Summary: What begins with pastries and jet lag unfolds into a series of quiet, world-shifting revelations. She didn't mean for it to be a spectacle. She just remembered what people loved and gave it to them. No fanfare. No expectation. Just love, folded into steel and motion. And by the time the dust settles, it's clear: Yao isn't just part of the family. She's the heart of it.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Morning came too early for Yue. Which, in fairness, was true of most mornings. He trudged into the hotel lobby like a man personally wronged by time itself, hoodie slung over his head, travel pillow strangling his neck, and muttering a steady stream of half-coherent complaints under his breath. Something about ungodly hours. Something about never sleeping again. Something about his blood being replaced by rage and regret. "I can feel my organs shutting down one by one," he grumbled, rubbing at his eyes as they waited for the elevator to reach the ground floor. "Who books a flight before the sun even wakes up? This should be illegal. I should file a complaint with—"
Smack.
Yao, perfectly calm, moved without looking. She took the soft, flaky pastry in her hand—still warm from the breakfast box she had barely taken two bites from—and shoved it into Yue's open mouth mid-sentence with unerring precision.
He gagged.
Then blinked.
Then slowly chewed.
The elevator went dead silent.
Sicheng, standing just behind Yao with both of their bags slung over his shoulder and her padded travel safe resting securely against his back, blinked once. He hadn't even flinched, just shifted slightly to ensure her shoulder didn't jostle when she'd made the strike.
Lan raised an eyebrow, faintly impressed.
Yue stared at her, still chewing, wide-eyed.
Yao dusted her hands on a napkin and muttered, "You'll survive."
Mouth full, Yue mumbled around the pastry, "You assaulted me with carbs."
"You needed it," she said simply, brushing her hair back into place as if she hadn't just weaponized flaky sugar like a seasoned assassin. "You've been whining for the last seven minutes. I'm tired. We're all tired. Eat something and suffer in silence."
"That's my girl." Lan nodded slowly, like a general watching a junior officer earn their stars.
Yue groaned. "You're all monsters."
"You're alive. Which is more than I can say for the last soldier who tried to talk before I finished my morning coffee." Sheng said mildly as he joined them at the elevator entrance with his hands tucked behind his back.
The elevator chimed and opened.
Sicheng gestured Yao forward first, guiding her in with one hand lightly at the small of her back before stepping in behind her, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with that particular gleam that meant he was very proud and not going to help Yue.
Yue shuffled in after them, still chewing. "I'm going to remember this. Betrayed. Stuffed like a turkey."
"You looked like you were going to start sobbing into the elevator carpet," Yao said, deadpan with a look that said gone was flustered shy bunny and in place? A bunny that was done with his antics this morning before she even had a coffee. "You're welcome."
Sicheng leaned down as the elevator began to descend, his voice low near her ear. "Remind me to never complain while you're holding food."
"Depends," she said softly, not looking at him. "Do you plan to whine like your brother?"
"…I have regrets."
Yao's lips twitched into a faint smile. She didn't carry a thing, not her bag, not her travel case, not even her breakfast box anymore. Because her hands were free. And someone else had the weight. And if Yue was going to grumble his way through security? She had a second pastry in the other pocket. Just in case.
The flight to Shenzhen was smooth, quiet, and blissfully uneventful. By the time they landed, the sun had risen fully, casting warm golden light across the tarmac as the private jet taxied toward its designated hangar. The air was cooler here, a soft breeze sweeping past as they descended the stairs, the weight of schedules and impending matches settling back onto their shoulders like armor being re-fastened.
At the base of the steps, two sleek black cars were waiting.
One for the Lu parents.
One for the rest of them.
Lan had barely reached the vehicle before she was already on her phone, voice clipped and efficient as she began laying out the schedule for the next seventy-two hours, lawyers, calls, relocation of sensitive documents, follow-ups with the private security firm. Sheng opened the rear door for her, then turned toward the three younger ones standing by the second car. "Make sure she rests," he told Sicheng quietly, nodding toward Yao.
"I will." came the smooth reply.
"And no training tonight," Lan added, glancing up briefly. "Your team gets one evening to breathe before hell week begins."
"Yes, Mother," Yue said with a sigh, dragging his bag toward the trunk.
"And no caffeine after seven," Lan finished, her eyes narrowing specifically on Yao.
"Not even green tea, I swear." Yao swallowed hard with a flustered look as she lifted both hands like she was being frisked.
With a final, sharp look of parting judgment, Lan climbed into the car. Sheng followed after her with a small nod of approval and a hand on the door—just enough of a gesture to say we're still watching you, without saying it aloud. The door shut. The car pulled away. And just like that—quiet settled over the runway.
"Well," Yue said as their own driver moved to open the doors for them. "That was tense. I aged a year."
"You age like milk." Sicheng muttered as he took the bags and slid them into the rear compartment before moving to the passenger side.
"I'm fresh and full of character," Yue fired back, climbing into the back seat.
"You're expired and dramatic." Yao snorted softly and slipped in beside him, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
Sicheng slid into the front, glanced at the driver, and gave a small nod. "Back to the base."
The car pulled away smoothly, merging into the late-morning traffic as Shenzhen unfolded around them in calm, post-flight silence. The city shimmered beneath the rising sun, all glass and light, alive with motion and subtle tension. But inside the vehicle, the energy was quieter—warm from the shared presence, but less intense than before.
Yue leaned his head back with a groan, clutching his stomach. "I still can't believe you force-fed me pastry in an elevator. I have trauma."
"You survived," Yao said without looking at him.
"Barely."
"You're welcome."
Sicheng, from the front, glanced at her reflection in the mirror, eyes flicking toward the faint smile tugging at her lips. It was small. But it was there. He leaned back in his seat, one hand resting casually on the armrest, the other curled near the center console.
Yue yawned behind them. "I call the good couch when we get there."
"You always call the good couch."
"Because I deserve the good couch."
Yao hummed lightly. "We should give it to Da Bing."
"Traitor."
But his voice was fading now, lulled by the hum of the tires and the rhythm of the city. The quiet in the car settled again—not awkward, not tired. Just peaceful. And behind them, the Lu parents disappeared down another road, knowing exactly what they had left in motion.
The car pulled up to the ZGDX base just after midday, the familiar concrete façade and dark-tinted windows welcoming them back like the walls themselves had been waiting. The gates slid open smoothly, the security system already logged with their return, and the moment the vehicle rolled to a stop, Yue groaned theatrically from the back seat. "Home," he muttered. "My overpriced cave of caffeine, chaos, and judgment."
