Chapter 4: Sunset Prints

                               

On weekends, it was rare for the Ruan family to gather at the main house for lunch. Yet the one who was usually most idle was absent. The servant explained that Ruan Jing had gone out at nine, saying she had an appointment with a friend to play billiards.

“Has she gone crazy lately?” Ruan Minghui chuckled.

Her mother shook her head. “This child learned such habits from her father.”

“It depends on the situation—it could be a boyfriend,” Ruan Xian speculated, unsettled by her sister’s uncertain whereabouts.

“It’s probably just an old classmate. What kind of person could she know?” Minghui dismissed. “Ah Jing’s temperament is careless, even heartless in places. Few men would accept such a girlfriend.”

Ruan Zheng spoke firmly. “Arrange a blind date for her later. I don’t expect her to find someone outstanding.”

Minghui offered eagerly, “I have a college classmate—civil servant, diligent, helpful, and good‑looking.”

At the table, only Jiang Yan remained silent, eating without comment.

Far away at the club, Ruan Jing was unaware her family was plotting her future. She struck three balls cleanly, while her future boss Chen Fan watched Zhao Qiyan’s elegant form at the table. Even in casual clothes, Qiyan carried an aura—mature, profound, quietly magnetic.

“He seems very popular,” Ruan Jing noted, seeing two women at the next table watching.

“Jealous?” Chen Fan teased.

She almost said yes—she admired his effortless momentum—but instead replied, “Don’t be jealous.”

“He’s always been the most popular among us. You’ve never seen it—before, Zhao Qiyan was reckless, daring to try anything.”

It was hard to imagine the gentle Qiyan as reckless.

“But after eight years in the UK, he learned gentlemanly restraint. Girls like his type.”

Ruan Jing nodded.

Chen Fan smiled. “How long have you played billiards?”

“Three years.”

“Do you like skiing or surfing?”

“Haven’t tried.”

“Next time, let Zhao Qiyan teach you. He’s skilled.”

Qiyan missed a shot, shook his head, and stepped back calmly.

Chen Fan teased, “Rare to see you finish in three minutes.” Qiyan smiled, then walked to Ruan Jing’s side.

“He’s amazing,” she said, watching Chen Fan’s professional‑level play.

“His father taught him,” Qiyan explained.

“No wonder.”

Qiyan asked lightly, “Are you free tonight?”

“I’m idle every day.”

A cough nearby reminded her to be careful with words. She smiled. “Something planned tonight?”

“I want to treat you to dinner. Would that be an honor?”

She thought. “Probably not.”

“Meeting a friend?” His tone probed.

“It’s routine—reporting to Grandpa weekly.”

Chen Fan returned, and Ruan Jing stepped out to take her turn. She scored two balls in succession, her posture graceful.

Chen Fan remarked, “Her form is beautiful.”

Qiyan’s gaze lingered. She wore a simple linen jacket and black cotton pants, half‑sitting on the table. Under the white light, her skin glowed faintly, her neck line soft, her head tilted in focus. The sight carried an ambiguous allure. Qiyan squinted, recognizing the hidden desire that had grown since their first meeting. Yet at thirty‑one, he was no longer a boy chasing impulses.

And Ruan Jing’s attitude was clear—she saw him only as a friend. He laughed at himself. How difficult emotions become after thirty.

---

At Gao Fan Gallery, Ruan Jing adapted quickly, learning the work in two weeks. Chen Fan was busy preparing a folk art exhibition, and she worked tirelessly. Zhao Qiyan had deliberately arranged her placement—an arbitrary trick he found amusing.

One evening, he arrived with tiramisu, vanilla cake, and mocha. At the corridor corner, he stopped.

She stood before a sunset print, arms folded, her black shirt outlining a clean silhouette. Beautiful, yet unassuming.

A friend’s words echoed in him: When someone’s back distracts you, that person can shake your whole heart.

“Hi.” He approached gently.

She turned, surprised. “You here?”

“I guessed you might be hungry.”

Seeing the bag in his hand, she smiled. “Food?”

“Yes. Are you finished?”

“Even if I weren’t, I’d want to eat now.” She took his hand without thinking, leading him to the reception room.

He smiled. “Do you like the afterglow of sunset?”

“It feels exquisite.”

She opened the bag eagerly, delighted.

“You said you liked sweet things.”

“So you remembered.”

“I have a good memory.” He leaned against the desk, fingers idly dipping in cream, pen twirling between them.

When he looked up, she was close, smiling. The breeze lifted her hair, brushing his cheek. Their foreheads nearly touched. The fragrance of her skin and hair made his breath quicken. He longed to close the distance, to indulge once—but he pulled back, chuckling. “Finished eating?”

She studied him. “You look cold when silent.”

“Men shouldn’t be called beautiful.”

“Fine—cold gentleman.”

He smiled. “I heard you came yesterday looking for me?”

“Just passing by, hoping to see you. You’re busy.”

“I was at the institute. Next time, tell me—I’ll be there.”

She nodded. “If it’s not a bother.”

“It’s not. Work is easing. I won’t be so busy.” He admitted he missed her—that was why he came.

“I’ve always wanted to ask—what do you research?”

He shook his head. “Only now you ask?”

“I’m slow.”

“You don’t care.” He sighed. “Drug and virus research, assisting medicine.”

She listened, awed. He seemed like a scientist.

He saw her reverence and sighed. “You want to learn swimming, right?”

“You’ll teach me?”

“When you’re free.”

She laughed. “Too busy these days. Are you teasing me on purpose?”

Her clear gaze swallowed him whole. His heart skipped. He closed his eyes. “Ruan Jing, you can come anytime—I’ll teach you.” He knew he was losing control. He had always led in emotions, but now he was at a disadvantage—because he had let go, and she had not yet begun.

---

That night, exhausted, she lay on her bed, fingers brushing her lips, remembering how close he had been. He wanted to kiss me, didn’t he? Why?

A knock startled her. She opened the door—it was eleven. Jiang Yan stood there.

“What now?” she snapped, regretting it instantly.

“My papers fell on your balcony.”

She let him in. He retrieved a stack of documents. She said, “My sister has the key.”

He glanced at her coldly. “There won’t be a next time.”

She felt aggrieved. It wasn’t her fault his papers fell. Watching him leave, she shut the door firmly.

---

At breakfast, the family gathered. Ruan Xian asked, “I heard you’re working at a gallery?”

She nodded. “Yes. Trying to earn three thousand.” She fetched apples in the kitchen—where Jiang Yan was.

“Jiang Yan,” she said carefully, “four years ago I decided not to provoke you. So now you don’t have to worry—I won’t pester you. I mean we can live in peace.”

“That’s good,” he replied evenly.

She smiled. “We’ve started over.”

He turned to leave. She added, “No matter what, we’re family.”

Watching his back, she muttered to herself, “Why don’t I just say we’re all Chinese.”

Next