Time crawled rather than passed, and by the moment Wu An stepped out of the hospital doors, she looked like someone who had been hollowed out and stitched back together only out of necessity. The soft automatic doors slid open behind her with a faint hiss, releasing her into the cool afternoon breeze that swept through the hospital grounds.
The world outside was far too bright. Too alive. Too loud.
The sunlight pressed against her eyelids, the distant noise of traffic hummed like a faraway storm, and the rustling of leaves from the large sycamore trees lining the pavement felt almost intrusive. She blinked twice, grounding herself, but her body felt heavy—like she was walking through thick water.
Her steps were slow, dragging, her heels making soft, uneven clicks on the pavement compared to the confident rhythm she carried earlier. The hospital's reflective windows mirrored a woman who looked like she had given up pieces of herself just to make it to the exit.
She scanned the parking lot. The company's black sedan was parked neatly where she'd been dropped off earlier, its polished surface catching the sunlight in dull, blurred patches. But no driver stood beside it. No shadow. No movement. Just stillness.
She exhaled sharply—annoyed, disappointed, and too exhausted to even pretend she wanted to wait. A part of her considered turning around and walking back into the hospital, pretending the outside world didn't exist for five more minutes. Maybe ten. Maybe until next year.
But then—
"Ms. Wu?"
The voice drifted from somewhere behind one of the tall stone pillars supporting the shaded walkway. Calm, steady, unmistakably his.
Wu An turned her head lazily, almost unwillingly.
Li Chenrui stepped out from the shadow as if he'd been waiting there all along. A neutral expression rested on his face, but his posture was stiff—almost formal, almost apologetic. His work jacket looked slightly crumpled, as though he'd been sitting or leaning somewhere for a long time.
"What… why?" Her voice was thin, drained, stripped of its usual sharpness.
He clasped his hands together awkwardly. "You left without any contact information… so I waited here." His tone was calm, almost careful, as if approaching a wounded creature.
She didn't respond immediately. Just stared at him for a few seconds longer than necessary, the exhaustion clouding even simple thoughts.
"Hm."
It was barely a sound—an acknowledgment, or maybe just a breath escaping—but she walked straight to the car and slipped inside without another word.
The interior smelled faintly of leather and the lingering trace of the lavender air freshener her assistant insisted on installing. It used to irritate her. Today it felt like the only soft thing left in the world.
Li Chenrui hesitated outside, glancing at her through the tinted window. He waited a beat. Then two. Then three—perhaps to give her a moment, perhaps because he didn't know whether she wanted him there. But when she didn't say anything, he took it as his cue and got in.
He didn't start the engine immediately. His fingers hovered over the keys for a long moment before he turned slightly toward her.
"Where to?" he asked, trying—and failing—to conceal his nervousness. His grip on the steering wheel was just a touch too tight.
Wu An didn't open her eyes. Her head rested against the seat, her posture loose in a way that seemed unnatural for someone normally so composed.
"Anywhere but the office," she murmured, her voice barely audible. Her breath trembled slightly. "I'm tired today."
The whisper was so soft that Li Chenrui almost questioned if he imagined it. He blinked, unsure, glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror.
"So…" He swallowed. "Where would that be?"
There was no sarcasm in his voice—just uncertainty. And concern he tried very hard to hide.
Wu An forced her eyes open, just enough to meet his gaze. Her lashes were heavy, her expression unreadable, her voice soft like worn paper.
"I'll leave that for you to decide," she said simply.
Then she closed her eyes again, surrendering herself to the quiet, to her exhaustion, and to him—just this once—without protest.
Outside, the wind rustled through the trees again, carrying a smell of earth and sunlight. Inside the car, silence settled between them—quiet, stretched, delicate—
a silence that meant far more than words ever could.
____
Wu An didn't remember falling asleep.
One moment, the world had been a blurred watercolor painting outside the car window—soft greens and muted golds streaking past her half-closed eyes—and the next, a gentle tap brushed her shoulder like a feather drifting back into reality.
She flinched awake.
Her eyes blinked rapidly, adjusting to the afternoon sunlight pouring through the windshield in heavy, honey-colored beams. The glare sharpened into shapes—trees swaying, a faint shimmer of heat rising from the ground, and the silhouette of a tall figure leaning slightly toward her.
