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Zhiyu had never been good at holding on or letting go.
He couldn’t hold onto his name when it had been ripped from him years ago, or hold onto his family that kept him whole for ten years, nor had he ever let the notion of proving his father’s name innocent go.
It had been ingrained in him before he even knew how to truly exist, just a mere child holding broken pieces and uselessly jamming them together, etched into his childhood dreams, bleeding into his adult nightmares, and determination pumped viciously in his blood every time he stared at Zhuling—his father’s fall from grace, and Pei Kanghua’s rise to fame.
Zhiyu had never learned how to begin things, either. He’d pushed away the prospect of many friends, keeping to himself even though it killed him to come home to an empty apartment. He could barely connect with anyone because everything he had ever touched and loved had been stolen away from him.
Zhiyu had lived his life after his father’s funeral shouldering hatred too big for his body to handle, and it broke him down to dust until he gained enough consciousness to hone whatever resentment he had left into his main objective:
Pei Kanghua’s downfall.
Once Zhiyu set a goal, it was all he could think of. It seeped through his bones, gnawing at him, and he wished he could claw it out so it wouldn’t fester and consume him inside out, but Zhiyu couldn’t let his determination dull. So instead, he let it swallow him whole at night and spit him out in the morning with a new resolve. Each day was another day toward clearing his father’s name, and Zhiyu couldn’t afford to get distracted.
Pei Kanghua, whether it be his reputation or him, would die a dog’s death, and Zhiyu was going to spend every moment of his waking life making sure it’d manifest.
To be anchored down meant collateral damage, and at the end of the day, with his hatred consuming his entire being, it would be too selfish to take a step forward toward her. Hu Xiu didn’t need to be involved in this game, or hurt herself in the process.
Because once Zhiyu started, he didn’t think he could stop. Wouldn’t be able to pull away when he needed to. He’d only latch on until it blew up on him, like when she’d inevitably fall through his fingers and leave him like everyone else. And still, Zhiyu knew he would still cling to the ashes as they crumbled into his palm.
After all, the last of his father’s honorable legacy still settled heavy in his chest.
But… Zhiyu wanted to hold her hand. Wanted to trace his thumb across the grooves of her palm, to memorize every line, to learn the pressure of her fingers against his knuckles, and to stop them from fidgeting every time she was unhappy.
Wanted to hold her hand without needing an excuse. To act on his feelings because despite all of the layers he’d created to protect others from himself, he found himself peeling them all back when it came to her—found himself softening without meaning to.
He wanted to be able to hold on forever and never let go.
Zhiyu liked her. Despite how much he tried to push it down and pretend like each of her words didn’t make his heart twist—like they didn’t mean anything to him—Zhiyu had to accept the truth.
And especially now, with her hand right in front of him, enticingly so, fingers curled around a document with her pearl ring on her pointer finger, all Zhiyu could focus on was how he was flexing his fingers, which had reached out toward her with him meaning to.
Get yourself together.
“General Qin?”
He snapped out of his daze, looking up at her. Hu Xiu had an expectant look on her face, the corner of her lip curled upward ever so slightly. If Zhiyu could, he’d lean over the table and press his lips against hers, memorize the curl of her smile, and let the ghost of it torment him at night.
Tell her how much he had been waiting for someone like her. So kind, warm, and determined.
But Hu Xiu didn’t know the real him, and that was selfish.
To ever let himself bathe in her kindness and warmth, take it as something else, and to put his guard down around her…
So terribly selfish.
“Do you agree?” She held out her document. “Why waste a chance like this when it could change your life? You want to win, right?” She simpered, a challenge in her eyes. “What do you say?”
Singing a contract with a former enemy's daughter. What could go wrong?
He steepled his fingers and leaned back against the chair. “Ms. Wang, your father and mine have history. Hatred has oftentimes been handed down from generation to generation even after it has fizzled out. How can I guarantee you do not have any ulterior motives, or that you do not still resent my family?”
