Morning passed in a calm rhythm at the Gu residence. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the master suite, pooling golden light across the polished floors. Qing Yun sat quietly at the small table by the balcony, notebook open, pen in hand, while Ze Yan lingered on the sofa with his tablet. Their movements had become unconsciously synchronized over the past few days—he rarely left the master bedroom now, and she no longer retreated to her old room.
Everywhere she looked, traces of her life had blended into his: her scarf draped carelessly over his armchair, her books stacked beside his neat files, her perfume faintly intermingled with the cedar scent that clung to him.
It was strange. It was fast. But she accepted it the way she accepted most things—calmly, without fuss.
A knock came at the door.
Before she could rise, one of the maids appeared to announce softly, "Miss Ruan Yi Lan has arrived, she said she has papers from Luminar for Miss Lin."
Qing Yun nodded and set aside her pen. "Bring her in."
---
Yi Lan practically skipped into the suite, a thick folder hugged to her chest. Her eyes immediately darted around, landing on the pair of coffee cups on the table, the neatly folded throw blanket at the foot of the bed, the faintly rumpled pillow beside Ze Yan's seat. Her lips curved into a mischievous smile.
"Jiejie," she began brightly, "you look more… at home than last time."
Qing Yun ignored the teasing tone, reaching for the folder. "You ran all the way here to deliver this?"
Yi Lan leaned closer, lowering her voice dramatically. "Not just that. I heard rumors in the office—you're going to Guangjing soon?"
Qing Yun's hand stilled on the folder. She gave a small nod. "Less than two weeks."
Yi Lan's eyes widened. "What? That soon?"
Before Qing Yun could reply, Yi Lan suddenly grabbed her hand. Her sharp eyes caught the glint on her ring finger.
"Wait… wait, wait, wait." Her squeal echoed against the high ceiling. "You—You're wearing a ring?!"
Qing Yun's expression remained steady, though a faint color rose in her cheeks. "It's nothing," she said evenly, trying to pull her hand back.
But Yi Lan held on with both hands, her face alight with excitement. "Nothing? How can this be nothing? Jiejie, this is huge! Did Director Gu—no, did he really—"
At that moment, footsteps sounded from behind.
Ze Yan had risen from the sofa, setting his tablet aside. He walked over at a leisurely pace, expression unreadable but faintly amused. His gaze lingered on their joined hands, then on Qing Yun's slightly flustered face.
Yi Lan froze, suddenly aware of his presence. But her excitement was too much to contain. She blurted out, "Director Gu! You proposed, didn't you?"
Ze Yan's lips curved faintly. "Isn't it obvious?"
Qing Yun sighed, finally managing to free her hand. "You're being too noisy."
Yi Lan clasped both hands under her chin, practically glowing. "Noisy, yes, but happy noisy! You have to let me celebrate for you, Jiejie. Ah—but if you're leaving so soon…" Her face fell, pouty. "Why does it feel like every time I find someone to admire, they disappear on me?"
Her words carried only half a joke. For a moment, Qing Yun was reminded of Si Yao—the little sister who had clung to her with the same bright eyes. A softness spread through her chest. She reached out and tucked a strand of Yi Lan's hair behind her ear, the way she used to do with Si Yao.
"I'll be back," she said quietly but firmly. "This is only temporary."
Yi Lan blinked, then smiled sheepishly. "You promise?"
Qing Yun nodded once.
Behind her, Ze Yan watched the scene with a faint narrowing of his eyes, as though etching it into memory.
---
The following days slipped into an unusual rhythm.
The staff no longer knocked on her old room; everything was brought straight to the master suite. Breakfast trays arrived with two sets of cutlery, her dresses were hung neatly beside his suits, her skincare bottles lined up next to his cologne on the marble counter.
Qing Yun adapted with a calm grace, never fussing, never asking questions. She folded his ties while he brewed her tea. In the evenings, when she finished reviewing notes, he would sit behind her and brush her hair with uncharacteristic patience.
They spoke little. But silence had weight, and every gesture seemed to press the awareness of passing time heavier against their chests.
---
At Luminar, Shen Qiao called her into the conference room.
"The Atlas event is next week," Shen Qiao said briskly. "Originally I wanted you to lead the translation team, but…" She gave a meaningful look.
Qing Yun understood instantly. "I'll be gone before then."
"Exactly. Which is why I want you to prepare someone else. Train them. You're efficient and clear—your guidance will be enough."
Qing Yun inclined her head. "I'll handle it."
Later that afternoon, she sat with a nervous junior employee, explaining patiently the key points of interpreting for international guests. Her voice was steady, precise, every word practical. The girl scribbled furiously, nodding at every instruction.
From the doorway, Chen Rui leaned lazily against the frame. "Miss Lin, Director Gu's really scary, you know. He doesn't need spies—he already has satellites watching you."
The junior giggled nervously. Qing Yun only arched a brow and returned to her notes. "Go back to work, Chen Rui."
He chuckled and disappeared down the hall.
---
That night, in the quiet of the master bedroom, Ze Yan finally brought it up.
"The course begins at the end of September. You'll need to be there a week early to settle in."
Qing Yun set down her pen, meeting his gaze calmly. "So less than ten days."
He nodded. "I'll come with you to Guangjing. After that, I'll return here. But everything is prepared—you won't lack anything."
She studied him for a moment, then said with quiet certainty, "It's only temporary. I'll come back."
His throat worked, but he didn't reply. Instead, he reached out, pulling her into his arms.
She leaned against his shoulder, the warmth of his body steady against hers. His hand stroked her hair slowly, over and over, as if memorizing the feel.
"Ten days isn't long," he murmured.
Her lips curved faintly. "It will pass quickly."
Silence followed, thick but not uncomfortable. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his embrace heavy with all the words he would not speak aloud.
And so the countdown began.