🌸 Chapter 3: Saving the Tree, Saving the Love Along the Way
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When Qi Ye was jolted awake by the ringing of his phone, the moonlight at three in the morning slanted across the sheets.
“Engineer Qi! Something’s happened!” On the other end, Kobayashi’s voice was trembling with tears. “The phoenix tree at the textile factory, the construction crew just severed the main root. The forestry bureau is saying they’ll file an investigation…”
Qi Ye shot upright, his forehead banging against the nightstand. Ignoring the pain, he leapt barefoot onto the floor, groping for his trousers. “Does Cheng Shubai know?”
“President Cheng is already at the site. He told me to notify you to get there immediately.”
As Qi Ye threw on his shirt, he realised two buttons were misaligned. Flustered, he redid them. The man in the mirror had messy hair and dark shadows under his eyes. Ever since he had taken charge of this project, his sleep had plummeted. His dreams were full of those fathomless eyes of Cheng Shubai.
The taxi sped through the night. Qi Ye leaned his face against the cool window glass, trying to clear his head. His phone lit up with a message and a location from Cheng Shubai: “Dress warm, it’s 12℃ at the site.”
Qi Ye stared at the message for three seconds, then snapped the screen shut.
What was this supposed to mean? Consideration from the big client? Or evidence of lingering feelings from an ex? With a scowl, he shoved the phone into his pocket, only to freeze when his fingers brushed the two hand-warmers he had inexplicably brought along before leaving home.
The site was ablaze with lights. From a distance, Qi Ye saw a crowd clustered beneath the old phoenix tree. Several excavators stood nearby, like guilty steel beasts caught in the act. Cheng Shubai was in the centre, wearing a dark grey trench coat, examining the damaged roots. The overhead lights carved a sharp shadow down the bridge of his nose.
“Engineer Qi is here!” Kobayashi spotted him instantly.
The crowd parted. As Qi Ye approached, he caught the faint cedar scent mixed with the chill of night dew from Cheng Shubai’s body. Cheng looked up at him, his gaze behind gold-rimmed glasses calm as ever, as though calling someone to a construction site at three in the morning was the most natural thing in the world.
“A third of the main root is gone,” Cheng said, straightening and handing over a pair of gloves. “But it can still be saved.”
Qi Ye pulled them on. The fit was exact, the kind he usually wore, complete with anti-slip texture.
He didn’t ask how Cheng knew his glove size, just as he didn’t ask why the top of a marker pen he always used was sticking out of Cheng’s coat pocket.
When Qi Ye crouched to examine the roots, his knee pressed against a sharp stone. He hissed, and immediately Cheng knelt beside him, quietly passing a folded file folder. “Use this.”
The folder bore the Huanyu Group logo. Qi Ye hesitated a second before placing it under his knee. Pulling away the soil from the broken root, his heart sank. The break was jagged and rough, clearly torn by an excavator.
“This wasn’t an accident,” Qi Ye said in a low voice. “The construction drawings mark the root protection zone clearly within a five-metre radius.”
Cheng’s eyes flickered. “I know.”
“You know?” Qi Ye snapped his head up. “Then why did you—”
“Engineer Qi, President Cheng!” A forestry officer approached. “Preliminary assessment suggests the construction team violated regulations. Under the Ancient and Famous Trees Protection Ordinance, the project may have to be suspended…”
Qi Ye suddenly understood why Cheng had called him here. As the chief designer, he knew better than anyone how vital this tree was. The entire “Urban Memory Garden” concept revolved around this phoenix tree, witness to the city’s history.
“Director Wang,” Qi Ye put on his professional smile, “from the cut surface, 60% of the absorption tissue is intact. If we begin restorative treatment immediately, survival chances are above 85%.”
He pulled out his tablet, showing a prepared restoration plan. Cheng added, “We’ve contacted experts from the Beijing Botanical Garden. A helicopter will bring them here in two hours.”
Director Wang studied the plan with scepticism. “Even if it survives, what about project progress…”
“We’ll adjust construction order,” Cheng replied smoothly. “We’ll start with the northwest landscaping first. Once the tree stabilises, we continue with the underground works.”
Qi Ye glanced at him in surprise. That was exactly the solution he had thought of on the ride over. Cheng gave him a barely perceptible nod, as if he had known all along.
