Spring crept quietly into the world.
The plum blossoms in the Gu family's garden were already beginning to bud, the bamboo leaves swayed in the faint breeze, and the koi pond sang its soft trickling song. Yet inside the mansion, time seemed to flow differently—slower, gentler. The world outside bustled toward the Spring Festival, but within these walls, the celebration was pared down to something small, quiet, and strangely intimate.
---
A Quiet New Year
On New Year's Eve, Gu Ze Yan didn't take Qing Yun anywhere grand. There were no banquets, no loud relatives with red envelopes, no extravagant displays of wealth.
Instead, he rolled up his sleeves in the kitchen.
The housekeeper tried to insist on taking over, but Ze Yan waved her off. "It's fine. I'll do it."
He made dumplings, though their shapes were a little uneven. He stir-fried vegetables, a bit too lightly seasoned. He even attempted a soup that came out plainer than intended. Yet when the dishes were finally placed on the long stone dining table, a warmth lingered in the air—the warmth of effort, of care.
Qing Yun sat quietly across from him. She ate only a little, slowly, as though each bite was measured. Ze Yan tried not to look too closely at her expression, afraid of seeing the distance in her eyes.
After dinner, he surprised her by bringing out two sparklers.
In the garden, under the soft night sky, he lit one for her and one for himself. Sparks danced like fireflies, painting golden traces in the dark.
Qing Yun's lips curved into a faint smile. "It's pretty." Her voice was soft, almost wistful, as if beauty itself could only be touched from afar.
Ze Yan stared at her smile as though it were the first sunrise he had seen in years. For him, that moment was enough. He finally understood: celebration didn't need noise, fireworks, or crowds. All it needed was her standing beside him, holding a sparkler in her delicate fingers.
---
The World of Books
Days folded into each other.
Qing Yun spent most of her time in his study room. It was a grand space lined with shelves that reached the ceiling, filled with titles in Chinese and English, histories, philosophies, novels.
Ze Yan had designed that room for her long ago, when he was building the mansion. He'd told the architects: make it a library, one that feels like a sanctuary. He always imagined her there, with sunlight on her face, a book in her hands.
Now, seeing her seated by the shelves, her calm figure framed by the tall windows, that dream was real.
But the reality was quieter than he had once imagined.
She read without expression. One book after another, cover to cover, like a machine designed only to absorb words.
So Ze Yan kept ordering more books—boxes of them, arriving every few days. Each new delivery filled the shelves a little more, until the library overflowed. He told himself it was so she would never run out.
Qing Yun never thanked him, never even commented. She simply pulled another book from the shelf and kept reading.
Yet for him, that was enough.
---
Notes Along the Path
Ze Yan began leaving little notes.
Slipped under the teacup in the study.
Tucked into the pages of her current book.
Placed on the edge of the vanity she used in the mornings.
"Drink more water."
"Don't stay up too late."
"Rest your eyes if you're tired."
They weren't grand declarations, just small reminders.
Sometimes he peeked from the doorway, watching her notice one. She never picked them up, never smiled at them. Sometimes she simply let the note sit where it was until evening.
But he saw her eyes pause on the words, just for a moment. And for him, that pause was enough to fill his chest with quiet happiness.
---
Shoes and Slippers
Every morning, when Qing Yun woke, slippers were waiting by her bed. He always placed them there himself, kneeling silently before dawn.
When they walked in the garden, he carried her shoes and bent down to help her put them on. She would sometimes give him a look—a faint, unamused glance—but she never stopped him.
One morning, as they strolled under the budding trees, Ze Yan slowed his pace, expecting her usual quiet steps. But suddenly, Qing Yun walked faster, striding with unusual vigor.
Startled, he rushed to catch up. "Why are you walking so fast?"
Without turning her head, she answered calmly, "I'm exercising. It's supposed to be brisk walking."
For a moment, Ze Yan blinked, then laughed softly. He matched his steps to hers.
From that day, brisk walks became part of her morning routine. And for him, every step beside her felt like a gift.
---
The Fruit Plate Moment
One afternoon, she was in the study again, absorbed in a book.
Ze Yan entered quietly, carrying a plate of cut fruit. Without a word, he placed it near her hand.
She ignored it.
When she shifted slightly, moving her elbow, he casually nudged the plate closer.
She shifted again. He moved it again.
By the third time, she finally looked up, her gaze steady on him.
Caught, Ze Yan smiled like a mischievous boy. "Don't mind me."
Qing Yun held his gaze for a moment longer, then silently picked up a piece of fruit and placed it in her mouth.
He grinned so widely that his eyes nearly disappeared. It was just one bite of fruit, but to him, it felt like spring itself had burst into bloom.
---
Guarding Her Sleep
Sometimes, in the late afternoon, Qing Yun would doze off on the couch in the living room, a book still resting in her hand.
The moment Ze Yan saw her, he lowered his own voice to a whisper. Then he walked through the house, instructing the staff softly:
"Keep it down."
"Move quietly."
"Don't disturb her."
The vast mansion fell into a hush, as if the whole building bent itself to protect her nap.
Ze Yan would sit nearby, watching her chest rise and fall, watching the faint crease of tiredness on her brow smooth out in sleep. And in that silence, he felt more peace than he had ever known in the loudest banquet halls of the world.
---
Happiness in the Small Things
It astonished him sometimes, how much joy he found in such ordinary gestures.
A plate of fruit. A pair of slippers. A note under a teacup. The sound of her breathing as she slept.
Before, he had thought love meant grand gestures, fireworks, world-shaking promises.
But with Qing Yun, he realized that love was in the little things. And each little thing was enough to make him feel whole.
He didn't need her to smile every day, or laugh like she used to. He didn't even need her to speak much.
Just knowing she was here, in this house, walking beside him in the garden, reading quietly in the study—just knowing she still existed in his world was enough.
Ridiculous, maybe. But true.
And so, step by step, fruit by fruit, note by note, Gu Ze Yan continued to weave a quiet net of care around her, hoping—one day—it might be enough to bring back even the faintest trace of her light.