The rain had been falling since dawn, steady and unrelenting, a grey veil over the world. The windows of the Gu family mansion were streaked with water, the garden blurred into mist, even the koi pond rippled like restless ink.
Inside, the house was warm, breakfast laid neatly on the long dining table.
Gu Ze Yan sat across from Lin Qing Yun. His suit jacket rested on the chair beside him; his shirt collar was buttoned, but his skin was pale beneath it. A faint fever burned low in his body, though he hid it with the precision of a man used to commanding rooms, not yielding to weakness.
He lifted his spoon, stirred his porridge, and took a few careful bites.
Qing Yun did not eat much. She held her bowl with one hand, her movements quiet, almost mechanical. But her gaze lingered on him longer than usual, deep and unreadable.
When he looked up, he caught it.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice low.
She shook her head and lowered her eyes, finishing the last spoonful of porridge.
The silence stretched.
When it came time to leave, Ze Yan bent slightly toward her, leaning down as if it were instinct, the habit of a man who wanted her last look before he stepped into the world. His voice softened.
"I'll be back early," he promised.
She lifted her eyes to him, her expression as calm as still water. "Take care, Mr. Gu."
Something tightened in his chest at her words. Still "Mr. Gu." Still polite. Still that distance.
He left anyway, pretending he did not feel the weight of her gaze as the rain swallowed him whole.
---
The Meeting
Luminar's headquarters towered above the storm, glass walls dripping with water like veins. The boardroom buzzed with voices, investors debating, directors pushing numbers across the table.
Gu Ze Yan sat at the head, composed, sharp, even as his temples ached. His throat burned, but he did not cough. He could not.
When the meeting finally adjourned, Su Shen Qiao lingered behind, arms crossed, her eyes narrowing at him.
"You're sick," she said flatly.
He shook his head. "Just tired."
"Don't lie to me, Ze Yan. You've been pale all day." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Go home. I'll take care of everything else here. If you collapse, what good are you to her?"
Her last words pierced him more than she knew.
He exhaled slowly, pushing his chair back. "Fine."
---
The Empty House
By the time he returned, the rain had not lessened. The chauffeur stopped at the gates, and Ze Yan stepped out with his umbrella, striding quickly inside.
He wanted to see her. The thought of Qing Yun was the only warmth against the chill in his body.
He opened the study room door.
Empty.
The chair by the window where she always sat, the half-read book left open the night before—both untouched.
His chest constricted. He checked her guest bedroom—sheets smooth, no one inside. The master bedroom—still, silent. The garden, the tea pavilion, the meditation room. Nothing.
His hand tightened against the doorframe.
---
Panic
He called her phone. Once. Twice. Again.
No answer.
He rushed to the staff. "Where is she?"
The maid shook her head nervously. "We haven't seen Miss Lin all afternoon."
The butler bowed low, equally blank.
Finally, one of the security guards hesitated, shifting on his feet. "Sir… Miss Lin left the house earlier. Alone. We thought…" He trailed off, afraid.
Gu Ze Yan's world lurched.
Left.
She had left.
Her words returned to him, the memory of her voice whispering about exhaustion, about not wanting to take another step, about the emptiness inside her. His stomach dropped like lead.
Not again. Please, not again.
---
The Search
He didn't think. He only acted.
Snatching the nearest car keys from the shelf, he strode into the rain, his hair instantly drenched as he pulled the car door shut. The engine roared, and the tires splashed against the soaked pavement as he sped away.
First stop: her apartment. He pounded on the door, but dust lined the handle, and the lock had not been turned in weeks. Empty.
Second stop: his old penthouse. Cold. Silent.
He called Xu Wei Ran. No answer. He called Dr. He. Nothing.
The rain blurred his vision, but his heart pounded harder than the storm.
Every bridge railing he passed became a nightmare. Every shadow on the roadside made his breath stop.
He gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles whitened, his chest heaving.
"Where are you…" His voice cracked inside the car. "Qing Yun, where are you…"
At last, the fear broke free. He screamed—hoarse, ragged, beating the steering wheel with his fists until the horn blared. The sound vanished into the storm.
---
Evening
Hours had passed. He had nothing.
No trace of her.
He drove back, the mansion looming through the rain like a hollow shell. His body sagged with exhaustion, fever rising, clothes clinging to him with cold water.
Inside, he dragged his steps toward the kitchen, thinking only of a glass of water, of something to stop the hollow ringing in his head.
He turned the corner—
And stopped.
---
Relief
There she was.
Lin Qing Yun stood by the stove, sleeves rolled up, calmly stirring a pot. Steam curled in the air, carrying the scent of ginger and broth.
She looked at him as if nothing had happened.
"Why are you drenched?" she asked softly. "What happened?"
His vision blurred—not from the fever, not from the rain, but from the flood of relief.
He crossed the kitchen in two strides and pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly it was as if he feared she would vanish if he let go.
Her body stiffened, surprised.
His voice broke against her hair, low and desperate.
"Please… don't leave me."
For a long moment, she did not move.
Then slowly, almost reluctantly, she lifted one hand and placed it against his back. Not tight, not tender—but steady enough to let him breathe again.
He closed his eyes, tears slipping silently down his cheek.