🌸Chapter 7: Silent Clock
Qi Ye stood in the airport’s arrival hall, staring at the two blinking words on the flight information screen: Delayed.
The flight from Berlin, CAXXXX, was originally scheduled to land at eight tonight. Now it had been pushed back to eleven forty-five.
He lowered his head to glance at his watch. Cheng Shubai had said he would only be gone for three days. Today was the third.
His phone screen lit up with a message from his secretary, Zhou Wen: Mr. Qi, my brother’s flight has been delayed. You don’t need to wait.
Qi Ye didn’t reply.
He leaned against the railing at the arrival exit, watching the flow of people coming and going. Lovers reunited in passionate embraces. Businessmen hurried past with their rolling suitcases. Families of three pushed luggage carts while chatting and laughing.
Seven years ago, Cheng Shubai had also disappeared into a security checkpoint, never to return.
The mechanical female voice of the broadcast sounded again: We regret to inform you that flight CAXXXX from Berlin to this city has been further delayed due to weather conditions. The estimated arrival time is now one twenty in the morning…
Qi Ye rubbed his temples.
He had to be insane, rushing to the airport because of a few words from Zhou Wen. Whether Cheng Shubai was married, what he was doing in Germany, why he had left without a word back then, what did any of that have to do with him?
Now they were nothing more than client and contractor. Nothing more.
Qi Ye turned to leave, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a familiar figure emerging from the gate.
Cheng Shubai.
He wore a simple white shirt under a long black coat, pulling a suitcase as he walked quickly forward. His face carried visible exhaustion. What stood out most was the plain silver ring on his right hand’s ring finger.
Qi Ye’s stomach twisted sharply.
Cheng Shubai lifted his head and saw him. His footsteps froze. Across the five meters separating them, their gazes locked. The noise of the crowd seemed to recede into silence.
“You…” Cheng Shubai was the first to speak, his voice a little hoarse. “Why are you here?”
Qi Ye tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Pickup service. Additional charge.”
Cheng Shubai lowered his head and smiled, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes more pronounced under the light. He stepped closer, carrying the weariness of a long flight and a faint scent of cedar cologne. “How long have you been waiting?”
“Just got here,” Qi Ye said stiffly, though his eyes betrayed him, drawn uncontrollably to that ring. “Looks like you gained quite a lot from this trip.”
Following his gaze, Cheng Shubai looked at his own hand and suddenly understood. Slowly, he took off the ring and held it out to Qi Ye. “Do you want to check?”
Inside the band was engraved: 2009-c-q.
Qi Ye’s breath caught.
“I bought it in Berlin seven years ago,” Cheng Shubai said softly. “I meant to give it to you at our graduation ceremony.”
The airport broadcast chimed again, reminding passengers not to forget their luggage. Qi Ye stared at the ring, his throat tightening. Yet he still wanted to ask: Why did you leave without a word?
“Why did you leave without a word?”
For a moment, Cheng Shubai’s expression froze. “My father suddenly had a cerebral hemorrhage. My advisor pushed me straight onto a plane.” He gave a bitter smile. “By the time I’d handled everything and came back to find you, your colleagues said you’d resigned and changed all your contact information.”
“It was my fault for not finding you sooner.”
Qi Ye thought back to the phone number he had angrily canceled, and the resignation letter he had never sent. He had even planned to start a business with Cheng Shubai.
“And then…”
“The ring, I found it last week at the old family house.” Cheng Shubai slipped it back into his pocket. “This trip to Germany was to handle the transfer of my father’s patents.” He paused. “Zhou Wen is my cousin. Her fiancé works at ThyssenKrupp.”
A wave of exhaustion washed over Qi Ye. Seven years of misunderstanding, explained away in a few words. But what about the long nights endured alone, the suffocating yearning, the facade of indifference?
“Cheng Shubai.” He looked straight into the other’s eyes. “What are we now?”
