WeChat pinged softly against the hush of Gu Ze Yan's office. The city's skyline stretched behind him through floor-to-ceiling glass, but his gaze lingered on his phone instead.
Gu Ze Yan: What are your plans for New Year's Eve?
The reply came after a minute.
Lin Qing Yun: Just walking with Si Yao. We always go out together.
He frowned faintly, thumb hovering over the keyboard. That sounded quiet, almost lonely.
Gu Ze Yan: Then let me take you both out. Celebrate properly.
Another pause.
Lin Qing Yun: You don't need to.
Gu Ze Yan: I want to.
This time her answer came slower, three little dots blinking and disappearing before finally settling.
Lin Qing Yun: …Alright.
He leaned back in his chair, a smile tugging unreasonably at his lips.
The Apartment
Late afternoon, Qing Yun's small apartment had turned into a stage play.
Auntie Wu and Auntie Chu—two women who ran the alley like generals—sat perched on stools with combs, pins, and advice. Si Yao buzzed with excitement like a sparrow, darting back and forth between the wardrobe and the bathroom mirror.
"White dress, definitely," Auntie Chu declared, holding it up. "So clean, so fresh. And this soft pink coat—perfect! Makes her look gentle, but not too plain."
Lin Qing Yun sat resigned in front of the mirror. "It's too much. I'll scare people on the street."
"You'll scare them because they'll fall in love and trip over themselves," Auntie Wu countered, tugging her hair free of its tie. Dark strands spilled down in waves. She began brushing with brisk affection. "No more ponytails tonight. A girl should shine at least once a year."
"Exactly!" Si Yao chimed in, clapping. "Jiejie, just this once. For me."
Qing Yun laughed, shaking her head—but warmth spread in her chest. She had never asked for this kind of care, but she let them fuss, because saying no would have ruined the light in their eyes.
When the coat settled on her shoulders and a dab of soft pink colored her lips, Si Yao clasped her hands in victory. "Perfect! She'll charm one person especially."
Qing Yun only tapped her sister's forehead playfully, hiding the heat on her cheeks.
Ze Yan's Arrival
Down on the street, Ze Yan stood by his car, checking his watch again. Three weeks since he last saw her. The waiting gnawed at him in a way work never did.
The gate opened.
Si Yao bounced out first, wrapped in her own winter jacket, eyes sparkling. And then—
Qing Yun stepped into view.
White dress, hem brushing her knees. Soft pink coat, buttoned neatly. Her hair down, a little wavy, catching the light of the streetlamp. She moved carefully, like she was unused to being dressed this way.
His chest went still.
She caught his stare and flushed immediately. "I must look silly. I'm not used to this—"
"No." His voice cut in, warm and firm. "You look… beautiful."
The word hung between them, heavier than the fireworks already popping in the distance.
Qing Yun's blush deepened; she ducked her head. Si Yao beamed, clearly delighted. "See! I told you, Jiejie. My idea worked!"
Qing Yun flicked her sister a look that promised playful revenge, but her lips curved despite herself.
Xinghe Square
The fictional square bloomed with life: lanterns strung across walkways, vendors hawking candied fruits, sweet potatoes steaming in carts, children with sparklers trailing gold light in their wake. Music floated from a stage, bright and festive.
Si Yao dragged Qing Yun from stall to stall, hands clasped. They sampled roasted chestnuts, cotton candy, skewers brushed with chili oil. Qing Yun laughed more freely than she realized, the pink of her coat bright in the crowd.
Ze Yan trailed just behind, hands tucked in his coat pockets. Watching them—sisters weaving between stalls, laughing over too-sour haw—something unfamiliar but tender pressed at his ribs. They looked like his world, two lights pulling him forward.
At midnight, the countdown roared. Fireworks cracked into color above the skyline—red, green, silver that rained like stars.
"Happy New Year!" Si Yao shouted, hugging her sister's arm.
Ze Yan turned toward Qing Yun. His voice dropped, low and sure: "Happy New Year, Sunny."
She startled, eyes wide. The sound of her name—spoken so deliberately—stole the air from her chest. She found herself smiling back, soft, uncertain, glowing.
Return Home
The drive back was quieter. Si Yao dozed against the window, tired from laughter and sugar. At Qing Yun's apartment building, she stretched, mumbled thanks to Ze Yan, and hurried upstairs, waving sleepily.
Lin Qing Yun lingered by the gate. Streetlight poured gold over her pink coat, her hair loose around her shoulders.
"Thank you," she said softly. "For tonight. For Si Yao."
"Are you happy?" he asked, almost too seriously.
She looked at him—and for once, her smile wasn't the practiced brightness she gave customers. It was radiant, unguarded. "Yes. I've never been this happy. It feels like… everything I've struggled for finally makes sense."
The words caught in his chest. He had no defense.
"You really were beautiful tonight," he said, before he could stop himself.
Her eyes widened, cheeks coloring again. He lifted a hand instinctively, brushing a strand of hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. The warmth of her skin burned his fingertips.
Realization struck—too intimate. He froze, pulling his hand back slightly, embarrassed.
But Qing Yun didn't move away. She smiled—soft, forgiving, like the first light after dawn. "Thank you, Mr. Gu."
He swallowed. "Don't call me that. At least not tonight."
Her lips parted, but instead of teasing, she only said, "Then… thank you, Ze Yan." The name left her carefully, tender as a secret.
He wanted time to stop there: her smile in the lamplight, her voice carrying his name. He wanted to tell her everything—how he hadn't missed anyone like this in years, how he wanted to hold her, how he was already lost. But he stayed still, afraid that rushing would break the fragile, perfect moment.
"Go inside," he said finally, voice softer than he meant. "It's late."
She nodded, stepping toward the gate. But before she disappeared, she turned back once more. The smile she gave him then—bright, warm, hers alone—felt like a promise.
"Good night, Ze Yan."
He stood watching until the stairwell swallowed her. Only then did he let out the breath he'd been holding, a smile curving helplessly.
His phone rang. Zhao Xin Yue.
He answered, voice still soft with the night. "Xin Yue?"
Her words came in a rush, sharp with panic. "Ge… Baba collapsed. Please—come quickly!"
The streetlight buzzed faintly above him, but everything else fell silent.
The warmth of Sunny's smile still lingered on his skin, colliding violently with the sudden cold weight of family.