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Chapter 58 - Chapter 58: Measured Steps

Summary: In a house wrapped in quiet, everything moves a little slower—bare feet, shared laughter, soft declarations whispered into music and steam. But even in that peace, decisions are made. Real ones. With her trust placed carefully in his hands and the future edging closer, Yao doesn't just brace herself—she begins to lead, even as she lets herself be held.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

The apartment was quiet, bathed in the soft light of late afternoon, shadows stretching lazily across the floor. The dishes from lunch were cleaned and set out to dry. The air was warm, peaceful, and still wrapped in that strange, sacred hush that only came when the outside world didn't feel real.

Yao sat curled on the couch, her feet tucked beneath her, a blanket draped loosely over her lap as she traced her fingers over the edge of her mug. She wasn't tired, not exactly, but she was settled, heart full, nerves calm, mind quiet in a way that rarely happened.

Sicheng, seated beside her, had one arm stretched behind the cushions, fingers absently combing through the tail of her still-damp braid. Then, without a word, he leaned forward. Reached for the small, sleek CD/radio system he'd bought her months ago. She blinked as the soft click sounded, the disc tray closing before the first notes of something low and warm began to fill the space, instrumentals, gentle and slow, something clearly chosen with intention.

Yao looked up at him, blinking. "What are you doing?"

He turned, smirked faintly, and offered her his hand. "Come here."

She flushed. Immediately. Her fingers curled tighter around the mug. "Sicheng…"

"You said you wanted to keep practicing," he said simply, his voice quiet but teasing at the edges. "You asked me to teach you." He didn't press. He just stood there, hand extended, eyes steady.

Waiting.

Yao hesitated. Her heart stuttered. She'd never danced with anyone before him. Had never let anyone lead her. And even now, even with all they had shared, especially because of all they had shared, she still felt her cheeks burn as she slowly set the mug down and reached for his hand.

He pulled her gently to her feet. No rush. No drama. Just the quiet rhythm of music and breath as he stepped closer, one hand guiding her waist, the other holding her hand loosely in his. "You remember how to start?" he murmured, tilting his head down just enough to meet her eyes.

She nodded, just once.

"Good," he whispered and they moved. Small steps. Slow rhythm. Bare feet on cool floors, her sleep shirt brushing against his chest, the scent of tea and soap still clinging faintly to them both. He didn't say much. Only corrected her once when her foot shifted the wrong direction, his palm gently squeezing her waist to steady her.

Yao looked up at him shyly, her voice barely a breath. "…Why now?"

His eyes softened. "Because it's quiet," he said. "And because I like dancing with you."

Her blush deepened. She didn't speak again. She just let him hold her close, her hands resting against him, her head slowly lowering to his chest as they continued to move, slow and soft and steady. And somewhere in the middle of the third track…. She smiled.

They moved slowly at first, every step deliberate, every shift of weight quiet and measured. Yao followed his lead carefully, her eyes focused somewhere between his collarbone and the floor, still flushed but no longer tense. Her hands rested light on his arms, her movements cautious but more natural now—more trusting. She didn't even realize when her head tilted into his chest again, letting him guide them across the living room floor with the steady rhythm of the soft music humming from the speakers.

And Sicheng?

He watched her. He could feel her body softening in his arms, the way her smile had started to grow more real with every step, the way her breath came lighter, freer. It made something warm and reckless twist in his chest.

So—

Feeling particularly smug—

He suddenly spun her.

Not fast.

But enough to make her breath catch, her steps falter into something that ended in a soft yelp muffled against his shoulder.

She blinked up at him.

Eyes wide.

Mouth open.

Before she could even gather herself, he dipped her.

Fully.

One hand at the small of her back, the other steady beneath hers as he bent her low and close, her hair brushing toward the floor, her startled gasp filling the room.

"Sicheng—!"

He grinned.

Unrepentant.

Her eyes met his, flustered and accusing—and then she laughed. Not a little smile. Not a shy breath. A full, bright, melodic giggle, like sunlight breaking through haze. It escaped her before she could stop it, her hand curling into his shirt as she laughed again, her cheeks pink and her eyes shining. "You're such a hooligan—!"

"Mm," he murmured, slowly pulling her back up into his arms, his nose brushing against hers. "Your hooligan."

She tried to swat him weakly on the chest, but the laughter lingered, fluttering in her chest, completely uncontained. He kissed her forehead as they swayed again, slower this time. And all the while, he couldn't stop smiling.

The music had faded into the background now, a soft instrumental track looping gently through the room, but neither of them moved to turn it off.