“…Since both experts insist,” Director Wang finally relented, “but we will assign on-site supervisors.”
By the time the forestry staff left, dawn was breaking. Qi Ye slumped in a temporary tent, warming his hands around hot tea. The flap lifted and Cheng entered, bringing a chill with him and carrying two boxed meals.
“Eat something,” Cheng said, setting them down. “The helicopter’s delayed, at least another hour.”
Qi Ye froze at the logo on the box. It was from the 24-hour porridge shop near their university, the one he always bought from during all-nighters. Cheng actually remembered.
“You knew this would happen.” Qi Ye opened the box, the steam blurring his eyes. “The construction crew did it on purpose?”
Cheng removed his glasses to wipe them. “Vice President Li insisted on expanding the underground car park.”
Qi Ye’s chopsticks froze midair. Li was the founder’s nephew, known for his greed and habit of cutting corners. He had always been the loudest opponent of Cheng’s sudden rise to vice president.
“So this is…”
“Office politics,” Cheng said as casually as if discussing the weather. “Try the lotus root fritters. Same recipe as before.”
Qi Ye bit into one. Crispy outside, tender inside, stuffed with shrimp and water chestnut. He used to be able to eat a whole box by himself.
“You buy these often?” he asked, feigning nonchalance.
“Occasionally.” Cheng lowered his head, drinking porridge. His lashes cast fine shadows on his face. “When I pass by.”
For a while only the clink of utensils filled the tent. Qi Ye sneaked glances at him. Despite fatigue, Cheng was immaculate, trench coat collar pinned with a cufflink shaped like a phoenix leaf, gleaming softly in the morning light.
Seven years ago, this was the boy who used to fall asleep drooling in the library. Now he was a polished professional with unreadable expressions.
“President Cheng!” A secretary called outside. “Vice President Li on the line!”
Cheng rose, his trench coat stirring a breeze. “Take your time. I’ll be back soon.”
Watching his back disappear, Qi Ye lost his appetite. He returned to revising the restoration plan, only to notice Cheng’s thermos left on the table, lid open. The scent of jasmine tea drifted out, tinged faintly with coffee. On impulse, Qi Ye lifted it to his nose.
“Stealing your client’s coffee?”
Cheng’s voice made Qi Ye almost drop the cup. He had returned silently, leaning against the entrance with a teasing look.
“I…” Qi Ye fumbled. “I was thinking of adding hot water.”
Cheng crossed over, took the cup and sipped. “Temperature’s just right.” Setting it down, he pulled a folder from his bag. “Look at this.”
Inside was a photocopy of a construction log. It showed that three days ago, someone had ordered a route change for excavation. The signature read “Li Cheng” Vice President Li.
“Is this evidence?” Qi Ye asked.
“Not legally, but enough to silence the board,” Cheng replied. Then his voice dropped. “Qi Ye, I need your help.”
“What kind of help?”
“Draft a backup plan,” Cheng said. “One that considers relocating the phoenix tree.”
Qi Ye shot to his feet, chair scraping loudly. “You promised never to move it!”
“Just a Plan B.” Cheng met his glare calmly. “Like that file in your computer, ‘A Hundred Ways to Get Revenge on a Client’. Better safe than sorry.”
Qi Ye’s blood ran cold. That venting document was hidden deep in his files. How could Cheng possibly know?
“You hacked me?”
“Last week at the project meeting, you projected your screen. It showed your recent documents list.”
Qi Ye remembered fumbling with windows that day. Damn.
“I won’t draft a relocation plan,” Qi Ye said stiffly. “Either we save this tree or you change design teams.”
Cheng studied him for a few seconds, then smiled faintly. “I knew you’d say that.” He pulled out a fountain pen and handed it over. “Use this for the treatment plan. It writes smoothly.”
Qi Ye recognised it instantly. Cheng’s treasured Montblanc. He had borrowed it once in university to sketch and got scolded for a week. Warm from Cheng’s pocket, it weighed heavily in his palm.
“…Alright.” Qi Ye muttered, uncapping it. The ink flowed silkily across the page, far better than his own pens.
Cheng sat opposite, opening his laptop. In the tent, only the scratching of pen and tapping of keys filled the air. For a moment, it felt like they were back in the university library, working in silent sync.
