The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 53

The calm, windless snowfall was perfect for photography.

That evening, New Year’s Eve photos flooded social media, with three or four hashtags dominating the trending topics.

The television broadcasted cheerful New Year’s Eve performances, with celebrities on stage and fans cheering below. In the city’s central square, fireworks were set off every hour, each display as lively and boisterous as the last.

But the festive atmosphere had no place in the Seven Stars Hotel.

Cen Xiao had two cups of mulled wine reheated and delivered to the Changheng Hotel across the street.

The server confirmed repeatedly, “You’re not going back inside? If you do, you’ll need someone on the guest list to accompany you.”

Cen Xiao thought of the faces he’d seen at the association gathering and smirked. “No, I’m not going back.”

He had gathered all the information he needed. The rest of the night’s performance could be left to the skilled actors.

The front desk staff at the Changheng Hotel watched as Cen Xiao entered, followed by a server from the Seven Stars Hotel delivering the expensive mulled wine. The server promptly returned to the Seven Stars Hotel after completing the delivery.

The price of those two cups of wine was nearly equivalent to a night’s stay at the Changheng Hotel.

It wasn’t the first time tonight that someone from the Seven Stars Hotel had delivered items across the street. Earlier, a middle-aged man had brought a carefully packed meal, claiming it was takeout, though the presentation was finer than most restaurant dishes.

What sort of peculiar habits did these two guests have? Reliving bittersweet memories?

Cen Xiao entered the room to find Li Rong standing by the window, face pressed against the glass as he gazed outside.

The window was slightly ajar, and the room was nearly as cold as the outdoors.

Cen Xiao used his elbow to turn on the lights, flooding the room with brightness, and casually asked, “What are you looking at?”

Li Rong replied unhurriedly, “Your footprints.”

His response was matter-of-fact, with no extra thought behind it.

In his previous life, Li Rong had never truly observed Cen Xiao. He had to admit that while he always appeared cold and composed, his thoughts had long since skewed toward extremes.

He had never dared seek professional help, but he knew that after everything his family had been through, it was almost impossible for him to maintain a healthy state of mind.

Often, he was like a wary hedgehog, instinctively raising his sharp quills and sealing himself off entirely.

Still, many times, he could sense Cen Xiao’s barely concealed hostility and roughness, as well as his uncontrollable tenderness.

Instinctive reactions are hard to hide.

In his previous life, Li Rong’s anxiety and pressure left him in an extremely unhealthy state of mind, with sleepless nights and the inability to have a full, restful eight hours or a sweet, comforting dream.

One time, after an exhausting round with Cen Xiao, Li Rong collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep almost instantly, too tired even to bother with a shower.

He rarely slept so deeply. Not wanting to disturb him, Cen Xiao let him rest, showered quietly, and then sat by the bed with a book.

When he grew tired of reading and decided to sleep, Cen Xiao turned off the light and slid under the covers. However, as he adjusted himself, he accidentally pressed down on Li Rong’s arm.

At some point, Li Rong had sprawled out in the middle of the bed, occupying two-thirds of the space.

Startled, Cen Xiao instinctively jerked away and froze in place, holding his breath while watching Li Rong’s face. He was terrified of waking him, knowing how difficult it was for Li Rong to fall asleep again once disturbed.

After nearly five minutes of stillness, with Li Rong’s breathing still deep and even, Cen Xiao finally exhaled in relief.

He reached out to brush away the strands of hair resting on Li Rong’s face but stopped halfway, retracting his hand. Even the slightest movement might wake him—a former young master turned unexpectedly delicate.

Carefully, Cen Xiao scooted toward the edge of the bed, putting a small distance between them to ensure he wouldn’t accidentally touch Li Rong again. Only then did he allow himself to drift off to sleep.

But in truth, Li Rong had already woken up when his arm was pressed.

He simply pretended to sleep, unwilling to face Cen Xiao after their intimacy. Li Rong had a peculiar talent: he could feign sleep perfectly, keeping his eyes completely still, fooling even the most observant.

Cen Xiao wouldn’t have been so cautious if he didn’t care deeply.

Li Rong understood this, but at the time, he was so jaded that he attributed all signs of affection to hidden agendas. It was his way of rationalizing Cen Xiao as a villain, someone whose actions wouldn’t stir his emotions.

He couldn’t admit to himself that human emotions were complex, rarely black and white. This denial made it easier to maintain his detachment.

But facts couldn’t be erased by mere avoidance.

This same complexity was what Li Rong relied on after his rebirth to manipulate Cen Xiao.

He’d never truly paid attention to the finer details of Cen Xiao as a person.

After a brief pause, Cen Xiao’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. In a low voice, he asked, “What’s so fascinating about footprints?”

Li Rong tilted his head, blinking slowly. With the lights now on, the outdoor view had turned blurry, and his reflection was visible in the glass.

“When I was young, I hated oysters. I thought they were slimy, ugly, and had an indescribable taste. But then, one day, I started liking them—I could eat several in one go. I used to be indifferent to cats too; their shedding seemed like such a hassle. But over time, I found them endearing. I also used to prefer walking ahead, having others follow my lead, obeying my commands. Rarely looking back, never bowing my head…”

He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

Turning back to Cen Xiao, he smiled brightly, his eyes curving into crescents. After locking gazes for a moment, he hopped off the small sofa and beckoned to Cen Xiao with a finger. “Hurry up! My mulled wine’s going to get cold!”

Cen Xiao lowered his gaze thoughtfully, then gave a knowing smile. He handed the wine to Li Rong.

Li Rong had casually mentioned things he used to dislike but now enjoyed. Both understood the unspoken implication.

