Chapter 41 - The Strategist’s Regret
Chang Ying stepped out of the room, the soft click of the door echoing in the quiet hallway. Before leaving, he had pointed toward the stack of neatly folded towels—pristine, white, and smelling faintly of sun-dried cotton. "They’re all clean," he had said, his voice level. "I’m heading out now." He hadn't allowed his gaze to linger on her, but he didn't need to look to know where she was. He could feel the distance Tan Junzi maintained between them, a physical manifestation of the invisible wall she had spent years fortifying. She stood as far from him as the room’s dimensions would allow, like a creature wary of a predator’s sudden movement.
Once the door was closed, the muffled, rhythmic splashing of water against the bathroom tiles began to drift through the air. The sound was a catalyst for his thoughts, sending them drifting toward images he had no business entertaining. With a sharp exhale, he forced himself to move, retreating into the sanctuary of his study.
The room was dim, illuminated only by the pale moonlight and the distant, flickering neon of Tongcheng filtering through the window. He pulled out the heavy leather chair and sat, the material creaking under his weight. Reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, his fingers brushed against the cold plastic of an IC card—the natural gas card he had taken from her apartment. He pulled it out, looking at it for a moment before tossing it into a desk drawer. The sound of it hitting the wood was final. He turned the key in the lock with a decisive snap, then stood up to bury the key deep within the soil of a potted plant on his desk.
Leaning back into the chair, he finally let out a long, weary sigh, his eyes fixed on the dark skyline outside.
His return to the old residential compound the previous night hadn't been a mere whim or a simple search for a place to sleep. He still possessed a spare key to the Tan household, a relic of a shared past he refused to let go of. Early that morning, he had moved with the calculated precision of a saboteur. He had entered the apartment, flipped the main power breaker to the 'off' position, and pocketed the gas IC card. As a final touch, he had chewed a piece of gum and jammed it deep into the door’s keyhole before leaving.
It had been a meticulously laid trap. His plan was simple: Tan Junzi would discover the broken lock, find herself unable to enter or function in her own home, and be forced to seek him out for help. He had spent the morning waiting in Xinzhuang, his heart a turbulent mix of anticipation and guilt, waiting for the inevitable phone call.
But he had underestimated her. Over the years, Junzi had grown capable—perhaps too capable. She had developed a stubborn independence that both impressed and infuriated him. Was she truly so determined to avoid him that she would rather struggle alone than ask for his assistance?
The irony of the situation weighed heavily on him. The actual power outage—the one that had occurred while she was there—wasn't his doing. It was simply the reality of Tongcheng’s aging electrical grid, which had finally buckled under the power demands of a modern hairdryer.
"Man proposes, but God disposes," he murmured to the empty room. Or perhaps, in this instance, the heavens were simply playing favorites. Despite his clumsy attempts at manipulation, the universe had conspired to deliver her to his doorstep anyway.
However, the knowledge that she had been forced to endure a cold shower because of the circuit failure left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. He felt the familiar, gnawing sensation of being "eaten to death" by his own devotion—a man completely at the mercy of his own feelings for a woman who seemed intent on escaping him.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to soothe the tension gathering there. He made a silent vow to himself: when Tan Junzi finally emerged from that bathroom, he would not waver. He had already broken his own protocol by carrying her bags and being the one to initiate contact. He couldn't afford to be soft-hearted now. He had to maintain his composure, no matter what she said or did. He had gone to great lengths to bring her here; he couldn't let his own guilt ruin the opportunity.
