After enjoying two brief days of daylight in Kiruna, they arrived in Ny-Ålesund and plunged back into the endless polar night.
For some reason, Song Yu felt even more oppressed than she had during her first exposure to the polar night.
She gazed out the window at the boundless darkness, unable to see a thing.
During the rest of the journey, Pei Zhi grew unusually silent. By the time they reached Yellow River Station, he had barely exchanged two words with her.
Various delays had kept them away from Yellow River Station longer than planned.
Song Yu did not mind. She was something of a slacker in the Expedition Team anyway, coasting through her duties. With the team on break these past couple of days, no one had come looking for her even during normal times.
Pei Zhi was a different story. By now, a line of people was probably waiting at the station for him to handle their work matters.
Song Yu did not want the team to know they had traveled together, so on the way back, she deliberately lagged behind Pei Zhi.
“You go ahead. I need to grab a few things from the convenience store,” she said, making up an excuse on the spot.
Pei Zhi’s gaze swept faintly over her, still carrying the sullen mood he had brought from the plane. He seemed far from pleased.
He said nothing, shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, and strode away.
Ny-Ålesund had just endured a fierce blizzard, and the temperature was bitterly low. Song Yu watched his retreating back and shrank her neck against the cold.
She let out a soft sigh, her breath forming a white mist in front of her. She regretted being so blunt with him. It would have been better to wait until the day actually came. At least things would not be this awkward now.
She shook her head again. No—a short pain was better than a long one. Better to clear the air now and let him decide whether to stay or go. It would save everyone trouble.
She did like Pei Zhi, and she enjoyed the pleasure he brought her. But once the fun faded, reason always trumped emotion.
There was a saying for it: sorrow is the price of love.
She had to be careful.
The snow on the ground lay thick. Song Yu trudged along slowly, leaving a trail of footprints that forked away from the straight line Pei Zhi had stamped out earlier, heading in the opposite direction.
A string of bells hung at the convenience store entrance. When she pushed the door open, they jingled, announcing her arrival.
The warmth inside was a relief. The space was small but stocked with a full array of goods.
It was midday, and the store was empty save for one clerk lounging at the register, a soft Norwegian song with a gentle female voice playing in the background.
Song Yu had not really come to buy anything. She wandered aimlessly along the shelves, eyeing packages with colorful labels and names she could not read. Somehow, it eased her tension.
At the corner of the next aisle stood a customer.
The man was tall and lean, dressed in a impeccably pressed suit. He held a bag of instant food, his cuff turned up to reveal an exquisite silver watch—clearly a high-end custom piece.
He was bent over, intently reading the ingredients list, as if deeply concerned about food safety.
Song Yu paused in surprise. She had not expected to run into Zhou Yan here.
Zhou Yan heard her footsteps and looked up instinctively to step aside. Their eyes met by chance.
He blinked in recognition, then smiled. “What a coincidence.”
“Why haven’t you left yet?” Song Yu asked.
Zhou Yan gave her a helpless look. “You always did have a way of putting things. Who asks someone they just bumped into when they plan to leave?”
“I have to wait for a friend to finish up some work here,” he added, explaining despite the teasing.
Song Yu shrugged. She was not particularly interested.
She glanced at the time displayed on the wall clock. It was about time to head back.
“Carry on shopping, then,” she said, turning to leave.
Zhou Yan returned his item to the shelf and followed her.
“Where have you been the last couple of days? I went looking for you at Yellow River Station and couldn’t find you.”
Song Yu frowned. “What do you want with me?”
Zhou Yan seemed about to say something but held back. Instead, he asked, “So, where were you?”
Ny-Ålesund was tiny. If you went looking for someone deliberately, you would run into them several times a day.
What nagged at him even more was that he had heard from the Expedition Team that Pei Zhi had been absent too.
Zhou Yan had only seen Song Yu and Pei Zhi interacting once, at the docks when he first arrived in Ny-Ålesund.