Holding the glass, Li Rong clinked it lightly against Cen Xiao’s before taking a small sip. The bitter, spicy warmth with hints of orange peel slid down his throat, spreading heat through his body.

Over four months had passed, and his body had recovered significantly.

In his past life, it had taken him six months to fully recover, but this time, it seemed to be faster.

Swallowing the red wine, Li Rong licked his lips and let out a satisfied sigh.

Although Jiang Weide had lied, cloaking the Hongsuo Research Institute in a false sense of justice, it had also allowed him to see many things more clearly.

Today had been full of unexpected victories.

Cen Xiao lowered his gaze to the wineglass that had clinked against Li Rong’s, raised it, and took a light sip.

He asked, “Can you tell me about the paper now?”

Li Rong paused slightly, his hand holding the glass, and his eyelids trembled briefly before he smiled, unconcerned. “The paper wasn’t submitted by Jiang Weide or the Hongsuo Research Institute—it was me.”

Cen Xiao had already suspected as much, so he showed little reaction and waited for Li Rong to continue.

Li Rong’s fingers gently traced the rim of the transparent glass as his eyes looked upward, recalling the events of a few months ago: “I found that hypothesis in the stolen manuscript. My father hadn’t had the chance to submit it, so I sorted it out and submitted it for him. Li Baishou once came to my house looking for me, wanting my father’s manuscript. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have discovered it. In that sense, I owe him thanks.”

Though the words were of gratitude, his tone carried unmistakable disdain.

Cen Xiao remarked, “You asked me to keep an eye on the investigation team because of Li Baishou.”

Li Rong nodded. “When someone later tried to steal the manuscript, I was certain it wasn’t Li Baishou’s people. He’d never seen the manuscript before, let alone want to burn it.”

Cen Xiao clinked his glass lightly against Li Rong’s again, taking another sip. Li Rong raised an eyebrow and followed suit.

“Any guesses about who stole the manuscript?” Cen Xiao asked.

Li Rong took a deep breath, his brows furrowing slightly. “Not before, but now… it’s probably tied to Hongsuo Research Institute. What puzzles me is why the investigation team sealed my father’s research data?”

They didn’t just bar the access during the incident but for years to come.

His application to access the data had been firmly denied by Jiang Weide, who claimed that the old records held no valuable information and that the drug Luyinxu had been proven to have critical flaws, leading to the project’s termination.

He had placed immense trust in Jiang Weide before, so he didn’t insist.

Yet, when he thought carefully about it, some inexplicable details surfaced.

Even if Luyinxu had defects, it didn’t mean it lacked research value.

Wouldn’t identifying the reasons for failure and making corrections be far more efficient than starting over?

If Jiang Weide had reasons to lie, then the sealed data from his father and the stolen manuscript must hold tremendous value.

Cen Xiao stated, “The person Liu Tanzhi was focusing on should be Han Jiang. She controlled herself well, but during the turkey carving, her portion was cut directly by Han Jiang, which could be dismissed as Li Baishou’s lack of courtesy. Later, when taking photos with colleagues, the direction of her shots pointed directly at Han Jiang near the fountain, though this could be explained as her coincidental fondness for the fountain scenery. However, the one thing that caught her off guard was the publication of Li Qingli’s thesis. In that instant, she looked to Han Jiang for instructions.”

Li Rong, sitting farther away, couldn’t see clearly. Hearing Cen Xiao’s analysis, he immediately asked, “How did Han Jiang react?”

Cen Xiao shook his head. “Han Jiang was very calm, as if the matter posed no threat to him. He showed no worry at all, whereas the members of the Hongsuo Research Institute were in complete chaos.”

Li Rong pressed his lips together, lowering his eyelids thoughtfully. After a long pause, he grimaced and muttered, “Han Jiang is over fifty, and Liu Tanzhi is only thirty-four. The two of them…”

His insinuation wasn’t far-fetched.

Given the apparent discord between Liu Tanzhi and Li Baishou, it was easy to suspect she had found someone else she admired.

Han Jiang, clearly more polished than Li Baishou, might have been that person. Perhaps age wasn’t the issue—Li Baishou was older than Liu Tanzhi too.

Cen Xiao removed the glass of mulled wine from Li Rong’s hand, which had cooled slightly by then, and set it aside. “But as far as I know, Han Jiang deeply loves his wife and children and has never entertained improper thoughts.”

Li Rong raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

After all, Li Baishou and Liu Tanzhi also outwardly presented themselves as a harmonious couple.

Cen Xiao replied, “As the leader of the Ghost Eye Team, every word and action of his is scrutinized. It’s nearly impossible for him to hide true feelings. When I encountered… that candidate, I didn’t bother disguising myself either, knowing it would be futile. If Han Jiang harbored even the slightest inappropriate thought toward Liu Tanzhi, it couldn’t possibly have gone unnoticed for all these years.”

Li Rong accepted this reasoning.

People’s true emotions cannot be hidden forever.

In an unguarded moment of relaxation, they are bound to surface.

Emotions often rebel against rationality, like seeds buried deep underground, unwilling to remain in the darkness forever. Eventually, driven by a yearning for sunlight, they break through the soil.

Even the most cunning individuals sometimes pay unnecessary prices, consequences their hearts willingly accept.

Li Rong smiled faintly, shivering slightly from the chill of the air outside the window.

Naturally, he reached out, slipping his hand into Cen Xiao’s pocket, warmed by his body heat, drawing closer to him.

“You say snowflakes remind you of me, but don’t we see each other every day?”

Cen Xiao’s deep gaze held a fragile yet intense emotion.

His lips moved slightly without making a sound. After swallowing, he finally reached into the pocket and tightly grasped Li Rong’s cold fingers, insisting, “From now on, we must also see each other every day.”