Morning light spilled across the wide windows of the master bedroom, gilding the edge of the curtains in gold. Qing Yun stirred slowly, the unfamiliar weight of the quilt pressing differently than usual.
For a moment she forgot where she was.
Then she turned her head and saw him—Gu Ze Yan, still lying beside her, one arm draped across her waist as if it had been there all night. His breathing was even, the faintest crease between his brows even in sleep.
Her heart gave a small, startled flutter.
She had never woken like this before, in his bed, surrounded by a space that was so distinctly him. The faint cedarwood scent, the neatly ordered shelves, the cold precision softened now by the warmth of his presence. And tucked into the closet beyond—her clothes, already placed neatly as if they belonged here all along.
The door opened with a discreet knock. One of the maids entered carrying a tray, bowing lightly before setting it on the side table.
"Breakfast, Miss Lin," she said with a respectful smile, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to bring a meal to the mistress of the house.
Qing Yun's cheeks warmed. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words tangled somewhere in her throat.
Ze Yan stirred at that moment, eyes opening, gaze immediately finding hers.
"You're awake," he said simply. His voice was rough with sleep, but steady, grounding.
"Mn." She nodded, her lashes lowering.
---
They ate together in the master suite, the sunlight spilling lazily across the bed where the tray had been set. Qing Yun tried to ignore how strangely intimate it felt, but her heartbeat betrayed her.
It was Ze Yan who broke the quiet first, his tone as calm as if they were discussing nothing more serious than the day's weather.
"I've already made arrangements for Guangjing."
Her chopsticks froze. "…What?"
He looked at her directly. "You'll be staying in Yuelan District. Cloudpeak Residences."
She blinked. She had heard of it before in passing—an elite apartment complex whispered about for its discretion.
Ze Yan continued, unhurried. "It's private. Secure. The entire floor has only two units, and I've taken one of them for you. The building has everything you might need—a gym, pool, concierge. If you ever want to walk out, there are cafés, galleries, and bookstores nearby. If you're bored, you can step outside and find something to distract you."
Her throat tightened. "Ze Yan…"
He didn't stop. "I've already arranged a driver and car. Wherever you want to go, you won't need to worry about transport."
She stared at him, stunned. "But—I haven't even decided yet."
"That's exactly why everything must be ready." His tone was gentle but firm, not leaving space for argument. "Dreams are fragile, Qing Yun. Hesitate too long, and the world finds excuses to break them. I won't let that happen to you."
Her chest ached. She pressed her lips together, lowering her gaze to the untouched bowl in her hands.
Almost as an afterthought, he added, "The neighbor is a young woman. She's quiet, rarely at home. She won't disturb you."
Qing Yun only nodded faintly, not thinking more of it.
---
That afternoon, Qing Yun walked alone through the streets of Liangcheng, the summer heat softened by a light breeze. Her steps carried her naturally to Jiù Mèng Xuān.
The bell above the antique studio door chimed softly as she entered.
Inside, the air smelled of sandalwood and aged paper. Master Shen sat by the window, spectacles perched low on his nose as he examined a piece of cracked porcelain beneath the light.
He looked up, and his eyes warmed immediately. "Ah, little Lin."
"Master Shen." She bowed respectfully, her voice quiet but steady. "I've decided. I want to go to Guangjing. To study restoration."
His hands stilled briefly over the porcelain, but the smile that curved his lips was calm, almost expectant.
"I thought you would," he said simply.
Her chest tightened. "If… if it isn't too late…"
"Of course it isn't." He set the porcelain down carefully, folding his hands over his lap. "I'll call my friends at the university tonight. Your place will be reserved."
Her eyes blurred. She bowed deeply, almost to the floor. "Thank you, Master Shen."
His gaze lingered on her with gentle gravity. "Do you know, Qing Yun… restoration is never only about the object. It is also about restoring yourself. You came to me with a heart full of cracks, but you carry a steadiness that most do not. If this path feels right, don't hesitate. Walk it."
Her lips trembled. She bowed again, gratitude thick in her throat.
---
By the time she returned to the mansion, dusk had painted the sky with streaks of rose and indigo.
Ze Yan was waiting for her in the garden, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
She approached quietly, her fingers brushing the hem of her dress. "Ze Yan…"
His gaze shifted to her, softening faintly.
"If I leave," she asked hesitantly, "won't you… be lonely?"
He gave a small, almost amused smile. "I've lived with loneliness before." His eyes lingered on her face, unflinching. "At least this time, I'll know you're chasing something that belongs to you."
Her breath hitched. She turned her face slightly, hiding the sting in her eyes.
---
That evening, in the quiet of her study, Ze Yan placed a small wooden box on the desk.
Qing Yun opened it with careful fingers. Inside lay a set of antique restoration tools—brushes, scalpels, tweezers—gleaming, brand new, their craftsmanship delicate and precise.
Her breath caught.
"Take them with you," Ze Yan said. His voice was quiet, steady, but there was weight in every word. "So you'll remember—you're not alone, even in Guangjing."
Her hands trembled as she touched the tools, one by one. The edges were cool beneath her fingertips, but her chest felt unbearably warm.
She lifted her gaze to him. The words came out as a whisper, fragile yet full.
"…Thank you."
For believing in her. For preparing the road ahead before she had the courage to step on it herself. For making her dream feel real.
Ze Yan said nothing, only reached out to smooth her hair gently, his hand lingering as though he too couldn't let go.