Chapter One — Winter Morning
Winter sunlight in Jiang City carried no warmth. It was pale and thin, like frost stretched across the sky.
At seven in the morning, Jiang Shuang stepped out of the hospital building with a stack of documents pressed to her chest. Her long hair fell neatly over her shoulders, and the cold light touched her profile as if softening what was already gentle and refined. She moved with quiet grace, the kind that came from upbringing rather than performance—elegant, warm, breathtaking without trying to be.
People called her a beauty capable of bringing down cities, yet her temperament kept that beauty from becoming sharp.
Distant, but not cold. Soft, but never fragile.
Across the street, Jiang Que leaned against his dark sedan, one hand buried in his coat pocket while the other held a steaming cup of coffee. His tall silhouette cut clean lines through the morning haze. He had been waiting long enough for the steam to fade and rise again, yet his expression carried no impatience.
When he saw Jiang Shuang emerge, he pushed off the car.
She crossed the road quickly, breath spilling out in faint white mist.
"You didn't have to pick me up," she said. Her voice was soft, almost weightless.
"I was already nearby," Jiang Que replied.
He opened the passenger door for her. "Get in."
It wasn't true—he had driven across half the city the moment he received her message.
But Jiang Que had never been someone who explained himself. He simply acted.
When she settled into the seat, he closed the door gently and circled to the driver's side. The heater hummed to life, warming the cold air trapped inside. For a moment, silence stretched between them.
Jiang Shuang held the stack of medical documents too tightly. Her fingertips had gone pale.
Jiang Que's eyes flicked toward her hands.
"What did the doctor say?" he asked.
She lowered her gaze to the papers, though she wasn't really seeing the words.
"Mom's condition hasn't improved. They want to adjust the medication again."
Jiang Que nodded slightly. He didn't offer empty consolation; he rarely spoke what he couldn't promise. Instead, he leaned over and fastened her seatbelt. The buckle clicked firmly—an oddly reassuring sound.
"You don't need to carry this alone," he said.
His tone was calm, but something under it tightened, subtle and fleeting.
The car slid into the morning traffic, merging with the slow flow of vehicles under the washed-out winter sky. Buildings drifted by in muted gray, softened by the cold.
After a while, Jiang Que asked, "Did you eat?"
She shook her head.
He made a quiet turn into a smaller street.
"You need something warm," he said. "Soup first."
Jiang Shuang watched his profile in silence. The clean lines of his face were familiar, maybe too familiar—stern, steady, capable of holding weight she never intended to place on him. His presence always settled her, yet it also made something inside her tighten with guilt.
Outside, wind scraped against bare branches.
Inside, the air grew almost too warm.
Jiang Shuang lowered her eyes. "…Brother."
The word slipped out instinctively, softly.
Jiang Que's fingers paused for half a second on the steering wheel.
"Mm?" he responded, steady as ever.
But she didn't continue.
Instead, she let her gaze drift out the window, watching the dull light smear across the passing buildings.
"It's nothing," she finally said.
Jiang Que didn't press her. He rarely pushed her into conversations she wasn't ready for.
He slowed as they approached a small breakfast shop with fogged windows glowing warm yellow.
"Wait in the car," he said. "I'll get it."
Cold air rushed in as he opened the door. His breath turned white the moment he stepped outside.
Through the windshield, Jiang Shuang watched his figure—straight-backed, reliable, always ready to shield her whether she asked or not. Sometimes it felt like too much. Sometimes not enough.
When he returned, he placed a warm cup in her hands.
"Drink," he said. "It's hot."
Heat seeped through the paper cup and into her palms, loosening the stiffness in her fingers. As the car moved again, the city brightened slowly with the rising sun.
Jiang Que didn't speak further.
He didn't need to.
The warmth of the soup, the steady engine, and the man beside her made the winter morning feel gentler—
dangerously gentle, the kind she shouldn't grow used to.
————————————