It was raining outside, the first rain after the beginning of autumn. The wind brought a hint of chill; autumn had truly arrived.
The central air conditioning in the office building had broken down, but fortunately, the temperature was pleasant. As a result, all the office windows were open. The papers on the desks rustled in the wind, making the quietness more noticeable to Pan Xi. In truth, the office had always been like this. It was just that the air conditioning was used far more often than the windows were opened, and the lights above were always on, day and night, with no real difference from one day to the next. Time seemed like frozen amber, isolating people from the world.
Downstairs, it was a bit livelier. The open, hall-like office had pale blue partitions that were only waist-high, unable to block the sounds of laughter and ringing phones. The atmosphere was bustling and full of life.
Upstairs, where the administrative offices were, it was a battleground of hidden dangers and veiled hostility. That morning, when she had said this, Li Shengting had burst into laughter.
His laughter was captivating; his thick eyebrows fully relaxed, and the corners of his eyes and lips were filled with mirth.
This man was too handsome, a calamity to the world.
Pan Xi had known this long ago, yet she still threw herself in headfirst, like a moth to a flame.
It wasn’t without struggle—Pan Xi had once made up her mind, thinking she could end it. But the next day, he calmly presided over the meeting, while she, lost in thought, missed large portions of his speech. In the end, after the meeting, she had to borrow the secretary’s notes to copy them.
The light from the copier passed over the paper again and again, as if pressing into her heart. She stayed late, working overtime alone, until she received a text from him:
“I love you, like salt in food.”
To others, he said sweet words, but to her, his love was salty. He loved her like salt. This touch of salt was sweeter to her than any honey, and so she accepted it eagerly.
Pan Xi gradually began to believe it. In the past three years, he had changed two cars, a secretary, taken four vacations, and even moved once. The only thing that hadn’t changed, it seemed, was her.
And of course, his wife.
Pan Xi had seen her once. Looking back now, it seemed rather comical. She and Ying Xiu had gone to eat Korean barbecue and had spotted Li Shengting. Ying Xiu gently nudged her, saying, “That looks like Mr. Li.”
“I know,” she said without even lifting her eyes. “The woman beside him is his wife.”
There was a family photo in his wallet, so she recognized her. Later, Shengting brought her over, and Pan Xi calmly greeted them with a slight smile: “Mr. Li, this must be Mrs. Li.”
Not a hint of guilt.
Mrs. Li was very beautiful, delicate and fragile. She had a sharp, slender face, her eyes were captivating, and she seemed frail in her clothes. Later, Ying Xiu had laughed and said she resembled one of those beauties in Dream of the Red Chamber, the kind that would fall apart at the slightest breeze.
Her smile was faint as she said, “Miss Zou, I didn’t expect you to be so young and pretty.”
Pan Xi wasn’t sure if there was a hidden meaning in her words. Even the dullest of wives possess an uncanny sixth sense. She said nothing, and Li Shengting chuckled, “You think so too? During the first customs declaration, they all asked for Engineer Zou. When she arrived, I thought she was his secretary. Whenever I introduce her to clients, they never believe she’s our technical director.”
Pan Xi smiled and listened. That day, the naengmyeon had too much salt; it was unbearably salty. Ying Xiu called the restaurant manager, scolding him until he was apologizing profusely, offering discounts and free kimchi.
Li Shengting didn’t try to placate her. He truly loved her like salt. Too little, and life would be tasteless; too much, and it would be unbearable.
The right amount in food, though, was just perfect, like the finishing touch on a painting.
The rain outside kept falling, dampening the mood. The trees outside the window, known as French sycamores, were shedding their leaves. The leaves, like small yellow palms, thin and fragile, stuck to the ground, gradually softening as the rain soaked them.
Who knows if it will rain again tomorrow.
[The End]
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