Sicheng ignored him, already out of the car and retrieving their bags with the same ease he handled pressure in a match—controlled, efficient, and completely unwilling to let anyone else carry anything, especially the travel safe Yao had quietly tried to reclaim three times during the trip.
Yao stepped out next, stretching lightly as the breeze caught her hair. She glanced toward the front entrance, half expecting Rui to be waiting with a clipboard and a schedule.
The doors slid open.
And out stormed Da Bing.
All thirty-five pounds of fluff and rage, his massive white Siberian frame gliding across the stone like a cloud of vengeance with blue eyes that blazed with judgment. Right behind him, at a slightly more erratic but no less dramatic pace, came Xiao Cong, the gray-striped Maine Coon kitten who had clearly inherited every drop of indignation his older counterpart had bottled up for the past two days.
Yao froze mid-step. "Oh no."
Da Bing stopped a few feet in front of her, tail lashing once, ears flattened against his wide skull as he glared. Not meowed. Not purred.
Glared.
Xiao Cong skidded to a stop beside him, his oversized kitten paws awkward but determined as he tilted his head and gave a small, sharp chirp of betrayal. His gray eyes shimmered with disappointment so potent it was almost operatic.
"Ohhh, you are in trouble." Yue poked his head out of the car and laughed.
Sicheng raised an eyebrow, calmly slinging his duffle bag over one shoulder and resting her travel safe carefully in his other arm. "Better you than me."
"Da Bing…" Yao sighed, crouching slowly as the large white mass of betrayal narrowed his eyes.
Nothing.
He just sat, one massive paw lifting slowly—deliberately—before swiping it across the pavement in a motion so clearly passive-aggressive it should've come with subtitles: HOW DARE YOU.
Xiao Cong mirrored him, only to dramatically flop over onto his side as if he had been abandoned by the only humans he had ever loved.
"I was gone for two days." she muttered.
Da Bing blinked, slow and with unimpressed disdain.
"They've never looked so betrayed." Yue clutched his chest, cackling.
"Xiao Cong slept in the laundry hamper," Lao Mao called from the doorway, grinning. "Refused to eat from anyone's hand unless it was Lao K's. Da Bing terrorized the downstairs roomba."
"Da Bing… we're back. You're fine. You were fed. You were loved." Yao groaned, reaching out carefully. Da Bing stepped back with a huff at her with a look that said he was indeed upset with her. She knew why as she had not ever since she had got him? Left him on his own or been gone for more than a few hours.
Yue snorted. "That's it. He's revoking your emotional support license."
"I'm filing a formal complaint with the Feline Union. The Board of Very Angry Cats says no cuddles for you." Lao K added, stepping out with a protein shake and a smirk.
Sicheng finally stepped forward, setting the bags down and crouching beside her. He said nothing. Just held out a hand. Da Bing stared. Then slowly—very slowly—stepped forward and shoved his massive forehead into Sicheng's palm with a dramatic, warbling gruhhhhrrr.
Yue shouted, "Traitor!"
Xiao Cong perked up at that and immediately climbed up Sicheng's thigh like a tree, pawing his shirt and chirping loudly. "I am not surprised," Sicheng muttered dryly, rubbing behind Da Bing's ears. "They're like you. Loud when upset. Stubborn when guilty."
"I am not loud."
"You just hissed 'I'm not loud.' "
Da Bing flopped against Sicheng's side with a thud.
"They're never letting me leave again, are they?" Yao sighed and dropped her head to his shoulder.
"No," Sicheng said calmly, rubbing Da Bing's back as Xiao Cong pounced lightly onto Yao's lap as he picked him up in her arms. "And honestly, I'm considering microchipping you."
"If you microchip me," Yao muttered as she adjusted Xiao Cong in her arms, "your privileges to my apartment are revoked." She didn't wait for a response. She didn't need one. The weight of her words was final—sharp-edged and quiet like the rest of her. Beside her, Da Bing gave a low chuff, brushing his massive white frame against her calf in silent agreement as if to say you tell him, Mama.
Sicheng just watched, a barely-there smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. She turned her back on all of them, chin slightly lifted, and made her way toward the base's front door. It was solid wood, heavy, with that familiar resistance that always required a little extra push. She shifted Xiao Cong to one arm, grabbed the handle, and shoved it open with the ease of muscle memory. She didn't look back. The door shut behind her with a soft click.
"She just dismissed you like a palace guard," Yue said behind him, sounding both offended and impressed. "Didn't even flinch."
"She dismissed you too," Sicheng said dryly, grabbing his own duffle and the sleek travel safe she hadn't even tried to carry. "You just didn't notice."
Yue muttered, "I notice everything."
"You didn't notice her stealing your soul last week during that mid-lane scrim as she called out your bad playing."
"She intimidated my mouse hand, Cheng. That's psychological warfare."
Sicheng ignored him. He stepped through the front door with one hand on the edge of the frame, his pace unhurried as the base's familiar scent hit him—a mix of floor polish, laundry detergent, energy drinks, and the faintest trace of Rui's industrial-strength air fresheners that tried (and failed) to hide the evidence of too many young men living under one roof. Ahead of him, Yao was already halfway down the hall, her pace calm, steady, familiar. Da Bing moved like a shadow at her heel, his wide body blocking most of the light coming from the lower stairwell, while Xiao Cong peered over her shoulder with wide gray eyes, ears twitching at every creak of the wood.
She reached the stairs and turned left, not once looking over her shoulder. But she didn't have to. Because she knew he'd be behind her in three minutes. Bag in hand. Travel safe slung over his shoulder. Carrying what he wouldn't let herself carry, even if she could. Because this was what they did. She climbed the stairs to her apartment with her cats at her side—Da Bing walking like a guardian, Xiao Cong nestled like royalty—and by the time she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the base felt like it was breathing again.
The soft knock on her door wasn't really a knock—it was just habit, a subtle courtesy he never abandoned.
Yao had just set Xiao Cong down on the window ledge, where the kitten promptly stretched with a self-important chirp and flopped over in a dramatic sprawl, when the door opened behind her. Da Bing let out a quiet grrrumph from where he had planted himself, tail flicking as if re-establishing his claim on the space.
Sicheng entered without fanfare, carrying both her overnight bag and the reinforced travel safe with the same ease he brought into match point. His steps were quiet, steady, the bags handled like they mattered—not just because of their contents, but because they were hers. He didn't speak as he set the overnight bag near the dresser and crossed to the bed, carefully placing the travel safe atop the comforter like it was made of glass and silence. Then he stepped back—not out of the room, just enough to give her space to breathe.
