Back at the hospital, 6 years later.
Present Time
Gu Ze Yan still sat at her bedside, hand folded gently around hers. The room was quiet except for the metronome of the monitor, the soft hum of the air vent, the faint rustle of curtains stirred by recycled air. His thumb drew a slow circle over her knuckles, a gesture that meant nothing to anyone but him, a silent vow he could not yet name.
The door opened with a suddenness that felt almost violent against the hush.
"Oh—there she is!"
A woman bustled in, middle-aged, her hair tied up in a practical knot, her steps brisk as if she carried the market with her. She stopped short, eyes sweeping over the clean walls, the private bed, the sterile gleam of the room. "Aiyo… this is a VIP ward, isn't it? So expensive! Why would she be put here?"
Ze Yan straightened in his chair, but his hand did not leave Qing Yun's.
The woman's gaze landed on him, sharp with curiosity. "And who are you?"
For a moment he couldn't answer. The truth that wanted to rise was too heavy, too sharp. His throat tightened around it until finally he managed, quietly, "A friend."
Her eyes narrowed playfully. "Oh? From work?"
He curved his mouth into a polite smile, one he had perfected over years of boardrooms and negotiations. "Something like that."
Inside, the words tasted bitter. He wanted to say everything, but he could only offer something.
The woman—an aunty, lively and unashamed in her curiosity—stepped closer to the bed, tutting at the bandage on Qing Yun's temple. "Tsk, tsk. What a fright that gave me! If I hadn't been there, who knows what would've happened. The way the car came at her—"
She shook her head, hands flying in emphasis. "You know what's strange? She had time to move. Time! But she just… froze there. Like she wanted the car to hit her. Isn't that odd? If the driver hadn't swerved, it would've been worse. Still, she fell hard, poor girl, hit her head."
Ze Yan's face did not change, but under his ribs something clenched tight.
The aunty leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice though the room was empty. "Lucky I saw it, otherwise who would've brought her here? Really, Heaven must've been watching."
He inclined his head. "Thank you," he said, and his voice was steady though gratitude churned with unease.
The aunty straightened, then tilted her head at him, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "But you… you don't seem like the one who's always following her around. There's another man, you know. I've seen him—always in disguise. Cap pulled low, mask on his face. Strange, isn't it? Not like you at all."
Ze Yan kept his expression neutral, though his pulse jumped.
The aunty crossed her arms, the suspicion turning into the beginnings of fear. "Could it be… she's involved in something shady? Secret agent? Celebrity? Or—don't tell me—connected to crime?"
Her voice trembled, caught between excitement and worry.
Ze Yan's lips curved faintly, the perfect corporate smile. "Not like that at all."
But inside, the words echoed differently: I don't know anymore. Four years gone, and her life had unspooled into corners he had never walked. He realized, with a hollow pang, that he knew nothing of her now—her neighbors, her habits, the shadows of men who visited in disguise.
The aunty clucked her tongue, breaking his silence. "In any case, she'll need things. Clothes, toiletries, the small necessities. She'll be here at least a few days, maybe longer."
She sighed, fanning her face with her hand. "But today, I can't. I have something important this afternoon. I was going to go after my errands, but now—"
"I'll go," Ze Yan said quickly. His voice was firm, leaving no space for her to object. "I'll drive you. We can bring her things back together."
Her face brightened at once. "Ah, that's convenient! I have her keys, too. She gave them to me in case of emergencies. Good, good, that will save time."
Ze Yan stood, slipping his jacket back on, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve with precise fingers. He glanced once more at Qing Yun—the pale curve of her cheek, the soft rise and fall of her breath. Then he let go of her hand. It felt like setting something down that he had carried for too long.
The aunty was already bustling toward the door, chatting about the neighborhood, the small things she knew. Ze Yan followed, each step heavier as if the floor itself resisted.
Down the corridor, the machines beeped on, indifferent. Outside, the city sprawled in summer light.
And somewhere ahead, waiting behind an ordinary door, was the life she had built in the years he had not been there to see.