🌸 Chapter 8: Resonance of Heartbeats
Qi Ye stood beneath the phoenix tree, his fingertips brushing over the fresh interface of the monitoring device embedded in the trunk.
The cold touch of metal reminded him of the unfinished IV at the hospital. Three days had passed, and that person hadn’t appeared again, leaving only a half-drunk cup of jasmine soy milk and a room filled with lingering cedar scent.
“Qi Gong, the data sync is back to normal!” Xiao Lin came running with a tablet. The screen displayed a live update of the root vitality curve. “President Cheng remotely adjusted the monitoring parameters; the error rate is now below 0.3%.”
Qi Ye glanced over, his eyes landing on the notes in the corner: “Recommended: responsible person to supply 500ml warm water daily; automatic alert if heart rate abnormal.”
“He sure knows how to tweak things,” Qi Ye scoffed. “Why not just strap a health bracelet onto me while he’s at it?”
Xiao Lin shrank back, not daring to reply.
During lunch break, Qi Ye sat in the temporary construction office, checking blueprints. The air conditioning hummed, but it couldn’t chase away the midsummer heat. He loosened his collar, and the silver-ringed necklace slipped from his shirt, catching tiny shards of sunlight.
A knock came at the door.
“Come in.”
It wasn’t a food delivery worker who entered, it was Zhou Wen. Today she wasn’t wearing her signature red dress. Instead, she wore crisp trousers and flats, carrying a three-tiered insulated lunchbox.
“President Cheng asked me to deliver this,” she said, placing the box on the table. “He said your stomach bleeding makes it unsuitable for takeout.”
Qi Ye stared at the familiar phoenix leaf motif on the lunchbox, the exact same design as in Cheng Shu Bai’s office.
“Where is he?”
“In a meeting at headquarters,” Zhou Wen shrugged. “Director Li and the others won’t let up on the ancient tree treatment issue. They say the over-budget expense must be deducted from the design fee.”
Qi Ye slammed the blueprint shut. “Who insisted on cutting the budget at the expense of the phoenix tree in the first place?”
“So, he went to argue,” Zhou Wen said, blinking. “Before he won, he told me to make sure you ate first.”
The top layer of the lunchbox contained yam and pork rib soup, the second layer stir-fried vegetables, and the third—Qi Ye paused as he lifted the lid—was rice shaped like little suns, with a compass design carved from carrot beside it.
Latitude and longitude intertwined.
A favorite trick from his university days.
“Did he make this?” Qi Ye asked.
“No way,” Zhou Wen laughed. “President Cheng’s culinary skills stop at instant noodles with an egg. He got this specially made from the private restaurant below your building.”
Qi Ye picked up the chopsticks, then put them down again. “Tell him to stop wasting effort on useless things.”
“Whether it’s useless or not, you have to try to know,” Zhou Wen said, glancing meaningfully at the silver chain around his neck.
By evening, a sudden downpour began.
Qi Ye stood under the makeshift shelter on the construction site, watching raindrops bounce off the phoenix tree leaves. The monitoring device beeped steadily, then displayed a new message:
Sesame Tangyuan: Root vitality restored to safe threshold, but soil moisture high. Recommend digging a drainage channel.
Qi Ye was about to respond when footsteps came from behind.
Cheng Shu Bai walked toward him, holding a black umbrella. His trousers were soaked at the hems, raindrops clung to his dark gray coat, and he carried a toolbox in his left hand. His right ring finger was still bare, the mark of the silver ring glaring in the rain.
“I’ll dig the drainage channel.”
Qi Ye raised an eyebrow. “President Cheng, doing manual labor personally?”
“Not labor,” Cheng Shu Bai said, putting down the toolbox. “Don’t want you to get wet.”
The rain intensified.
Qi Ye watched him crouch, assembling the measuring device with practiced ease, the hem of his coat dragging through mud without a hint of discomfort. Seven years ago, this spoiled young master had hated even touching model glue, now he knelt calmly in the storm, digging a drainage trench.
“You…”
“Stand back,” Cheng Shu Bai didn’t look up. “The water will overflow.”