Yao stood in place for a moment, watching it. That sleek case was a vault in every sense of the word—one that carried names, ledgers, weight. She moved to it slowly, fingers brushing the top before pressing the code and unlocking the mechanism with a muted click. She lifted the lid. Inside, the scent of velvet and clean metal greeted her again—cool, sterile, faintly cold. There were documents still nestled in the lower compartment, folded letters, notarized transfers, and sealed envelopes. She didn't touch those today. Today, her eyes moved to the jewelry section in the top tray. Pieces carefully padded and lined. Antique chains. Brushed gold. Stones she didn't yet know the names of, but instinctively knew had meant something once. Her fingers hovered briefly before she began removing the select few she'd promised herself she'd keep close. She crossed the room and stopped in front of the small, worn jewelry box sitting at the edge of her dresser.
It wasn't fancy—not by any stretch of the imagination. The wood was faded in places, the edges softened by time and fingers that had touched it often. A single hinge on the back was slightly looser than it should have been, and the velvet inside was fraying around the corners. It didn't sparkle. It didn't command attention. But it was hers. And it had belonged to her mother.
Yao opened the lid gently. Inside, the trays were shallow and neatly organized, made for smaller pieces—things worn with care, not flash. She took each item from the safe and placed it inside with precise movements: the slender emerald necklace, a curved gold bracelet, two pairs of earrings with stones she didn't recognize but had a strange, quiet attachment to already. She arranged them carefully—not to display, but to keep. To remember. When she was done, she closed the lid. Her hand lingered on top of it. "…I'm going to need a bigger one soon," she whispered, not entirely to herself.
Sicheng remained where he was, one shoulder leaned against the wall, watching her in the reflection of the mirror. His voice was quiet, steady. "You'll always make room."
Yao nodded once, then returned to the bed and closed the travel safe without hesitation. She climbed up on the small step-stool and lifted it into the top of her closet, slotting it carefully between a box of seasonal sweaters and the emergency humidifier. Out of sight. For now. But not forgotten. She stepped down again, brushing her hands against her hips to steady herself, and turned toward him. He hadn't moved. But he didn't need to. He was exactly where he always was when she needed him—close. Steady. Silent, until she was ready to speak. And for now? That was enough.
The lights in her apartment were low, casting a soft, amber glow over the room as the evening quiet pressed in, familiar and calming. Outside, the city hummed in its usual rhythm, but none of it reached her here—not the weight of expectation, nor the pacing thoughts about matches or university deadlines.
Yao sat curled on the couch, her phone resting in her lap as the last message to Jinyang blinked gently beneath her thumb.
We're back. Everything's confirmed for Saturday, Sicheng's father handled all the accommodations for everyone that wishes to come. Thank you for helping Ming Sheng and Lao K with the furry menaces.
Jinyang had replied almost immediately.
Of course. Just rest, okay? I'll handle everything else.
Yao read the message twice, her fingers brushing gently over the screen before she turned it off and placed it quietly on the table. Dinner had been quiet. She'd sat beside Sicheng at the island, the two of them eating side by side in silence that didn't feel heavy, just comfortable. It had been a long day, and neither of them had pushed for conversation. He had reheated the food while she got Xiao Cong settled. They ate with a kind of ease that only came from familiarity.
Now she had tucked herself into his side on the couch, her small frame folded into the space between his arm and chest. He had wrapped his arm gently around her shoulders, holding her close but never too tight, his fingertips tracing soft patterns across the fabric of her sleeve as she pressed her face into the curve of his neck. She wasn't crying. She wasn't even sad. But she was quiet in a way he knew meant everything was catching up to her—the weight of all she carried, the decisions she didn't want but had made anyway, the soft ache of exhaustion behind her eyes.
Sicheng said nothing. He simply tilted his head until his cheek rested against her hair and let his hand slide gently along the curve of her back. Her fingers curled into his shirt lightly, not out of fear, not even for comfort. Just… needing to be near him. She drew in a small breath, eyes still closed, and didn't say anything. Not a word. But the way she pressed her forehead just a little closer into the warmth of his neck, the way her shoulders finally began to relax against him—he felt it. She was looking for sanctuary. And with him, she always had it. His hand stilled, resting over her shoulder, and in the softest voice he only ever used for her, he murmured, "I've got you." She nodded faintly, the movement small against his collarbone. He didn't say anything else. Because she didn't need anything else right now. Just the stillness. The warmth. And the knowledge that she was held without being asked to be strong. That for tonight, just tonight, she could be quiet. And he would stay exactly where he was.
It was early afternoon when Sicheng stepped out into the back lot behind the ZGDX base—the one usually reserved for delivery vans and equipment storage, often ignored by the rest of the team. He wasn't expecting anything. Just some quiet air and a break between scheduled scrims.
Yue trailed after him, stretching his arms behind his head with a yawn that bordered on theatrical. "I swear Rui's new schedule is designed specifically to break our will," Yue muttered. "Even the caffeine's stopped working."
Sicheng didn't answer.
Because he'd already stopped walking.
Yue slowed too, blinking as he stepped up beside him.
And then—
They both saw it.
Not two cars like they had expected.
But Four.
All lined in a neat row like something out of a showroom catalog. Their reflections shimmered beneath the overcast light, tires spotless, windows tinted just enough to look smug about it.
Sicheng's eyes narrowed immediately, not in irritation but in the way he always did when presented with something he wasn't told about first. There was the silver Ferrari 250 GT Lusso Berlinetta, he'd picked. But parked beside it… A motorcycle. Low-slung. Matte black. Gold-trimmed. The Zhenxing V8 C-Shadow // Custom
Yue's jaw dropped before he even got to the second surprise. "Wait. Wait. Wait." His hands shot into the air like he'd just seen a miracle take shape in real time. "Is that—she didn't—" Because there it was. TheJaguar XKR-S // Crimson Feral. The one he'd mourned. The one he'd stood in front of with a hand to his chest like it was the love he could never have. It was here. Right in front of him. Perfect. Real. Delivered.
Sicheng took a slow step forward toward the motorcycle, his expression unreadable, eyes flicking over the lines, the custom plate already affixed, the sleek helmet resting beside the seat.
Yue was already circling the Jaguar, talking to it like it might talk back. "No. No, no, no—this is cruel. You can't just give this to me. This is emotional sabotage. This is a trap. I'm being tested. This is the loyalty mission in a dating sim."
Sicheng, after a long moment of silence, glanced down at the small envelope taped neatly to the seat of the bike.
His name.
No frills.
Just: Cheng-ge.
He pulled the note free, opened it.
Inside—her handwriting, small, neat, shy even on paper:
I saw how you looked at this one.
Let them have the ones they asked for.
This one was always meant for you.
—Yao.