Yao was still tucked against Sicheng's chest, her arms loosely around his middle, her cheek resting just beneath his collarbone as they rocked side to side, slow and aimless. The echo of her laughter still lingered in the air, but it had settled now, softened into something quiet and content. She stayed like that for a while. Eyes closed, breath warm through the cotton of his sleep shirt. Before her voice came low. Shy. Almost uncertain. "…I love this part of you."

He stilled, just for a beat. Not because he didn't understand. But because she said it like it was a secret. Something fragile. Something precious.

She pressed her face a little closer into his chest. "I love when you smile like this… when you're playful," she murmured. "When you're not thinking about the team or the league or what you have to carry." Her fingers curled slightly in the fabric near his side. "When it's just you."

Sicheng exhaled slowly, the breath catching slightly in his chest. He tightened his arms around her, just enough to pull her closer, his cheek pressing against the top of her head as his voice dropped. "I'm always me," he said, rough and quiet, "but I get to be with you." She nodded against him, her face warm. He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to. He just held her there, in the middle of their space, the music still playing quietly, the world still outside. And his arms—steady, sure—wrapped completely around the only girl who had ever made him want to smile this way.

The movie played in the background, some lighthearted romantic comedy she'd picked from her modest DVD shelf—nothing heavy, nothing complicated. The kind of film where even the heartbreaks ended with warmth and the endings were already written.

Yao sat curled against Sicheng, her head tucked beneath his chin, her legs pulled up beside her, wrapped in the blanket he'd draped over both of them. His hand rested at her side, fingers moving idly over her waist in slow, absent circles. But her mind wasn't entirely on the movie. Not anymore. She'd been quiet for a while now, and not the sleepy kind. This was the kind of silence he could feel—the weight behind it, the flicker of thought she was trying to shape into words. Finally, soft and small, she whispered against his chest, "…Sicheng?"

He glanced down, not answering with words yet, only tilting his chin to her hair in acknowledgment, his hand pausing slightly at her side.

She took a breath. Then another. And then, in that same shy, vulnerable voice that never failed to pull his full attention, she asked, "Will you go with me?"

He shifted slightly, his hand resuming its motion, his brow gently furrowed. "Go where?"

She swallowed. "To meet my father's friend. After we get back… after Tsinghua."

Sicheng's body stilled, just enough for her to feel it.

Yao's fingers curled around the edge of the blanket, holding it tighter as she continued, her words nervous, unsure, but sincere. "To talk about taking back control of Tencent… of Riot Games." She hesitated. Her voice dropped even softer. "I don't know what I'm doing. My degree isn't an MBA. I never… I never saw myself in charge of something like that. I didn't even think about owning anything." Her fingers fidgeted slightly, brushing at the hem of the blanket. "But you were right." She paused and then said it fully. "I'm not going to sell it. Not when it belonged to my parents. Not when they built it. I just… I can't."

He said nothing at first. Just wrapped his arm more securely around her, tugging her closer.

She pressed into him more willingly this time, hiding her face under his jaw, her breath warm against his neck. "I want to do it right," she whispered. "And I don't want to go alone."

The silence that followed wasn't heavy.

It was purposeful. 

And then his voice, steady, low, absolute, came quietly above her ear. "I'll go with you," he said. "Of course I will." Her breath caught. "Every step of it," he murmured, his hand smoothing along her back. "You won't walk into anything alone. Not ever."

She hadn't moved from her place against him, but he could feel the tension coiling again, the way her fingers had gone still, the way her breath held for just a beat too long.

She was thinking.

He let her.

"…Should we bring your parents?" Her voice was soft, careful, like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to ask that. Like she was still unsure where those lines began and ended.

Sicheng didn't answer right away. He just stroked her back, slow and steady, his palm moving in quiet passes across the thin fabric of her sleep shirt. "I don't think my mother would let you walk in without her," he murmured, voice low but lightly amused. "And if my father finds out before we invite him, he'll sulk."

Yao let out a small exhale, half-laugh, half-nervous hum and nodded faintly, her cheek pressing closer into his chest. But then her voice came again. Smaller now. More uncertain. "…I've been thinking of naming someone as my proxy."

His hand paused, just briefly.

