The hospital room was quiet, wrapped in the sterile hush of white walls and soft machinery hum. A tray of warm water steamed faintly on the bedside cabinet, its surface trembling each time Ze Yan wrung out the towel. He had rolled up his sleeves, his jaw tight with concentration, as though this were not a simple task but a sacred ritual.
Qing Yun sat upright against the headboard, her long lashes lowered. Her expression was calm, unreadable, yet there was a faint tilt at the corner of her lips that made him feel she was silently judging his every move.
He lifted the towel carefully, his fingers trembling as he brushed it across her cheek. The warmth against her pale skin made his heart ache. He worked gently, wiping her forehead, her temple, the delicate line of her jaw.
When he began to lower the towel toward her neck, her lashes lifted.
Her eyes, cool and composed, slid sideways toward him.
It wasn't even a word. Just a look.
Ze Yan froze.
The towel hovered mid-air, his throat went dry. He, Gu Ze Yan—who had once stared down investors, sparred with rivals, commanded boardrooms—suddenly felt like a schoolboy caught doing something wrong.
Qing Yun reached up, calm as ever, and pinched the towel between her fingers.
"I'll do it myself," she said softly.
Her tone was polite. Too polite.
Ze Yan's ears burned. He coughed into his fist, muttered something about changing the water, and quickly set the towel back into the basin. He turned away, almost fleeing, tugging at his sleeves as he crossed the room.
"I'll… wait outside," he mumbled, escaping before she could dismiss him further.
---
When he returned a while later, she had changed into the fresh hospital gown. Her hair was loose, falling over her shoulders in a simple curtain of black. She looked like a painting—serene, self-contained, untouchable.
But before he could say anything, she shifted slightly, her gaze dropping toward the bathroom door.
"I need to use the restroom," she said.
Immediately, Ze Yan was at her side.
"I'll help you," he said, already sliding an arm under hers.
Her brows arched faintly. "Mr. Gu, it's only a few steps."
"The floor might be slippery."
"I can walk."
"You're still weak."
Her eyes flicked toward him again. This time the side-eye was sharper, the corner of her lip curving in the faintest sarcasm.
Ze Yan froze mid-step, then coughed again, retreating awkwardly toward the wall. "Fine. I'll just… stand guard. In case."
She didn't answer. She simply walked past him with a quiet grace, her slippers whispering against the tiles. The door clicked shut.
Ze Yan stood there like a guard dog dismissed from duty, scratching the back of his neck, his tall frame strangely pitiful against the cold white wall.
When she emerged again, she was composed as ever, her hair slightly tousled from the walk, her expression indifferent. He darted forward as if ready to catch her, but she raised a hand to stop him.
"I'm not going to faint after two steps," she said dryly.
"…I know," he muttered. "But still."
Her silence was almost amused. Almost.
---
The room settled into a strange atmosphere.
Qing Yun sat back on the bed, upright and proper, hands resting on the blanket. Ze Yan sat on the chair beside her, but he could not stop his eyes from drifting toward her—again and again, like a compass needle unable to point anywhere else.
Finally, she turned her head slightly, her voice breaking the silence.
"How did you know I was here?"
Her tone was polite, almost conversational, but her eyes were steady.
Ze Yan hesitated. For a moment he considered brushing it off with something light, but she deserved the truth.
"I know Dr. He," he said slowly. "We met years ago at a business gathering. We became friends. He travels to many hospitals, and… I asked him, if he ever saw you—Lin Qing Yun—to let me know."
Her lashes trembled. She looked away, down at the blanket, silent.
That silence told him more than words.
Eight years, and he had never stopped.
Ze Yan leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, watching her carefully. "You should rest. I can stay."
"You should go home," she replied calmly. "Or go back to work."
He shook his head. "I'm not the same CEO I was five years ago. Luminar doesn't need me every second anymore. I can choose where to spend my time. And right now—I want to be here."
The words were simple, without flourish. But the weight of them filled the room.
Qing Yun's expression did not shift, but her fingers curled slightly in the blanket.
---
For a while, neither spoke. The steady beep of the monitor filled the silence.
Then Ze Yan asked softly, "Where have you been? All this time?"
Her gaze was distant. "Here and there. I came back to this city about two years ago."
He thought of the barren apartment, the folded blanket, the empty refrigerator. The image pressed against his chest, but he didn't dare push further.
Instead, his voice cracked in a whisper he couldn't hold back.
"Qing Yun… I miss you."
The words trembled in the air, fragile and raw.
She turned her head toward him. Her eyes were calm, polite, unflinching.
There was no answer. No smile. No softening.
Just silence.
But it was enough to shatter him all over again.
---
The night deepened, shadows stretching across the walls. Nurses came and went, adjusting IVs, leaving soft reminders for rest. Ze Yan stayed where he was, his hand hovering near hers, never daring to touch without permission.
Each time she closed her eyes, he thought of all the years he had spent searching. Each time she opened them, he wondered if she would vanish again.
She was here. Finally here.
But the distance between them felt like an ocean.