Yue found his envelope a moment later, tucked under the windshield wiper like a letter left by fate. His voice broke halfway through reading it aloud. "She said, 'You didn't have to ask. I always meant to give it to you.'" He turned to Sicheng, still holding the letter, eyes wide. "She's dangerous."
Sicheng didn't answer. He was staring at the bike again. Then folded the note carefully, tucking it into the inside pocket of his jacket before walking a slow circle around the Zhenxing. He didn't touch it yet he just looked. Every angle. Every curve. Like he was studying something sacred.
Yue walked up beside him a moment later, quieter now. "She didn't even tell us."
"No," Sicheng said softly, "she didn't."
"Do we… say something? I feel like we should say something."
Sicheng was silent again. Than, "She's probably pretending she doesn't know we've found them. Waiting."
Yue blinked. "You mean she's watching?"
"No. I mean she's waiting for us to bring it up so she can panic and try to deflect."
Yue groaned. "She's going to go red and pretend it was practical."
"Correct."
"So… what do we do?"
Sicheng looked over the top of the bike at his brother, the corners of his eyes just starting to soften. "We say thank you." Then… "We don't give the keys back."
It was later that evening when Yao padded softly down the stairs in her slippers, her hair loosely braided over one shoulder, and Da Bing trotting just behind her with all the gravitas of a bodyguard whose shift never ended. Except the second she stepped into the lounge and rounded the edge of the couch—
Yue spotted her. He froze mid-sentence, one arm draped across the back of the couch, his other hand holding his phone. His eyes locked on her like she had just walked into his trap.
She blinked. "...What?"
Yue launched.
She didn't even have time to set the cup down.
"TINY BOSS BUNNY!"
She squeaked—actually squeaked—as he flung himself at her, catching her around the waist and dragging her down with him onto the couch in a mess of flailing limbs and high-pitched squawks.
"YUE—! You can't just—!"
"You tricked me!" he wailed, wrapping her in a bear hug that immediately flattened her against his chest. "You manipulated me with a Jaguar, and I have never loved you more!"
Yao flailed helplessly. "It's just a car!"
"It's a miracle! You knew! You plotted in silence!"
She buried her burning face in her hands. "Please get off me."
"No," he sniffed. "I live here now."
Da Bing hopped up beside them with a loud, judgmental mrrow and promptly sat on Yue's stomach, his full weight eliciting an immediate choked groan from the boy now crushed beneath two beings who would not be moved. (A certain dramatic kitten was sleeping in his bed upstairs, luckily for Yue as he would not have approved of his dramatics towards his mama and would have shown his displeasure.)
Sicheng stepped in from the side hall just in time to witness the scene, Yue flailing, Da Bing victorious, and Yao, pink-faced, wide-eyed, and frozen halfway between trying to push Yue off and trying to vanish into the couch. His arms folded loosely across his chest, a slow exhale leaving his lungs like he'd been expecting this the entire time. "You should've just told us, Xiǎo tùzǐ." he said mildly with a soft adoring glint in his eyes aimed at her.
"I wasn't going to make a thing of it." Yao muttered from behind her hands, still not looking up.
"It is a thing! You delivered a car like a drama heroine and left a note. A note, Tiny Boss Bunny!" Yue gasped dramatically beneath the pile.
"I just… thought you'd be happy."
Sicheng's eyes softened. "The brat is."
She finally peeked up at him through her fingers, cheeks glowing, her voice a tiny whisper. "You too?"
He nodded once. "Very, Xiǎo Tùzǐ."
Yue sniffled again. "You're never allowed to say you're not good at gifting ever again."
"I wasn't trying to gift anything," she whispered, utterly overwhelmed. "I just… wanted everyone to have something that made them feel special and for you all to know how much you all meant to me."
Sicheng stepped forward then, crouched beside the couch, and brushed a strand of her hair back from her cheek, his fingers careful, warm. "You're very good at that," he murmured. "Even when you think you're not."
She lowered her eyes, still flustered, her hand twisting into the hem of her sleeve as she quietly whispered, "Okay. But please don't tackle me next time, Yue."
Yue let out a small, content sigh beneath Da Bing. "No promises."
Da Bing huffed and sprawled heavier across his ribs. And Yao, still squished in a very warm pile of chaos, let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
Yao was just starting to recover her breath—wedged into the couch with Da Bing planted like a smug, furry mountain on Yue's chest and the younger Lu brother still clinging to her like an emotional support blanket—when her phone, somewhere on the coffee table, started vibrating.
The screen lit up.
Sicheng's eyes flicked toward it, and with far too much casual satisfaction, he reached over and picked it up before she could even try.
"Don't—" Yao tried, flailing weakly under the weight of Yue and her Siberian Monarch.
Too late.
Sicheng glanced at the screen. "Mother."
Yao's eyes widened. "No—no, don't—"
He pressed the speaker icon.
"Tong Yao." came Lan's voice immediately, calm and poised as always, though laced with something suspiciously cool and edged.
Sheng's voice followed half a second later, far too smooth. "Good evening, little one. We just got your surprises."
Yao froze.
"We were going to notice," Sheng confirmed dryly, amusement barely concealed beneath his even tone. "The Maserati Vento '92 // Hunter Green, was quietly delivered into our garage like a guilt-laced bribe from a royal heiress."
Lan's voice was next. "And the Lotus Evora Shadowline // Custom GT, was placed under a covered awning with a handwritten delivery note that read, and I quote, 'I remember the way you looked at it. Please drive it sometimes.'"
Yao groaned softly and buried her face in her sleeve.
Sicheng watched her affectionately and didn't offer to end the call.
"It was just something small," she tried, muffled, "I didn't mean for it to be a thing…"
Lan, as always, was impossible to fluster. "You slipped four luxury vehicles into your new family's lives without asking. That qualifies as a thing."
"But I didn't want anyone to feel obligated, and I thought… maybe it would just… quietly make them happy." she murmured as she fiddled with her sleeves as her cheeks burned.
"Yao-er," Sheng said, and his tone softened then, less amused, more something else—warmer. "You don't need to sneak kindness into the quiet corners of people's lives anymore. You are family. You don't need to ask."
Lan added, "You should also know that your father and grandfather would have approved. They both liked beautiful things that were meant to move. You really are your mother's daughter, loving and kind to a fault with being extremely generous."
That made her go still. A soft breath escaped her, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeve just a little tighter.
Sicheng leaned over then, brushing his thumb lightly along her knuckles, grounding her.
"I—" she started, voice low and small, "I just wanted you ll to have something that made you smile when I wasn't around to give it, I saw the way you all had looked at the second vehicles after you had picked the ones you wanted. I don't drive and I know you all will take care good care of them."
