“You should go back too.”
After the three others left, Ji Qingyan leaned her head on one hand, saying, “I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”
“But you’re already more than eight months pregnant—you really can’t keep thinking about these things every day.”
Tao Yuan wore a bitter expression as she tried to console her:
“Even if you won’t think for yourself, you have to think about the baby.”
“I know. Don’t worry about me,” Ji Qingyan replied, “I understand Lin Yi’s situation. He won’t be in trouble. He won’t leave the baby without a father.”
Tao Yuan frowned, unsure of what to say.
She knew Ji Qingyan was using mental optimism to numb herself.
But this didn’t change anything.
No matter how capable he was, he was still human, and the brutality of war spares no one.
“Let’s not talk about it for now. Let’s go somewhere else for a walk and look at the scenery.”
“I’m a bit tired. I’ll go back and rest first.”
Ji Qingyan supported her waist as she stood up, and Tao Yuan hurried forward to help her.
“You should head back—I’ll just lie down for a while, and I’ll be fine.”
Seeing Ji Qingyan insist that she leave, Tao Yuan didn’t persist further but kept reminding her with concern before finally leaving.
Back in her room, Ji Qingyan leaned against the bed and pressed her temples constantly with her hands.
She wasn’t sure what was wrong—this severe headache had persisted for days, and only vigorous rubbing seemed to provide any relief.
But her unsettled emotions were like this headache—sometimes better, sometimes worse.
Eventually, Ji Qingyan gave up. She sat silently on the bed, letting the waves of anguish wash over her.
When the first tear fell, it turned into a torrential shower in just seconds.
Her tears flew freely, unrestrained yet eerily quiet.
At some point, Ji Qingyan picked up the phone beside her.
But she hesitated, putting it down, only to pick it up again—a battle of indecision mirroring her tormented heart.
Finally, she placed a call to her secretary.
“President Ji.”
“Help me look up Secretary Liang’s phone number.”
“Understood. I’ll send it over shortly.”
“Okay.”
After ending the call, Ji Qingyan sat silently on the bed, with her eyes closed, as though time itself had come to a stop.
A dozen or so minutes later, the secretary sent her a text—it contained a phone number.
Staring at the number, Ji Qingyan gripped her phone tightly.
Her hand trembled the whole time, and finally, she tossed the phone aside.
She leaned weakly against the bed, her lips pale and unhealthy.
But in the end, she opened her eyes and looked toward the phone she had thrown away.
She dialed the number.
…
“Hello, who is this?”
At that moment, Liang Ruoxu had set aside her work in Zhong Hai and returned to the Liang family home in Yanjing for her pregnancy.
But she still handled some important matters, her control intact.
“Hello?”
Frowning slightly, Liang Ruoxu glanced at the unfamiliar number that was still connected.
This was her private line, which was generally inaccessible to most.
She was puzzled—why wasn’t the person on the other end speaking?
“It’s me, Ji Qingyan.”
Liang Ruoxu froze, not expecting a call from Ji Qingyan.
It was a rare moment where even someone as composed as her was left speechless, unsure of how to respond.
“Hello, President Ji.”
“Do… do you have any news about him?”
“The connection from that side has been cut off, but he sent a message over a dozen hours ago. He’s safe; there’s no need to worry.”
They were silent for a few moments—neither said a word, as if unsure of what to say.