Chapter 82

Clutching the letters in her hands, Ji Ran held them like her most precious treasures, completely unwilling to let go. It had taken her all these years to finally understand that someone in this world had been loving her deeply all along.

Standing by the door, the housekeeper asked softly, “Miss, are you alright?”

Seeing the young woman crying one moment and smiling the next, she felt Ji Ran must have suffered quite a shock.

Ji Ran shook her head and abruptly stood up from the floor. Having been crouching down to pick up the letters, a sudden wave of dizziness hit her as she stood up. She shook her head, “I’m fine.”

Turning around, she walked downstairs, knowing that Shen Zhi’s team had to work overtime tonight.

He was definitely still at the company, and she wanted to see him right this second.

When she reached the ground floor, the front door opened, and Pei Yuan walked in, running right into her as she rushed down, “Have you already eaten dinner?”

At the mention of this, Ji Ran’s steps faltered.

She looked at Pei Yuan, took a deep breath, and said in a low voice, “Mom, I’m not a seventeen-year-old child anymore. Could you please stop arranging things for me without my consent in the future?”

Hearing this, Pei Yuan raised an eyebrow slightly. She did not get angry at her daughter’s somewhat rebellious words, but instead let out a light laugh, “Did you not like tonight’s blind date partner?”

Her tone was relaxed and breezy, as if Ji Ran’s words had held no weight at all.

Ji Ran didn’t intend to beat around the bush with her. If there was one major merit she had learned from Pei Yuan, it was definitely getting straight to the point.

“It’s not that I don’t like this blind date partner; it’s that I already have someone I like, so it’s impossible for me to like anyone else. Please don’t arrange these meaningless blind dates for me in the future.”

Having said her piece, Ji Ran turned to leave.

However, Pei Yuan turned and called out to stop her, “Ranran, is that person you like… Shen Zhi?”

Ji Ran turned her head sharply, looking at Pei Yuan in utter astonishment. When she and Shen Zhi were together, they hadn’t told anyone. After all, they worked in the same company, and even just to avoid any professional fallout, they wouldn’t announce it so quickly.

She couldn’t figure out how Pei Yuan had found out so fast.

“You don’t need to wonder how I found out so quickly. As a mother, I simply want to give my daughter some advice.”

Ji Ran suddenly burst into laughter. She looked at Pei Yuan with laughter filling her eyes and brows. Even though Pei Yuan lacked the memories of her time going back to seventeen, her words and intentions were identical to before.

When she was seventeen, Pei Yuan had used the high-sounding excuse of preventing underage romance to stop her.

Now that she was long an adult—an adult fully capable of taking control of her own life—she simply tried to stop her from a different angle.

Ji Ran nodded slightly and asked softly, “What advice do you intend to give me? Are you going to tell me that his mother has a mental illness, and for the sake of my own happiness, I should eliminate this potential hazard? Or are you going to tell me that he’s one of the heirs to the Hengchi Group, and since the inheritance rights are currently wrapped in uncertainty, I’ll be dragged into the Hengchi Group’s gladiatorial arena if I stay with him?”

These were all words Pei Yuan had once said to her, and now Ji Ran was returning every single sentence to her, word for word.

Listening to every phrase she uttered, it seemed as if Ji Ran had climbed into her head and read all her thoughts bare. Yet Pei Yuan did not give up just because of these words.

“Ranran, since you know my reasons for opposing it, those two points alone are entirely enough for me to object to you being together.”

Ji Ran felt that perhaps she had truly been too obedient in the past, never letting Pei Yuan experience the harsh reality of a rebellious teenager, which had allowed her to develop this arrogant, dictatorial personality—making Pei Yuan feel that as long as she uttered a single word, Ji Ran had to obey it completely.

Ji Ran felt there was no longer any need to pretend to be a docile daughter. Her voice turned cold and detached, “Then let me inform you as well: your objection is invalid.”

With that sentence finished, Ji Ran walked straight out the front door.

Having driven home earlier, she got into her car and headed straight for the company. Along the way, even though her eyes were fixed on the road ahead, various scenes kept flashing across her mind.

Finally, the car came to a stop in the company’s underground garage, and Ji Ran went straight upstairs.

The building, usually bustling and noisy during the day, was now completely devoid of human activity, turning extraordinarily quiet. Even the elevators, which usually ran nonstop, were resting quietly on an upper floor.