There was a pause on the other end.
Then Sheng replied, voice low and sure, "You gave us more than that, darling girl. You have given us a piece of your family. You have solidified your decision to make us your family like we have done with you."
Yue whispered, "She's going to cry."
"I'm not." Yao mumbled, though her eyes shimmered, and her cheeks were glowing.
Lan's voice returned, calm and certain. "We'll talk soon. But for tonight? Let yourself feel what it means to be held. You are not alone in anything that comes next, we will always stand beside you. Not to mention that Sheng has been bragging to all his associates and such on the gifts his beloved future daughter in law has given to him without even wanting anything in return."
"They are jealous!" crowed Sheng with great glee and pleasure
The call ended.
Yao let out a small breath.
Sicheng set the phone gently back on the table, then leaned down and kissed the top of her head without a word. And even though Da Bing was still lying across Yue's chest like a judgmental pancake, and Yue was mumbling something about emotional whiplash… Yao just closed her eyes. And finally—finally—let herself be still.
The room had gone quiet after the call ended.
Yao sat there, nestled between the armrest and Yue's warm weight, her fingers curled in her sleeve, eyes soft but no longer overwhelmed. Sicheng hadn't moved far, still crouched beside the couch, one hand resting loosely on her knee, the other draped over the back cushion behind her.
Da Bing stretched with a slow, rumbling purr from Yue's stomach and re-positioned like he owned the world, which, as far as anyone in the room was concerned, he absolutely did. It was the kind of peace she never really allowed herself, warm, unguarded, quiet. Until, Yao suddenly stilled. Her spine straightened a fraction. Her eyes, still wide, shifted slightly, first downward, then off to the side, as if looking at something only she could see. And then the color drained from her face.
Sicheng noticed it immediately.
So did Yue.
"Xiǎo tùzǐ," Sicheng said quietly, his thumb brushing against her knee, "what just happened."
Yue lifted his head from beneath Da Bing's weight and squinted. "You look like you remembered where you left a burning stove."
Yao swallowed, her voice caught somewhere between mortified and squeaky. "…I just remembered something else I did."
Both Lu brothers froze.
Sicheng's eyes narrowed slightly. "What kind of something, Xiǎo tùzǐ?"
Yue added, "Was it dangerous? Expensive? Does it involve explosives or shipping containers?"
Yao flinched, then tried to melt further into the couch cushion. "…I might have sent out two more cars."
"To who?" they said in near unison, eyes locked on her now like twin lasers of suspicion and judgment.
Yao squirmed, her face going crimson. "To Ai Jia and Jinyang…"
"What did you send them?" Sicheng's brows rose slightly, but his voice stayed level because of course she would send something to her best friends that have been at her side since she had come to China when she was barely 18.
Yao opened her mouth, closed it again, then muttered just loud enough to be heard, "I told the delivery firm to send the black and silver Audi to Ai Jia… The Audi PB18 E-Tron…"
Sicheng blinked. "That's not a car. That's a statement piece."
Yue's jaw dropped. "That's the concept of a hypercar from hell. You sent that to Ai Jia?!"
"I thought he'd like it!" she said, voice climbing an octave in sheer panic. "It has high control precision and looks like it should be in a movie and he's quiet but he really appreciates engineering lines and—"
"Yao, that car costs more than the combined tech setups of three mid-tier teams." Sicheng said slowly, though his tone was caught somewhere between impressed and stunned along with being amused as hell because once more, she was showing she was pure as hell not in body but in her heart and soul.
Yue was still blinking. "That's—like—that's the car."
Yao covered her face. "That's not even the one I'm worried about."
Both Lu brothers stiffened again.
"…There's more?" Yue asked, voice hushed as he eyed the woman as he was really thinking that she was too damn pure and good for this world considering how kind and soft she was.
"I also had a candy apple red Corvette delivered to Jinyang." whimpered Yao as she peeked between her fingers.
Pause.
"What kind of Corvette, exactly Xiǎo Tùzǐ?" asked Sicheng as he leaned in just slightly with a smirk curling over his lips as he knew it was going to be a damn expensive one as there had been a lot of expensive and high end ones in that damn warehouse-like garage.
"A 1957 Chevrolet Corvette SS Project XP-64…" Yao winced as she mumbled out her answer.
Yue let out an actual wheeze. "That's a collector's dream! Cheng—Ge! Sshe sent a priceless Corvette to the most dramatic woman in all of China!"
"I know! And now I just remembered it's probably already arrived, and she's going to explode and possibly cry and definitely post a picture and…." Yao whispered in distress, sinking further into the cushions.
"She's going to tag everyone," Yue said with absolute conviction. "That woman has a six-swipe photo carousel ready and she's probably naming it right now."
"I was just trying to say thank you!" Yao said desperately. "I didn't want anyone to feel like they were left out! And she's always wanted that car. She told me a month after we met when I was eighteen, so about two years go! I didn't mean to make it a thing—"
Sicheng pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh, but there was no anger in it. Just disbelief and, maybe, a reluctant kind of pride. "You sent four luxury vehicles and two near-priceless ones, without telling a single person." he said slowly as the woman was never going to stop surprising him.
"They're not just vehicles. They were things I remembered people dreaming about. And I had them. So I gave them." Yao whispered, her voice barely audible.
And just like that—quiet again.
"She's unstoppable." Yue dropped his face into his hands and let out a muffled groan.
Sicheng looked at her—really looked—and exhaled. "You're going to break the internet, aren't you? Especially when you take an active role in your family's business."
She whimpered behind her hands. "I hope not…"
Sicheng damn near groaned as he could just picture it now….she was going to have the entirety of China, never mind Shenhzhen eating of her hand and falling over themselves to lease her and know her especially once it was known? That she owned Tencent…Riot Games. He was already making plans to ensure her safety and to make sure everyone got the message…that his Xiǎo tùzǐ…was just that, his. And he would not hesitate to put someone in their grave if they dared to try and take her from him.
The YQCB base was calm.
For once.
Scrim schedules had been finalized, Ai Jia was reviewing new rotations with one of the analysts, and Kun Hyeok was half-asleep on the lounge couch with one arm covering his eyes and the other dangling off the side in complete protest of anything productive.
Then came the knock at the door.
Not just a knock.
A thud.
A deep, echoing thunk-thunk that came with the unmistakable rumble of low-idling engines just outside the gate.
Kun Hyeok groaned. "If that's a marketing drop again, I swear I'm going to hide in the ceiling."
But one of the assistants was already answering it.
Thirty seconds later—
"Uh… Jinyang-jie? Ai Jia-ge?"
Both turned.
