“Ah Jing, if Grandpa says he wants you to marry Jiang Yan, what would you say?”
Ruan Jing froze. “Are you kidding?”
“You two sisters are twenty-eight and twenty-six, yet neither has stirred emotionally. Grandpa wonders when he’ll drink your wedding wine. I think you and Jiang Yan are suitable—if you’re willing to try, you needn’t worry about unreliable men outside.”
All Ruan Jing could think was how Jiang Yan must be silently condemning her. She stole a glance—his face was unreadable.
“Grandpa, I’m not suitable for Jiang Yan,” she admitted.
“Grandpa isn’t a dictator. I asked Minghui, and he said you liked Jiang Yan quite a bit.”
Shame flushed her cheeks. Nothing felt more humiliating. “I used to like him, yes. But now… Grandpa, I want to decide my marriage myself.”
“And how long will you wait to make that decision? I hear your mother’s arranging blind dates. Do you like any?”
“None.” She shook her head. In truth, she hadn’t even met them.
“Blind dates aren’t reliable.” Ruan Zheng turned to Jiang Yan. “I won’t force you. Marriage is lifelong. Ah Yan, what do you think?”
“You can decide.” His voice was calm, stripped of emotion.
Irritation rose in Ruan Jing. “Grandpa, I don’t plan to marry. At least not soon.”
“How long is ‘soon’? Three years? Five?”
Her heart hardened. “Five years.”
The crutch in his hand flew. She hadn’t expected such violence. Before she could react, Jiang Yan caught her, retrieved the crutch, and handed it back to the old man, who sat calmly on the sofa.
“Forget it. Go out,” Ruan Zheng said.
Outside the study, Ruan Jing muttered bitterly, “The most poisonous heart is an old man’s—smashing even his granddaughter.”
She thought to stop Jiang Yan as he passed, but swallowed the impulse, retreating to her room instead.
On Saturday, Ruan Jing drove to Zhao Qiyan’s café. Two rows of flower baskets lined the door. Inside, a man she recognized from the Japanese restaurant paused. “Hey, it’s you.”
“Hello.”
“So he was waiting for you.” He smiled, leading her in, forgetting he’d been leaving.
The interior was simple, dark-toned, impressionist prints on the walls. A circle of friends poured champagne. Zhao Qiyan stood among them, loose sweater, soft trousers, flip-flops—casual, yet striking.
“Tell him a guest has arrived!” someone shouted, and suddenly all eyes turned to her. Ruan Jing had never been so exposed.
Zhao Qiyan crossed the room in two strides, calming the crowd. “Sorry, my friends love to make trouble.”
“It’s fine.”
He smiled, guided her to a high stool, handed her champagne. “Can you drink?”
“A little.”
“I haven’t touched this cup. I worried you wouldn’t find the place.”
She admitted she’d circled twice. “Is that Italian restaurant outside new?”
“Probably. Do you like Italian food?”
“It’s okay.”
A fashionable girl approached. “Qiyan, won’t you introduce us?”
He did, names too complicated for Ruan Jing to remember.
“When did you meet Qiyan?” the girl asked.
“About a month.”
“You know he likes to play.”
Ruan Jing almost said she liked to play too, but instead answered, “It’s fine.” She ignored the barbed undertone.
“The first time I’ve seen you with a female companion.”
“Not a companion,” Zhao Qiyan corrected. “Just a friend.”
“She’s in great shape, do you—”
His glance cut sharp. “She’s a serious girl.”
The girl shrugged. “Sorry. I thought you liked her.”
“If I like someone, must I act? And where do you see that I like her?”
“Wine.”
“You’re overthinking.”
When the crowd dispersed, Ruan Jing waited on the sofa while Zhao Qiyan fetched her coat. She’d wanted to slip away, but he asked her to wait. Under the gaze of a dozen friends, she felt shy for once.
“Sorry to ask you to drive me back,” he said lightly.
“It’s fine. We live close anyway.”
Soft music filled the car.
“By the way,” she said, pulling a wooden box from her bag, “a gift.”
He raised his brows. “Why?”
“For your opening.”
He hadn’t expected it. He laughed, then softened. “Thank you. May I open it?”
“Of course.”
Inside: a bottle of colorful coffee beans.
“Naïve?” she asked.
“No. I like it.” His voice gentled.
At dinner that evening, Ruan Xian announced the faculty’s summer trip to an island, extending the invitation to family.
Ruan Jing frowned, already searching for excuses.
“Ah Jing, you must come,” Ruan Xian pressed.
“Why?”
“No reason. I said so.” Ruan Zheng’s voice carried authority. She understood—another disguised blind date.
She tried to refuse, but his gaze silenced her. “I’ve been. I don’t want to waste time.”