“I am not my father, am I?”
He blinked, surprised, feeling something heavy drop to the pit of his stomach.
He knew of someone whose resentment ran from father to child. Part of him understood why. Pei Zhen had just been a child then, blinded by circumstances and lies he couldn’t understand, slowly sanded down and molded by Pei Kanghua to be an extension of him. But now, even with a mind of his own, Pei Zhen still held onto his father’s words like a buoy.
That was odd.
Or maybe Zhiyu didn’t know what it was like to attach to someone like that.
And funnily enough, Zhiyu was still seen as an extension of Qin Yu Ze.
“You are not your father, yet you’ve heard the stories. How can you not resent the Qin family?”
Hu Xiu folded her arms. “I am a fair person. I have the right to judge a person myself. Your father's choices are not yours, are they?”
Zhiyu schooled his face as her words prodded at something tender nestled behind his ribs. Considering everything that had happened in his childhood—from the name change to the blame game—Zhiyu had been surrounded by people who didn't seem to believe in that sentiment.
To hear that from someone—especially Hu Xiu—made his heart ache.
“And you, General Qin, are the exact person I’ve been waiting for.”
Zhiyu’s pulse jumped, pulsating so loud it was the only thing he heard as the music faded, and he stared at her face, so full of conviction and belief that it almost made his head spin. Zhiyu clenched his fist, digging shallow graves into his palm, and forced a smirk. “If only there were more people like you.” Zhiyu said, and while he meant it, General Qin Xiao Yi didn’t.
A muscle in her jaw ticked, and she scooted forward in her seat, eyes boring holes into him. “I am not gullible, General Qin. I can make my own decisions, and you stand for what I believe in, not Feng Youjin, or Ning Zechen. Whatever your father had done to mine was in the past. Now, I choose you.” She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow, and before Zhiyu could make a mistake, like asking her if she would accept him as Qin Xiao Yi and Xiao Zhiyu—if it mattered to her who he truly was because he truly liked her—the lights flickered.
“Qin Xiao Yi! We have found that you are in possession of a wristwatch with smuggled information.” Hu Xiu’s eyes flickered to the watch on the table, and she twisted her lips as Ning Zechen’s lackeys started to walk over. “A traitor has no right to be mayor. Surround him!”
He smiled.
Busted.
“Maybe I am like my father after all, Ms. Wang.”
Zhiyu waited for her face to morph, to accuse him of lying to her face (a traitor was what Wang Meiyu didn’t stand for) and to withdraw her deal, but she furrowed her eyebrows before saying, “And I am not like mine.”
Zhiyu paused, feeling his breath hitch as he watched her hold her hand out, and with urgency that screamed of Hu Xiu rather than Wang Meiyu, she said, “I can protect you if you come by my side.”
Zhiyu then relaxed his shoulders, huffing, amused.
Even at the end of the road, she still was as determined.
She grabbed his wrist before he could even react, and then they were running, his heartbeat pumping loud in his ears, and when they took a sharp turn, her fingers slipped so she only held onto his sleeve.
Before Zhiyu could second guess himself and miss a chance, he grabbed her wrist, then laced their fingers together and pretended like he didn’t notice her looking up at him, a multitude of emotions flickering on her face. “I know a faster way out of here.”
While it was under the pretext of running away, he acted on what he wanted. Just for these few minutes, he’d learn to hold on and let go at the same time.
It’d be less selfish this way.
Baby steps.
“So you trust me, General Qin?” He could hear a tinge of victory in her voice and tried his hardest not to laugh. At the end of the day, it was a game, and he shouldn’t take everything she said seriously.
Even though he wanted to.
So badly.
“I’ll take your word, Ms. Wang.”
Zhiyu knew from the start how much he wasn’t used to holding on or letting things go—but at least he knew now, that she was one thing he couldn’t ever lose.