Qi Ye didn’t move. Rainwater seeped past the shelter, drenching one shoulder. Suddenly, Cheng Shu Bai pulled him behind himself, taking the brunt of the rain.
The white shirt clung to his back, revealing the contours of his shoulder blades.
Qi Ye’s breath caught.
Cheng Shu Bai immediately turned back to continue digging, as if the instinctive protective move had never happened.
“Why did you come back early?” Qi Ye asked suddenly.
The sound of the shovel hitting the mud paused for a moment.
“The monitor alarmed.”
“Just that?”
Cheng Shu Bai looked up, rain dripping along his jawline. “What else? What else would make me… come back early?” The last four words fell heavy, almost teasing.
Qi Ye didn’t answer. He tugged at the silver chain around his neck; the ring caught the light in the rain, flashing mischievously. “Is this it? A seven-year-late souvenir?”
Cheng Shu Bai stepped closer. Rain formed a transparent barrier between them, close enough for Qi Ye to see droplets hanging from his lashes.
“It is,” Cheng Shu Bai said, voice low and mixed with rain, almost inaudible. “The graduation gift I owe you.”
Shouts from the construction crew rang out in the distance. Someone shone a flashlight toward them. Cheng Shu Bai took half a step back, restoring the safe distance, as if their closeness had never happened.
Qi Ye gripped the ring, the metal cutting into his palm.
Suddenly, the monitor beeped urgently, red flashing across the screen:
Alert: Heart rate abnormality detected—
Cheng Shu Bai turned to him, eyes deep behind his glasses, unfathomable in the rainy night.
“Now,” he said softly, “you know why I came back early.”
Rain slid down his brow, scattering into tiny prisms in the monitor’s red glare.
Qi Ye’s Adam’s apple moved, the alert sounds magnified in his ears. Each “beep” felt like a hammer on his ribs. He instinctively stepped back, pressing his lower back against the rough trunk of the phoenix tree.
“The device is broken,” he said, thinking quickly.
Cheng Shu Bai reached up and silenced the alarm, droplets falling from his wrist into the mud. His soaked shirt subtly revealed a faint scar beneath the collarbone, the one from senior year when a flying acrylic board had grazed him while he shielded Qi Ye during model building.
“Yes, broken,” Cheng Shu Bai said, voice mingled with rain, emotionless. “I’ll have it replaced tomorrow.”
Flashlights approached, the crew running over. “President Cheng, Director Li and the others are at the site. They want to inspect the ancient tree treatment.”
Cheng Shu Bai’s expression hardened. “Take them to Zone A,” he told the foreman. “Tell them I’m digging a drainage channel and can’t be disturbed.”
Once they left, Qi Ye realized his fingers gripping the ring were white from pressure. He readjusted the chain around his neck; the instant the metal touched his skin, the monitor screen lit up:
Heart rate: 112 bpm
Status: Abnormal
Qi Ye slammed the cover shut.
At two a.m., Qi Ye saw Cheng Shu Bai’s Maybach below the apartment. The window rolled halfway down, revealing his tired profile. His left hand rested on the wheel, ring finger bare, while his right pinched the bridge of his nose.
Qi Ye tapped the glass. “Late-night inspection, times three.”
“Passing by,” Cheng Shu Bai said, offering a thermos. “Ginger tea.”
The cup retained warmth. Qi Ye twisted the lid, inhaling the spicy-sweet steam. He stared at the cup and laughed softly. “Did you taste it first?”
“Checked the temperature,” Cheng Shu Bai replied softly. “Too hot otherwise.”
Streetlights cast fragmented light across his glasses. Qi Ye drank deeply, warmth spreading from throat to stomach.
“Director Li and the others gone?”
“Yes.” Cheng Shu Bai rubbed the wheel absentmindedly.
The night sky after the rain was unusually clear. Qi Ye leaned against the car, the silver ring pressed against his chest, warming slightly. He wanted to ask if Cheng Shu Bai had won the argument, wanted to remark on the wet coat. but instead, he took another sip of ginger tea.
“The monitor…”
“Replaced tomorrow.”
“I mean-” Qi Ye slammed the thermos onto the roof. “You saw the heart rate readings.”
