The Zhao Mansion at night never slept. Light poured across the garden like it was trying to outshine the stars; the fountain in the courtyard whispered its endless trickle. But the mood inside was hushed, strained.
Gu Ze Yan strode through the front doors without waiting for a servant's guidance. His shoes tapped against the polished marble until he reached the staircase.
"Third Young Master," one of the housekeepers bowed nervously, "the Chairman is upstairs, resting."
Resting. That was the word they chose when a man collapsed at his desk.
Ze Yan's stride didn't falter. He had grown up in these halls, enough to know where to go without help.
Ming Liang was propped against pillows, pale but not weak—his eyes still sharp, his voice still carrying the weight of authority. The oxygen tube at his side looked almost out of place.
"You rushed back," Ming Liang said, smiling faintly when he saw him. "I told them not to alarm you."
"They were right to call me," Ze Yan answered softly, pulling a chair closer. "You shouldn't overwork."
Ming Liang chuckled low. "If I stop, they'll fight before I even close my eyes. You know how your brothers are."
Ze Yan said nothing. He only poured water from the thermos, set it by the bed, then sat down, posture neat, gaze steady.
"Ze Yan," Ming Liang's tone softened, "I know you've built something for yourself. Luminar is impressive—more than I ever expected from a boy who used to take radios apart just to see if he could put them back together. But…" He paused, his expression almost wistful. "I still hope, one day, you'll stand in Zhao Corporation. Not because I need you to, but because I want you near."
Warmth stirred in Ze Yan's chest. He lowered his eyes, voice quiet but resolute. "Pa, you've given me everything already. A family, an education, trust. Zhao Corporation… it should belong to your sons, not me. I want you to be proud when you look at me, not worried that I'm stealing a place."
Ming Liang's hand trembled slightly as he lifted it. Ze Yan caught it without thinking, steadying the weight.
"I am proud," Ming Liang said, gaze firm despite the fatigue. "Always. You carry both discipline and kindness. That is worth more than a corporation."
Ze Yan's throat tightened. He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear that.
After a moment, Ming Liang leaned back, breathing easier. "Tell me… is there someone?"
Ze Yan blinked.
"A girl," Ming Liang clarified, a smile ghosting over his lips. "I may be ill, but I'm not blind. You've looked… lighter lately. Softer."
For the first time in years, Ze Yan felt his composure slip. A slow, helpless smile rose despite himself. "There is someone," he admitted. "I'm… pursuing her."
"Good," Ming Liang said simply, satisfied. "Bring her home, sometime soon. I want to see the girl who can make my son look like this."
Ze Yan lowered his eyes, hiding the smile that refused to leave.
"Don't wait too long," Ming Liang added, his tone turning firm again. "Marriage, children… I don't want you to grow old alone, Ze Yan. Even if you have the whole world, loneliness is a cruel companion."
The words cut straight into him, because they were true. He nodded once, steady. "I'll bring her. Soon."
Ming Liang's eyes eased closed, not from weakness but trust. "That's all I ask."
The corridor outside was colder.
Zhao Wei Jun leaned against the railing, arms crossed. Zhao Han Sheng stood beside him, expression as impassive as glass.
"So," Wei Jun sneered, "the outsider still rushes back whenever Father coughs. How filial."
Ze Yan paused, sliding his hands into his pockets, gaze cool. "At least one of us should be."
Han Sheng's lips thinned, but it was Wei Jun who bristled. "Don't think building your little startup makes you someone important in this family. Zhao Corporation isn't yours to dream of."
"I've never dreamed of it," Ze Yan said evenly. "And yet you still see me as a threat. That should tell you something about your own ability."
Wei Jun lunged half a step forward, but Han Sheng held him back with a subtle hand. "Enough. Don't fight in the hallway." His voice was calm, but his eyes held the weight of warning.
Ze Yan didn't spare them more. He simply adjusted his coat, expression unreadable, and walked past. His steps were measured, unhurried, but each carried the gravity of someone who refused to bow.
Behind him, Wei Jun muttered curses under his breath. Han Sheng's silence was heavier than noise.
Outside, the winter air was gentler than the house he had left.
Ze Yan exhaled, lifting his gaze toward the night sky. In his mind, his stepfather's words echoed: Bring her home. Don't be alone.
And against the mansion's cold shadow, he thought of a small bookstore, of a girl's laughter that felt like warmth in his chest.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. For a moment, he almost wished it was her.
He smiled faintly at the thought, then walked toward his car, the lights of the city waiting to carry him back to where he truly wanted to be.