Ji Ran pressed the floor button, and a few seconds later, the elevator doors slowly slid open.

When she reached the office, it was just as she had expected: the lights in the conference room were on, and clamorous voices drifted out from time to time, making it clear everyone was busy.

She had led projects herself before. When reaching a critical juncture, forget about not leaving at nine o’clock—staying up until two or three in the morning was a common occurrence.

Ji Ran stood outside the conference room, ultimately suppressing the urge to knock on the door.

Instead, she simply sat down at a desk directly opposite the conference room to wait. This room directly faced the open-plan office, so as soon as they stepped out, Shen Zhi would definitely be able to see her.

Sitting in the chair, Ji Ran pulled the letters out of her bag once more.

She read them slowly, one by one. If Xia Jiangming hadn’t brought this up as an amusing story today, she might never have remembered these letters.

They were like seashells scattered across the starry river of memory.

Once, she had placed them within her sight, considering them her most precious memories. But time was too powerful; it always managed to make people forget the important memories they had once held close to their hearts.

In the end, those memories gradually crumbled into dust and scattered in all directions.

When she had preserved these letters back then, wasn’t it simply because she felt they were a rare and interesting memory from her high school life? A sudden letter from a stranger, issuing her a Sudoku challenge.

Thinking back on it now, she had actually speculated back then whether this might be the doing of a boy who liked her.

It turned out her guess was entirely correct.

As Ji Ran read through these letters, the work in the conference room showed no signs of wrapping up. For some reason, she suddenly felt extraordinarily exhausted. As she stared at the conference room, drowsiness slowly crept into her mind.

Waiting always made time feel so agonizingly long and dull.

Just as she reached out to cover another yawn, feeling a slight edge of irritability in her heart, the hand covering her lips suddenly froze.

A wave of intense, overwhelming heartache unexpectedly surged straight into her heart.

Two hours. Sitting here waiting for him for just two hours had made her feel so tired and bored.

But what about him?

During those long, grueling years, just how long had Shen Zhi waited for her? He had been willing to endure endless loneliness, waiting for her to discover his existence.

Suddenly, her heart ached terribly for Shen Zhi.

It ached so, so deeply.

Finally, the door to the conference room was pushed open gently.

The first two people who walked out caught sight of the figure sitting at the office desk outside and jumped in fright—especially since her head was lowered into her hands with her long hair draped over her shoulders, creating an undeniably spooky effect.

Their startled gasps terrified the people coming out behind them.

Once someone brave took a closer look, they whispered, “Is that… Director Ji?”

Before long, someone recognized that it really was Ji Ran.

They exchanged glances, bewildered. Why was Director Ji at the office instead of resting at home in the middle of the night? And she kept her face buried in her hands—was she crying?

Just then, Shen Zhi, who had just gotten up to head out, saw that his subordinates hadn’t scattered to go home as usual, but were instead gathering at the conference room door.

“What’s wrong?” Shen Zhi glanced outside.

In the next second, he pushed through the crowd and went straight toward Ji Ran, who was sitting in the chair.

Walking over, he bent down slightly and called out in a low voice, “Ranran.”

Ji Ran had been immersed in her own emotions and hadn’t heard them coming out. It wasn’t until Shen Zhi called her name that she raised her head, looking through tear-blurred eyes at the man’s handsome face, which was currently laced with anxiety.

She suddenly stood up, reached out, and threw her arms around Shen Zhi’s neck.

At this sight, everyone standing behind them was utterly stunned. These two??

Who in the entire company didn’t know that Ji Ran and Shen Zhi notoriously got along like oil and water? Especially Director Ji—every time she saw Director Shen, she looked like she wanted to eat him alive.

There were even female employees who admired Ji Ran for being so single-mindedly focused on her career, remaining completely unmoved by Director Shen’s country-ruining good looks—not even his handsome face could buy her over.

And now, what on earth was this situation?

Holding her close, Shen Zhi didn’t care about their thoughts at all. His palm gently stroked Ji Ran’s back, his voice tender and soft, “Ranran, what happened?”

Ji Ran sniffled slightly and said in a low voice, “I know now, and I remembered. The letters you wrote to me.”

The letters he wrote to her?

Shen Zhi’s body went slightly rigid. Of course he remembered those letters, because her reply letters were still kept in his study to this day—they were his most precious memories, his cherished treasures.

