Warm light filtered through the curtains when Qing Yun stirred. She turned lazily, expecting the quiet of her penthouse. Instead, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
A face was right there.
Gu Ze Yan lay on his side beside her, one arm folded under his head, watching her with steady patience. His lips curved faintly as her eyes flew open.
"Ze Yan!" Her voice cracked as she scrambled upright, hair a tangled mess around her face. "What are you—how did you—when—"
He lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "I thought you missed me."
Her mind stuttered. Memories of last night rushed back—the bar, the toasts, the dizzy warmth of wine, and then her phone in her hand, her own voice far too loud: I miss you.
Her cheeks flamed. "But… Liangcheng to Guangjing isn't even close. How can you just show up?"
His expression turned smug, the corner of his mouth tilting. "Perks of being rich. What's the point of a private jet if I don't use it to come see you whenever I want?"
She groaned, flopping back onto the pillow, mumbling into the fabric. "Carbon emissions… rich people abusing money…"
His laughter was low, warm. He leaned over, silencing her ramble with a kiss. "I miss you too," he murmured against her lips.
---
The kiss deepened, lingering, his hand sliding across her jaw. He pressed another to her cheek, her temple, the hollow of her throat. Slowly, he began to unbutton the collar of her sleep shirt, his touch unhurried but certain.
Qing Yun's breath caught. Before his hand could slip lower, she pushed him back lightly and reached into her bedside drawer.
She placed a small square packet in his palm.
Ze Yan looked at it, then at her, his brows arching. His lips tugged into a pout. "Really?"
Her eyes met his firmly.
He sighed dramatically, shoulders dropping. "Fine." The surrender in his tone was laced with affection, not defeat.
---
Since it was the weekend, no class waited. They dressed leisurely, stepping out into the crisp autumn air.
The small alley bistro welcomed them with the scent of scallion pancakes. The owner beamed at Qing Yun. "Here again, Miss Lin? And you've brought a friend!"
Qing Yun ducked her head, murmuring thanks, while Ze Yan simply placed their order with quiet authority. Soft scrambled eggs, pear compote, tea. He slid the steaming cup toward her without asking, knowing it was her habit.
She hid a smile behind her chopsticks.
---
By afternoon, they wandered through a seasonal farmer's market. Stalls brimmed with late apples, jars of honey, handmade jams. Qing Yun lingered over each display, curiosity lighting her calm gaze.
Before she could even reach for her wallet, Ze Yan was already paying, his tall frame moving smoothly from vendor to vendor. He carried every bag without protest, arms filling until she protested softly, "I can help."
"No," he said simply, adjusting the weight. "I'll take them."
She shook her head, amused, secretly warmed by the sight of him weighed down with fruit yet still walking as if nothing burdened him.
---
Evening brought them to a hotpot restaurant. A private booth wrapped them in steam and spice. Qing Yun dipped thin slices of lamb, her lashes lowered in concentration.
When she leaned forward to taste from his chopsticks, chili oil stained her lip. Before she could wipe it away, his thumb brushed the spot, lingering a beat too long.
Her eyes widened. He only smirked, dropping the bite into his own bowl.
She ducked her head quickly, hiding her face in the rising steam.
---
After dinner, they walked through a quiet old alley lit with paper lanterns. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of dried leaves.
As they strolled, Ze Yan slipped her hand into the pocket of his coat, their fingers entwining in the warmth. She glanced up at him, lamplight softening his sharp profile.
Her voice came low, almost hesitant. "You asked me before… if I still treat you only as an obligation."
He looked down at her, listening, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
She swallowed, eyes dropping. "Truthfully… I don't even want to try to do anything for you—"
Her words stopped there, the silence pressing in.
Ze Yan's steps slowed. His grip on her hand tightened, voice careful. "Qing Yun, what do you mean by that?"
She lifted her face toward him, lips parted, eyes unreadable. The lantern light flickered, painting her expression with both shadow and glow.
The alley seemed to still around them, waiting for her next words.