Pei Zhi had unceremoniously called Song Yu away from her conversation with him. On the surface, it seemed like impatience with her laid-back attitude, but Zhou Yan sensed something off.
Song Yu hated being managed. To her, his questions sounded like he was trying to control her.
“Mind your own business,” she muttered, her voice soft and lazy. It turned what could have been a sharp retort into something playful, disarming any offense and discouraging further prying.
Zhou Yan was used to her tone by now and wisely dropped the subject.
“Have you been in touch with President Shen lately?” he asked, switching to a question she liked even less.
Song Yu’s frown deepened, her guard going up. “Whether I have or not is any of your business?”
“It’s not. Just asking,” Zhou Yan said quickly. He had not expected such a strong reaction from a mere probe and backed off.
Outside the store, Song Yu walked on without a word.
Zhou Yan trailed after her.
Her mood was already sour, and she had no energy to deal with him.
The convenience store was not far from Yellow River Station. As they approached, she spotted a crowd of over a dozen people gathered in front of the red tower building. They wore matching Scientific Expedition Team uniforms, each with a large backpack. They clustered in small groups, their faces alight with excitement and anticipation.
Song Yu immediately picked out Pei Zhi in the throng.
Several team members surrounded him, chatting animatedly. He responded halfheartedly, his gaze distant, detached from the scene. He glanced at his watch now and then, as if waiting for something.
Song Yu hesitated. She had no idea the Expedition Team was embarking on such a major outing. Their gear suggested a long trip, and Pei Zhi had not mentioned it when he returned.
As they drew nearer to Yellow River Station, Zhou Yan suddenly spoke up. “When are you planning to head back home?”
For no reason Song Yu could name, her chest tightened uncomfortably. She snapped at him. “Why are you being so annoying today? Spit it out if you have something to say.”
Zhou Yan was not one for endless patience either. He had tried being nice, but gotten no thanks from her.
He cut to the chase. “President Shen is in the hospital.”
Song Yu fell silent.
“I hear it’s serious. She’s handed all of Jingchen Entertainment’s operations over to your second uncle.”
That told Song Yu just how grave it was.
Shen Shuzhi treated work like her lifeblood. After pouring her heart into Jingchen for over a decade, she would never relinquish control to the Shen family unless it was a last resort.
Song Yu looked up at him, stunned.
Zhou Yan, in his black suit, wore an expression tinged with pity—the kind people put on at a funeral vigil.
He stepped closer and opened his arms, giving her a loose, comforting hug with space between them.
He patted her back gently.
Now it really looked the part, Song Yu thought wryly.
Pei Zhi checked his watch one last time, then lifted his head and glanced toward the convenience store. His eyes inadvertently landed on Song Yu and Zhou Yan.
The biting wind stung his eyes.
He tugged the corner of his mouth in a mirthless smile.
Just as Song Yu had said—she tired of things quickly.
Song Yu pulled away from Zhou Yan’s embrace and walked past him toward the station.
The Scientific Expedition Team finished their final headcount and equipment check, then set off in a grand procession.
Pei Zhi led the way at the front.
Snow had begun to fall from the sky again at some point.
Snowflakes caught on Song Yu’s eyelashes. She looked up and saw that splash of red through the curtain of snow.
It brushed right past her.
With their arrival at Yellow River Station, the Expedition Team had completed most of their research plans. After restocking, they would head back. The return voyage held little beyond stops at a few temporary ice stations.
Song Yu had checked the Snowfield Ship’s schedule beforehand. The original plan had her flying home after Yellow River Station.
Her work schedule was packed as always. This chance to travel and gather scenic inspiration had come from a movie project that fell through due to IP copyright negotiations, freeing up nearly two months.
She had planned to talk to Pei Zhi after Kiruna, but things had soured en route instead.
Though clearly, she had brought it on herself.
Song Yu pulled clothes from hangers in her closet and tossed them haphazardly onto the bed.
