Chapter 117: Her Heart Worth Its Weight in Gold

The day of the first trial happened to coincide with Xi Mintang’s departure. She turned off her phone, wishing to avoid being hounded by reporters and old acquaintances. To demonstrate his trust, Lin Shuo chose not to attend.

Xiaoxiao and Xi Mintang arrived at the airport only moments apart. Xi Mintang had grown accustomed to the brilliant sunshine of Kunming; the snow-white skin he arrived with had deepened into a sensual shade of wheat. Standing in the bustling airport terminal, he could easily have passed for a local.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing." Xiaoxiao shook her head, finding it amusing. "Just laughing at how someone used to be so afraid of the sun."

Xi Mintang wore a look of helpless resignation. Gazing out from the airport café, he watched shuttle buses carry passengers toward the boarding stairs, while on the nearby runway, airplanes took off and landed like great white birds. A glance to the side revealed travelers bringing crates of fresh flowers from Dounan to the airline counters for check-in. He said softly, "I cannot take the most beautiful flowers of Dounan with me. If I could, I would cut a slice of this sunlight to carry back, if only so it wouldn't feel so cold and lonely."

His words reminded her of that old song, "Sunlight Airport." Everything depends on fate; to carry away the sunlight is a luxury, much like how she and Lin Shuo, even when they went to Shangri-La, never had the chance to witness the magnificent spectacle of ten thousand acres of rhododendrons in full bloom. If fate is too fleeting, it is truly more tragic than having no fate at all.

Yet, perhaps there must be some regrets to make things worth remembering.

After they finished their coffee, the lingering aroma still hung in the air. In the blink of an eye, he would be a thousand miles away, in a place without this倾城 (city-toppling) sunlight, which made the parting all the more difficult. It seemed he had rehearsed his words for a long time before daring to speak: "After I leave, I don't want you to lose yourself again to an unreserved love. I wouldn't forgive you for that, and I certainly wouldn't forgive myself—how could I have left you all alone?"

An inexplicable, heavy emotion pressed down on her heart. She did not wish for this; she was not a possession to be brought or taken at someone else’s whim. She would only ever be herself, in the place where she belonged, whether feeling the melancholy of spring or the joy of autumn, she would always remain there.

Without waiting for her reply, perhaps because he had reached his limit, he silently placed money on the table and picked up his bag with calm, unruffled composure. Seeing this, she started to rise, but he patted her shoulder. "Don't. This is far enough."

Following his request, she sat quietly, her back to the security gate, refusing to turn around.

After the meeting, only Lin Shuo remained in the conference room. He sat in the seat second only to his mother, Mu Jinshu, who had long since departed. He did not know when it had begun, but he and his mother were now unable to reach a consensus on anything. The two people who should have relied on each other for survival now spoke only of business. He pondered it; perhaps it had to do with his father’s death. The entanglements of love and hate within a marriage were something he could never fully comprehend.

A phone call rudely interrupted his contemplation. An unfamiliar number made him wary. The person on the other end did not mince words: "This is Xi Mintang."

"Oh. I heard you were leaving today." Despite his surprise, he maintained a steady, unflappable tone. "Though it may sound hypocritical, I still wish you a safe journey."

Xi Mintang thanked Lin Shuo and spoke with blunt candor: "Maoyuan is involved in the real estate business; you should know the value of land better than I do. Her heart is like land worth its weight in gold—too expensive for anyone to afford to live in. My leaving does not mean I am giving up. You had best not give me any opportunities to seize."

Lin Shuo had no answer. He could not make any promises, for promises were the least credible things in this world. Everyone’s story could be written into a book, and those unfulfilled promises—whether made by others to him or by him to others—would ultimately serve only as the blank pages at the beginning.