Her pet seemed to be throwing a tantrum lately.
After three days without receiving a single one of Si Jiang’s relentless, obsessive video call invitations, Zong Yan belatedly realized something was wrong.
She had been very busy. Her Portuguese studies had just reached the stage where she could handle daily conversations—and while the company mostly used English or Mandarin, being proficient in Portuguese was undoubtedly best for interfacing with clients.
Moving to a land on the opposite side of the globe meant starting everything from scratch.
Food, clothing, housing, transportation, the climate, and social customs—everything was different from her home country. Fortunately, the thing Zong Yan feared least was hardship. She adapted to life here quickly. Among the employees transferred from various regions, she was clearly the one who entered a productive work state the fastest and completed her quotas with the most excellence.
However, someone else was proving utterly unable to adapt.
From the beginning, there had been a daily bombardment of messages. If Zong Yan didn’t reply within half an hour, the man’s tone would shift from anxiety to cautiousness, and then a panic would explode, with identical messages popping up in the chat box one after another:
"I’m coming over."
"I’m coming over."
"I’m coming over."
"I’m coming over!!!"
...
He couldn't come over.
After finishing her work, Zong Yan picked up the call and walked into the bathroom.
The person on the screen had grown thin again. He was wearing a gray hoodie, lying in bed and wrapped in a quilt. His eyes were red and swollen, and there wasn't a hint of flesh left on his cheeks to pinch.
He just stared at Zong Yan through the lens, tears falling.
"Master, I can't hold on anymore. I’m coming over."
Even though Zong Yan had soothed him before going abroad and promised they wouldn't lose touch, when he was truly left alone at home, the empty rooms felt like a giant shipping container. He felt like cargo abandoned inside, nearly unable to breathe.
Even with that dog—the one he didn't particularly like—for company. (Si Jiang had been unwilling to let Bai Mao take it back.)
Two equally pitiful creatures.
But as a higher-order animal, Si Jiang felt he was the more pathetic of the two.
Zong Yan’s hair was even shorter now. Although Brasilia was on a plateau, the climate was relatively humid; short hair was more comfortable and efficient. Being in a foreign land seemed to have changed her.
Si Jiang stared longingly at the screen, the impulse in his heart growing stronger. His Master was becoming more and more charming; her temperament was more mature and cold, like a longsword no longer concealing its sharp edge. Far from the inland, she had unsheathed herself upon this vast, unfamiliar earth.
Someone would definitely try to steal her from him.
Si Jiang bit his knuckles and pleaded, "Master, I want to go find you."
Zong Yan adjusted the angle, placing her phone on the counter as she leaned over to wash her hands. "If you really want to come, then come."
"Really?!"
The man, who had been huddled in the familiar quilt, jumped up.
"Keep your voice down. It’s the middle of the night back home, isn't it?" Zong Yan reminded him.
The background was her house, and the soundproofing there wasn't great. However, the man on the other side was already so happy he couldn't hear a thing, so she didn't speak up to disturb him further.
Her gaze simply softened.
The pet had held out for about as long as she had expected.
Because of his parents' interference, Si Jiang hadn't been able to follow her abroad. He had been forced to stay in the country to deal with his formidable family. After Si Jiang’s father had once broken his bone in a rage, Zong Yan told Si Jiang to compromise for the time being and not to meet force with force. Their relationship went underground.
Si Jiang hadn't been willing. He thought that, at worst, he would just sever ties with the Si family; he didn't care about the family fortune. But things were never that simple. If the Si family wanted to make things difficult for him and Zong Yan, how much could he actually block with his current abilities?
So he had to stay, biding his time and hiding his light. He began learning the management skills he had previously been unwilling to touch, entering the family business and maneuvering carefully.
He began living the kind of busy life Zong Yan once had.
He was so exhausted he could barely breathe, teetering on the edge of a breakdown every day. His daily calls with Zong Yan were his only antidote. But the intense insecurity of not having his Master by his side was also corroding his spirit.
He was going crazy.
He couldn't hold on.
He, Si Jiang, was ultimately just a useless, decorative vase.
Zong Yan didn't want the vase she had painstakingly pieced back together to shatter again, so she let him have his way.
On the day she went to pick him up at the airport, her mood was quite strange. Zong Yan had never had an experience like this—standing at a crowded exit, waiting for a figure to come running toward her.
Si Jiang threw his suitcase aside.
He lunged into her arms.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his tall frame clinging to her like an octopus, his muscles twitching with excitement.
He had made up a lie, saying he was going to Europe for a business trip. He had bought himself a week. Flying to Brasilia took nearly thirty hours, and the return trip was the same, so he only had three days left.
Three days to nestle by his Master’s side.
The first day had to be used to overcome jet lag.
Si Jiang stayed in Zong Yan’s staff dormitory, curling himself into the quilt that was saturated with her scent, absorbing nourishment like a sick man. The nerves that had been taut ever since Zong Yan left finally relaxed, inch by inch.
"Mmh."
Half of his face was buried in the pillow. His long hair spilled across the white fabric like spreading willow branches, taking root anew.
"Master..."
Finally, he could be enveloped by this cold aura again.
Zong Yan had bought him a set of clothes. After showering, he put them on; the faint, clean scent of soap drifted from his collar. He was also wearing his collar, which had already begun to fade slightly.
Si Jiang was comfortable to the extreme. He let out a sigh and rolled over.
Hmm?
His hand brushed against a cold chain.
