The morning air was clear, the kind of bright summer sky that stretched endlessly, as though the heavens themselves had been freshly washed. A black luxury car carried them directly onto the runway, where a sleek silver private jet waited with its engines already humming.
Qing Yun stood at the foot of the steps, her eyes narrowing at the sight. The insignia on the jet gleamed, subtle yet unmistakably bespoke. She lifted her gaze toward Ze Yan, who stood beside her, perfectly at ease as if this scene were the most natural thing in the world.
Her lips curved ever so slightly—not into a smile, but into something closer to disbelief. "Now you even have a private jet?" Her tone was flat, but the sarcasm was there, clear enough.
Ze Yan's eyes crinkled. "Mm. You sound surprised." His voice dipped playfully. "Do you think I don't deserve one?"
Qing Yun's brows arched, her silence eloquent. She rolled her eyes and started up the steps.
Ze Yan followed behind her, laughing quietly to himself, the sound warm, indulgent. In truth, he hadn't laughed so freely in years. It wasn't the jet he was proud of—it was that she was here to see it.
---
Inside, the cabin was a picture of understated luxury. Cream-colored leather seats, polished wood paneling, soft ambient lighting. Two flight attendants stood at the ready, bowing politely.
"Welcome aboard, Mr. Gu. Miss Lin."
Ze Yan led Qing Yun to the main seat by the window. The chair was wide enough to recline fully, with a small table already laid with porcelain tea cups and fruit. As Qing Yun sat, she allowed her gaze to drift around the cabin, unimpressed by the fine leather, the quiet hum of power. She had seen enough extravagance to know it didn't change the emptiness of a life.
Ze Yan dropped into the seat across from her, studying her face. "This is the part where you're supposed to be dazzled," he teased lightly. "Most people would at least take a picture."
Qing Yun lifted the cup of tea before her, inhaling the faint fragrance. "And what would I do with that?" she murmured.
He smiled helplessly, defeated and enchanted all at once. Even mocking him, she was beautiful.
---
The flight was smooth, swift. The attendants served an exquisite breakfast—freshly baked croissants, seasonal fruit, congee in porcelain bowls—but Qing Yun ate little, sipping mostly at the tea. Ze Yan didn't press her, only watched her with quiet amusement.
When the jet touched down in Haiyun City, the sun was beginning to dip, staining the skyline with gold. A team of staff waited at the private terminal with cars already lined up. They bowed deeply as Ze Yan and Qing Yun stepped out.
As they settled into the back of the sleek car, Ze Yan turned to her. "Do you remember," he asked casually, "the first time you came here?"
Her hand stilled on the seatbelt. Her gaze shifted to the window, but her mind was already moving back—years ago, when she had agreed to play the role of his girlfriend. The high-end restaurant dinner, the night they had shared a bed awkwardly, the midnight talk with Wei Ran at the hotel bar. The memory was sharp, vivid, yet distant, like a painting behind glass.
She nodded once, offering nothing more. Her lips pressed into silence.
Ze Yan's eyes lingered on her profile. He wanted to ask what she remembered most, but he swallowed the urge. Some things were too fragile to press against.
---
The car pulled up to a towering skyscraper along the Bund, its glass façade catching the last light of the day. Security staff ushered them into a private elevator, which rose smoothly, silently, to the very top.
The elevator doors opened—and Qing Yun stepped into another world.
The penthouse spread wide, almost an expanse in itself. Glass walls framed the skyline: the glittering river, the neon towers, the endless city pulsing with light. The décor was understated but opulent—dark stone floors, rich wood accents, abstract art on the walls. A Steinway piano gleamed in one corner, untouched but perfectly tuned. The scent of fresh flowers lingered faintly in the air.
She stood still, gaze sweeping over the vastness, the luxury, the view that seemed to swallow the horizon. She didn't say a word. Outwardly calm, inwardly her chest tightened. It was too much. Too successful. Too heavy. A life like this wasn't hers. It never could be.
Her lips paled slightly, and her hand tightened against her side.
From behind, Ze Yan stepped closer, his arms wrapping gently around her waist. He pressed his cheek lightly against her hair, his voice low. "Don't look so pale. You don't have to carry this." His hold was steady, grounding. "This is mine—my work. Not yours. You don't have to follow me here. Just be yourself. That's all I want."
Her eyes flickered shut. For a moment, she let herself lean into him, the warmth of his body against her back soothing the pressure that threatened to suffocate.
---
That evening, he led her up to the rooftop terrace.
The city unfurled beneath them like a sea of stars. Golden fairy lights traced the glass railing, soft and romantic, while lanterns swayed gently in the summer breeze. At the center, a round table draped in ivory linen was set for two. Crystal glasses glimmered. A vase of pale pink roses sat surrounded by candlelight.
Qing Yun paused, her lips curving faintly. "You're overdoing it."
Ze Yan only smiled, pulling out her chair. "Not nearly enough."
The dinner unfolded slowly, gracefully. A chilled seafood platter, seared cod with truffle sauce, a mille-feuille layered with berries. Champagne for him, jasmine tea for her. Soft violin music drifted in the background, weaving through the night.
At one point, a server placed a small velvet box at the edge of Qing Yun's plate. She glanced at it, then at Ze Yan. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes glowed with a quiet anticipation.
She opened it. Inside lay not jewelry, not diamonds, but a slender silver bookmark, engraved with an old verse—simple, intimate, something only someone who had known her heart would think to give.
Her fingers brushed over the words. She said nothing, only slipped it carefully into her pocket. But Ze Yan saw the faint shift in her expression—the way her eyes lingered, softened for a heartbeat longer than usual.
And that was enough.
---
Later, after the meal, Qing Yun excused herself to bathe. When she entered the master bedroom afterward, her hair damp, she found him already waiting. He was dressed simply, in a soft gray sleeping shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed. He patted the space beside him, smiling, eyes bright with something unspoken.
She sighed faintly, but crossed the room and lay down beside him. The bed dipped slightly under their weight, the city's glow spilling in through the glass wall.
His hand reached for hers, hesitated—then pulled her into a kiss. Gentle, at first. Then deeper. Long, lingering, a kiss that held years of longing and restraint. He wanted to lose himself, but he held back, unwilling to frighten her, unwilling to push.
When at last he pulled away, his forehead rested against hers, his breath unsteady. "Rest," he whispered. "Tomorrow will be long."
Her lashes lowered. "Goodnight," she said softly. After a pause, her voice gentled further. "Thank you… for today."
His heart surged, fierce and tender. He kissed her brow, whispering back, "Always."