Yao's fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket between them. "I thought about your father," she whispered. "Or even Kaya-Jie." She hesitated. Then quickly, flushed and clearly panicked by what she was about to say, she added in a rushed breath, "Not because I don't trust you. I trust you more than anyone. You know that. I just…" She stopped. Her voice cracked softly as she tried again. "I thought of asking you first, I really did. But then I remembered… you still play. You still compete. You still own ZGDX. And I didn't want to put that weight on you. Not when I know how much you're already carrying. Not when I…"

 He cut her off. Not sharply. Not with words. But with his arms. He pulled her in tighter, lifting his hand to cradle the back of her head as he pressed a kiss into her hair. "Yao." Her name alone was enough to still her. "I'm not upset," he said, quiet and certain. "Not even a little." She didn't move, but he could feel the way her shoulders eased, just a little. "I know you trust me," he continued. "And I know what it means that you're even thinking about this at all." He shifted slightly, just enough to look down at her. "You should pick whoever makes you feel safe," he said. "Whoever can protect what matters to you, even when you're not in the room."

Yao looked up at him, her eyes wide and shining. "…You'd still help me anyway, wouldn't you?"

He smiled, small and honest. "I already am."

Yao's body had stilled again. Not out of tension now but deep thought. She stayed curled beside him on the couch, her hand resting lightly over his chest, fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt in small, nervous patterns. He didn't speak immediately, letting her sit in the question she'd already dared to ask.

But after a quiet moment, he exhaled, low and steady, then shifted slightly beneath her. "Let's look at it," he murmured. "Carefully."

She blinked up at him.

He gave her a faint nod. "Both options. My father, or Chen Kaya."

Yao's eyes dropped to the blanket again, but she didn't hide. She nodded slowly.

Sicheng brushed his hand along her back, palm warm, grounding. "My father," he began, "has a lot of strengths. You know that. He understands structure. Influence. Political positioning. If things get difficult, he's the kind of person people listen to before they even ask why."

Yao nodded again, quietly.

"But…" he added, voice quieter now, "he has one very big con. Probably the biggest one." He felt her breath catch. "His name is already deep in OPL," Sicheng said softly. "Both of his sons play professionally. One of them owns one of the most powerful E-Sports teams in the country—maybe even in Asia. And my mother," he gave a faint sigh "she may not hold an official title, but no one in the industry ignores her. She's on the Board. Just not on paper."

Yao's brows drew together.

Sicheng didn't rush her. He let her absorb that. Then added, "So no matter how honest his intentions are, he's connected. Anyone looking for a reason to discredit your position will latch onto that." Yao's fingers tightened slightly in his shirt. He reached up and gently brushed her hair behind her ear. "And then there's Chen Kaya."

Yao glanced up at him, more unsure here.

"She has a completely different profile," he said. "She's never once intervened in anything related to Jinyang or YQCB. She's made it clear to the business world that her career is her own, her decisions are clean, and no one—not her husband, not her sister-in-law—gets special treatment." He paused. "And she's not connected to OPL. Not directly. She's not part of the league, she doesn't sit on any shadow committees, she's never even stepped foot into the YQCB base."

Yao blinked at that. "She hasn't?"

Sicheng shook his head once. "Not even once. Everything she touches in business is held at arm's length from her personal life. People trust her neutrality. Which means if she becomes your proxy… no one can accuse her of being biased or strategically placed." Sicheng's voice dropped again, softer now. "She's the safer option. And no one will see her coming."

Yao stayed quiet for a moment, processing. Then she murmured, her voice small, "But your father…"

"We'll still talk to him. Ask his opinion. Let him know what's happening. He'll help. You don't need to name him to get his protection." Sicheng said gently as he held her close to his side. She let out a small, relieved breath. Sicheng kissed the top of her head, his hand trailing gently down her arm. "You don't have to decide tonight," he whispered. "But when you do… you won't do it alone."

Yao didn't say anything at first. She sat there beside him on the couch, her fingers curled gently in the blanket on her lap, her eyes fixed on a point just past the television. Her thoughts were moving faster than her body. But when she finally stood, there was no hesitation in it.

Sicheng watched her as she walked down the short hallway, disappearing into the bedroom. He didn't follow, didn't call after her. He knew better than to crowd her when her mind had settled on something—especially when it involved anything related to the weight she now carried.

A few minutes passed.

Then she returned.

Cradled carefully in her arms was the travel safe, the one she kept high on the shelf in her closet, tucked behind folded clothes and the quiet hope that she wouldn't need it again too soon. She came straight to him. No stammering. No blush. Just Yao, soft but steady. She set the safe gently down on the coffee table and looked at him, her hazel eyes wide, clear, and full of quiet resolve. "I want you to take everything in here," she said, her voice low but sure, "and put it into the second safe in your office."

Sicheng's eyes held hers.

He said nothing.

Just listened.

