Xianghe Noodle House was already alive before the dinner rush even peaked.
Steam curled upward from pots, clattering bowls echoed across the tiled walls, and waiters squeezed past each other with trays balanced precariously. It was noisy, messy, and wonderfully alive.
And in the middle of it all, Lin Qing Yun glided like water.
Her hair was tied in a loose ponytail, apron strings looped neatly at her back. She moved quickly but never clumsily—balancing bowls, pouring tea, exchanging smiles with regulars who had long since claimed her as "their Sunny." Even in the chaos, there was a warmth around her, like a lantern light that made people look twice.
But tonight, one particular pair of eyes never left her.
The moment Gu Ze Yan stepped into the restaurant, heads turned. Not because the customers recognized him—most didn't. But because his aura didn't belong here.
Tall, sharp-featured, his crisp coat brushing against the crowded tables, he looked like someone from another world entirely. The chatter faltered, a small hush passing over the room, before resuming again with louder noise to cover the curiosity.
Qing Yun saw him and froze.
Just for a second—her hand paused around a tray, her eyes widened slightly, and she forgot the bustle around her.
That second was all it took for trouble.
A hurried customer bumped into her side, soup sloshing dangerously. Qing Yun's foot slipped against the damp tile.
Before anyone could gasp, an arm caught her, steady and firm, pulling her upright. The tray wobbled but didn't fall. Lin Qing Yun found herself pressed against Ze Yan's chest, his hand around her waist, his breath warm at her ear.
Time seemed to stretch, just the two of them suspended in a bubble of steam and noise.
Then the spell shattered—
"Wah—hero!" someone whistled.
"Good catch, young man!" another shouted.
"Should kiss her! Princess needs a kiss!"
The diner burst into applause and cheers. Chopsticks tapped against bowls, voices rose in chorus.
Qing Yun's face burned hot as she quickly stepped back, laughing nervously. "If you want to see a kiss, you'll have to pay an extra service fee," she said brightly.
The room roared with laughter.
She darted away, cheeks flushed, returning to her duties with the same practiced rhythm. But her heart beat wildly as if she had truly fallen.
A man at the corner table winked at Ze Yan. "Brother, you're lucky. Our Sunny doesn't let just anyone hug her."
Ze Yan's lips curved in a small, victorious smirk. He didn't answer. But when his gaze slid back to Qing Yun, who was busy pretending not to notice him, her face betrayed her with a faint blush.
--
Dinner by the Window
Gu Ze Yan took a table by the window, slipping off his coat with unhurried grace. He looked out at the neon streets for a moment, then back at the woman weaving through tables.
When Qing Yun came to take his order, her smile was polite, professional—but her eyes flickered briefly with shyness.
"What would you like?" she asked, pen poised.
"Wonton noodles," he said. "Extra broth. And warm tea."
She jotted it down. Their fingers brushed lightly when she handed him the receipt, a fleeting spark. She turned quickly, disappearing into the kitchen.
Gu Ze Yan leaned back, folding one arm over the chair, and watched her. She wasn't wearing anything remarkable—just the standard apron and black slacks of a waitress. Yet in this room filled with noise and clamor, she stood out effortlessly.
She wasn't trying to shine. She simply did.
When the bowl arrived, steam fogging the air, Qing Yun set it down gently. "Eat while it's hot."
He looked at her longer than necessary. "What time do you finish tonight?"
"Ten," she replied, already moving to another table.
He nodded, stirring the broth slowly, hiding the faint satisfaction in his eyes.
The noodles were good, savory and rich, but he barely tasted them. His gaze kept straying back to her—how she bent to talk to an old man at the corner, how she crouched to steady a child's bowl, how her smile always seemed genuine, never tired.
She looked more radiant here, serving bowls in a crowded noodle house, than any woman he had met at banquets in glittering gowns.
By the time he finished, the clock barely brushed past eight-thirty. He set his chopsticks down and stood. Qing Yun caught his eye briefly, but he only gave a small nod and left without a word.
She watched his back retreat through the door, lips parting in confusion.
--
The night pressed in. At ten sharp, the owner waved goodbye to the last customer, wiping his hands on a towel. "Good work today, Sunny. You carried the shop on your shoulders."
"Thank you, Uncle," she said, untying her apron. Her shoulders ached, her calves burned, but her smile remained bright.
She stepped outside—only to almost collide with a tall figure waiting under the lamplight.
She blinked, startled. "You—why are you still here?"
Gu Ze Yan's expression was calm, but his eyes glinted with something mischievous. "Dinner was too good. I had to walk it off." He held up a cup. "Milk tea. For you."
Qing Yun laughed, soft and surprised. "You… bought this?"
"Of course." He tilted his head, smiling warmly. "You worked hard tonight."
Her chest tightened unexpectedly. She accepted it with both hands. "Thank you."
The sweetness of milk tea spread across her tongue, but the warmth in her chest had nothing to do with sugar.
"Come," he said. "I'll take you home."
--
The car hummed quietly as they drove through the night streets. When they reached her apartment, Ze Yan stepped out first, as always, to open the door for her.
She was about to thank him and head upstairs when he said, "Wait."
From the back seat, he pulled out a small plastic bag.
"Show me your hand," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
"Your hand," he repeated, patient but firm.
Still confused, Sunny raised both hands like someone surrendering to a robber. "Like this?"
Gu Ze Yan chuckled, shaking his head. He gently caught her right hand and turned it over. A tiny cut stretched faintly across the back, red, still look fresh. He peeled open a plaster strip and smoothed it over the wound with careful precision.
Qing Yun stared. "How… did you notice? I almost forgot about it."
"Of course I noticed," he said softly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Before she could respond, he crouched and pulled out a pain relief patch. He peeled one, then knelt down and pressed it lightly against her calf.
Lin Qing Yun froze, stunned. His head bowed, his hand steady as he smoothed the patch gently against her skin. His presence was so close, so careful, it made her heart pound faster than it should.
He rose, eyes meeting hers.
"How did you know my legs were sore?" she asked in a whisper.
Gu Ze Yan didn't tell her about how he'd watched her discreetly massage her calf between tables, how he saw every flicker of discomfort no one else noticed.
He only tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers brushing warm against her cheek.
"I know," he said simply.
The words, spoken so softly, carried more weight than explanations ever could.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The streetlamp buzzed faintly, casting a pool of light around them. The air smelled of damp stone and winter tangerines. Somewhere upstairs, a neighbor shut a window, and a cat darted across the pavement.
Qing Yun looked at him—at the gentleness hidden under his usual confidence, at the quiet warmth that made her chest ache.
And suddenly, she stepped forward.
Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a sudden, wordless hug.
Ze Yan stiffened, stunned. His heart slammed once, twice, as if the world had lost gravity. For a beat, his arms hovered uncertainly. Then instinct took over, and he pulled her close, holding her as if afraid she would vanish.
Qing Yun said nothing. She didn't need to.
Her head rested lightly against his chest, and he lowered his chin just enough to breathe in the faint scent of her hair—soap, steam, and something uniquely hers.
The applause of the noodle house, the noise of the city, the old grudges of his family—all of it faded. There was only her warmth, pressed against him, quiet and real.
He closed his eyes.
In that moment, Gu Ze Yan didn't want to be CEO, or heir, or competitor. He just wanted to be the man she chose to hug.
And for him, that was enough.