When the helicopter arrived, Cheng went to receive the experts. Qi Ye kept writing. Reaching the soil improvement section, he unconsciously used German terms—another habit picked up from Cheng. Midway, the pen ran dry.
He opened the barrel to replace the ink and discovered a tightly rolled note. Unfolding it, he saw Cheng’s handwriting: “To my little coordinates designer: Happy Birthday. May your designs take root and grow like the phoenix tree. ~ C” The date was his birthday seven years ago.
The edges were frayed from being opened many times. Qi Ye’s fingers trembled. That night he had waited all evening, but Cheng never showed. He later heard Cheng had gone abroad suddenly. This note was meant to reach him that day.
Startled, he stuffed it into his pocket when Cheng returned with the experts. For hours he focused on the rescue work, unable to revisit the note.
By afternoon, when the experts announced “90% survival chance,” cheers erupted. Qi Ye collapsed under the tree, covered in soil. Cheng came over, offering a bottle of water. Even his tailored trousers bore mud stains.
“Good work,” Cheng said, warmth in his tone for once.
Qi Ye gulped half the bottle. “Just doing my job.”
“Engineer Qi!” Kobayashi rushed up. “Director Wang says the media’s coming for interviews. Prepare a statement!”
“Interviews? Weren’t we handling this quietly?”
“Vice President Li arranged it. He wants to push some ‘tech saves the tree’ narrative.”
Qi Ye’s face darkened. Cheng dialled a number. “Secretary Zhou, issue a statement immediately. Tree restoration is routine, no commercial promotion allowed.” Hanging up, he told Qi Ye, “Go rest. I’ll handle this.”
Qi Ye nodded, but pain shot through his knee when he stood. Cheng signalled for an assistant. “Escort Engineer Qi back, pick up ointment on the way.”
“No need.” Qi Ye reflexively refused. “I’ll grab a cab.”
Cheng gave him a look but said nothing more. Limping toward the exit, Qi Ye suddenly heard his name softly called.
He turned. Cheng stood beneath the phoenix tree, sunlight filtering through the leaves onto him. For an instant, Qi Ye saw the boy from seven years ago.
“The pen,” Cheng said. “It’s yours now.”
Qi Ye touched his pocket. The Montblanc was heavy against his chest. He wanted to refuse, wanted to remind him they weren’t like that anymore, but in the end only whispered, “…Thanks.”
Back at the office, Qi Ye collapsed on the sofa. Alone, he pulled out the old note. Holding it to the light, he noticed more writing on the back: “Had to leave for Germany with my mentor. See you in six months. Wait for me.”
The words were water-stained, blurred. Qi Ye’s chest tightened. Six months later, Cheng had returned straight into Huanyu, never contacting him again. He had thought it was heartbreak. Now, perhaps, there had been more to it.
His phone buzzed, pulling him back. It was the project group chat. Cheng had sent meeting minutes and tagged him: “Engineer Qi, 10 a.m. tomorrow, Discussion on ‘Colourful Black’.”
The chat exploded with laughing emojis, mocking the client’s catchphrase. Qi Ye, however, stared at Cheng’s avatar—a silhouette of a phoenix tree, identical to the one they once admired together.
After a pause, he messaged privately: “Got it. PS: I’ll take good care of the pen.”
The “typing…” indicator blinked for a long time. Finally, Cheng replied with one simple word: “Good.”
So plain, yet Qi Ye stared at it for a long time. Opening his drawer, he pulled out a tin box of keepsakes: Cheng’s eraser, an old movie ticket stub, annotated notes. Now there was a new pen and a yellowed note.
Inside lay their only graduation photo together. Cheng’s arm around his shoulder, both grinning. On the back: “Coordinates interwoven, the future promising.”
Qi Ye placed the note beside it and closed the box gently. Outside, dusk fell and the first star appeared.
The next morning, with dark circles under his eyes, Qi Ye arrived at the office to find a package waiting. Inside was a brand-new set of markers, exactly his preferred colours. No signature, only a note: “Drawing straight lines freehand needs good tools. ~C”
Testing one, the ink flowed perfectly. He remembered yesterday at the site, sketching freehand while Cheng watched.
