July 2023 struck like a merciless hammer, silently shattering Fang Zhe’s former life.

In the meeting room that day, the low hum of the air conditioner sounded like an ominous portent. Fang Zhe sat quietly in the boss’s chair, staring at the financial reports before him. The numbers were cold and unyielding, an irrefutable verdict: the funding chain had broken beyond repair. Even heavier was the news that several core partners were pulling out, taking most of the client resources with them—like the wreckage left behind after a hurricane.

He vaguely recalled how he’d left the company building. The midsummer sun was so blinding it hurt to look up, as if mocking his disarray. Each step felt like walking on red-hot iron, scorching and heavy. On his phone was a message from Lin Jingxue: "What do you want for dinner?" The everyday warmth in her words stood in stark contrast to the storm raging within him.

He didn’t reply. In this jungle of steel and concrete, he wandered aimlessly, a soulless shell. The familiar faces, the once-close friends—all had become hypocritical masks in the face of profit, carefully painted facades. The warmth and coldness of human nature, the harshness of the world, were laid bare in that moment.

Late that night, he returned to Lin Jingxue’s place. She was watering flowers on the balcony, calm as ever. Moonlight traced her silhouette, outlining a soft silver edge. Seeing his dazed expression, she asked nothing, merely poured a glass of warm water and handed it to him—a silent offering of comfort.

Lin Jingxue’s hand paused, a droplet falling from her fingers to bloom into a tiny splash on the floor. "A business trip?" she asked softly.

"No," Fang Zhe shook his head. "I’m moving my family to Thailand. Things are beyond saving here—I need a fresh start." Outside, the cicadas chirped, their sound piercingly desolate in the night, like nature’s lament. Lin Jingxue set down the watering can and sat beside him, their distance both near and far. "When are you leaving?" she asked, her voice calm as water, though it couldn’t hide the undercurrent beneath.

"As soon as possible," he replied, his tone edged with an urgency to escape.

She nodded gently, as if she’d long anticipated this day—or perhaps had already prepared for it. "What do you need me to do?" she asked, her gaze deep and unfathomable, like still water.

Fang Zhe looked at her. This woman always knew the right words at the right time. No whys, no probing into what had happened—just a simple offer of help. This unconditional understanding and support was a beacon in his tempest-tossed life, guiding him out of the darkness.

At the end of July, Fang Zhe flew to Bangkok with his wife and daughters. Their luggage was light, yet each piece felt suffocating, as if burdened with invisible weight. The first night in Bangkok, he lay in the hotel bed, feeling the unfamiliar tropical humidity—like stepping into another world. On his phone, a message from Lin Jingxue: "Remember to eat." Three short words stirred a faint warmth in his chaotic mind, a single star in the dark.

Life in Bangkok unfolded slowly, like a painting gradually taking shape. Renting a place, securing residency, arranging schools for the girls—on the surface, everything fell into place. But Fang Zhe knew his spirit teetered on the edge of collapse. Each morning, it took him a long time to remember who he was and where he was, as if his soul and body had drifted apart, needing time to reconnect.

Lin Jingxue began traveling frequently between Shanghai and Bangkok, like a migratory bird. "I don’t like the weather here," she said. Yet she rented a place in Bangkok, spending most of her time there with him—a silent promise.