The night before, Gu Ze Yan's message came in at almost the exact hour she always closed up the bookstore.
Ze Yan (WeChat): I'll pick you up at 9 a.m. tomorrow. We need to stop somewhere first.
Ze Yan (WeChat): Study the family notes I gave you carefully.
Lin Qing Yun read the two messages three times, her lips curving faintly. He was treating this like she was preparing for an exam. With a soft laugh, she tucked the phone away and went back to shelving books, whispering under her breath, "Yes, yes, Mr. Gu. I'll study hard."
That night, after Si Yao had gone to bed, she really did open the folder again, memorizing names and small details. She wasn't sure why she felt nervous—maybe because this wasn't just his family, it was his battlefield. And tomorrow, she was stepping into it with him.
--
At nine sharp, the sound of a familiar car horn drifted up from the street. When Qing Yun came downstairs, Gu Ze Yan was waiting beside his car, wearing a beige casual suit over a simple white T-shirt. Clean lines, effortless confidence, a little too striking for a simple Sunday morning.
He opened the door for her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Inside, a paper bag rested on the seat.
"Breakfast," he said lightly. "Bread's still warm. And milk. Eat up—it'll be a while before lunch, you'll need energy."
She picked up the bread, surprised to feel its warmth. The smell—freshly baked, buttery—made her eyes brighten without her permission. She tore a piece, tasted it, and her whole face softened in delight.
Ze Yan, driving, stole glances at her. The way her eyes lit up for something so simple… it made his chest tighten in a pleasant ache. She doesn't even know how precious she looks when she's happy, he thought.
--
Their destination turned out to be a tall, high-end building that looked closed from the outside. But waiting at the entrance was a stylish woman in a fitted dress, smiling as if she'd been expecting them.
"Mr. Gu," she greeted respectfully, "everything is ready."
Inside, the elevator rose smoothly to a bright, expansive floor that looked like something out of a dream: gleaming mirrors, makeup stations framed with lights, rows of dresses in muted and jewel tones, glass cases of jewelry.
"Miss Lin, this way," the woman said warmly. "We'll take care of you."
Ze Yan nodded once. "I'll wait in the lounge."
Qing Yun gave him a quick look of alarm, as if to say what are you planning? but the door had already closed behind her.
Three stylists appeared, efficient and cheerful.
"Such good skin!" one exclaimed.
"Her features are perfect for a soft glam look," another said.
"Loose waves for the hair—simple, elegant," the third decided.
Qing Yun blinked at their excitement, feeling like she had been swept into a current too fast to resist. By the time she was seated before the huge mirror, brushes were moving, powders blending, colors feathering across her eyelids with practiced ease.
The reflection that emerged was still her—only sharper, brighter. The kind of beauty you couldn't ignore, even if she wasn't trying.
Her hair was styled into gentle, flowing waves that spilled around her shoulders, framing her face with quiet elegance.
Then came the dress. Beige, midi-length, the skirt subtly embroidered at the hem. When she stepped out of the changing room, the fabric shifted with her movements, catching light in a way that looked expensive without shouting. Pearl earrings brushed her jawline, a delicate diamond bracelet circled her wrist, and soft heels finished the look.
The stylists clapped their hands together, delighted. "You could be on a red carpet!"
Qing Yun flushed. "It's only lunch…"
They only laughed knowingly.
--
In the lounge, Ze Yan sat with one leg crossed over the other, a cup of coffee in hand, scrolling through his phone. When she walked in, he looked up casually—then froze.
For a full three seconds, he simply stared.
Then, slowly, his lips curved into a smile—wide, bright, utterly unguarded.
He rose to his feet. "Perfect," he murmured, mostly to himself. Then louder, "Thank you," to the stylists, his voice warm with rare sincerity.
Qing Yun fidgeted, wanting to hide behind her handbag. "Don't exaggerate."
"I'm not," he said, eyes still on her. And for once, she couldn't meet his gaze.
--
On the road again, Ze Yan couldn't resist. "You look too pretty. Like I'm bringing an A-list celebrity to lunch."
Qing Yun huffed, amused. "Since this 'contract' started, you've become unbearably cheesy."
He grinned, unashamed. "Can't help it when it's the truth."
She shook her head, smiling despite herself. Then her tone softened. "I studied everything. I'll remember the names, the little details. And… I know your sister, actually. We were classmates once. So I don't need to pretend a fake background."
"Good," he said simply, pleased.
