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Chapter 6 - Chapter 6: A Name on Quiet Lips

In the old Chen family villa, evening settled over carved eaves and latticed balconies that looked out onto a mossy courtyard. The place carried its years with quiet dignity — heavy wooden beams, oil paintings of ancestors that watched each passing generation without a word.

At the heart of it, Chen Mohan sat behind a broad desk in his private study. The air smelled faintly of old books and fresh ink. A single desk lamp spilled a warm pool of light over patient reports and a half-finished medical journal, its margin dotted with neat English notes.

Mohan leaned back, adjusting the rim of his thin-framed glasses with the tip of one finger. His long legs were crossed loosely under the desk, pale shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked every bit the doctor the city gossiped about — the Chen heir who barely smiled, who fixed people with a calm, glassy stare that no one could read.

Through the cracked door, voices trickled in — soft chatter between his cousin and an aunt lingering in the corridor.

"Young Miss Jinyi, are you feeling better? You should drink more water, your throat—"

"Auntie, I'm fine! It's just — today was so crazy at uni. If Wen Yanyi hadn't pulled me back, that whole stage light would've fallen right on me."

The words floated in — careless, airy. Mohan's pen paused against the margin. He turned his head slightly, dark hair falling neatly over his brow.

Wen Yanyi.

He let the name settle on his tongue, but his expression didn't shift. No raised brow, no hint of a smile. Just the faintest flicker in his eyes before he turned back to his journal. A quiet note filed away, nothing more.

Behind him, the wide window looked out over the side garden where moonlight caught stone lanterns and a pond dark as ink. The old Chen villa stood calm as ever — echoing footsteps of maids, the hushed knock of distant doors.

In the hall, Jinyi's voice lowered, drifting further down the corridor — excited, fond, full of thanks that never once reached Mohan's closed face.

---

Across the city, the Wen family villa was a softer picture altogether. Light spilled from tall windows onto the tiled path where flower beds edged the steps. Inside, the house buzzed gently — maids bringing out fresh fruit plates, carrying folded blankets up the wide staircase.

Yanyi slipped through the front door, the cool night air clinging to her hair.

Aunt Lin, the head maid, turned from the hallway with a surprised squeak. "Miss Yanyi! You're home — why didn't you call ahead? We'd have made your soup."

Yanyi only smiled, setting her overnight bag down by the shoe cabinet. Before she could answer, her mother's voice carried from the dining room.

"Yanyi?"

In the next instant, her parents were there — her mother's arms winding around her shoulders, her father pressing a light kiss to her hairline. They never cared how old she was, or how polished she looked outside these walls — here, she'd always be their soft-voiced girl coming in from the cold.

"You said you'd stay at the apartment this week," her father teased lightly, slipping her bag from her shoulder with practiced ease.

"I just wanted dinner at home tonight," Yanyi murmured. Her voice was even softer than usual — the tone that melted her parents every time.

They moved her into the dining hall, where the big round table was already laid out — bowls of clear broth, gently steamed vegetables, plates of sliced fruit. A second maid, Xiao Hui, hovered close, quietly pouring warm tea into a pale ceramic cup.

But when her mother brushed her sleeve aside, the bandage peeked out. Her father's eyes narrowed — a sharper look than his usual calm.

"What's this?" He reached to check her wrist.

Yanyi made a tiny protesting sound. "It's nothing. A loose light at the university stage — I stepped in for Jinyi. Just a scratch."

Her mother let out a soft cluck of worry. "Always trying to protect everyone else. Next time, let the staff handle it."

Yanyi laughed, her lashes dipping low. "Next time I'll watch from far away, promise."

Dinner moved gently from there — easy chatter about classes, her father's mild scolding about eating too little, her mother slipping extra sweet lotus into her bowl when she wasn't looking.

As they finished, Aunt Lin appeared again, clearing plates with quiet efficiency. "Old Madam Shen called earlier today," she added, glancing at Yanyi's mother. "She said it's been days since she's seen Miss Yanyi."

Her mother turned, warm eyes softening further. "Yes — Grandma Shen was asking when you'd drop by. She says the garden's started blooming again."

Yanyi pressed her lips together, the smallest smile breaking through. "I'll visit tomorrow. It's been too long."

---

Upstairs in her old room, Yanyi changed out of her blouse, slipping into a loose robe. She sat at the vanity, brushing out her hair with slow, deliberate strokes. Behind her, the big window framed the garden — moonlight caught on the dark leaves, shadows weaving through familiar paths she knew by heart.

She touched the edge of her bandage, fingertips brushing the tender skin beneath. Not enough to leave a scar — only enough to remind her why she'd done it.

Her reflection stared back — lashes soft, lips curved, eyes empty of anything that might betray her quiet thoughts.

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