Her voice came out hoarse, disoriented.
"Where… am I?"
Li Chenrui offered a small smile, his tone mild, as if trying not to startle a skittish animal.
"In front of the ice cream truck."
"Huh?"
Her brows knitted, her mouth tugging into an unimpressed line.
He lifted both hands slightly, surrendering to her confusion.
"You'll see."
There was no other way for him to explain—that much was obvious. He stepped aside as the car door opened, allowing her to step out into the warm, open air.
The moment her heels touched the ground, Wu An paused.
Before her stretched a wide greenfield—rolling and abundant, the earth rich and dark beneath the clusters of crops. Rows of tomato vines shimmered beneath the sun, droplets of irrigation clinging to the leaves like pearls. Pepper bushes swayed lightly with the breeze. A few patches bore potatoes and fries varieties barely peeking above the soil. The air smelled of earth and sun and distant blossoms—cleaner than anything she'd breathed in weeks.
It was peaceful in a way that felt unreal. Not a garden. Not a gazebo.
A farmland—yet too picturesque, too vibrant, too soothing. It looked like a place the world forgot to destroy.
And sitting at the edge of the field like an odd, whimsical guest at a formal banquet…
was a pastel-painted ice cream truck.
Its bell chimed a soft, nostalgic tune carried by the wind. Only a handful of customers milled around it—farmhands in boots, a couple holding hands, a child tugging impatiently on their mother's sleeve. But every person wore the same bright expression, the type reserved for something delightfully simple yet impossibly good.
Wu An forced her expression back into neutrality, refusing to show the flicker of surprise that tugged at her chest.
"Why bring me here?" she asked, her tone carefully schooled, eyes forward and controlled. But her voice was softer than she intended.
"You said anywhere," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "and this was the first place I thought of that felt… calm. I hope you don't mind."
"No…" she murmured, her voice thinning. "It's baffling, I suppose. Calm. Relaxing."
The admission barely escaped her lips, almost swallowed by the wind.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence rested gently between them, unintrusive.
Then, he took a breath.
"I figured you might need something sweet."
He glanced toward the truck.
"Would you care for ice cream?"
She refused to meet his eyes, turning her head slightly. Instead, she raised three fingers to his face—abrupt, wordless.
"Huh?"
He blinked, confused. But she kept the three fingers raised, her expression turning faintly pink at the edges.
And then his eyes widened with realization.
"Ah."
He hid a smile behind his hand.
"I'll be right back."
As he walked away, the farmland embraced her with its stillness.
The quiet was perfect—soft, warm, weightless.
It stretched over her like a blanket.
She let her gaze wander.
The tomatoes glowed red like tiny lanterns in the green. The peppers caught the sun on their glossy skins. Birds hopped across the soil. A distant breeze made the entire field ripple like a slow-moving wave.
Her chest loosened—just a little.
Peace was rare for her. Nearly foreign.
But here, it made sense.
Still, one thing puzzled her:
Why was an ice cream truck sitting at the edge of a farmland?
Before the thought could settle deeper, footsteps returned.
"Ms. Wu, here."
He offered her the cups.
She looked at him first—at the earnestness in his eyes—then at the ice cream.
Li Chenrui misunderstood the silence instantly. His shoulders stiffened.
"I—I'm sorry. You showed three fingers, so I assumed you wanted three portions."
He lifted his right hand slightly.
"I didn't know what flavors you liked, so I chose mint chocolate, banana, and vanilla."
In his left hand rested his own strawberry-flavored ice cream.
Her silence deepened.
Unintentionally dramatic.
Entirely overwhelmed.
His discomfort spiked.
"I—um—I'm sorry," he stammered, taking a step backward. "If you don't like those, I'll go get you another one—"
He barely took three steps before her voice cut through the soft afternoon air.
"You didn't ask for the flavor again."
It wasn't a scolding. Not even a complaint.
Just a simple, quiet observation.
He paused, turning slightly.
Wu An took the three cups from him delicately.
"Though I don't like mint chocolate," she said, her voice light, "I'll take it. You got the rest of my favorites right."