Cheng Shubai gazed at him deeply, then suddenly reached out to cup his face. His palm was warm, carrying the dryness of long travel. “What do you think?”
Qi Ye jerked back a step. “…Don’t touch me.”
His hand was trembling. Seven years of pent-up emotion erupted like a volcano. “You think everything is fine once you explain? Seven years… Do you even know how I lived through those seven years?!”
People around them began to glance their way. Cheng Shubai’s hand froze midair before he slowly withdrew it. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want an apology!” Qi Ye’s voice was low but sharp. “What I want is…”
What did he want? An explanation? A promise? Or the embrace they never shared seven years ago?
Cheng Shubai’s eyes softened, so tender they made the heart ache. “I bought a ticket back to Berlin for the day after tomorrow,” he said quietly. “This time, do you want to come with me?”
Qi Ye’s eyes widened.
“To see that oak tree you said reminded you of me.” Cheng Shubai pulled two tickets from his wallet. “And to make up for the graduation trip I owe you.”
Qi Ye looked at the tickets held out before him, his eyes suddenly burning red.
Seven years ago, during their long nights sketching in the library, they had indeed promised to see the thousand-year-old oak tree in Germany together.
“What about the project?” His own voice sounded hoarse to him.
Cheng Shubai smiled, though it didn’t quite look like a smile. “The client has approved paid leave.”
The airport broadcast chimed again, this time reminding passengers not to forget their belongings. Qi Ye noticed the dark circles under Cheng Shubai’s eyes and suddenly realized, these past three days, he probably hadn’t rested at all, just rushing back to see him.
“The ring.” Qi Ye stretched out his hand. “Let me see it.”
Cheng Shubai handed it over. The silver ring gleamed softly under the light, the engraving clearly visible inside. Without warning, Qi Ye slipped it onto his own left ring finger.
It fit perfectly.
“Confiscated.” He clenched his fist tightly around the ring and walked toward the exit. “As interest.”
Cheng Shubai froze for a second, then quickly dragged his suitcase to catch up. Under the airport lights, their shadows overlapped little by little, as though continuing the promise they had once left unfinished.
The storm outside had just passed. The first ray of morning light pierced through the clouds.
Qi Ye stood outside the security checkpoint, watching as Cheng Shubai handed his boarding pass to the staff.
The early morning airport was quiet, the broadcast repeating flight information in a mechanical female voice. Cheng Shubai turned back to look at him, the eyes behind his glasses calm under the cold white lights.
“You really won’t come with me?”
Qi Ye’s hand inside his pocket unconsciously rubbed against the silver ring, the edge pressing sharply into his fingertip.
“The project is on a tight schedule.” He heard himself laugh. “President Cheng, have a good trip.”
Cheng Shubai’s expression didn’t change, only a slight nod. Qi Ye watched him turn and walk toward the security channel. His straight back looked like a solitary spruce. Suddenly, he remembered: seven years ago, he had stood in this very spot, watching this very man disappear at the corner of the security gate.
And then seven years of silence.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a photo from the construction site team. Qi Ye glanced down, and when he looked up again, Cheng Shubai had already passed through security. He now stood in front of the duty-free shop, looking back. Through the glass wall, they stared at each other. Close enough to see each other’s expression. Too far to touch.
Qi Ye lifted his phone, shook it, gesturing that it was a work call. Then he turned away toward the exit.
Berlin was nothing. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t come back.
But that was what he had thought last time too.
The restoration plan for the old plane tree had been approved.
Qi Ye stood at the construction site, watching workers administer nutrient solution through clear tubes into the tree trunk. It looked like a silent blood transfusion.
“Mr. Qi, President Cheng said this monitoring device has to be recorded three times a day,” said Xiao Lin, handing him a tablet. “The data syncs directly to Germany.”
Qi Ye took it. A new message popped up:
Root vitality index low. Recommend adding more humus. —C
The timestamp read: 3:17 a.m.