“Engineer Qi!” Kobayashi burst in, frantic. “Disaster! Vice President Li posted on Weibo claiming our design is flawed. The internet’s exploding!”
Qi Ye frowned, opening Weibo. The trending hashtag read #HuanyuGroupDesignFail.
Li had posted a long accusation, attaching a screenshot from Qi Ye’s plan: “So-called professionals can’t even follow basic standards. This drainage design will rot the ancient tree! @SenyeDesign @QiYe”
The comments were a mess. Some insulted his professionalism, others mocked Huanyu’s judgment. Some even dug up his university photos, claiming he only advanced on his looks.
“Bullshit!” Qi Ye slammed his mouse. “This complies perfectly with the Landscape Drainage Design Standards!”
“But netizens don’t know that,” Kobayashi wailed. “President Wang says if this keeps up, we may lose the contract…”
Just as Qi Ye reached for his phone to call Cheng, the office door opened. Cheng walked in with two men in uniform.
“Engineer Qi,” Cheng said formally. “These are technical specialists from the industry association, here for a check.”
Qi Ye’s stomach sank. So Cheng was here to abandon him under pressure? Stiffly, he led them to the meeting room.
After thorough review, the specialists concluded, “Everything meets standards, even exceeds them.” One elder patted Qi Ye’s shoulder. “Good work, young man. Don’t let outsiders’ noise shake you.”
When they left, Cheng remained by the window, scrolling his phone. Sunlight striped his figure through the blinds, fragmenting him into pieces.
“…Thanks,” Qi Ye said awkwardly. “Sorry to trouble you in person.”
“No trouble.” Cheng pocketed his phone and walked over, handing him a USB. “This may interest you.”
Plugging it in, Qi Ye saw surveillance footage. Late at night, a man tampered with excavation markers and flashed an OK sign at the camera. Though grainy, it was clearly Li Cheng’s crony.
“This…”
“It’s already been sent to the board,” Cheng said calmly. “Half an hour ago, Li Cheng submitted his resignation.”
Qi Ye stared, stunned. Was this entire storm something Cheng had foreseen, even orchestrated?
“Why help me?” The words escaped before he could stop them.
Cheng adjusted his cufflinks in silence. “Professionals should do professional work. That’s Huanyu’s principle.” At the door, he paused. “By the way, I look forward to your presentation at this afternoon’s discussion.”
When Cheng left, Qi Ye hastily revised his slides. On the effects page, he froze. His overnight colour schemes were eerily similar to the reference Cheng had shared that morning.
Especially the one with dark grey base and colourful reflective particles. Almost identical.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Seven years ago during coursework, they often “collided” with the same ideas. Cheng had called it “coordinate resonance.” Qi Ye had teased him for being cheesy, yet never forgot.
The afternoon meeting was a resounding success. Even the toughest marketing director nodded at Qi Ye’s design. At the other end, Cheng tapped his fingers lightly on the table—his silent sign of approval, which Qi Ye instinctively recognised.
“The principle is simple,” Qi Ye explained, pointing at the image. “Coloured glass particles embedded in black stone refract different hues depending on the light angle.”
After the meeting, while tidying his papers, Qi Ye noticed Cheng’s thermos left behind again, this time beside fresh jasmine blossoms. He hesitated, then heard Cheng’s voice.
“Well?”
Turning, Qi Ye saw him leaning in the doorway, teasing gaze in his eyes. “You seemed to like the scent last time.”
“…People might mistake this for a vase,” Qi Ye muttered.
Cheng approached, lifted the cup and drank. “Jasmine tea inside.” He set it down, producing another folder. “Next week’s construction drawings review. You lead.”
As Qi Ye accepted, a photograph slid out. A younger Cheng stood before a German building, holding a paper sign: “Day 98 for my little coordinates designer.” The date matched three months after Qi Ye’s birthday seven years ago.
“This…” Qi Ye’s throat tightened.
“Back then,” Cheng said softly, “I’ll explain slowly.” Turning to go, he added, “Remember to add sugar to the tea. Your stomach’s weak.”
Qi Ye stood frozen, gripping the photo. Outside, sunlight suddenly seemed too bright. His eyes stung, something warm sliding down his cheek. Seven years, and he thought he had long forgotten that feeling. That feeling of being cherished at the very centre of someone’s heart.
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