The Ferris wheel turned slowly, carrying their small glass cabin higher into the summer night. Below them, Liangcheng glittered with strings of neon, the river lights stretching like silver threads. The world felt far away, softened, like they were drifting in a snow globe of quiet.
Qing Yun sat with her hands folded on her lap, gaze turned outward at the view, but her lips moved before she realized she had spoken aloud.
"Someone that loves me the way I am."
The words were faint, almost stolen by the hum of the wheel. Yet Ze Yan heard them clearly, every syllable a tug straight into his chest.
He blinked at her. She wasn't looking at him, but her reflection in the glass carried the softness of her profile, the glow of the city firework-lights painting her cheek.
In his heart, his reply was instant, fierce: That's easy. You're already lovely the way you are.
But just as he parted his lips to say it, Qing Yun shook her head gently, a small smile curving at the corner of her mouth. Her voice steadier this time:
"Someone who also trusts me, even when the world seems burning."
Her words lingered between them, like a small lantern swaying in the dark.
Ze Yan turned toward her fully. His gaze held hers, quiet and unwavering. Then, with a half-smile, he said softly, "Then I'll be the one who proves it."
She blinked, startled, then looked away first. Yet her shoulders eased, and in the reflection on the glass, he saw her lips curve faintly—like she was hiding a smile that refused to be contained.
The cabin swayed lightly. The city blurred into a watercolor of gold and violet. For a moment, the world held its breath.
When the Ferris wheel finally descended, neither spoke much. It wasn't silence born of awkwardness, but of a warmth that didn't need words.
"You're too serious sometimes," Ze Yan teased as they stepped out.
Qing Yun huffed, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve. "I was just talking nonsense."
But her laugh betrayed her, bright and clear. Ze Yan watched her, thinking he'd never get tired of that sound.
Dinner was at a quiet seafood restaurant tucked on the edge of the river district. The waiters greeted Ze Yan politely, but he waved them off with a smile that said treat us normally.
Qing Yun scanned the menu and ordered lightly. Ze Yan, watching the way her eyes lingered on the prawns, added the dish without asking.
When it arrived, steaming and fragrant, he picked one up, peeled it carefully, and placed the glistening shrimp onto her plate.
Qing Yun blinked at him, chopsticks pausing midair. "Mr. Gu, aren't you wasting your CEO hands?"
He smiled, a dimple flickering. "Doesn't matter. They're only for you tonight."
Her ears warmed. She lowered her head, biting into the shrimp with exaggerated seriousness just to hide the flush creeping up her face. Yet her lips curved despite herself, betraying her amusement.
The meal continued in easy rhythm—his chopsticks finding food for her plate, her quiet scolding that he should eat too, his gentle shrug of "I'm fine." It was ordinary, yet the ordinariness wrapped around them like silk.
After dinner, they stepped into the street. The lamps glowed amber, cicadas humming softly from nearby trees. Ze Yan walked half a step closer to her than necessary, the faint brush of his sleeve against hers sending sparks through him each time.
Qing Yun took out her phone as they neared the car, the screen lighting her face.
Her steps faltered.
A message glowed on the screen.
Xu Wei Ran: I'm sorry. Can we meet?
The words tightened something in her chest. She stared at them a moment too long.
Ze Yan noticed the flicker of change in her expression. His chest clenched, though he said nothing. His hand slid casually into his pocket, hiding the faint tension in his fingers.
Qing Yun lowered the phone, her smile faint but unreadable.
Ze Yan turned his head toward her, searching her profile under the streetlight glow, but she gave him only the soft curve of her lips and the brightness of a smile that didn't reveal its weight.
The night air wrapped them in warmth, but Ze Yan felt a coldness seep into his heart, one he couldn't quite name.