Qi Ye glanced at Berlin’s weather overcast, twelve degrees, about the same as here. He typed back: Already arranged, then handed the tablet back.
“When is President Cheng coming back?” Xiao Lin asked curiously.
Qi Ye patted the monitoring device attached to the tree trunk. “Ask it.”
The workers laughed. Qi Ye turned and walked toward the temporary office, when Xiao Lin called out, “Mr. Qi, your phone is ringing!”
The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number. He answered, and the noise of airport announcements came through.
“It’s me.”
Cheng Shubai’s voice, faint and distorted through static, almost unreal. Qi Ye gripped the phone tighter, catching the German boarding announcements in the background.
“You’re boarding?”
“Mm.” A pause. “The plane tree…”
“It’s alive,” Qi Ye cut him off. “You’re not its guardian spirit. It won’t suddenly die just because you left.”
A low chuckle came from the other end, vibrating against Qi Ye’s eardrum. He turned to look out the office window, seeing workers bustling around the tree.
“Qi Ye,” Cheng Shubai suddenly called his full name. “This time I’m only gone five days.”
Qi Ye’s thumb picked absently at the chipped paint on the window frame. “Why are you telling me this?”
Silence for a few seconds.
“Because I’m afraid you’ll wait.”
The three words were as light as feathers, yet they weighed heavy on Qi Ye’s chest. He opened his mouth, wanting to say I’m not waiting, wanting to say do you think I’ll believe your lies again. But what came out instead was a stiff: “Project deadlines won’t wait.”
On the other end came either a sigh or just static.
“Boarding now,” Cheng Shubai said. “The ring…”
“I threw it away.” Qi Ye hung up decisively.
Outside, rain began to fall again. Workers scrambled to cover the tree with tarpaulins. Qi Ye pulled out the silver ring, now warm from his body heat, the engraving glinting faintly in the light.
He stared at it for a long time, then threaded it onto a chain and tucked it beneath his shirt.
This was fine. Not too near. Not too far.
On the third day after Cheng Shubai left, Qi Ye collapsed at the construction site.
After seventy-two hours of nonstop work, his stomach finally gave in. The doctor frowned at the test results. “Gastric ulcer with bleeding. You need to be hospitalized for observation.”
Qi Ye lay on the hospital bed, staring at the IV drip. Xiao Lin sat beside him peeling an apple, the knife tracing long spirals through the skin.
“Mr. Qi, should we tell President Cheng?”
“What for?” Qi Ye closed his eyes. “He’s not a doctor. He can’t treat me.”
Xiao Lin hesitated, glancing at the fruit basket near the door. A card rested on top: Wishing you a speedy recovery, signed Zhou Wen.
Inside were all of Qi Ye’s favorite fruits, with mangoes neatly peeled.
Half the IV bag was gone before Qi Ye dozed off. In his dream, someone gently held his hand. The familiar warmth made his heart ache.
He struggled to open his eyes. The room was empty. Only the branches of the plane tree swayed outside the window, and a leaf drifted in through the gap.
On the bedside table sat a steaming cup of jasmine tea, with a note underneath:
Doctor’s orders: quit coffee, eat on time, sleep at least six hours a day.
The handwriting was as neat as construction notes.
Qi Ye picked up the tea and took a sip. The sweetness was just right. Looking out the window, he saw a sparrow land on the plane tree, flutter, and take off again.
His phone buzzed. An email from Berlin. Attached was a photo: Cheng Shubai standing before the Brandenburg Gate, holding a piece of paper that read: Day 3 for my little design engineer.
In the corner of the café behind him, Zhou Wen could be seen in a red dress, flashing a peace sign at the camera.
Qi Ye zoomed in, then out, before finally saving it to his encrypted album.
Five days. He could wait five days.
When the IV needle was removed, the back of his hand was bruised blue.