The assistant blinked rapidly, holding up a clipboard with trembling hands. "There are, um… delivery crews outside. With vehicles."
"Vehicles?" Ai Jia lifted his head from the data screen slowly, brows pulling together.
"They said they're for you two," the assistant squeaked. "One black and silver. One candy apple red."
"What?!" Kun Hyeok sat up so fast his hair went sideways.
Outside, the base's parking courtyard buzzed with low reverent awe from the delivery teams as two covered transports opened their sides with practiced ceremony. Hydraulic ramps unfolded. Velvet ropes were pulled aside.
And then—
There they were.
A sleek, black-and-silver Audi PB18 E-Tron, polished to perfection, its angles gleaming like a ship meant for speed and silence, the kind of car that made statements just by existing.
And beside it—
A candy-apple red 1957 Chevrolet Corvette SS Project XP-64, curved like vintage muscle, absolutely absurd in all the best ways, sunlight glinting off its chrome with the kind of confidence only old legends carried.
Silence.
Utter silence from the entire team now gathered at the windows.
Kun Hyeok pressed a hand to the glass. "...That's real. That's actually here. I thought that model didn't exist anymore."
Ai Jia was already outside, slow, careful steps, his expression unreadable—until he reached the Audi, and found the envelope taped to the driver's side mirror. His name.
Neat handwriting.
I thought this looked like something you'd understand. Something with lines worth chasing.
Thank you. For watching over me.
—Yao
He blinked once.
Then again.
Then opened the door and looked inside like someone had just handed him the bridge controls to a spaceship.
Meanwhile, the Corvette—
"OH MY GOD—" Jinyang burst from the doorway in slippers and a sweatshirt with her hair still in a claw clip and a facial mask half rubbed off on one cheek. She sprinted across the courtyard, screamed once into the sky, and dropped to her knees in front of the Corvette like a woman witnessing a miracle. "YOU ACTUAL ANGEL!" she shrieked at the car. "YOU BEAUTIFUL DEVIL-GIRL—YAO, I'M GOING TO MARRY YOU."
One of the delivery drivers, stunned speechless, quietly handed her the envelope. Her name. A note.
You once said this was your dream. I remembered. Please don't scream too much. I don't want to cause a public panic. And yes, you're allowed to post it. Just… maybe crop my name?
—Yao
Jinyang screamed again. "I'M NOT CROPPING ANYTHING! I'M TATTOOING THIS!"
Ai Jia, still standing by the Audi, slowly lifted his eyes toward the sky, as if trying to process what reality had become.
"Did she just gift-drop two fantasy cars into our courtyard like it was fan mail?!" muttered Kun Hyeok staggered outside, barefoot, eyes wide.
"She's the CEO of kindness!" Jinyang howled. "She's going to make me cry into the engine block!"
Ai Jia finally spoke.
Softly. Quietly.
"…She remembered."
And no one—not a single soul—had it in them to laugh at that.
Because they knew what it meant. And for a long moment, the YQCB base stood in the shadow of two impossible vehicles, gifted without fanfare, without publicity, and without expectation. Only love. Only memory. And a girl who never said a word.
It was mid-afternoon at the ZGDX base.
The team was deep in training drills, the room alive with the familiar cadence of strategizing, keys clicking, and Kwon's occasional sharp corrections from behind his clipboard. Yao had stepped out briefly to make tea, Xiao Cong trailing at her heels, Da Bing draped over the back of the main lounge couch like an oversized white fur-guardian in sleep mode. She'd just added honey to her cup when the front door slammed open.
Hard.
Yao barely had time to set the mug down.
"YAAAAAAO—!"
The screech could only belong to one person.
Before she could even blink, a designer blur of motion—sneakers, denim, oversized hoodie, and wild perfume—launched through the hall, cutting past a stunned Lao K and a bewildered Lao Mao like a heat-seeking missile.
Jinyang.
And she didn't stop running.
"No no no wait—!" Yao tried, backing up a step.
Too late.
Jinyang fly-tackled her best friend straight into the lounge couch with the kind of love and reckless abandon that could only come from someone who'd just received the car of her dreams and hadn't emotionally processed it yet.
Yao let out a high-pitched yelp, flailing helplessly as she went down with a soft whumph into the cushions.
"You're mine now! I don't care what the law says, I am marrying you as well when I marry that idiot of mine!" Jinyang shouted, wrapping her arms around her like a starfish and nuzzling into the top of her head.
Yao squawked again, her face already red, her hands caught in the sleeves of her cardigan.
Inside the training room, all activity stopped.
Pang peeked through the door. "Was that Jinyang?"
Yue didn't even look up from his keyboard. "Yao's about to die under the weight of female friendship."
Sicheng had already taken off his headset. His chair pushed back slowly, the movement quiet. Controlled. Dangerous. He stood. His expression unreadable. And then, he stepped into the lounge. His eyes locked immediately on the sight before him. Yao, pinned to the couch under Jinyang's full-body declaration of eternal gratitude. Her legs half folded beneath her, her hair a soft mess from impact, her cheeks pink, her hands pressed awkwardly against her friend's shoulder as she struggled not to squeak again.
Jinyang beamed. "Lu Captain," she said, not even pretending to sit up. "Congratulations! You're being upgraded to Brother-in-Law!"
Sicheng's eyes narrowed just slightly. He didn't speak right away. But the tension in the room shifted. Slowly, very slowly, he walked across the lounge, the slight flex of his jaw the only indication that his very soul was vibrating with the territorial urge to rip someone off the couch.
Yao saw him coming and squeaked again with flustered protest. "Jinyang—get off—!"
"Not until you accept my undying gratitude and legally binding vow of devotion," Jinyang declared with a grin.
Sicheng reached them. Without hesitation, he leaned down, slipped his arms beneath Yao, and lifted her straight off the couch and out of Jinyang's grasp as if she weighed nothing at all.
She let out a soft eep, her hands instinctively gripping the front of his hoodie. "Cheng-ge—!"
"You're not marrying her." he said flatly, one arm securing her effortlessly against his chest.
"She gave me a Corvette," Jinyang argued from the couch. "In my color. With a handwritten note. That is a marriage proposal where I come from!"
"She's my Intended and she won't be proposed to by anyone else." he said coolly, his voice low and firm as he glanced down at her still-blushing form in his arms.
"Can I at least visit her on the weekends as my wife?" Jinyang pouted, not the least bit deterred.
"No."
"Can I take her out for a hotpot next week?"
"No."
Yao peeked up at him, voice muffled. "She can take me for a hotpot."
Sicheng's eye twitched. "You can't be the one defending her right now."
