The hospital's corridors were hushed, washed in dim light. When Gu Ze Yan arrived, his breath caught at the sight of her.
Lin Qing Yun sat on one of the plastic waiting chairs, hands folded quietly in her lap. Her back was straight, her gaze steady. She didn't look broken; she didn't even look as though she had cried. She was too calm—too calm for a girl who had just lost her only family.
Ze Yan's chest tightened. He strode forward, crouched down, and pulled her into his arms. His voice trembled against her hair.
"It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay…"
He repeated the words as if by sheer number they could become true.
Qing Yun did not weep. Instead, she slowly raised her arms, embracing him back, her palm gently stroking his head as though it was he who needed comforting. Her lips curved into the faintest smile, soft and fragile.
After a long silence, Ze Yan forced himself to steady. He cupped her face lightly, then whispered, "I'll take care of everything. Chen Rui is already on his way. You don't need to worry about anything. Just… just rest."
She didn't answer, only blinked slowly, her eyes unfocused, as though her soul was far away.
---
Chen Rui arrived a few minutes later. For once, his usual grin was nowhere to be found. He bowed slightly, his tone respectful and sincere.
"Miss Lin, I'm very sorry for your loss."
Qing Yun inclined her head faintly, a polite smile that had no weight behind it.
"I've already contacted the funeral home," Chen Rui continued, glancing at Ze Yan. "Everything will be ready tomorrow. Please rest tonight."
Ze Yan reached out, patted his shoulder. "Thank you."
Qing Yun whispered the same words, her faint smile rising again like a mask.
---
When it was time to leave, Ze Yan knelt before her, took her cold hand, and said gently, "We'll see Si Yao tomorrow. Let's go home first. You need to rest."
She didn't protest, didn't speak, but when he helped her stand and guided her out of the hospital, she followed quietly.
---
At his apartment, Ze Yan set down the takeaway bag of wonton soup he had picked up along the way. "Wash up first, Sunny," he said, forcing his tone to be light. "I'll heat dinner."
But Qing Yun didn't move. She stood in the entryway, eyes glazed, her damp clothes clinging to her.
He stepped closer, took her cold hand. "Your hands are freezing. Your clothes are still damp. You'll get sick like this."
He tugged gently, leading her toward the bathroom.
Inside, he carefully undressed her, pausing each time to see if she would stop him. She never did. Her silence was heavy, obedient, like a doll.
He showered with her, his movements careful, almost reverent—rinsing her hair, washing her body with warm water, shielding her face so no soap would sting her eyes. He towel-dried her, wrapped her in soft pajamas, combed through her damp hair as though she were porcelain.
---
At the table, he placed the steaming wonton soup before her. "Here," he said softly.
She sat motionless.
Ze Yan picked up a spoon, kneeling beside her. "Please, Sunny. Eat something. Just a little." His voice broke with a plea he couldn't disguise.
At last she let out a quiet breath, took the spoon from his hand, and began to eat. Slowly. Mechanically. She didn't finish, but at least she had a few bites, and she drank the warm water he placed by her side.
Relief washed through him like sunlight breaking a storm.
---
Later, he guided her to bed. He tucked her in, turned off the light, and lay beside her. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as though he could shield her from the entire world. His tears fell silently into her hair, but he pressed his face into the pillow so she wouldn't see.
---
When morning came, the first thing Ze Yan felt was the emptiness in his arms. He jolted awake, heart pounding—only to see her sitting beside him on the bed, her back straight, eyes calm.
She turned, caught his gaze, and smiled warmly, as if yesterday had been only a dream.
"Good morning," she said softly.
His throat tightened. He reached out and kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then her lips, whispering back, "Good morning, Sunny."
The room filled with pale light. Outside, the city stirred awake. Inside, they sat together—one hiding his grief behind strength, the other hiding hers behind a smile.