Her suitcase lay open at her feet, one side neatly packed and bulging. Her photography gear was in a separate case, already closed and wheeled to the door.
Lacking patience, she stuffed the remaining clothes into the suitcase without folding them.
On the flight from Ny-Ålesund to her connecting city back home, Song Yu spotted several diamond mines from the air. They were in a different region from the ones before, but the scars they left on the earth were eerily similar—concentric circles plunging into a massive depression.
The plane touched down in Guangzhou. As the cabin door eased open, Song Yu, seated up front, was the first passenger out.
In the distance, the sun blazed bright and harsh, glowing a fierce orange.
Song Yu raised her hand to cover her eyes, feeling strangely unaccustomed to it. The sunlight spilled onto her arm, warm and scorching.
It wasn’t until the passengers behind her urged her on that she snapped back to reality.
Her assistant, Yao Wenwen, had driven up to pick her up, and as soon as Song Yu got in, Yao Wenwen launched into a flurry of work reports and schedule arrangements.
“Tomorrow in Shanghai is the premiere of The Boundary play. I’ve confirmed it—after it ends, you can catch the night flight back to Beijing to discuss the Lost Love script adaptation with the writing team.”
“Push the premiere for me. I’ve got other things to do.” Song Yu kept her eyes closed, her elbow propped on the edge of the car window, her index finger circling her temple. The day’s ups and downs had left her utterly exhausted.
A moment later, her mind had processed all the information, and she asked, “Has the issue with the Lost Love copyright been resolved?”
Lost Love was a foreign novel with delicate emotional handling and a plot perfect for adaptation into film or TV.
But negotiating copyright with foreigners involved endless minutiae, which was why it had dragged on for so long.
Yao Wenwen glanced at her cautiously from the corner of her eye and mumbled a vague “Mm.”
Then, in a quiet voice, she added, “Jingchen stepped in to handle it.”
At that, Song Yu’s hand paused on her temple. After a long pause, she said flatly, “Got it.”
The car fell into silence after that.
The next day back in Beijing, Song Yu got up early. After a quick tidy-up, she headed downstairs to the underground garage.
In the car, she opened the navigation system and froze as she was about to input the address—she suddenly realized she had no idea which hospital Shen Shuzhi was in.
Song Yu pressed her lips together, pulled out her phone, and sent Zhou Yan a text.
She sat in the car waiting for his reply. Directly across from her was the garage elevator, and out came a family of three.
Song Yu rarely returned to the apartment because of her filming schedule, but she remembered them well. Their looks were just too striking—the man was handsome and dashing, the woman gentle and beautiful, and the child utterly adorable. You only needed to see them once to never forget.
The little boy, only three or four years old, reached out his hands, wanting to hold one from each parent.
The man—whether teasing the boy or simply unwilling—sidestepped him and took the woman’s hand instead.
The woman looked strikingly young. She tilted her head up and gave him a shy smile.
Seeing himself ignored, the boy pouted, his tears on the verge of spilling. The woman, unable to bear it, said something to the man.
He pressed his lips together, looking reluctant, before finally letting go of her hand with obvious unwillingness.
The boy got his wish, holding one adult in each hand as he skipped happily away.
Song Yu watched their retreating backs for a long time, lost in thought.
Her phone buzzed. Zhou Yan had sent the hospital address, ending with a mocking jab about how she had to beat around the bush and ask an outsider like him for it.
Song Yu thought to herself that her relationship with Shen Shuzhi really wasn’t as close as it was with Zhou Yan, this outsider. Shen Shuzhi hadn’t even thought to tell her she was sick.
Song Qiliang probably didn’t know either. He was likely too busy dealing with his PR crisis, at his wits’ end.
The hospital’s premium inpatient ward had corridors lined with pristine white tiles, spotlessly clean. The windows were open, letting in a faint scent of disinfectant. Sunlight streamed in, filling the space with a gentle warmth.