She glanced at the safe, then back up at him, a faint flush creeping into her cheeks—not from shyness, but from the weight of what she was trusting him with. "And when we get to the hotel in Beijing," she continued, "the Suite near Tsinghua… after the defense…" She swallowed gently, her voice softening at the edges. "I want to talk with your father. Your mother. And Kaya-jie, even though she will be on the phone. All together. If we can."

Sicheng reached forward without hesitation and rested his hand lightly over hers where it lay against the edge of the safe. His voice came low. Steady. "You want me with you?"

She nodded instantly. "Yes."

His thumb brushed against her knuckles. "Then that's exactly what we'll do."

And with that, she slowly let go of the safe, placing it fully into his care.

Because she had made her decision and because when it came to moving forward? She didn't need to be alone anymore.

He studied her for a long moment. Then nodded again. His voice, when it came, was low and even. "I'll make sure it's locked down before I sleep."

"Okay." Yao nodded, her expression softening again. And when he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, she closed her eyes and breathed, slow, quiet, and steady because this wasn't just her burden anymore. It was theirs.

The safe was heavier than it looked. Not in weight but in what it represented.

Sicheng carried it down the stairs with steady hands, the quiet sound of his bare feet against the floorboards the only noise in the otherwise still base. The others were scattered in their usual late-evening haunts, some in the lounge, some half-asleep in their rooms but they all knew something was shifting. Even if they hadn't been told the full story, they felt it. He reached his office at the far end of the hall. The lock clicked open under his fingerprint and the soft mechanical hum of the safe door rolled into the silence. Inside, his second personal safe sat quietly in the lower compartment, tucked behind the panel where only he had access. He placed the travel safe on the desk first, opened it, and one by one began transferring the contents—folders, documents, flash drives, and the old leather-bound journal Yao had once hesitated to show anyone.

He didn't ask questions. He didn't need to. When he closed the safe, sealed the door, and reactivated the biometric lock, it wasn't just a measure of security. It was a promise. When he exited the office, the noise level in the main area had picked up slightly. Yue was sprawled upside down on the lounge couch, half-listening to Pang complain about the state of their group snack bin. Lao Mao and Lao K were seated at the table, reviewing something that had nothing to do with training, and Ming sat quietly at the corner, sipping tea like the world couldn't touch him.

Sicheng didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. He stepped into the room, glanced once at each of them, and said, "Reminder." The noise dropped immediately. "We're flying out early tomorrow," he continued, arms crossing over his chest. "Pack whatever you need tonight. We leave by seven sharp."

Yue lifted his head. "For Beijing?"

Sicheng nodded. "Yao's defense is Monday morning. We're staying through midweek, so don't bring just one outfit."

"Do we need suits?" Pang asked, suddenly panicked.

"No," Sicheng replied dryly. "Just don't look like you got dressed in the dark."

Lao Mao grinned. "So, no to Yue's bunny hoodie?"

Yue scowled. "That hoodie's iconic."

Sicheng gave him a long look. "Iconically bad."

Yue opened his mouth.

Sicheng lifted a brow.

Yue closed his mouth.

The Captain's expression softened, just slightly. He didn't say Yao's name again. He didn't need to. They all knew why this trip mattered. Why it was important. Why are the stakes different now. And none of them, not one, intended to mess it up. "Get some rest." he said simply, then turned toward the stairs. He had someone waiting for him upstairs. Someone who had just handed him her trust and that mattered more than anything.

The scent of something light—miso, rice, maybe sautéed greens—hung gently in the air as Sicheng stepped back into the apartment, door closing with a soft click behind him. The lights were warm, not too bright, the kitchen bathed in the muted glow of the under cabinet fixtures Yao always turned on first. She was standing at the stove, barefoot, hair swept over one shoulder, the hem of her soft sleep shirt fluttering slightly as she moved to stir the contents of a small pot.

The apartment was quiet except for the faint simmering of broth and the soft sound of her wooden spoon.

She looked up as he walked in, and her eyes, still touched by the flicker of nerves that never fully left, met his with that same mix of trust and something softer. Something hopeful. "…Did you get everything settled?" she asked, voice light but cautious.

He nodded. "Everything's locked away."

She gave a small nod in return, turned back to the stove for a moment, then—without looking this time, spoke again. Softer. Almost shy. "Are you…" she paused, fingers adjusting the heat dial absently, "…are you staying here tonight?" She glanced at him, her lashes brushing low against her cheeks. "I mean, up here. With me. Not in your room downstairs." Her voice faded off near the end. She didn't look away. But her hand tightened slightly on the wooden spoon.