Cheng Shu Bai’s knuckles tapped lightly on the wheel, the metal gleaming in the streetlight. Night wind blew Qi Ye’s hair across his forehead. He leaned toward the window, close enough to see the water droplets on Cheng Shu Bai’s lashes. “Cheng Shu Bai, what exactly do you want?”
The scent of cedar mixed with rain filled the car. Cheng Shu Bai slowly lifted his head. His eyes behind the glasses were calm, like the sea after a storm.
“I want you alive.”
“I want you to eat on time, sleep, take your medicine.”
“I want that ring…” His gaze landed on the silver chain at Qi Ye’s collar. “Returned to its owner.”
Ambulance sirens wailed in the distance, fading as they approached. Qi Ye unconsciously fidgeted with the leather stitching on the car door. The monitor alarm seemed to echo in his ears.
“Now it’s back,” he said with a bitter laugh. “Then what?”
Cheng Shu Bai unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned over, and pressed the passenger door lock. “Get in.”
“What?”
“Going somewhere.”
Qi Ye didn’t move. “Talk first. I still have—”
“Zone A inspection delayed, Zone B seedlings arrive in the afternoon,” Cheng Shu Bai said calmly. “You have seven hours and twenty-eight minutes free.”
Night wind blew phoenix leaves onto the roof with soft taps. Qi Ye finally opened the door and slid in.
“Seatbelt,” Cheng Shu Bai reminded.
Qi Ye deliberately ignored it, watching as Cheng Shu Bai leaned over to fasten it. Their breaths mingled in the confined space, the scent of ginger and cedar intertwining.
“Satisfied?” Cheng Shu Bai said, securing the belt but holding his gaze.
If the monitor were here, it would go wild. Qi Ye turned away. “Drive.”
The Maybach entered the night. In the rearview mirror, a phoenix leaf swirled and landed where they had stood.
Crossing the bridge, Qi Ye couldn’t help asking, “Where are we going?”
Cheng Shu Bai tapped the wheel lightly. The GPS showed twelve kilometers to the old suburban airport.
“Addicted to teasing?” Qi Ye raised an eyebrow.
Cheng Shu Bai’s lips curved faintly. “Afraid you’d jump out.”
Neon lights thinned, streetlights cast moving reflections on the windshield. Qi Ye pulled out his phone, the construction group chat displaying today’s progress: the phoenix tree had sprouted new shoots.
“Why did Director Li suddenly check the tree?”
“His nephew’s design firm wants to take over Phase II,” Cheng Shu Bai said, changing lanes, watch glinting in the night. “They said our plan was ‘too sentimental.’”
Qi Ye snorted. “Might as well say you favor family over fairness.”
The car slowed. Cheng Shu Bai glanced at him. “Favor family?”
“Isn’t it?” Qi Ye pointed to the heart rate monitoring app. “Using project equipment to track the contractor’s health, clever move.”
Cheng Shu Bai swerved slightly, stopping in the emergency lane. Airport floodlights bathed his silhouette in silver.
“Qi Ye,” he said, removing his glasses, pressing his fingers to his forehead. “Back then, the advisor sent me to Berlin for a joint project—three months, they said.”
Qi Ye’s breath caught.
“The notice of my father’s critical illness came suddenly. I didn’t even return to the dorm,” Cheng Shu Bai said softly. “By the time I handled family matters and came back for you, Sen Ye told me you’d resigned and gone to Shenzhen.”
A plane roared overhead, drowning his last words. Qi Ye saw his lips moving but couldn’t hear.
“What?”
Cheng Shu Bai suddenly leaned closer.
The cedar scent hit, Qi Ye’s back sinking into the leather seat. Cheng Shu Bai’s hand rested near his ear, their noses almost touching.
“I said—” his warm breath brushed his lips, “I’ve been looking for you.”
The plane roared away, leaving silence in the car. Qi Ye could hear his own heart pounding, and if the monitor were here, it would explode.
“Liar,” he whispered hoarsely. “Zhou Wen said you rose fast at Huan Yu.”
Cheng Shu Bai chuckled softly, leaning back. “Yes, because acquiring Sen Ye was the first motion I proposed.”
