The first weeks of January slipped into routine. Qing Yun rose early for class, her bag light but her heart steady. The restoration studio smelled faintly of ink and age, the delicate sound of brushes moving over fragile paper filling the air. She learned fast—her hands precise, her eyes steady, her calm patience earning her quiet nods from instructors.
At Cloudpeak, her evenings were peaceful. A book, a cup of tea, the window view of Guangjing's skyline lit with winter lights. She carried herself the same way she always had—composed, measured, calm—but something new lingered under her steps. A quiet anticipation.
Because she knew he was coming.
---
Chinese New Year arrived with crisp air and red lanterns strung across Guangjing's streets. On the morning of New Year's Eve, Qing Yun opened her door to find Gu Ze Yan standing there, a travel bag in one hand, the other holding a paper bag heavy with gifts.
"You came early," she murmured, though her lips curved faintly.
"I said I would," he replied simply, stepping in as though the place already belonged to him.
He unpacked dumpling fillings and vegetables, rolling up his sleeves as he set things on the counter. She blinked at the sight of him tying an apron loosely around his waist.
"Gu Ze Yan," she said, half incredulous, "are you really making dumplings with me?"
His brow lifted. "What's wrong with that? You think I can't?"
She hid a smile, handing him a stack of wrappers. He fumbled at first, his neat corporate hands clumsy with flour, but his stubbornness refused defeat. When one dumpling collapsed in on itself, she bit back a laugh.
He caught her smile, narrowed his eyes. "Don't laugh at me."
"I didn't," she said innocently, though her shoulders shook.
"Qing Yun." His tone was warning, but then he leaned across the counter and pressed a smudge of flour onto the tip of her nose.
She froze. Then narrowed her own eyes.
By the time the dumplings were cooked, the kitchen was a battlefield of flour prints and muffled laughter.
---
That night, they carried bowls to the window, steam fogging the glass as fireworks began to bloom outside. Red and gold scattered across the skyline, reflecting in Qing Yun's eyes.
Ze Yan sat beside her, one arm around her shoulders. "Five years," he said quietly. "I've spent this night alone for five years."
Her chopsticks paused. She leaned lightly into him. "Not anymore."
The silence between them was warm, filled with the bursts of light outside.
---
Over the following days, he trailed her like shadow. He walked her to class, carried her books, even waited outside the building, his tall figure impossible to miss.
Her classmates whispered furiously—half awe, half envy. "Lin jiejie's boyfriend looks like he walked out of a drama."
"He's so devoted…"
Qing Yun pretended not to hear, though her ears warmed.
---
Somewhere else in Guangjing, Jiang Yi Rong scrolled her phone. She stopped at a forum thread where users speculated over photos from the temple fair.
One blurry shot showed a group of young people, laughing under lanterns. At the edge of the frame, a man's hand rested protectively on a woman's shoulder. The angle hid their faces, but anyone who knew could guess.
Yi Rong's jaw tightened. Her wine glass clinked sharply against the table.
"They flaunt happiness like it's a crown," she muttered. "As if they're mocking me."
Her assistant looked uneasy but said nothing.
Yi Rong's smile sharpened. "Let them. The higher they climb, the harder the fall."
---
Back at the temple fair, Qing Yun's classmates had uploaded that very photo with a cheerful caption:
"Our goddess Lin jiejie brought her mysterious boyfriend to celebrate with us! He even made dumplings for her ❤️✨ #NewYearLoveStory"
The post spread faster than they realized.
In the comments, people began to piece together the blurred outline, the hand on her shoulder, the tall frame beside her.
"Isn't that… Gu Ze Yan?"
"Wait, didn't the news say he was in Guangjing for New Year's?"
"Look at the way he's holding her—this isn't just casual."
By the time Qing Yun saw it, the post had already been reshared thousands of times.
---
She stared at the screen, lips pressed together.
"Qing Yun?" Ze Yan's voice came from behind her.
She locked the phone quickly and turned, her expression calm. "Nothing."
But outside their quiet apartment, a new storm had already begun.