Sicheng didn't say anything for a moment. He just stepped into the kitchen slowly, walked up behind her without a sound, and wrapped his arms gently around her waist, resting his chin lightly against the curve of her shoulder. "I was always staying here," he murmured, voice low and warm against her skin.

She exhaled, soft and unsteady. "You didn't ask," she whispered.

"I didn't need to." He kissed the back of her neck.

She didn't say anything else. She didn't have to. Because when the rice was done and the broth had cooled and the bowls were filled and the dishes set aside. She knew he would still be there. Wrapped around her in the dark. Just like always.

The rice had just been portioned, the broth set to simmering low as Yao leaned over the counter to double-check the bowls. Sicheng was leaned against the edge of the kitchen island, watching her with that quiet look he always wore when she wasn't paying attention—part fondness, part possessiveness, part low-key amusement.

Then his phone buzzed.

He pulled it from his pocket, thumb unlocking the screen with the same practiced swipe as always.

The message was from Lu Sheng.

SulkingCEO: The hotel suite near Tsinghua has been prepped. Your room with Yao has everything both of you need. Her fur beasts are welcome—staff already informed. Food, bedding, and their usual comforts are stocked. I made sure they have windows.

Sicheng blinked.

Then snorted.

Yao looked up, wide-eyed. "What?"

He tilted the screen toward her just enough for her to read over his arm.

She stared.

Her cheeks went pink.

"…He called them beasts."

Sicheng's mouth twitched. "Affectionately."

Yao leaned over slightly, squinting at the text. "Did he really stock the suite… with cat things?"

"Apparently so."

"I didn't even tell him they were coming yet!"

Sicheng slipped the phone back into his pocket and leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. "You don't have to," he said with a soft smirk. "He already knew and you're family now. That includes the fur brigade."

Yao huffed, mumbling under her breath, "Still can't believe he's just letting them come."

Sicheng wrapped his arms around her from behind again, nuzzling lightly against her neck. "Letting them come?" he murmured. "He probably stocked the suite with better supplies than we have at the base."

And when Yao tried to protest, Da Bing, as if summoned by name, leapt onto the end of the couch with a regal thump, curling into his usual spot with a smug little flick of his tail.

Sicheng glanced over his shoulder, then smirked. "Yep. Definitely better supplies."

Yao shifted as she set the last of the bowls down on the counter, her expression thoughtful, her lips pressing into a small, uncertain line. Then, as she leaned into Sicheng's side again, her voice came quiet. "…We're going to need something to mellow Xiao Cong."

Sicheng blinked. "What?"

She bit her lower lip, glancing toward the living room where the gray-striped Main Coon kitten had just flopped upside down across the back of the couch, his tail twitching dramatically as he pawed at Da Bing's much larger face. "If he's locked up on that jet for more than ten minutes, he's going to start yowling like he's being tortured," she muttered. "And if he's not yowling, he's going to get out and terrorize everyone on the jet. Or scream because he's locked in. Again."

Sicheng let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Yao," he said dryly, "he's the size of my forearm."

"And has the personality of a god," she muttered back, rubbing her temples. "He'll terrorize Yue for looking at him too long."

"You say that like he didn't hiss at Yue for breathing near you two days ago."

"He hissed because Yue was being loud and waving a roll around like a threat."

"He hissed because Yue exists."

"…Also fair."

Sicheng reached past her for his tea and took a long sip before murmuring, "I'll call the vet in the morning. We'll ask if they've got something safe to take the edge off. Enough to keep him quiet without knocking him out."

Yao visibly relaxed, even as her cheeks pinked. "You sure?"

Sicheng leaned down, brushing his lips against her temple, voice low. "Beautiful, I'll sedate Yue if it keeps you and your little fur demon calm for the flight."

Yao choked on a laugh, then swatted at him weakly.

Da Bing meowed from the couch like he was insulted not to be included in the drama.

Sicheng's smirk deepened. "Don't worry, Da Bing. You can judge us all from your plush-lined travel crate."

Yao looked at him, then whispered, "It is plush-lined, isn't it?"

Sicheng raised a brow. "My father handled it. What do you think?"

Yao sighed into his shoulder. "Right. Velvet throne. Gold bowl. Probably roomier than the flight attendant's seat."

"Probably."

They both stood there for a second longer, listening to Xiao Cong's squeaky, high-pitched meow echo from the other side of the room.

Sicheng didn't say it aloud.

But judging by the noise?

Yeah.

That kitten was definitely getting something mellow. Or everyone on that jet was going to be begging to get off halfway through the flight.

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