“Better you come. Saves us hiring a guide.”
“I’ll pay for one.”
“Whose money are you using?” Ruan Xian’s tone was cool.
The only unemployed in the family, Ruan Jing gritted her teeth. “Fine. I’ll earn it.”
“I support you. Three months till summer. Earn three thousand.”
The contempt stung. She was about to retort when the servant announced a call.
“Who?”
“He said his surname is Zhao.”
Suspicious, she picked up the landline. Few called her directly.
“Ruan Jing, are you free now?” The deep voice was Zhao Qiyan.
“What’s wrong?”
“Can you come to my store?”
“What happened?”
“Something… if you don’t have time—”
“I’ll come right away.” She knew he wouldn’t ask lightly.
“Ah Jing, where are you going?” Ruan Xian called.
“Out to meet a friend.” She grabbed her keys and left.
“Where did you get a friend surnamed Zhao?” Ruan Xian muttered.
At the café, Zhao Qiyan sat by the door, brows furrowed. Seeing her, he forced a smile. “Sorry to call you so late.”
Blood stained the hem of his white shirt. Ruan Jing’s heart lurched.
“What happened?”
He followed her gaze. “It’s fine. Someone else’s blood.”
She sat beside him. He spoke with difficulty. “My partner argued with someone. I didn’t expect robbery. This isn’t the UK.”
“He… died?”
Qiyan’s hand was cold in hers.
“Watching a friend lose breath before me—it’s hateful.”
She touched his face gently. “You did your best.”
He shook his head, bitterness clouding his calm. “No. If I’d held him sooner, maybe…”
“It wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself.”
He looked at her. “I don’t know why I called you.”
“We’re friends.”
He smiled faintly, calmer. “Ruan Jing, thank you for coming.”
“I’m just glad you’re safe.”
Back home near midnight, she found Jiang Yan in the screening room, silent film flickering. “Not asleep?” she asked without thinking.
He turned. “You’re back?”
“Mm.” Was he waiting for her? She hesitated, then smiled. “I’m tired. I’ll sleep. You rest too.” She prayed she wasn’t imagining things.
The next morning, she saw Zhao Qiyan again at the breakfast shop, leaning against the glass, silhouette backlit, tinged with sorrow.
He smiled gently when she approached.
“Waiting for me to buy breakfast?” she teased.
He nodded. “Yes. Sorry to trouble you—I forgot my money.”
She handed him juice. “What’s next for you? Will the café stay open?”
He chuckled. “I think it can.”
She realized her worry was needless. He’d endured too much to collapse.
“My sister said you were a swimming coach in the UK.”
He thought, then smiled. “That version came from Zhao Lin. Don’t believe it all. Diving, yes.”
“Teach me next time.” She paused, then added, “My sister likes you.”
“Huh?” He blinked.
“She fell for you at first sight. You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”
“Not yet.” His answer was careful.
She flushed. “I sound like a matchmaker.”
He only smiled.
She regretted the words, fell silent.
Continuation – Polished for Emotional Resonance
Qiyan lowered his gaze, the faint light catching on his lashes. He wasn’t someone who let people close easily, yet here she was—near enough that their arms brushed, her warmth seeping into him. He could see the butterfly‑shadow beneath her lashes, the hidden dimple that appeared whenever she smiled, and the curve of her lips glinting like sunlight on glass. Desire pressed at him, unbidden, and he rubbed at his brow as if to steady himself.
“Have you been looking for a job lately?” he asked, voice low, almost casual.
Ruan Jing turned, startled. “How do you know?” She had indeed sent out resumes online, though none had answered.
“You’re idle all day. You should find something.”
She blinked, half‑offended. “You know how hard it is to get hired now.”
“My friend opened a gallery. He’s short of an art director.”
She laughed softly, incredulous. “That’s too high a position for me.”
Qiyan’s smile was faint, but steady. “Didn’t you study body photography?”
Her eyes widened. “How do you know?”
“My friend saw your resume. He asked me about it, and I said it fit. I think the ‘Ruan Jing’ written there must be the same Miss Ruan sitting beside me.”
Embarrassment colored her cheeks. “You’ve seen my work?”
“Very sexy,” he said simply.
She smiled, half shy, half amused. “Thank you.”
“Come out this weekend,” Qiyan added, his tone lighter now. “Your future boss invited you.”
Surprise flickered across her face. “Is this… an interview?”
“If you want to think so.” His smile lingered, faint but intent. He turned his head slightly, studying her profile. To be honest, he didn’t want to break the fragile balance of their friendship—but the desire in his chest was growing undeniable. He was a man who lived by his senses, who followed his heart into unknown places, who thrived on exploration. And now, everything about Ruan Jing struck him like a rare vintage—mellow, generous, low‑key yet impossibly strong.
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