The night was hushed, Liangcheng city lights glowing faintly outside the high-rise windows. In Gu Ze Yan's apartment, the glow of the bedside lamp softened the edges of the room into gold. Lin Qing Yun was curled beneath the sheets, her hair loose over the pillow, her breaths steady.
Ze Yan, however, was awake.
He shifted a little, one hand under his head, the other absently tracing the hem of the blanket. His dark eyes wandered to the side where she lay, her profile delicate under the dim light. For weeks now, her presence had slipped deeper and deeper into his life—not sudden, not forced, but natural, like water finding its way into stone until it belonged there.
He swallowed, his voice low, almost cautious.
"Sunny…"
Qing Yun stirred, eyes half-closed, her voice warm and a little sleepy.
"Mm?"
"Why don't you just… live here with me?"
The words hung between them, heavier than he expected.
Her lashes fluttered, and slowly she turned to face him. A faint smile curved her lips, but it carried helplessness too.
"What about Si Yao? She's still my responsibility. Until she goes to college, I need to take care of her."
Disappointment tugged at his chest, but he didn't push. Instead, he let out a soft chuckle, pressing his forehead gently against hers.
"Alright. I'll wait. As long as you're here… even half the time, I'll take it."
Yet, the irony was that gradually, his apartment was becoming hers too.
Her Traces Everywhere
At first, it was small: a toothbrush in his bathroom, pale blue with a tiny flower printed on it. Then a comb left on his dresser. Her slippers by the door, softer and smaller than his.
Later, clothes appeared. A cardigan hung over the sofa, delicate blouses folded neatly in his closet, and even a drawer slowly filling with things she never meant to leave behind. Once, when he opened the wardrobe and spotted the unmistakable outline of her undergarments mixed with his shirts, he couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face.
"Sunny…" he teased one evening, holding up a lacy piece that was definitely not his.
Her ears went crimson in an instant.
"Don't touch that!" She snatched it from him, glaring with more embarrassment than anger.
He laughed, the deep kind that warmed the whole room, before catching her hand and kissing the back of it.
"It's fine. Leave everything here. This place is yours too."
And so it became that whenever she saw a cute little home decoration at the bookstore gift section or along the street, instead of bringing it back to her bare apartment, she placed it here. A small ceramic cat found its way onto his bookshelf. A framed print of an osmanthus grove leaned against his study wall. Even the balcony sprouted with new plants, carefully tended by her hands, softening the once sleek and cold apartment into something alive.
Care and Clinginess
Their routines tangled into each other's effortlessly.
When Ze Yan was buried in his laptop, eyes fixed on endless rows of numbers and code, he often forgot to eat. But Qing Yun would simply place a bowl in front of him, lifting a piece of shrimp or chicken with chopsticks right to his lips.
"Eat," she'd command softly.
And he would, eyes never leaving the screen, but his heart always aware that she was there.
Once, Shen Qiao and Chen Rui came for a late-night meeting at his apartment. They froze mid-sentence when they saw Qing Yun carefully feeding him dumplings while his fingers typed furiously.
Chen Rui muttered under his breath, "If this continues, our CEO will forget how to use his own hands."
Shen Qiao gave him a look, then sighed, "At least now he eats."
Both rolled their eyes at how clingy Ze Yan had become, but they said nothing more.
Another routine formed in the mornings. Before work, when Ze Yan stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his shirt, Qing Yun would step behind him.
"Hold still," she'd say, fingers deftly tying his tie, smoothing the knot until it sat perfectly.
At night, after long hours, she would just as naturally undo it for him, loosening the fabric with a gentle tug. Each time, his heart melted at how domestic it felt.
Quiet Intimacy
There were nights when she returned exhausted from her shifts at the bookstore. She would collapse onto the sofa, legs aching. Ze Yan would kneel at her feet, silently massaging her calves until the tension eased, his touch patient, reverent.
Other nights, she fell asleep with her book half-open in her hand. He would carefully take it from her, mark the page, and carry her to bed. Sometimes he read aloud to her in a low voice until her breathing deepened, his words lulling her into sleep.
And when she washed her hair late, he would towel-dry it, brushing it out gently, inhaling the faint fragrance of her shampoo.
Even when they had nothing to talk about, the quiet wasn't heavy. She would be translating on her laptop, and he would be working on his, their shoulders brushing, the silence filled with shared comfort. For Ze Yan, those hours were perfect. He didn't need fireworks. He needed only this.
The Other World
But being with him also meant entering another world.
Qing Yun began to accompany him to more gatherings—networking dinners, charity banquets, Zhao family events. She learned to stand gracefully beside him, to smile politely, to speak with just enough poise so as not to be underestimated.
The women wore designer dresses and spoke in careful, lofty tones, every word a small chess move. The men sized each other up with laughter that didn't touch their eyes.
Sometimes, she wondered silently, Is this the life I'm stepping into by being with him?
And when the Zhao family was involved, things grew heavier. His stepbrothers never hid their disdain, always trying to provoke him. And when Ze Yan grew upset, Qing Yun would be the one to soothe him. She would defend him fiercely, only to become the target of their sharp words herself.
She never told him how much those barbs stung. Instead, she smiled and endured, because she knew he needed her there.
One evening, as they lay together, Ze Yan's arms tight around her, he kissed her hair and spoke softly.
"Sunny, let's go to Jakarta."
She blinked, half-sinking into drowsiness.
"Jakarta?"
He nodded, brushing a finger across her cheek.
"I have a business trip there next month. Come with me. Stay by my side."
She smiled, her voice warm.
"Of course. I've never been there before."
Something in her eyes lit up—a spark of anticipation, curiosity, excitement. He watched her smile and felt his chest swell with contentment.
And though he didn't say it aloud, he was already planning.
Not just Jakarta. Not just business.
He would take her further—to Bali, where the world slowed, where there were no boardrooms or banquets, only sea and sky.
Over time, his apartment no longer felt like just his. It was filled with her touches, her warmth, her presence. The once cold and sleek space breathed like a home.
For him, it was the closest thing to a dream made real.
And that night, as he held her close, her head nestled against his chest, he whispered again, voice steady and full:
"I love you."
Qing Yun, half-asleep, only hummed softly, her lips curving in a faint smile. But that was enough.
Because Gu Ze Yan knew—she was already his, in every way that mattered.