The GPS warned “You’ve deviated from the route.” Qi Ye realized they had been stopped too long. Cheng Shu Bai restarted the car, sleeve brushing his hand, leaving a lingering heat.
The airport runway loomed ahead, the abandoned control tower dotted with lights. Cheng Shu Bai stopped outside the fence, pulled two cups of coffee from the trunk—one Americano, one latte with a ginkgo leaf design.
“You made this?” Qi Ye asked, taking the latte.
“Yes,” Cheng Shu Bai leaned on the hood. “Zhou Wen said gifts should be made personally.”
Qi Ye almost choked. “Does she know you—”
“Yes,” Cheng Shu Bai said, watching planes land. “Her fiancé won her over with handmade chocolate.”
Night wind lifted Qi Ye’s shirt, the silver ring warming against his collarbone. He remembered senior year, when Cheng Shu Bai had brought him onto the late-night field, pointing out the variable star in Orion’s Belt.
“So now what?” Qi Ye shook the coffee cup. “Cheng Shu Bai, trying to collect a debt with a latte?”
Cheng Shu Bai straightened, stepping closer. Qi Ye backed against the cold fence.
“Not collecting debt,” Cheng Shu Bai said, wiping coffee from his lips, fingers lingering half a second. “Chasing you.”
A plane took off in the distance, light sweeping over their pressed-together forms. Qi Ye grabbed Cheng Shu Bai’s wrist. The monitor app lit up sharply:
Heart rate: 128 bpm
Advice: Seek medical attention or stop current activity
Cheng Shu Bai glanced, then laughed. He fastened another watch onto Qi Ye’s wrist; the display immediately began monitoring a new heartbeat:
Heart rate: 131 bpm
Status: Resonating
Qi Ye stared at the numbers, Cheng Shu Bai’s warmth lingering on the metal strap like an invisible imprint.
Heart rate: 132 bpm
Status: Synchronized
The metal fence pressed into Qi Ye’s back. He could feel the rise and fall of Cheng Shu Bai’s chest with every breath. The night wind carried the scent of aviation fuel across the runway, dispersing the last warmth from the coffee cups.
“Monitor…” Qi Ye’s Adam’s apple moved.
Cheng Shu Bai’s hand remained near his ear, the sleeve brushing the metal fence, creating faint friction sounds. “Completely broken,” he said.
Ground staff with flashlights passed by. Their overlapping silhouettes were illuminated briefly before disappearing. Qi Ye suddenly grabbed Cheng Shu Bai’s tie and yanked it down.
The coffee cup toppled onto the asphalt, dark liquid snaking toward the drainage channel.
“Your heart rate’s too fast,” Qi Ye whispered.
Cheng Shu Bai’s gaze darkened in the night. “So is yours.”
Qi Ye recalled a physics lesson from university about resonance: when two objects share the same frequency, even minor vibrations can trigger intense oscillations.
Now, their hearts pounded at exactly the same frequency, colliding violently in their chests.
“Cheng Shu Bai,” Qi Ye grasped the tie tighter, “do you know why I canceled my phone number seven years ago?”
The roar of planes overhead drowned the world around them. Cheng Shu Bai leaned closer, his nose almost touching Qi Ye’s.
“Why?”
“Because…” Qi Ye’s breath brushed over his lips, “I was afraid I would end up calling you across the ocean every day.”
The watch on Qi Ye’s wrist suddenly erupted in urgent alerts:
Warning: dual heart rate exceeding safe threshold
Advice: stop current activity immediately
Cheng Shu Bai ignored the warnings. He cupped the back of Qi Ye’s neck. The airport’s control tower floodlights swept across the last half-inch between them.
“Now I’m giving you what I couldn’t seven years ago,” Cheng Shu Bai rasped.
Their lips met. Qi Ye tasted the lingering bitterness of coffee. The silver ring slipped from his collar and hovered between them, casting a faint arc of light.
The distant airport broadcasted an incoming flight, but their hearts thumped in perfect resonance in the darkness like two phoenix trees entwining roots, finally reaching the sunshine after a storm.
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