The last month of spring had arrived.
The city softened under pale-green crowns of trees, blossoms from earlier weeks scattered like confetti along the sidewalks. The evenings grew warm, and in the little bookstore café, the air smelled of coffee beans and faint perfume of old paper.
Gu Ze Yan, however, was seldom there to see it.
For nearly a month, his name was tied to airports, contracts, and hotel lobbies across the country. Meetings stacked like dominoes, days blending into nights. Even his WeChat with Lin Qing Yun had thinned to sparse lines: eat well, rest early.
Lin Qing Yun carried on quietly.
She balanced Luminar's office, café shifts, tutoring, and translation. Yet three times a week, without fail, she went to his apartment. She watered his plants, fed his fish, wiped the counters twice instead of once. She never mentioned it to him—it was simply another quiet duty. But if anyone had looked closely, they might have seen it: she was keeping his space ready, waiting for him to come home.
That evening, Qing Yun stood on a stepstool, stretching to wedge a thick volume into the top shelf. The stool wobbled under her weight. She huffed softly, the book refusing to slide into place.
Then, a steady hand reached from behind her. Long fingers brushed hers, taking the book and fitting it effortlessly into the gap.
Qing Yun turned.
The man before her wore a baseball cap, black mask, casual hoodie. To any passerby, he might look like just another quiet customer.
But when he lowered the mask slightly, his face emerged—sharp, fair, familiar.
Xu Wei Ran.
His gaze was calm, yet searching. His smile faint, steady.
Qing Yun did not light up. Instead, she gave a restrained curve of lips, polite, distant. "Thank you."
Wei Ran studied her expression longer than necessary. "This place hasn't changed. Still the same old bookstore. I knew I'd find you here."
Her smile didn't waver, but her tone was cool. "Then be a good customer. Buy a book."
He chuckled low, the sound threading through years of memory. Without protest, he drifted toward the shelves. Minutes later, he returned with a book in hand, laying it on the counter.
Qing Yun scanned the book, her tone professional. "Are you visiting for long?"
Wei Ran leaned lightly against the counter, mask tugged down to his chin. "I think so. Haven't been home for a long time. It's… nice. To stay. To be close to my family." His eyes deepened, voice softening. "…Close to you."
Her hands paused briefly before setting the book aside. Her expression serene. "Don't linger on the past."
He leaned in slightly, voice low. "So that's your answer?"
She didn't respond, only gave the faint smile—ambiguous, untouchable.
The Bell Chimes
The door jingled open.
Gu Ze Yan stepped inside.
In his hand was a cup of milk tea, condensation still fresh on the lid. His eyes scanned the café swiftly, sharp and focused, landing on the sight of Qing Yun across the counter from a man in cap and mask.
His gaze tightened. He walked forward in steady strides, set the milk tea down with a soft thud.
"For you," he said warmly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. Then, with deliberate ease, he bent and pressed a feather-light kiss against her temple.
Qing Yun froze, her breath caught.
Across the counter, Wei Ran's eyes narrowed above his mask. With a quiet click of his tongue, he pulled the cap lower and walked out without a word.
Qing Yun blinked, dazed from the kiss, before murmuring, "He… just bought a book."
Ze Yan's gaze lingered on her, a mix of disbelief and amusement. "Mm. Right. Just a book."
She changed the subject quickly. "When did you come back? I thought you'd still be abroad for meetings."
He leaned closer, voice low. "Flight at dawn. But I wanted to see you first."
Her lips curved despite herself. "You should rest at home, not run around."
He didn't say it aloud, but in his chest the truth pulsed: You are my home.
The bell chimed again.
Xu Wei Ran was back. The cap still shadowed his face, but this time he carried a paper cup, fragrant with floral tea. He set it down firmly on the counter, right beside the milk tea.
"Don't drink that," he said, eyes flicking toward Ze Yan. His voice was calm, but edged. "You never liked milk tea. Drink this instead."
The unspoken message cut sharp: He doesn't even know your real preferences.
Qing Yun forced a smile, trying to soften the blade. "That brand is fine. Drinkable."
Neither man moved. The air froze, one calm and dark-eyed, the other cool and mocking. Qing Yun sighed inwardly, stacking books with exaggerated cheer, as though nothing at all was wrong.
Closing Time
By the time the café lights dimmed, the tension still clung to the air.
As Qing Yun locked the door, both men spoke at once.
"I'll drive you."
She turned, caught between them, her smile awkward. "..."
Gu Ze Yan didn't wait for her to choose. His hand closed gently but firmly around hers. "Let's go home."
She startled, glanced back only long enough to give Wei Ran a small wave, before Ze Yan guided her toward the waiting car.
The ride was quiet at first, Liangcheng glowing with rivers of spring light outside the window.
Finally, Ze Yan spoke. "So… you don't like milk tea?"
Qing Yun gave him a sheepish look. "Not really. Just not my preference."
He nodded solemnly. "Noted."
After a pause, his voice softened. "What else don't you like?"
She tilted her head, thoughtful. "…Cheese."
His lips curved faintly. "Noted."
She chuckled, shaking her head.
For a man who once memorized only numbers, markets, and reports, Gu Ze Yan now found himself memorizing something else entirely—her dislikes, her smiles, her smallest details.
And in that moment, nothing else felt more important.