The afternoon sun was mellow, its warmth filtered through the car's tinted windows as Gu Ze Yan drove Qing Yun away from the bustle of Qinghu. The city slowly thinned into quiet suburban streets, then gave way to stretches of countryside.
Fields shimmered faintly in the breeze, and small farmhouses dotted the hillsides. Qing Yun leaned her cheek against the cool glass, her eyes tracing the faint outlines of mountains in the distance. There was something soothing about leaving the city behind, about being carried into a space where the air felt freer, lighter.
Ze Yan's hands rested loosely on the steering wheel. Though his gaze stayed on the road, he glanced at her reflection in the window every so often. The way her lashes lowered, her hair ruffled by the breeze sneaking in through the half-open window—it filled his chest with a warmth that words could never contain.
"Where are we going?" Qing Yun finally asked, curiosity softening her voice.
Ze Yan smiled faintly. "You'll see soon. Somewhere I wanted to share with you."
They arrived in the outskirts by late afternoon. Before them stretched a vast grove of osmanthus trees, the branches heavy with tiny golden blossoms. The fragrance in the air was immediate—sweet, intoxicating, like honey poured into sunlight.
Workers in simple uniforms greeted them warmly. "Mr. Gu, Miss Lin, welcome. The grove is open for you today. Please enjoy."
Ze Yan nodded politely. He leaned close to Qing Yun, explaining, "This grove belongs to a client of mine. He gave us permission to come. Said this season is the most beautiful."
They were guided to a small production house first, where trays of freshly picked blossoms dried in the sun. Workers offered them osmanthus wine in crystal cups, cakes glazed with syrup, and sachets filled with the delicate flowers.
Qing Yun took a sip of the tea offered to her, the faint sweetness blooming on her tongue. She blinked, startled at how gentle yet lingering the flavor was.
Ze Yan caught the flicker of delight in her expression. His lips curved. "Good?"
She nodded quickly. "Mhm. Really good."
Hand in hand, they wandered deeper into the grove.
The ground was a carpet of golden petals. Whenever the wind stirred, blossoms rained down in slow, fragrant showers. Qing Yun lifted her face, letting the petals scatter across her hair and shoulders. She looked ethereal, like a figure stepping out of a painting.
One petal clung stubbornly to the curve of her cheek. Ze Yan reached out, brushing it away with his fingertips. His touch lingered longer than necessary, tracing a soft path down to her jaw before he pulled back.
Her lashes fluttered, but she said nothing. The silence between them wasn't awkward—it was laden, thick with something unspoken.
By the time evening settled, lanterns glowed softly in the middle of the grove, leading them to a pavilion.
Dinner had been prepared: delicate osmanthus-infused dishes served with elegance. The workers disappeared, leaving them alone with the soft rustle of trees, the lantern light swaying gently in the breeze.
Finally, dessert was brought out. A bowl of steaming red bean soup was placed before each of them.
Qing Yun blinked down at hers. The rich crimson surface reflected the glow of the lanterns, carrying with it a faint sweetness. She knew the meaning, even without anyone saying it: red beans, in poetry and tradition, symbolized love, yearning, hearts tied across distance.
Her spoon hovered uncertainly for a moment before dipping in. The taste was warm, rich, comforting. A part of her chest tightened as if the simple dessert had unearthed emotions she had long tried to bury.
Across from her, Ze Yan wasn't eating. He was watching her, gaze steady and intent, as though the sweetness in his bowl could never compare to the girl sitting opposite him.
"What?" she asked softly, cheeks heating.
He shook his head, lips lifting faintly. "Just… you look like you belong here."
She lowered her eyes, stirring her soup. But the corners of her mouth curved despite herself.
Night deepened. The Mid-Autumn moon rose, vast and silver, casting the grove in luminous light. The lanterns flickered faintly, but they were unnecessary—the moon itself painted everything in brilliance.
Qing Yun clasped her hands quietly, making a wish beneath her breath. Ze Yan watched her, his own lips moving in silent promise.
"What did you wish for?" she asked, tilting her head toward him.
He smiled lightly, shaking his head. "If I tell you, it won't come true."
But in his heart, he had only wished for her.
She laughed softly, then turned her gaze back to the moon. The light bathed her face, serene and unguarded.
Ze Yan's chest tightened. No teasing words, no interruptions—just this moment, the stillness, the silver light, and her.
He leaned forward. Slowly. Giving her time to move, to refuse. She didn't.
Her eyes lifted to meet his, and then she closed them.
Their lips touched—tentative at first, a brush like the whisper of falling petals. Then, as though a dam had broken, it deepened. His hand rose to cradle the back of her head, her fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve.
The kiss was not fiery. It was steady, reverent, aching with the weight of all that had been held back until now. Osmanthus petals fell like golden rain, catching in their hair, their shoulders. The taste of red bean lingered faintly between them, sweet and yearning.
The world fell away until there was nothing but this: the girl who had filled his silence, the man who had waited in her shadow, and the moon blessing their first true kiss.
The night stretched long, but they didn't rush to leave.
Qing Yun leaned against his shoulder, her cheeks still faintly pink, her eyes drifting toward the endless sky. Ze Yan's arm circled her waist, holding her as though she was something fragile and irreplaceable.
Neither spoke. They didn't need to.
For the first time, there were no contracts, no pretenses, no disguises. Just them, in a grove of osmanthus, with the red bean sweetness of love lingering still.
And when the wind swept through once more, scattering blossoms into the night, it felt as if heaven itself had given its blessing.