Morning light spilled across Haiyun like threads of gold scattered over glass. From the penthouse, the Bund's skyline shimmered, skyscrapers glinting with the promise of a city that never truly slept.
But Ze Yan's gaze wasn't on the city.
It was on the woman seated at the breakfast table, her face half-hidden by her hair as she slowly stirred her tea. She was quiet, as she always was these days, but something in her presence anchored him more than any deal, more than any success.
He broke the silence with a soft command.
"Don't make plans today."
Qing Yun lifted her eyes, suspicion flickering faintly.
"Why?"
The corner of his mouth curved into a boyish grin. "Because you're coming with me."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Another one of your extravagant surprises?"
"Maybe." He leaned back, sipping his own tea. "But not the kind you think."
She didn't argue. Her silence was its own kind of agreement.
---
The Library
Their chauffeur dropped them off in front of Haiyun Grand Library—a sprawling building of pale stone and glass walls, its entrance framed by a row of marble columns.
Qing Yun blinked, then glanced at him.
"A library?"
Ze Yan smiled. "The best place for you."
Inside, a senior librarian guided them past velvet ropes into a restricted section, where tall windows poured light onto long oak tables. Dusty manuscripts, first-edition novels, and antique poetry scrolls lay waiting, carefully arranged.
Qing Yun stopped in her tracks.
Her breath caught when her fingers brushed the fragile paper of an old Tang dynasty verse, the ink faint but still alive. She turned another page, reverent, her eyes glowing faintly with something Ze Yan had longed to see again.
Peace.
Ze Yan didn't pretend to read. He sat across from her, chin resting lightly on his hand, and simply watched.
Her lashes trembled as she bent over a page. Her lips moved softly, forming the words of a verse:
"The spring breeze knows no borders, yet it brushes all alike."
Her voice was so quiet it almost vanished into the sunlight. But for Ze Yan, it was enough. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, listening as if the world had shrunk to just her and the sound of her breath carrying poetry through the air.
When she finally looked up, faint color touched her cheeks.
"You're staring."
"I am," he admitted without shame. "Because nothing in this library is more beautiful than you."
She shook her head, exhaling softly, but didn't hide the way her lips curved for just a second before flattening again.
On the side table, a porcelain tea set waited. Ze Yan poured two cups of jasmine tea, sliding one toward her.
"Careful, it's hot."
Her fingers brushed the cup, and for a heartbeat, brushed his.
The warmth lingered longer than the tea itself.
---
Promenade Walk
By late afternoon, they strolled along Haiyun Bund's shaded promenade. Vendors lined the streets, their stalls fragrant with grilled skewers, sweet osmanthus pastries, and mango ice.
"Hungry?" Ze Yan asked casually.
"No."
He bought the pastries anyway, pressing one into her hand without argument. "Eat."
Qing Yun looked down at the small golden cake, steam curling faintly from its surface. She hesitated, then took a small bite.
The faint smile that touched her lips was unguarded, unplanned.
Ze Yan's chest tightened.
He bought mango ice too, splitting it with her, though she ate only two spoonfuls. He finished the rest without complaint, even licking the condensation from the plastic cup like an ordinary man who had never once dined in Michelin-star restaurants.
The contrast of the day made her pause—rare manuscripts in the morning, street food now by the river. For the first time in a long while, her shoulders looked less weighed down.
"Not everything has to be heavy," Ze Yan said, as if reading her thoughts. "Sometimes… simple is enough."
She didn't reply, but when she glanced at him, her gaze softened.
---
Terrace Cinema
That night, back at the penthouse, Qing Yun stepped out onto the rooftop terrace and stopped short.
A projector screen was set up against the glass railing, the skyline glittering behind it. Fairy lights draped across the terrace, casting warm circles over floor cushions, a low table piled with popcorn, fruit, and chilled tea.
She turned slowly, meeting Ze Yan's eyes.
"You planned this?"
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I thought the cinema was too far."
Her lips twitched.
They sat side by side, shoulders brushing as the film began to play. She chose something light, an old romantic comedy with slapstick humor.
At one particularly ridiculous scene, she laughed—an unguarded sound that startled them both.
Ze Yan didn't even look at the screen. He only watched her, his heart thundering.
When a cool breeze swept across the terrace, she shivered slightly. Without a word, he slipped off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. His fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary.
Qing Yun said nothing, but she didn't remove it either.
They shared snacks, passing fruit back and forth. Her hand brushed his once, and she didn't flinch away.
As the movie neared its end, her head tilted, her eyelids fluttering.
Ze Yan froze when he realized she had fallen asleep.
Her breathing was even, her expression calm, softer than he'd seen in years.
He whispered in his heart: "You're still fragile, but you're here. And that's enough."
Carefully, he slid his arms beneath her, lifting her against his chest. She stirred faintly but didn't wake.
He carried her inside, laying her gently on the bed. Pulling the blanket over her, he bent close and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Good night, Qing Yun," he murmured, his voice breaking with tenderness.
She didn't stir.
But for the first time in years, Ze Yan felt hope ignite steady in his chest—not burning wildly, not fragile as glass, but something firm.
Something that might just last.