Donghuan Road, Binhu Villa.
A little after nine at night.
In the master bedroom on the second floor, the light was soft and bright.
Secretary Jin leaned back in the armchair by the window, wearing a taro-purple silk nightgown, its hem spreading softly over her knees like a small sheet of water soaked through with moonlight.
In her hands, she held a Yeats Poetry Collection whose page corners had curled slightly from being turned so often, her expression relaxed.
To get through this Spring Festival peacefully and steadily, she had long since arranged all her core work in advance, and could finally pull herself completely free from the high-intensity affairs that had kept her running nonstop.
This was one of the rare stretches of leisure in all these years that belonged wholly and completely to her.
No need to think about meetings, no need to think about reports, and no one knocking on the door every few minutes, waiting for her to make decisions.
She picked up the glass of water beside her and lowered her head to take a sip.
Then she gently turned another page, but her gaze slowly came to a stop and drifted out the window.
Outside was a whole expanse of lake steeped in the winter night.
The wind blew through the shadows of the trees along the shore, making a hollow, low rustling sound.
How long had it been since she had come here?
Probably since after October 2022.
Before that, she would occasionally come here to stay for a day or two.
Most of the time, it was for work.
Of course, it was not entirely for work.
This Northern Small Town had also left many traces of memory for her.
At that thought, the corners of her lips lifted slightly.
But very