"I knew it. I always said you were the territorial one." Jinyang huffed from the couch as she sulked and crossed her arms.
"I never denied it."
"Please put me down…" Yao mumbled into his chest. But he didn't. Not right away. He just held her closer, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head, his arms protective, warm, steady.
And across the room, Pang whispered to Lao Mao, "I don't think I've ever seen him that close to killing someone while still being polite."
Lao Mao nodded solemnly. "It's the soft-voiced rage for me."
Meanwhile, Da Bing finally lifted his head from the backrest and gave Jinyang a look that clearly translated to: she's not yours.
Jinyang was still dramatically sprawled across the ZGDX lounge couch, arms stretched out like she was in the final act of an opera, cheek pressed to the cushions in theatrical despair. "He said I can't marry her," she lamented to Da Bing, who remained perched atop the backrest, unmoved and thoroughly unimpressed.
"She's not on the market." came Sicheng's voice, low and steady from the opposite end of the couch, where he now sat with Yao tucked beside him like she belonged there. His arm lay lightly across her shoulders, and despite the lingering blush on her cheeks, Yao wasn't trying to escape him anymore, just quietly enduring the chaos as it swirled around her.
The front door opened with a quiet click.
"Please tell me you didn't try to propose to Yao-er again," came Ai Jia's dry voice as he stepped inside, backpack slung over one shoulder.
Jinyang didn't even lift her head. "She gave me a Corvette, Ai Jia. A candy apple red, '57 XP-64. With chrome trim. And a note. What was I supposed to do? Sit quietly and reflect? I'm not you."
"That's not a car, that's a declaration of war on subtlety." Ai Jia sighed long and deep, like a man used to this level of daily melodrama. Right behind him came Lee Kun Hyeok, trailing in with an expression that could only be described as a rich boy pout.
"She gave everyone a car," Kun Hyeok muttered under his breath. "Everyone got something shiny. Something rare. Even Yue got a Jag. And I get nothing."
"Here we go." Yue muttered from his perch on the arm of the couch.
Kun Hyeok planted himself in the center of the room, arms crossed, and pointed dramatically at Yao like a betrayed heir. "I am the only one who did not receive a vehicle. Not even a vintage bicycle. And I like vintage bicycles!"
"I— I wasn't finished yet…" Yao blinked, startled, caught mid-sip of her now-cold tea.
"What does that mean?" he gasped as he eyed her closely.
"I mean I had a list," she stammered, looking down at the mug she was clutching, "and I was going to ask Jinyang what you liked best before I sent anything because I didn't want to pick wrong, and I know you like speed and style and—you mentioned butterfly doors once—and I was just being careful—"
Ai Jia moved past the coffee table, setting his bag down. "And she means it."
Jinyang, finally lifting her head, groaned, "Yao, you sweet disaster, you're going to make everyone else's girlfriends look bad."
Sicheng let out a slow exhale beside Yao, his hand gently brushing down her arm. "This is what happens when you give luxury cars to people who treat affection like a competitive sport."
Yao lowered her gaze, flustered and small beside him. "I wasn't trying to make a statement…"
"You made one anyway," Kun Hyeok said, visibly sulking but no longer genuinely angry. Then, in a quieter voice, "I'd like mine in midnight blue."
Sicheng's eyes narrowed. "She said she was asking Jinyang."
"I have taste," Kun Hyeok defended.
"You have a wishlist that changes every week."
"I know what I want when I see it."
Jinyang waved her hand as if ending a business meeting. "I'll curate a shortlist. But I'm putting a cap on how dramatic you're allowed to be when it arrives."
"You're one to talk," Ai Jia muttered.
And in the middle of it all, Yao just curled in a little closer to Sicheng, cheeks still red, heart full, and utterly, completely overwhelmed—just as she always was when her kindness turned into a spectacle. But this time… she didn't regret it. Not one bit.
The room had finally started to settle again, the noise tapering off into low conversation, quiet laughter, and halfhearted teasing. Yao was seated now, her teacup cradled gently between her palms, the rim resting near her lip though she hadn't taken another sip. Sicheng sat beside her on the couch, one leg bent lazily, his fingers loosely curled against the back of her shoulder, grounding her without pressure.
Jinyang had flopped herself halfway over the beanbag she'd claimed earlier, Ai Jia now seated beside her on the floor, back against the base of the couch. Kun Hyeok was still sulking nearby, though noticeably perkier since the mention of a potential custom delivery.
Yao glanced down at her tea again, then slowly lifted her head. "…Jinyang?" she said quietly.
Her best friend blinked up at her, hair a bit mussed, mascara smudged slightly from earlier joyful sobbing over the Corvette. "Yeah, beautiful?"
Yao's fingers tightened around the mug slightly. "Do you… do you think Kazemi-ge and Kaya-jie will be okay with what I sent them?"
Jinyang sat up straighter. "Wait. What did you send them?"
Yao hesitated.
Then whispered, "I sent Kaya-jie the Dodge Viper Concept VM-02. The 8-liter V10 RWD… from 1989."
The room went still.
Jinyang blinked, then slowly, very slowly, turned to stare at her. "You mean the prototype? The one they only made two of?"
Yao nodded, swallowing. "She's always loved it. I remembered once she mentioned it when I asked what her favorite shape was—she said it looked like power that didn't have to explain itself."
Sicheng, already watching her carefully, went still before he sighed heavily resigned to the fact that his Xiǎo tùzǐ was too damn kind for her own good….and was very much deciding to hand out those cars to people that love on them and take care of them with their lives, to show her love and generosity to her precious ones.
Ai Jia turned toward her with growing disbelief.
"And Kazemi-Ge?" Jinyang asked, almost breathless.
Yao hesitated again, then murmured, "The Rolls-Royce Boat Tail."
Silence.
Not stunned silence.
Staggered.
The kind that pulled every breath out of the room at once.
Yue's head whipped toward her like he'd misheard.
Pang, sitting at the edge of the training room doorway, straightened abruptly. "Wait, wait—wait." He stared at her, wide-eyed. "The Boat Tail? The one with the butterfly deck and inlaid crystal panels? That Boat Tail?" Yao gave a tiny nod as she was flushing, turning red as she was fidgeting. "You're talking about the car that only three exist in the entire world?" he said, his voice almost a squeak.
Yao looked down into her tea. "They were just sitting there. Locked away. Unseen. Untouched. They weren't bought recently, they were part of my grandfather and father's collection. They've been sealed for over a decade."
"Yao…" Lao K's voice cracked slightly. "Where did you even—?"
