Morning sunlight spilled through the wide glass windows, painting the apartment in a faint gold. Lin Qing Yun stirred, instinctively reaching for her clothes. The habit was ingrained: wake, prepare, work. That was her rhythm, her shield against the world.
But before her fingers touched the fabric, a tall shadow blocked her path.
"Sunny," Gu Ze Yan's voice was calm but immovable. "The doctor said you need rest."
She lifted her uninjured hand, waving it in front of his face like a banner. "Can't you see? Perfectly fine. is this hand is invincible?"
He didn't even blink. "I already called Shen Qiao. And your bookstore manager. You're on leave this week."
Her lips parted in disbelief. "You—what?"
He only folded his arms, the corners of his mouth curving into a bright, victorious smile.
Qing Yun pouted, shoulders slumping in defeat. "You… you really…" She had no words.
Ze Yan disappeared briefly, returning with a tray—steaming porridge, golden fried dough sticks, and a neatly placed set of pills in their packaging.
"Breakfast. And medicine." He set the tray on the small table beside the bed.
When he reached for the spoon, she shot him a sharp side eye. He froze mid-movement.
"You're not going to feed me again." Her tone was firm.
For once, he laughed and held his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll allow you this much independence."
She huffed, settling herself and beginning to eat. Ze Yan sat across from her, chin resting in his palm, gaze never leaving her face.
---
After breakfast, he carefully unwrapped the bandage on her left wrist. His movements were slower than the clock's hand, as if one wrong twitch might shatter her.
Qing Yun didn't flinch when antiseptic touched her skin. She didn't make a sound when he dabbed at the wound. Her calmness cut him deeper than any visible blood.
Ze Yan's brows furrowed. He looked as though the pain had been carved onto his own body.
When he finished applying fresh medicine and wrapping the bandage, he sat back, exhaling as though he had run a long race. "Better." His voice was low, careful.
Then, after a long pause, he asked softly, "Sunny… what really happened yesterday?"
Her spoon clinked against the bowl. Silence wrapped the room.
She hesitated. Her eyes fell to her lap, lashes trembling. Finally, with a calmness that felt almost practiced, she spoke:
"When I was seventeen, my mother left me and Si Yao with debts… huge debts."
Ze Yan's body tensed.
"I couldn't let Si Yao know. So I worked. School, part-time jobs, neighbors helped with kindness… I kept going. For three years, until finally, I paid it all off."
Her voice did not waver.
"But recently… my mother borrowed again. And the collectors came back." She looked at her bandaged hand. "Yesterday, I refused to pay. They were… angry."
The words ended simply, like a period placed at the end of an essay. No tears, no bitterness—only the quiet tone of someone who had long accepted suffering as part of life.
Ze Yan's throat closed. He pulled her carefully into his arms, his chin resting above her hair, his voice hoarse.
"It will be over soon. You're with me now. I'll protect you. Always."
She hugged him back, but her gaze over his shoulder was filled with uncertainty, a shadow that lingered even in warmth.
---
At noon, after lunch, Ze Yan left the apartment, telling her he had urgent business. His figure vanished through the door, leaving the room in silence.
That evening, Qing Yun took her routine call from Si Yao.
Her younger sister's voice bubbled with excitement. "Jie! Training is finally over! Now we're preparing for university exams. Ah, but my English… it's still so bad compared to yours."
Qing Yun smiled faintly. "You'll be fine. Just keep practicing."
"How about you? Are you okay?" Si Yao asked suddenly.
Qing Yun hesitated. She glanced at her bandaged wrist. Then she whispered, softly but firmly, "I'm fine. Being loved by Ze Yan."
The conversation stretched for an hour, filled with Si Yao's chatter about friends, competitions, dorm gossip. Only when she exclaimed, "I need to pee, Jie!" did the call end, leaving Qing Yun chuckling alone in her quiet room.
She never mentioned her wound.
---
That night, the sound of wheels echoed in the corridor.
Qing Yun opened the door and froze.
Gu Ze Yan stood there, pushing a cart piled with her belongings from her apartment. Clothes, books, little items she thought insignificant. All stacked neatly.
Her brows furrowed. "What is all this?"
He rolled the cart inside, straightening to look directly at her. His voice was steady, resolute.
"From now on, you live here. With me."
She blinked.
"This is your home now. I'll keep you safe. If Si Yao comes back, this is her home too. Because your home… is with me."
Her chest tightened, breath caught in her throat.
Ze Yan took one step closer, eyes unwavering. "I'll provide for Si Yao's education. You don't need to carry everything anymore. Let me do it. Because I can. Because…"
His voice dropped, almost reverent. "…you are my wife. Don't let me feel useless."
The air froze.
Her lips parted, soundless. Finally, she whispered, stunned, almost to herself: "…wife…"
Ze Yan's gaze never wavered.
In that single word, the room shifted. A vow unspoken, a promise unshaken.