She moved toward a shaded corner of the field without waiting for his reaction, opening the banana cup and taking a slow spoonful. Relief softened her shoulders.
Li Chenrui blinked—still confused, still flustered, but also oddly relieved—and followed her moments later.
They sat under the partial shade of a nearby tree, the leaves rustling faintly above them. No one spoke. Wu An finished her banana ice cream. Then the vanilla. And now, reluctantly, she began the mint chocolate with a faint grimace.
It was peaceful.
"So…" Chenrui finally asked, his cup still untouched, "where do you want to go after this?"
"Anywhere quiet," she murmured. "That's all I ask."
Another silence.
A comfortable one this time.
"You seem to like ice cream," he added, trying to fill the gap.
"Hm."
She didn't look at him. Her eyes remained fixed on the farmland. The green soothed her. The soft breeze softened her breathing.
Then she spoke.
"You know… this is my first time—"
Li Chenrui turned slightly, waiting, cautious not to push.
"This is the first time I'm eating this much without restraint," she continued quietly.
"I'm… happy about it."
"You are?"
She gave a small nod.
"I have a soft spot for sweet things," she confessed.
"But I can't always eat them. It scares me…"
Scares her?
Why?
He didn't interrupt.
He waited.
Patient. Present.
"But I guess I was too embarrassed to ask for this many."
A tiny, self-deprecating huff left her.
"Fei-Fei would skin me alive if she ever heard of this."
A ghost of a smile touched her lips.
"Actually, you're the first person who asked where I wanted to go. The first who tried to distract me. The first who speaks so openly…"
Her voice wavered.
"…without letting insecurities choke you."
Her hands trembled faintly.
Her grip tightened on the cup. But she kept speaking as if the words were spilling out faster than she could control.
"But you pass judgment like the god of no nonsense," he muttered lightly.
"You terrified me." he continued.
"God of no nonsense?" she asked amused.
She let out a tired, real chuckle.
"That's too much power, don't you think?"
He laughed softly.
"But I'm serious. Even Ms. Liu was on edge with you."
She scoffed.
"Oh no. That gremlin? She was laughing. Don't let her fool you."
As she leaned back slightly, her hand slid over her stomach—the barest motion, small enough to miss. But Li Chenrui didn't miss it. His brows knit with concern.
"Anyway… thanks again," she whispered.
The farmland quieted again.
Only the chirping of birds dared to break the stillness.
Then—
without warning—
a soft weight settled on his shoulder.
He froze.
Wu An's head had slowly tilted sideways, exhaustion or maybe not overtaking her again. Her hair brushed his collar. Her breathing softened. Her posture loosened, surrendering entirely to the moment.
Li Chenrui did not move.
Not even an inch.
The sunlight dipped lower, the breeze gentled, and the farmland stretched before them in colors warm enough to paint an entire memory.
And there he sat—
still, patient, quiet—
with his boss sleeping soundly on his shoulder.
Not daring to wake her.
Not willing to move.
Not wanting the moment to end.
____
Li Chenrui, who had started the hour sitting upright and careful, now felt every muscle in his shoulder stiffen beneath the unexpected weight of her head. His legs were nearly numb from remaining in the same position, but he stayed still, as though any movement might shatter the fragile peace wrapped around her.
At first he waited, assuming she would shift or yawn or blink awake. But she remained motionless—too motionless. Her breathing was soft, shallow, and oddly fragile.
He hesitated, then leaned slightly toward her.
"Ms. Wu?" he murmured. "Wake up."
No reaction.
He tried again, tapping her shoulder gently.
"Ms. Wu…?"
Still nothing.
A faint knot formed in his stomach. His mind replayed the moment she had clutched her abdomen earlier—small, subtle, easily dismissed then. But now? Now it screamed for attention.
Was she allergic to ice cream?
His heartbeat thumped once—hard—before instinct took over. He reached for his phone and immediately dialed Liu Dai Fei.
It rang three times before she answered briskly, "Yes?"
"I—I know this sounds awkward," he began, lowering his voice. "But I think Ms. Wu has fainted."
Silence. A long, heavy, telling silence.
When Liu Dai Fei finally spoke, her tone had shifted into something darker. "Did you feed her soursop?"