At 4:17 a.m., the hospital corridor was silent. Carrying his laptop bag, Qi Ye slipped quietly through the hallways. But as he turned a corner, he nearly ran into a familiar figure—Cheng Shubai, leaning against the fire exit door, holding a steaming cup of soy milk.
His white shirt collar was slightly open, dark circles heavy under his eyes.
“Doctor already approved your discharge?” His voice was hoarse from travel.
Qi Ye’s fingers dug into his palm. “President Cheng has changed careers to a doorman now?”
“The flight was moved up.” Cheng Shubai held out the soy milk. “Just the right temperature.”
Condensation slid down the cup, dripping onto the tiles between them. Qi Ye didn’t take it, instead glancing at the faint ring mark on Cheng Shubai’s finger. The silver ring at this moment rested against his own chest, hidden beneath his shirt.
“The project schedule…”
“I know.” Cheng Shubai cut him off. “Section A’s pipeline inspection was delayed. Section B’s saplings arrive tomorrow.” He stepped closer, close enough that Qi Ye caught the lingering scent of jet fuel. “Behave and rest properly.”
The corridor lights reflected cold glints on his glasses. Qi Ye stared at the reflections, remembering how in college this man always seemed composed, hiding exhaustion only visible up close.
“I won’t die.” Qi Ye reached for the soy milk, brushing his fingertips against Cheng Shubai’s hand. But suddenly, Cheng Shubai tightened his grip, holding both the cup and Qi Ye’s hand.
Warmth shot up Qi Ye’s spine.
“Let go.”
“Did you read the doctor’s orders?”
“I read them.”
“Repeat them.”
Qi Ye yanked his hand back, spilling half the soy milk. The pale liquid dripped through Cheng Shubai’s fingers, splattering across the tiles.
“You—”
Footsteps approached. A nurse on duty. Calmly, Cheng Shubai pulled out tissues and wiped his hand, as if nothing had happened. “I’ll take you back.”
“No need.” Qi Ye pressed the elevator button. “Why don’t you explain first why you came back early?”
The elevator opened. Cheng Shubai followed him in, the mirrored walls reflecting the deliberate distance between them. “The patent transfer finished ahead of schedule.”
“Really.” Qi Ye watched the floor numbers climb. “Funny, Zhou Wen’s post shows her location still in Berlin.”
The elevator jolted slightly. Cheng Shubai suddenly laughed. “You checked her posts?”
“It was pushed to me,” Qi Ye said stiffly. “She liked the official account’s update.”
The elevator doors opened. Cheng Shubai blocked the exit with his arm. “Qi Ye,” he said softly, “I came back because the monitoring device sent an alert, the plane tree’s root vitality dropped below safe levels, and your heart rate data’s been abnormal since yesterday afternoon.”
Qi Ye froze. That damned monitoring device tracked heart rate too?
“So you came back to save the tree.”
“I came back to save you.”
Morning light spilled through the glass doors, casting shadows across Cheng Shubai’s face. Qi Ye noticed dust on his shoulder, as if he had rushed straight from the construction site without even changing clothes.
The air between them felt strangely fragile. “…The soy milk spilled,” Qi Ye muttered, trying to change the subject.
“There’s more in the car.”
“The doctor said not to drink outside soy milk.”
Like a magician, Cheng Shubai pulled a thermos from his bag. “Made at home.”
Qi Ye took it and unscrewed the lid. Steam of jasmine and soy rose to his face. He sipped. The sweetness was just right. The temperature was just right. Even the thin layer of milk skin was just right.
As if the past seven years had never existed.
“Cheng Shubai,” Qi Ye suddenly looked up. “That photo in your wallet…”
“Mm?”
“Nothing.”
They walked one after the other toward the parking lot. In the morning mist, the shadow of the plane tree swayed on the asphalt, just like the summer they once hid from the rain together.
Qi Ye slipped out his phone, guiltily deleting his recent search: German divorce law procedures.
He would wait a little longer.
Wait until that damn plane tree came back to life.
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