"When we went to Shanghai," she said softly, her voice growing steadier now despite the heat rising in her cheeks, "it wasn't just about clearing the vault and paperwork. I found records. Garages." She looked up at them then, hazel eyes shining but quiet. "They belonged to my family. And I know they would've wanted them to be seen. To be driven. Not left locked behind walls. My grandfather… he never collected for status. He collected because he believed beautiful things should be used."
Jinyang stared at her, lips parted. Ai Jia had gone completely still. Even Kun Hyeok's pout had vanished, replaced by the blankness of someone trying to process a piece of history being casually handed out like a wrapped gift. Sicheng didn't say anything. He didn't need to. His hand pressed gently to the curve of her spine.
"You've… you've just been giving them away?" Lao Mao's voice broke the silence, hushed and awed.
"To people who'd love them. People who'd drive them. Who wouldn't hoard them behind glass. It didn't feel right to keep them all. Not when they could mean something to someone." Yao nodded, nibbling on her bottom lip.
Jinyang, for once in her life, was silent. Then she stood up, walked across the room, and gently knelt beside the couch where Yao sat. "You didn't just give us cars," she said softly, eyes shining now. "You gave us pieces of them."
Yao looked away quickly, her throat tight. Sicheng pulled her just a little closer, his thumb brushing her sleeve. And for once, the base didn't laugh or tease. They simply sat with her. In quiet awe. And a love that didn't need any more noise.
"Well that is what type of person she is when given money and very expensive things. She doesn't change and stays completely the same." sighed Ming with a fond tone as the others nodded in agreement with his words.
The Chen family compound in Shenzhen was always quiet by design—discreet security, clean architectural lines, and a calm that came from power earned, not flaunted.
Kazemi was finishing a call in the front study, sleeves rolled up, expression cool and unreadable as always, when a soft knock came at the open door.
"Master Chen," the steward said with a respectful incline of his head. "There are… deliveries arriving at the front."
Kazemi glanced up from his tablet. "Deliveries?"
The man hesitated. "They're vehicles, sir."
That was enough to pull Kazemi fully from his chair.
By the time he and Kaya stepped into the front courtyard, the first of the transport trucks had already begun its carefully orchestrated unloading. Velvet ropes were set up. Protective covers peeled away with expert hands.
And then—gleaming beneath the sun as if time had folded to reveal it:
A Rolls-Royce Boat Tail.
The car's frame gleamed in deep custom black with subtle slate accents, the hull curves unmistakable, the butterfly deck sealed with near-silent precision. It was as rare as it was impossible to own.
Kazemi stilled.
The second transport truck pulled up behind the first.
And when its cover rolled back, Kaya let out a soft, stunned breath.
The Dodge Viper Concept VM-02.
Silver. Custom detailed. The very car she had once pointed out in a passing comment years ago. A dream that had existed in the realm of impossibility, even for them.
The drivers presented two envelopes.
One with Kaya-jie written in a delicate script.
One with Kazemi-ge in the same steady hand.
Kaya opened hers first, her eyes sweeping across the simple message.
You once said she was the kind of car that didn't need to be explained. I remembered.
Thank you—for always being a silent protector.
—Yao
Kazemi opened his next.
Because presence doesn't have to raise its voice. I thought this one would suit you.
Thank you—for always letting Jinyang be her full self and for always calling me Mei-Mei.
—Yao
Neither spoke for a long time.
Kazemi closed the envelope, gaze fixed on the shadowed lines of the Boat Tail's frame. "She remembered and we only mentioned them once." he murmured.
Kaya looked over at him, eyes still wide with softening in a way she had only over done with her husband. "She saw us."
Kazemi nodded, voice low. "She saw everything."
There was no press. No audience. Just two cars, the sun catching the edges of a quiet girl's gratitude, and the stunned realization that Yao had not just honored them—she had chosen perfectly.
Yao was sitting on the floor of her apartment that evening, cross-legged in front of her low coffee table, sorting through digital files and marking sections of her dissertation prep with color-coded tabs. The room was dim except for the warm light of the lamp beside her and the soft rhythmic hum of Xiao Cong grooming himself near her ankle. Da Bing lay sprawled behind her like a long, protective shadow, occasionally flicking his tail in contentment.
Her phone buzzed once, lighting up with a single name:
Kazemi-ge
She hesitated for a moment, thumb hovering over the screen before she slid to answer, quietly putting it on speaker as she rested her arms on the edge of the table. "Ge?" she said softly, voice uncertain.
There was a pause on the other end. Then his voice came—smooth, deep, steady in the way Kazemi always was, but gentled now.
"You remembered."
Her breath caught for a second, then released slowly. "I didn't forget." she whispered. Another pause, then the faint sound of him shifting, she could imagine him standing in their front courtyard even without seeing it, one hand in his pocket, the other resting lightly against the roof of a car that wasn't just a car anymore.
"You gave us parts of your family," he said, not as an accusation. Not even as awe. Just the truth. "Not pieces from a vault. Not leftovers. Things that mattered to you. Things that held meaning."
She looked down, pressing her finger lightly to a soft crease in her paper. "I thought… you would understand," she said. "You always did."
"You didn't need to do this." he said gently.
"I know."
"But you did anyway."
She didn't speak for a moment before she then, finally, she asked, voice even smaller, "Did I overstep?"
"No," he said without hesitation. "You did exactly what your grandfather would have done."
Yao swallowed hard, the weight of those words heavier than anything else that had been said all week.
Kazemi continued, his voice dropping lower, more personal. "You don't owe anyone an explanation, Yao. But I want you to know… the Boat Tail will never see a showroom. It will be driven. It will be seen. And it will never be anyone else's. Not truly."
Her throat tightened.
"Kaya already threatened to start a club and has already threatened one of the groundskeepers that she will put a bullet in his head if there was one speck of dirt or even a small scratch on hers." he added dryly, a faint wry note in his tone.
That pulled a quiet laugh from her. "Of course she did…"
There was a beat of silence between them.
And then—
"I'm proud of you, little one" Kazemi said softly. "Not just for what you've done. But for how you did it."
Yao's hand curled around the edge of the table. She blinked, trying not to let her voice shake. "I didn't want to forget them."
"You didn't," he said. "You honored them."
She closed her eyes. "Thank you, ge."
"No need," he replied, his tone fond now. "Just don't let Jinyang try to register you as her wife and second spouse. I think she's genuinely drafting a contract with how she was gushing when she called me earlier about her present from her beloved Yao-er."
Yao flushed instantly. "She already tackled me once."
Kazemi chuckled. "You should've ducked, sweetgirl."
The call ended a few moments later, quiet and easy. No ceremony. No pressure. Just family. And the knowledge that, for the first time in a long while, she hadn't just given something away. She'd given something back.