"No," he replied quickly. "She ate three cups of ice cream. That's all."
Another pause. Then—quietly, like she was revealing a secret not meant for the world—
"She's scared of ice cream."
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I'll explain later," Liu Dai Fei said. "Just take her home. I'll tell you what to do next."
By now, Chenrui had already slipped an arm behind Wu An's back, lifting her carefully. Her head lolled against his chest, her breath warming the fabric of his shirt. She didn't even twitch—not the slightest hint of waking.
As he rose to his feet, a sharp ache screamed through his thighs. His legs had fallen almost completely asleep. He winced, adjusting his grip on her until her weight was evenly supported against him.
"I'm sending the address and her passcode," Liu Dai Fei said just before hanging up.
He carried Wu An to the car, cradling her like a porcelain figure. After settling her gently into the backseat, he circled to the driver's side. His phone buzzed—her address, the passcode, and an additional message:
Sorry to bother you. I could have been there, but I need to handle something here. Call if you need anything.
Chenrui typed a quick response: No need.
Then he started the engine and followed the navigator's glowing path through the quiet roads.
Her apartment matched her presence—quietly elegant, rich without trying to be.
No gold-plated ornaments or excessive chandeliers, but a subtle sophistication that spoke more loudly than extravagance ever could.
Soft, warm tones colored the living room. Cream, muted gold, mahogany—simple, but chosen with a taste that bordered on effortless luxury. The couches were minimalistic in design, yet any dealer with sense could tell one piece alone could buy a small car.
It was a home that whispered wealth rather than shouted it.
But her bedroom…
That was an entirely different world.
Dark palettes, deep navy and charcoal, framed the room. Heavy curtains draped elegantly, filtering the light into a dim, moody glow. The air carried a quiet gravity—an unspoken authority that clung to the walls like shadow.
For a moment, Li Chenrui almost wondered if his boss moonlighted as the head of some underground syndicate. The atmosphere was striking, powerful… unmistakably her.
He placed her gently on the bed and straightened up, stretching as his joints cracked back to life.
Then he called Liu Dai Fei again.
She answered immediately. "Yes?"
"She's home. In bed." He kept his tone clipped, direct.
"Good. The drawer next to the bed—open it. You'll find a syringe. Inject the content into her system."
His eyebrows shot up. "Why?"
"She's having a panic attack."
"But she's asleep," he countered, baffled. "How—what does ice cream have to do with—"
"Trust me," she interrupted sharply. "Inject her. You wouldn't like what happens if she wakes up like this."
He drew breath to ask more, but a sudden sound cut him off.
A whimper.
Soft. Fragile. Terrifying.
He turned sharply.
On the bed, Wu An's body remained still, but her face twisted with silent torment. Her brows knotted, her lips trembled, her hands clenched the quilt until her knuckles blanched. Her head tossed gently, as though caught in a nightmare she could not escape.
"She's waking," Liu Dai Fei warned from the phone. "Do it now."
He hung up.
Fear gripped him—not for himself, but for her. For this woman who always held herself together so tightly that it was nearly impossible to imagine her unraveling.
The syringe glinted in the low light. His hand moved automatically, memory guiding him. He had done this before—for his mother, years ago. The familiarity ached.
He pressed the needle into her skin and pushed the contents in.
Gradually—slowly, like a storm receding—the tension faded from her face. Her breath eased. Her fists uncurled. Her head settled softly into the pillow.
But the tears did not stop.
Thin, glistening streaks slid silently down her cheeks, tracing fragile paths toward her ears.
Li Chenrui froze, staring—not out of discomfort, but out of a profound, wordless ache that hit him somewhere deep.
This woman—his boss, sharp as a blade and controlled as a dam—
was crying in her sleep.
He didn't wipe the tears.
Didn't touch her.
Didn't speak.
He simply sat beside her, watching the quiet pain she didn't know she was showing.
A realization quietly rooted itself in him:
Wu An wasn't just strong.
She was surviving something.
Something heavy.
Something scarring.
And when the day came that she chose to reveal it—
Li Chenrui knew he would be there.
Ready to listen.
Ready to shoulder whatever pieces she finally trusted someone to see.