The door to the room wasn’t fully closed, leaving a small gap.
Song Yu stood at the doorway, hesitating for a long moment before raising her hand to knock.
“Come in.” Shen Shuzhi’s voice was crisp and efficient, but the weakness in it was unmistakable.
Song Yu pushed the door open and stepped inside. Her heart sank at the sight of Shen Shuzhi lying in the hospital bed.
She had lost so much weight since their last meeting—her face was pale, her cheeks hollowed out. Because of the chemotherapy, her hair wasn’t as thick and lustrous as before. Even in an updo, the thin patches were visible.
Even in her sick state, Shen Shuzhi still paid meticulous attention to her appearance, with full, flawless makeup. Over her blue-and-white hospital gown, she wore a knitted cardigan.
She was a far cry from the forceful, decisive Shen Shuzhi of Song Yu’s memories.
Seeing that it was Song Yu, Shen Shuzhi froze for an instant, a flicker of unease crossing her face.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I felt like coming, so I came.” Song Yu shrugged.
Her gaze fell on the IV bag nearby. The liquid inside was nearly gone, with just a few milliliters left in the drip chamber.
On the bedside table over Shen Shuzhi’s bed sat a laptop; she was still handling work.
Song Yu caught a glimpse with her peripheral vision—it was the Lost Love copyright contract.
“…” She looked away, walked to the head of the bed, and pressed the call button.
A nurse arrived shortly, swiftly swapping it for a new bag and hanging it up.
She glanced at the chart. “Call me when this one’s done. We need to speed it up—there are still several more bags to go.”
Song Yu eyed the large new bag of fluid and pressed her lips together. “Got it.”
Once the nurse left, the room fell quiet again, the atmosphere awkward.
Song Yu sat down in the sofa chair by the window, the afternoon sun warming her back.
Shen Shuzhi went back to her work. The back of her left hand was bruised from the long IV needle.
“Why did you help me secure the Lost Love copyright?” Song Yu couldn’t hold back from asking.
Shen Shuzhi didn’t pause her typing, replying offhandedly, “Felt like it, so I did.” She seemed to be in a decent mood.
Song Yu muttered under her breath, “Can’t you just butt out of my business for once?”
Shen Shuzhi fell silent.
She knew Song Yu had always hated being managed—no one had ever really looked after her before.
In the past, Shen Shuzhi had been consumed by work and paid little attention to Song Yu.
Back then, she was young, with clear ambitions in her career. Especially after Song Qiliang’s affair during her pregnancy—if it hadn’t been so far along, she wouldn’t have wanted the child at all.
In the Shen family, there were many siblings of her generation—some from the wives kept at home, others illegitimate ones from outside.
Growing up in that environment, Shen Shuzhi had always been more cold and selfish.
The birth of Song Yu had brought physical and emotional trauma and changes that made it hard for her to love the child like a typical mother would—more than herself.
She had her career and desperately wanted her father’s approval, a real place in the Shen family, the chance to sit at the main table during meals, something her own mother had never achieved.
But once Shen Shuzhi attained all that, it suddenly felt hollow and empty.
Especially as the years passed and success and recognition were no longer her goals, she felt profound loneliness. That loneliness eased only slightly when she remembered she still had family ties.
By the time she came to her senses, Song Yu had already grown up. Even if she wanted to care now, it was no longer needed.
Hearing Song Yu tell her to butt out made Shen Shuzhi’s heart ache with guilt and helplessness. She had brought it on herself.
“If it bothers you, just bear with it,” she said flatly, her gaze steady on Song Yu. “It won’t be much longer.”
“…”
Song Yu’s heart suddenly felt pierced.
She paused, then added hastily, “I meant you should focus on recovering and not worry about this stuff.”
Shen Shuzhi didn’t buy the polite deflection, but she smiled anyway.
“I’m having surgery tomorrow.”
Song Yu looked up, meeting her eyes.
Shen Shuzhi said softly, “You don’t need to come.”