Dr. He flipped the last page of Qing Yun's chart, tapping his pen once against the margin. His eyes lifted to her with a rare smile.
"Everything looks good. The wound has healed properly, the medicine has done its job. You can go home today."
The word home echoed strangely in the quiet room.
Ze Yan straightened in the chair beside her bed, the lines of fatigue smoothed out by relief. "Thank you, Dr. He," he said, his voice lower than usual, almost reverent. Then he turned to Qing Yun, his tone decisive. "I'll take you home."
Qing Yun lowered her gaze, unreadable.
---
The Lobby
She left the ward in a wheelchair, her expression calm, hands folded loosely on her lap. Nurses along the hallway glanced up as they passed—first at her, then at the tall man who followed step by steady step at her side.
By the time they reached the hospital lobby, Ze Yan's car was already waiting—a sleek black Maybach, chauffeur standing at attention. The glass doors opened, and winter air curled into the hall.
And then, without warning, Ze Yan stooped, swept her up into his arms, and began to carry her toward the car.
The world seemed to stop.
Nurses gasped softly. A pair of interns froze mid-step. A little girl tugged her mother's sleeve, whispering, "Mama, look! Just like TV drama!"
Whispers rippled through the lobby: "Who is she?" … "Is that his girlfriend?" … "So handsome…"
Qing Yun's cheeks flushed a pale rose. She tightened her fingers in the fabric of his coat, lowering her voice. "Gu Ze Yan, put me down. This is too embarrassing…"
But he walked as if the stares of the world were no more than shadows. His arms were steady, his gaze straight ahead.
"Don't move," he murmured, his tone implacable.
At the car, he opened the door himself, crouched, and placed her gently onto the seat as though she were the rarest porcelain.
The chauffeur closed the door silently, the whispers left behind like ripples fading on a pond.
---
The Wrong Road
Inside the car, warmth hummed quietly. Qing Yun leaned back, catching her breath. Outside, the scenery blurred into winter-grey streets.
It didn't take her long to notice.
She turned her head, voice calm but firm. "This isn't the way to my house."
Ze Yan's profile was sharp in the passing light. He didn't look at her, only answered, "I know."
And nothing more.
Qing Yun exhaled softly, as if conceding to inevitability. She didn't press. Her gaze returned to the window, reflecting the solemn calm of someone who no longer expected explanations.
Ze Yan, watching her reflection from the corner of his eye, tightened his hands into fists on his knees.
---
The Mansion
The Maybach rolled through iron gates that curved open like arms. Beyond stretched a drive lined with bamboo and plum trees, their branches trembling in the breeze.
When the car stopped, the view opened to reveal a vast mansion—contemporary lines softened by traditional Chinese accents, its walls framed by gardens and a quiet koi pond. An infinity pool shimmered faintly against the pale sky.
Qing Yun's eyes widened slightly, though her expression remained controlled. She whispered, almost to herself: "So this is where you live now…"
Before she could reach for the door handle, Ze Yan was already there, pulling it open.
She shifted, trying to stand. "I can walk—"
His brow furrowed. "Dr. He said no strain."
And again, without hesitation, he swept her into his arms.
Her breath caught. "Gu Ze Yan, this is too much—"
"I don't care."
The words landed heavy, final.
---
The Housekeeper
At the grand entrance, the door opened before they reached it. A woman in her late fifties, dignified in a simple dark qipao apron, bowed slightly.
"Young Master Gu, welcome home." Her eyes flicked to the pale girl in his arms. Polite curiosity softened her voice. "And this lady is…?"
Before Ze Yan could speak, Qing Yun's lips curved into a deadpan line.
"A hostage," she said evenly. "Please call the police."
The housekeeper froze mid-bow.
Ze Yan sighed, pinching his brow. "Ignore her." His gaze sharpened. "This is Miss Lin. From today onward, she'll live here. Treat her as you treat me."
The housekeeper straightened instantly, her smile warm and respectful. "Yes, Young Master Gu. Welcome, Miss Lin."
Qing Yun's only response was a faint arch of her brow, but the corner of her mouth tugged like she found the absurdity amusing.
---
The Guest Suite
Ze Yan carried her up the broad staircase, past tall windows that framed the river's silver shimmer. Instead of the master bedroom, he led her into the guest suite beside it.
The room was serene: soft light spilling through sheer curtains, pale grey walls, and a view of the river. The bed was dressed in fresh white linen, a vase of plum blossoms on the nightstand.
He lowered her carefully onto the mattress, adjusting the blanket over her with a tenderness that felt almost reverent.
"Rest here," he said, his voice softer than she had ever heard. "This is your home now."
Qing Yun lay still for a moment, her eyes on him—deep, unreadable. Then she closed them, as if surrendering to sleep, or perhaps to silence.
---
Nightfall
Later, when the house settled into quiet, Ze Yan stood alone by the balcony outside her room. The garden lanterns cast pools of golden light across the koi pond.
Behind him, the closed door separated him from the woman he had finally brought back under his roof.
Yet in his chest, the weight of uncertainty pressed heavier than the silence of the empty years.
Would she stay?
Or was she only passing through, like sunlight across water?
He exhaled slowly, as though steadying himself for a long battle not with rivals, but with fate.