Even if the envelopes had grown yellowed and old, he still remembered the sheer joy he felt upon receiving her replies back then.

Shen Zhi had never previously felt that there was anything in his life worth remembering for a lifetime. Yet everything concerning her was something he treasured, including those letters.

Ji Ran released him, cupping the letters she had laid out on the desk and holding them up to him, her voice choked with quiet sobs, “I’m sorry, I should have realized sooner.”

Should have realized that you were Xiao Jing.

Should have realized that the person you loved had been me all along.

And should have realized that for all these years, you had been waiting for me.

Ji Ran’s heart throbbed with unbearable pain, and she suddenly burst into tears, “Ah Zhi, what should I do? It hurts so much. My heart aches so badly for you.”

Because she couldn’t bear to imagine how many years he had waited, or how much disappointment and loneliness he had endured.

Shen Zhi’s heart was suddenly filled to the brim with that unique sensation that only existed when he was with her. In his memories of returning to seventeen, she had protected him time and time again just like this.

No one in the whole world was allowed to pick on Shen Zhi, because her heart would ache for him.

A girl who clearly looked so slender and soft turned out to be as tough as a female warrior whenever she was protecting him.

Not only would she cheer for him at the top of her lungs, but she would also tell him with a reluctant, tearful voice: What should I do, Ah Zhi? My heart aches so badly for you.

Suddenly, at this very moment, Shen Zhi felt that ten years of waiting had been entirely worth it.

Perhaps it was more than ten years.

From the day Yuan Jing left, he had longed for the day he could return to this girl’s side, listening to her laugh and listening to her mutter her small complaints.

He had waited far too long for this moment.

Fortunately, time had not let him down in the end.

He had finally gotten his wish.

In the early morning, as a playful ray of sunlight snuck through a crack in the curtains, the person still fast asleep in her dream suddenly shifted. She reached out and slapped her own face.

With a soft smack, the man beside her, who had been tickling her cheek with her long hair, was suddenly left unable to laugh or cry.

Shen Zhi really hadn’t expected Ji Ran to be so ruthless even to herself. Likely annoyed by the disturbance, she had slapped her own face while half-asleep.

A faint red mark appeared on her fair cheek.

Shen Zhi let out a sigh and slowly began rubbing her cheek for her. The girl, who had her back turned to him, turned docile at this moment, actually rolling over to burrow into his arms.

A place that was already prone to morning arousal suddenly showed subtle signs of lifting under the gentle rubbing and crowding of her long legs.

Shen Zhi decided not to act like a gentleman anymore.

He lowered his head and nuzzled against her neck. After a full night, the stubble on his chin had sprouted slightly, feeling a bit prickly as it rubbed against her skin.

Ji Ran had been so exhausted that her limbs didn’t even want to twitch. It was as if Shen Zhi wanted to make up for everything they had missed in the past.

Last night, she had listened to his scalding, hurried breath unevenly sounding beside her ear, those ambiguous, muffled groans stirring all her senses.

Even in her haze, she had thought to herself: So a man’s voice sounds this good when making noise.

Ji Ran had genuinely cried last night. At first it was from pain, and ultimately it was from sheer exhaustion. She was tired to the point where she couldn’t even lift a finger, yet even when her voice turned hoarse from crying out, he still refused to let her off.

In her annoyance, Ji Ran decided she would never let Shen Zhi onto her bed ever again.

He really behaved like a dog.

Shen Zhi, on the other hand, knew how to make amends. Once he was done, he carefully carried her into his million-dollar bathtub. Right—when he had this bathtub installed, Xia Jiangming, who came to visit his house, had declared that he must have lost his mind.

In truth, Shen Zhi knew he was quite mad. The reason he insisted on using this bathtub back then was because he thought that if Ji Ran ever appeared in his home one day, this bathtub would be large enough for the two of them.

Back then, Ji Ran had just returned from abroad, and the look in her eyes whenever she saw him was dripping with murder.

Only Shen Zhi would dare to indulge in such wild fantasies.

Yet when he actually carried Ji Ran into the tub, intending to give her a break, watching the gentle ripples of water glide over her smooth, delicate skin proved too much for him.

Stimulated by the tactile sensation, Shen Zhi couldn’t hold back.

It was ten o’clock in the morning now. Fortunately, today was Saturday, so neither of them had to go to work.