She hesitated, then added gently, "And remember what I said—don't let their words get to you. No matter how sharp, just answer with kindness. Be patient. I'll be right there."
Her warm, steady smile as she said it made his chest ache. For a moment, it felt less like advice, more like a promise.
Zhao Mansion
The mansion loomed like a fortress of old money. Tall iron gates, manicured gardens, fountains whispering over stone. Inside: marble floors, sweeping staircases, crystal light scattering overhead.
Before stepping further in, Qing Yun tugged Ze Yan's sleeve. "Wait."
She straightened his suit jacket, smoothed his hair, then, with a little frown of concentration, rubbed something invisible from his cheek.
"Perfect," she pronounced.
At that exact moment, Zhao Ming Liang appeared at the entrance hall. His eyes crinkled with pleasure at the sight of the couple.
Ze Yan bowed his head respectfully. "Pa."
"This is Lin Qing Yun," he added, voice steady. "My girlfriend."
Ming Liang's smile broadened. "Now I see why you've been so distracted lately. Only someone like her could meet your standards."
Lin Qing Yun bowed politely, speaking with warmth. Within two exchanges, she had him laughing. "Good taste, Ze Yan. Very good taste," Ming Liang declared.
Wine and appetizers were served in a living room that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread.
Zhao Xin Yue entered, eyes widening as she recognized Qing Yun. "You're… you're my old classmate!"
Her excitement bubbled over. "Pa, she was the smartest in our year! She got a 748 on the gaokao—almost perfect! She even got scholarships and a free IELTS sponsorship!"
Ming Liang raised his brows, impressed.
Then Xin Yue, innocent as always, asked: "So… what university are you at? Abroad?"
Qing Yun froze. The question pierced too close.
Ze Yan reacted instantly—plopping an appetizer into Xin Yue's mouth. "Slow down, you'll choke if you keep talking so much."
"Mm!" Xin Yue protested, chewing indignantly.
"Come," Ze Yan said smoothly to Qing Yun, standing. "I'll introduce you to Mom."
The patio opened onto a garden. There, a refined woman sat with a teacup, her posture elegant, her features still beautiful with time.
"Ma." Ze Yan's voice warmed noticeably.
She rose to embrace him. Then her gaze shifted to Qing Yun, softening instantly.
"So this is the girl."
Her welcome was warm, unguarded. Qing Yun bowed, spoke respectfully, and soon had Mei Lian smiling too. The air here was gentle, without edge. Until the maid arrived to summon them for lunch.
--
The dining room stretched grandly, chandeliers glittering above. The table gleamed with porcelain, silver, crystal.
Zhao Rui sat at the head, stiff and regal, his disdain for Ze Yan only thinly veiled. On either side, Wei Jun and Han Sheng, expressions cool.
Ze Yan greeted them politely, introducing Qing Yun with calm dignity.
She played her part flawlessly—pouring tea for Ze Yan, occasionally serving Ming Liang and Mei Lian too. Her attentiveness warmed the parents instantly, their faces open with approval.
Ze Yan himself was quieter than usual, watching, listening.
--
In the living room, wine glasses refilled, the conversation turned sharp.
Wei Jun leaned back lazily. "Our little brother grows weaker every year. Can't even argue back anymore."
Han Sheng added smoothly, "Maybe he's realized his place."
Ze Yan stayed silent, remembering her words in the car. Be patient. Be kind.
Before he could reply, Qing Yun set her teacup down and smiled sweetly.
"But isn't true strength about not needing to argue?" she said lightly. "Some people talk loudly only because they're afraid of being ignored."
The room went quiet.
Wei Jun flushed, sputtered, then stood abruptly. "I don't need to waste words with outsiders." He stalked out, Han Sheng following with a scowl.
Ze Yan turned to Qing Yun, eyes wide in surprise. She only lifted a brow.
Then, quietly, under the table, he squeezed her hand. With his other hand, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his gaze full of gratitude.
Xin Yue bounced back to the sofa, eyes bright. "Qing Yun, you were always my idol in school! But you were always so focused, always hanging out with Xu Wei Ran. Are you still in touch with him?"
The name landed like a stone in still water.
Qing Yun froze.
For the first time all day, her practiced warmth slipped, replaced by a flicker of memory she thought she had buried.
Ze Yan watched her carefully, unease rising in his chest.
The afternoon light slanted across the grand room, gilding her silence.
And the chapter ended there—on her frozen face, and his eyes full of questions.