Chapter Twenty-One
On the long, brightly lit street, slender shadows stretched out, accompanied by the sound of wheels gliding over the pavement. A golden suitcase gleamed under the dazzling streetlights, as radiant as the owner’s shining blonde hair.
Her rose-colored lips moved softly, and as the wind passed by, a whisper lingered in the air, “Since pain is destined, let us endure it together. Even if this is hell, with you here, it becomes my paradise.”
She lifted her head and walked forward with resolve.
Yingyue sat there in silence, motionless, like a porcelain doll. Her lifeless, large eyes stared straight ahead.
Sighing inwardly, Xiahou Yu could not help but feel troubled. How was he supposed to handle this? In the end, his compassion prevailed, and he hesitated before speaking. “Yingyue, since he’s already gone, let him leave your heart as well.” His voice carried a helpless resignation. Only he knew that their relationship was not merely filled with hatred and animosity on the surface. There were complexities that even he could not comprehend—emotions that Yingyue never spoke of, and he never asked about. Perhaps, that was what true friendship meant: saying the right words at the right time, rather than probing relentlessly.
A flash of light passed through Yingyue’s eyes; her lips quivered slightly. Seeing this, Xiahou Yu said nothing more, choosing instead to sit quietly beside her, doing whatever little he could for her.
The only sound in the quiet room was the tapping of keys on the keyboard. The atmosphere was serene, more peaceful than ever.
Yet tranquility is always fleeting. Xiahou Yu’s brow furrowed, his gaze sharpened.
On the computer screen were recent operation figures for the corporation—a series of distinct curves. Yet all the lines pointed towards one trend: decline. Most strangely, the drop was identical for each, overlapping into a single line. His brows knit into a deep frown as he hesitated, glancing at Yingyue, who still stared absentmindedly out the window.
Yingyue spoke, “What’s wrong?” Her gaze remained outside. Xiahou Yu looked at her intently, finally deciding to tell her, “The company’s facing some trouble.” “Minor issues like this are for you to handle,” she replied, her voice calm. “It’s not just minor—it’s interesting,” Xiahou Yu said meaningfully. At last, Yingyue turned, rising to sit beside him, her eyes scanning the computer screen. The peculiar graph was so conspicuously consistent: every increase peaked at the same point before declining, all merging into a single line. Her brows drew together. This style felt so familiar—there was only one person in the world capable of such a feat. Could it be him?
She voiced her thoughts, “asciugandosilacrime…” (Italian)
Xiahou Yu was startled. “Yingyue, what did you just say?” He did not understand at all.
“The person who made this chart,” Yingyue replied, her tone even. Only she knew the anxiety and unease roiling within. How could it be him?
Seeing Yingyue’s forced calm, Xiahou Yu smiled bitterly to himself. Clearly, he knew so little about her. Truly, theirs was a friendship as tranquil as water. He could only smile wryly.
Italy—Rome
Inside the tallest office building in Rome, on the top floor, was an office.
It was a purple office; from the decor to the furnishings, everything was purple, though each shade differed. If one looked closely, the entire space resembled a blooming violet. At the heart of the “flower,” a slender man sat in a purple chair, his delicate fingers gripping the armrest. His lips curved into an adorable smile, two deep dimples at the corners, inviting anyone who saw him to return his smile with genuine warmth. On the desk before him, the computer screen displayed the image of a beautiful young woman, and what drew the eye most were her violet-colored eyes.