In Liangcheng, the city never truly slept, yet inside Gu Ze Yan's apartment, time felt slower, softer—as if the world outside existed only in fragments and their little home was the center of gravity.
Lin Qing Yun's wrist had finally healed enough for her to type again. The bandage was off, leaving only a thin pink line across pale skin. She flexed her fingers one morning, testing them while typing an email draft for Shen Qiao, and her heart fluttered with relief.
But of course, Ze Yan noticed.
From across the living room, where his laptop was open and filled with lines of data and charts, his sharp eyes caught her movements. He was on his feet within seconds.
"Sunny," his voice carried both concern and a quiet scold, "what are you doing?"
She blinked innocently at him, still tapping on the keyboard. "Typing, obviously. You don't expect me to sit and stare at the wall all day, do you?"
He strode over, long legs covering the distance in two steps, and gently pried her hands away from the keyboard. "The doctor said rest. Rest means no stress on your wrist."
"It's my right hand, not the left," she replied dryly, waving her perfectly healthy hand in front of his face as if to prove its invincibility.
Ze Yan's lips twitched but he didn't relent. "Rules are rules. Besides—" he tapped her nose lightly, "—you have me. You don't need to overwork."
Her cheeks flushed, half from irritation, half from the warmth in his tone. She tried to pull her hand back but he held it for a moment longer, gaze softening before he finally let her go.
And so, the rhythm of their days settled into a quiet sweetness.
---
Living Together
Every morning, she tied his tie before work, her delicate fingers brushing against the crisp fabric of his shirt. Every evening, he helped undo the knot, his touch slower, more intimate.
They brushed their teeth side by side, often bumping shoulders, laughing when toothpaste foam dripped onto his chin. He would brush her hair after her shower, sometimes clumsily, sometimes with surprising gentleness. On nights when she was exhausted, he massaged her calves, his serious expression making it look like the most important work in the world.
Sometimes they stayed in, working on their laptops in silence—yet even silence was filled with companionship. Other times, they strolled hand-in-hand through the apartment gardens, or visited the mall where Ze Yan insisted on carrying every bag, no matter how light.
She often teased him that his hand was like a ghost—always sneaking up to catch hers whenever she tried to pull away in embarrassment.
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Luxury vs Frugality
It was Ze Yan's habit to shop only in the most premium supermarkets. The first time he brought her to one, Qing Yun nearly fainted at the fruit prices.
A single imported peach cost more than a whole basket at the local market. Grapes were displayed like jewels, and strawberries were tucked into clear boxes like treasures. She almost put the fruit back, but Ze Yan casually placed several boxes into the cart.
"Sunny deserves the best," he said simply, his tone brooking no argument.
Back home, he presented her with a sleek black card. "Use this. Anything you want—spend it. Don't hold back."
That night, when he wasn't looking, she transferred the ¥300,000 he had once given her as "contract girlfriend payment" into that account. But she never touched it again. She continued to use her own small savings, quietly tucking money away for Si Yao's future.
Some habits couldn't be erased by luxury.
---
One midnight, Qing Yun was curled under the blanket, nearly asleep, when the door clicked open. She stirred, and suddenly the room glowed with candlelight.
Ze Yan stood there, tall frame illuminated by flickering flames on a small cake. In his other hand, he carried a bouquet of fresh flowers that filled the air with fragrance.
"Happy birthday, Sunny," he said softly, voice trembling with excitement.
Her eyes widened. "You remembered?"
"Of course." He set the cake on the bedside table and leaned down, brushing her cheek with his lips. "Make a wish."
She closed her eyes, hands clasped together, feeling a warmth bloom in her chest that had nothing to do with candles.
When she blew them out, Ze Yan clapped like a child, then cut a slice and fed it to her himself. She tried to push his hand away but he insisted, smearing a little frosting on the corner of her lips.
"Now it's perfect," he teased, wiping it gently with his thumb.
Her heart fluttered so hard she had to hide her face in the blanket.
---
The next day, her cubicle at Luminar looked like a flower shop had exploded. Dozens of bouquets filled the space, their colors and fragrances overwhelming.
Xu Wei Ran had sent them.
Her colleagues whispered in corners, throwing her knowing glances.
Ze Yan passed by during a management round, his expression darkening instantly. His lips pressed into a thin line, his sharp brows forming an icy angle. He sulked the entire day, muttering under his breath about buying out every florist in Liangcheng.
Shen Qiao rolled her eyes. Chen Rui smirked.
But Qing Yun only laughed softly at Ze Yan's jealousy, reaching out to squeeze his hand under the desk.
"You look like a storm cloud," she teased.
"I should," he grumbled. "Next time, I'll fill the whole building with flowers."
Her laughter rang like bells, easing the tension. Still, later that night, he held her a little tighter, as if afraid she might slip away into someone else's garden of blossoms.
---
And so, life together grew into a rhythm of love—sweet, stubborn, sometimes comical, but always filled with warmth.