The office on the twelfth floor of Luminar's new building buzzed with the low hum of keyboards, soft chatter, and the occasional ring of an internal call. Shen Qiao's department, known for its efficiency, carried an air of calm discipline. Yet today, a different kind of energy slipped into the room—bright, restless, clumsy in a way that was strangely endearing.
"Ah—!" A soft cry broke the steady rhythm of work. Papers fluttered from a desk, spilling across the floor like a scattered deck of cards.
Everyone turned for a moment.
The culprit—a girl with clear, sparkling eyes and a too-big lanyard dangling from her neck—flushed crimson as she bent down to pick up the mess. Her ponytail swayed frantically as she tried to gather everything.
Qing Yun, who had been reviewing a translated proposal at the corner desk, watched silently for a few seconds. The girl's hands shook slightly from embarrassment. Qing Yun closed her folder, stood, and without a word, knelt down to help.
"Ah—thank you! I'm sorry, I'm so clumsy," the girl said, her voice light and airy, like a spring breeze.
"It's fine," Qing Yun answered softly, her tone as even and composed as ever. She stacked the pages in order, straightened the corners, and handed them back.
The girl hesitated, then smiled wide. "You must be Senior Lin, right? I—I'm Ruan Yi Lan. I just started my internship this week. Shen Director said you'd be helping guide us. It's… an honor."
Her words tumbled out in a rush, almost tripping over themselves, but there was nothing insincere in them.
Qing Yun inclined her head slightly. "Work carefully next time."
"Yes!" Yi Lan chirped, though she nearly knocked her pen off the desk in her eagerness.
A few of the other interns stifled laughter. But instead of shrinking back, Yi Lan only laughed at herself, scratching her cheek. "I'll be careful—really!"
Something in her openness caught Qing Yun's attention. Most people, after making mistakes, closed off under embarrassment. But this girl—she smiled through it, inviting warmth rather than judgment.
---
By the end of the day, Yi Lan had already drifted toward Qing Yun's side.
"Senior Lin," she whispered as Qing Yun checked another report. "Can I ask you about… this sentence? I think the translation feels too stiff, but I don't know how to fix it."
Qing Yun glanced over. "Read it aloud in English. Then read it aloud in Chinese. Which one sounds more natural to your ear?"
Yi Lan blinked. "Ah… English first, then… oh. Ohhh. It's… too formal."
"Exactly. Rewrite it as if you're explaining it to a friend. Professional, but not stiff."
Yi Lan's eyes widened in delight, as though Qing Yun had handed her a key. "Senior Lin, you're amazing!"
Qing Yun shook her head. "It's just practice."
But Yi Lan wasn't discouraged by her modesty. She leaned forward with eager eyes, whispering conspiratorially, "Still amazing."
For a fleeting second, Qing Yun's lips curved faintly. Barely noticeable, but it was there.
---
The following days unfolded with small, steady ripples.
Yi Lan often came with questions, but she also came with chatter. Stories about her clumsy mornings, how she spilled coffee on her notes, how her roommate once locked herself out of their apartment barefoot. She talked about how she loved writing stories in secret, though she never dared show anyone.
"Maybe one day I'll be a writer," Yi Lan laughed nervously, "but for now… I'll just keep dreaming."
Qing Yun listened more than she spoke, but something in her chest stirred. Yi Lan's candidness reminded her faintly of Si Yao—the same bright, unfiltered warmth. Not the same person, but a similar light.
When Yi Lan giggled at her own mistakes, Qing Yun found herself giving small responses—short words, soft smiles, even a quiet tease once or twice.
And Shen Qiao, watching from her glass-walled office, smiled knowingly.
---
That evening, the mansion lights glowed warm against the rainy dusk.
Gu Ze Yan stepped out of the car, handing his coat to the butler before striding straight to the study where he knew she'd be. His steps were quick, eager, almost impatient.
As expected, she was there, sitting by the window with a book open. She lifted her gaze when he entered.
"You're home."
That was all she said. But to him, it was enough to melt the exhaustion of his day.
He crossed the room, setting down a small paper bag beside her. "Your favorite tea."
She didn't react much—just lowered her gaze to the book again. But then, almost casually, she spoke.
"Today, I met an intern. Her name is Ruan Yi Lan."
Ze Yan froze. The words barely registered at first, because it was the way she said them—without being prompted, without being pressed.
She chose to tell him.
"She's clumsy," Qing Yun continued softly, her voice drifting like ripples across still water. "But earnest. She asked for help with her translation… and when I explained, she listened carefully. She even said she wants to be a writer."
Ze Yan sat down across from her, his eyes fixed on her face.
Qing Yun didn't notice—or pretended not to. She turned a page. "She reminds me… of something I used to know. She made the day feel a little… lighter."
Ze Yan's throat tightened. He leaned back slowly, his lips curving into a smile he tried to hide. His chest felt too full—like he might burst from the quiet joy swelling inside.
That night, while Qing Yun read in silence, Ze Yan watched her from the corner of his eye. If she can open up about one small thing today, he thought, maybe she can open her heart again tomorrow.
Her voice—calm, measured, soft—still echoed in his ears.
For him, it was the most precious gift.