Chapter Seventy-Two: What I Must Protect Is My Home

Ding!

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a crowd of stunning women from the PR department, their elegant figures impossible to ignore. Nina beamed when she saw her. “Come in, come in.” She stepped inside and turned her back to them.

“How beautiful, look how your back complements your poise.”

No sooner had she entered than the women began showering Nina’s new handbag with praise. Xiaoxiao didn’t quite understand, but gleaned from their conversation that it was a limited edition from a famous designer, priced exorbitantly.

“Xiaoxiao.”

Nina called from behind. Xiaoxiao turned back with a smile and, before Nina could ask, answered quickly, “It’s gorgeous—a sword for a hero, a famous bag for a beauty.”

“Thank you.” Nina smiled with pride. Xiaoxiao mused on how high salaries must be for PR elites, and couldn’t help but mock herself: if she’d listened to Manager Huang and moved to PR, perhaps she wouldn’t be so torn about the fate of her flower garden now.

Her compliment brought a brief hush to the elevator. Nina laughed and asked, “Last time, that Mr. Lin seemed nice. Manager Huang seems to hope you’ll develop something.”

So that’s it, she thought—just the advance party for the weasel. She turned with a playful smile. “I told you already, but you never believed me.” Nina hadn’t believed they were former lovers before, but now it hardly mattered.

When she left the elevator, she laughed at herself—she’d thought Nina was the last person in the company who could offer her warmth, but really, they’d simply shared a fleeting spark at a particular moment.

After carefully considering Xi Mintang’s advice, she took the initiative to arrange a meeting with the negotiator who had visited her. After a round of polite greetings, she learned his name was Zhou Yanting, and realized she’d been so rude before that she hadn’t even asked his name.

“Miss Ni, your invitation today truly surprised me,” Zhou Yanting said courteously, which only made Xiaoxiao feel more reserved.

“How is your project coming along?” she asked.

Zhou Yanting replied with confidence, “Very smoothly. We’ve already reached the contract stage with several families, and many others, like yourself, are in active negotiations.” As if to quell any doubt, he added, “After all, the circle is small—everyone knows the details after a few conversations over tea.”

She didn’t question him, but admitted honestly, “I was hesitant before, even unwilling to sell at all. But a friend encouraged me, and I realized nothing is more important than family togetherness. I love the flower garden; I once thought I must hold onto it no matter what. But now I understand—what I really need to preserve is my family.” As she spoke, she felt awkward, especially noticing Zhou Yanting’s attentive expression. She shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, I rambled. I’m very interested in discussing the contract.”

Zhou Yanting had already heard she was wavering, but hadn’t expected her change of heart to come so suddenly.

“If you’re satisfied with the terms we discussed, I’ll have the contract prepared as soon as I return,” he said.

“I’m very satisfied. Thank you, Mr. Zhou.” After careful negotiation, Xiaoxiao found the terms far more generous than she’d imagined, and was sincerely grateful for their timely support.

Zhou Yanting finally felt the joy of settling the matter, relieved to have something to report up the chain.

Sitting on the edge of the field, watching the afterglow of the sunset, she gazed at the flower garden before her. Since she was little, her father had held her hand as they wandered among the blossoms. She was happier than any woman in the world, growing up nurtured by the sea of flowers, absorbing a unique fragrance. As a child, she would lie on her father’s broad back, listening to nursery rhymes passed down from her grandfather, gradually drifting into sleep.

“Grandpa Moon, catch a chicken mushroom, fill the basket, stack the pen tubes, pen tubes leak, stack green beans, green beans smell sweet, stack fresh ginger, fresh ginger is spicy, stack the pagoda, pagoda is tall, twist the waist, and my baby, go to sleep now…” Even now she sometimes softly recited a few lines. If her father regained his health, she would love to ask him if he’d already prepared to hand her from his own back into another man’s arms. Perhaps when that moment truly arrived, her father would be moved to tears.