female celebrity in a flowing gown was walking the red carpet. The camera tilted upward, capturing Bai Yuan’s gorgeous face in full.
A headline appeared faintly on screen—something about a “goddess apology”—but the distance made it hard to read. Qiao Jin looked away, refocused, and said into the phone,
“I’ll give you an answer by the end of the week.”
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