Shen Zhi knew he still had a meeting to attend, but even his assistant didn’t dare call him—likely knowing that their boss had just enjoyed a night of passion.

No one had the guts to disturb him.

Ji Ran finally opened her eyes sluggishly, opening one first, then closing it, before quietly cracking open a slit to peek at him secretly.

This was the first time they had woken up in the same bed.

Ji Ran had stayed at Shen Zhi’s house before, but forget about a single bed—they hadn’t even slept in the same room.

The moment she moved, the man in front of her let out a low, chuckling laugh. Ji Ran warned him with a touch of annoyance, “Shen Zhi, don’t blame me for not telling you in advance—I am not interested right now.”

Yes, absolutely zero interest.

From last night to this morning, she had been turned over and tossed about like a human ragdoll, arranged in every imaginable posture.

She was angry.

Suddenly, Ji Ran’s phone rang—not a ringtone, but vibrating. Shen Zhi reached over, picked it up, glanced at the screen, and asked in a low voice, “You have a follow-up appointment today?”

Although Ji Ran had been cleared for discharge by the doctor, she had been in a car accident after all, and had been in a coma for so long.

Therefore, the doctor had scheduled a follow-up checkup for her.

Shen Zhi glanced at the time—two o’clock in the afternoon—and chuckled softly, “It’s fine, we still have some time.”

“Shen Zhi!” Ji Ran snapped in annoyance.

Pinching her chin, Shen Zhi gave a half-smile, “Call me husband.”

Call your sister!!!

Ji Ran felt she was definitely being far too easy to talk to. But just as she reached out her hand, she was swept up into Shen Zhi’s arms, and within seconds, her struggles dissolved into muffled whimpers.

It was nearly one o’clock by the time Ji Ran stepped out the door. Shen Zhi had cooked lunch for her, which barely managed to soften her frosty expression.

The hospital she went to was still the one where she had been hospitalized during her coma.

Upon arriving, Ji Ran went in for her examination while Shen Zhi sat outside waiting. When she came out, however, he was nowhere to be found. Ji Ran wasn’t anxious, thinking he had probably either gone to the restroom or stepped away to take a call.

Wasn’t there a famous saying? Women are used like men, and men are used like livestock.

Investment banking was the industry that executed this saying to its absolute fullest.

Especially in top-tier firms like theirs, there were countless graduates from Peking University and Tsinghua University every year, and graduates from world top-10 universities weren’t considered rare at all.

As Ji Ran stood there waiting, she ran into a young nurse who looked familiar from her hospital stay.

The nurse took the initiative to greet Ji Ran, saying happily, “Miss Ji, are you here for a follow-up?”

Ji Ran nodded.

The nurse suddenly smiled, asking with intense curiosity, “Are you and Mr. Shen together now?”

Mr. Shen?

Realizing she probably meant Shen Zhi, Ji Ran asked with some surprise, “You know Shen Zhi?”

“Of course! When you were in a coma, aside from your parents, Mr. Shen came the most frequently,” the nurse thought for a moment and shook her head, “Actually, even your parents didn’t come as often as Mr. Shen. He was here almost every single day.”

“You’re saying he was here every day?” Ji Ran’s breathing tightened slightly.

She raised her head to look at the nurse, somewhat dazed.

The nurse was surprised as well, but then remembered previous events. The nurses at their station had been gossiping about whether the two were star-crossed lovers broken up by external pressure, because otherwise, subsequent events made little sense.

The nurse felt she ought to lend Shen Zhi a helping hand.

She said, “When you were in a coma, Mr. Shen was so good to you. All of us saw it with our own eyes. He not only read to you, but also massaged your legs. Sometimes he would sit in your ward for half a day doing nothing, just staring at you blankly.”

“Back then, we actually pitied him quite a bit, terrified that you might never wake up. Think about how pitiful it would be to leave him all alone,” realizing her words were getting a bit off-track, the nurse quickly brought up the main point, “It’s just that after you woke up, he stopped coming to the hospital altogether, which we all found quite strange.”

“Thank you.” Ji Ran knew the other party wasn’t telling her these things out of mere curiosity.

Perhaps she wanted to let her know everything Shen Zhi had done for her—at the very least, ensuring she was aware.

It turned out that while she was in a coma, he had been by her side all along.

The nurse shook her head, “Miss Ji, please don’t mind my meddling. I really think you two are exceptionally well-matched, and when you were sick, Mr. Shen stayed by your side the entire time. So I hope you two will be happy forever.”

Perhaps precisely because the nurse was still young, she dared to boldly speak out with words that others might view as nosy.

Ji Ran looked at her earnestly and said softly, “Thank you. We will definitely be happy.”

The nurse pumped her fist in an encouraging “you can do it” gesture, then quickly ran off to attend to other patients.

When Shen Zhi returned, Ji Ran was sitting in a chair waiting for him.

She watched the patients coming and going in the hallway—some accompanied by family, some clearly with boyfriends or girlfriends, and the most heartbreaking ones coming all alone.

Shen Zhi sat down beside her, asking softly, “Finished with the checkup?”

“Mm, I need to wait half an hour for the results.” Ji Ran looked at him and suddenly asked, “Shen Zhi, have you ever wondered why, out of everyone, only you and I remember those memories?”

Shen Zhi hadn’t expected her to ask this question, but he thought about it seriously nonetheless.

It was just that he had never been able to explain this matter using common sense.

“Could it be because you were the only one staying by my side every day, and combined with me being in a coma, our brainwaves somehow suddenly synced up?” Ji Ran looked at him with utmost seriousness.

Shen Zhi was stunned by her wild imagination and said helplessly, “Ranran, not everything in this world has a rational explanation.”

“Besides, it wasn’t just me staying by your side every day. Your caregiver and the nurses at the hospital were with you frequently as well,” Shen Zhi tried to comfort her, afraid she would get stuck in a logical dead end.

Yet the moment he finished speaking, Ji Ran looked at him and said, “So you really were at the hospital staying by my side every day, weren’t you?”

Only then did Shen Zhi realize that Ji Ran had set a trap for him.

How could she possibly believe in bullcrap explanations like synced brainwaves? She simply wanted to confirm whether he had been staying by her side at the hospital every day.

Shen Zhi felt somewhat helpless; he truly hadn’t expected Ji Ran to pull a move like this on him.

Ji Ran had no intention of letting him off easy, asking, “Why didn’t you tell me? It was you who kept taking care of me and staying by my side—why didn’t you ever say a word?”

Shen Zhi froze slightly.

Why hadn’t he said anything at first? It was because the dynamic between them had been complicated. Their relationship had previously appeared adversarial, and furthermore, he couldn’t be certain whether Ji Ran still retained those memories.

He was afraid that all of it was merely a grand dream of his own.

That upon waking, everything would turn to dust.

Shen Zhi said helplessly, “I was afraid you wouldn’t remember what happened between us.”

“And what about later? After I remembered, why didn’t you confess to me then?” Ji Ran wasn’t about to be casually brushed off. Yes, he was afraid at first, and Ji Ran could understand that.

Because she herself had been caught in that same uneasy state of uncertainty.

But later, after they had laid everything bare, Shen Zhi had plenty of time to tell her.

Ji Ran asked softly, “Was it because of my mother?”

A faint, bitter smile appeared in Shen Zhi’s expression. It was indeed related to Pei Yuan. He hadn’t expected that when they were seventeen, Pei Yuan had opposed them so fiercely, and at twenty-seven, her opposition remained unchanged.

His complex family background and his mother’s history of mental illness had been Pei Yuan’s reasons for opposition from beginning to end.

Ji Ran: “Shen Zhi, I’m not seventeen anymore. I’m twenty-seven. Even if I go register our marriage with you right now, no one can interfere with me. I can decide my own life.”

“And I can decide what kind of man I want to love.”

You are that worthy man.

Finally, Shen Zhi nodded gently and asked, “Ranran, are you willing to come with me to meet my mother?”

Even now, when recalling the words Yuan Sheng had once said to him, Shen Zhi still couldn’t find peace in his heart.

—Xiao Jing, you must never bring the person you like to meet me in the future. Absolutely not.

She was afraid she would drag him down, afraid that the girl he liked would care about her history of mental illness. But Shen Zhi believed that Ji Ran wouldn’t care.

In the past, he had never thought of taking anyone to meet Yuan Sheng.

Now, he had someone he wanted to take to her.

Ji Ran blinked her eyes and said softly, “Shen Zhi, is this your subtle way of proposing to me?”