"It's freezing out here. Why aren't you heading back sooner?"
The cold, steely voice belonged to Fu Zhiyé.
Cecilia Ye mumbled softly, "It's not cold. I'm just taking a walk to help with my digestion."
Fu Zhiyé sat down behind her and reached out to pat her head. "And you think just sitting here is going to help with digestion?"
Cecilia Ye didn't reply and reached for her coat.
Her slender, pale hand was pressed down by Fu Zhiyé. He frowned—she was getting better and better at turning him down.
"Keep it on. You'll catch a cold otherwise."
The two of them fell silent for a moment.
Just sitting quietly like this with the one she liked—
Cecilia Ye felt something stir in her heart, a bittersweet ache she struggled to name.
"Fu Zhiyé, can I ask you something?"
"Mm."
"Back then, why did you send Vivian Belle abroad? If you... liked her so much?"
The question slipped out slowly, tinged with bitterness.
Fu Zhiyé frowned. If you called it love, maybe it was only a fraction of that.
He had met Vivian Belle when they were both still young.
At the time, Fu Zhiyé was just about to take over the Fu Corporation. His grandfather had done a ruthless shakeup within the company, and one disgruntled former shareholder hired a gang to chase him into an alley.
When he rounded a corner, he saw Vivian Belle running toward him.
Afraid the men chasing him would hurt her, Fu Zhiyé had instinctively grabbed her hand and ran with her.
But they were eventually cornered in a dead end.
The men who caught up were violent and armed with clubs. Fu Zhiyé was knocked unconscious.
Right before he blacked out, he saw Vivian Belle's hair being yanked back as someone stabbed her in the stomach.
Later, the bodyguards who'd caught up rescued them and took them to the hospital. The men who attacked them landed in prison.
When he woke up, he went to see Vivian Belle in her hospital room. She was only sixteen back then.
There, lying in the hospital bed—a frail, thin girl. The doctor told her she'd never be able to have children. She cried like her whole world was ending.
Fu Zhiyé stood outside the door, her sobs drifting out to him in waves, leaving him wracked with guilt.
Once she recovered, Vivian Belle had asked if he would marry her, worried no one else would ever want her.
Fu Zhiyé agreed. It wasn't so much love—it was more guilt and a sense of responsibility.
He didn't like owing others.
Seeing Fu Zhiyé's delay in answering, Cecilia Ye turned around, her bright eyes filled with quiet questions.
"Back then, Vivian Belle wanted to pursue her dreams, and she couldn't stand Grandfather's pressure. I thought going abroad would be good for her."
Cecilia Ye couldn't quite understand. "But if you love someone, aren't you supposed to do everything you can to be together? When you're that far apart, what if you miss her?"
She was really asking Fu Zhiyé, but maybe she was talking to herself, too.
Fu Zhiyé, if one day we're separated by hundreds, thousands of miles, what am I supposed to do if I start missing you?
And you—would you ever miss me, even a little?
Fu Zhiyé lowered his head to look at her. She was so small, bundled up in his suit jacket, her cheeks and even the tip of her nose tinged red by the wind.
But her eyes were still clear as glass in the dark.
"If you really love someone, as long as they're happy, that's all that matters. You don't always have to be together."
Fu Zhiyé just thought the little girl was overthinking things and answered offhandedly.
Besides, over the years, he had rarely thought about Vivian Belle at all.
"Come on, let's go back."
He tugged her jacket a little tighter around her, scooped up Zoey Zhang*, and took Cecilia Ye's hand. As expected, her hand was icy cold too.
The two of them slowly made their way back to the old estate.
Cecilia Ye mulled over his words, completely forgetting she was holding his hand.
Loving someone—was it really enough that they're happy?
So, Fu Zhiyé, is it enough for you just to be okay too?
They got back to their room, and Zoey Zhang was set downstairs.
Cecilia Ye grabbed her pajamas and headed to shower.
It really was freezing outside, and only after returning to their air-conditioned room did she realize how chilled she was.
Her pale body sank into the steaming bath, and Cecilia Ye let out a sigh.
On impulse, she dunked her head under the water, letting the heat wrap around her—safe, warm.
Over these months, she'd started to understand that feeling of helplessness.
Love wasn't something you could force.
She wondered—after carrying someone in your heart for so many years, how long would it take to finally let go?
Her chest began to ache as she ran out of breath, and Cecilia Ye suddenly broke the surface of the water.
Water dripped from her small face; this way, even if she cried, she could pretend it was just bathwater.
After a while, she changed into her pajamas and emerged from the bathroom.
Fu Zhiyé looked up. "Dry your hair."
He went into the bathroom to shower.
Cecilia Ye obediently picked up the hairdryer. Her long hair had always reached her waist.
Maybe it was time for a haircut—she never liked drying her hair. When Fu Zhiyé was home, he'd do it for her, but she probably wouldn't get that chance anymore.
Once her hair was dry, she curled up under the covers.
By the time Fu Zhiyé came out, Cecilia Ye still wasn't asleep.
He got into bed and, by force of habit, reached over and hugged her slender figure.
He stroked her hair, satisfied to find it properly dried.
They used the same shower gel, so their scents mingled—so close it was impossible to tell them apart.
"Zhiyé, in the future... will you hold someone else like this when you sleep?"
Cecilia Ye's thoughts were a jumble, and the words slipped out before she realized.
Fu Zhiyé hesitated, then replied coolly, "Don't overthink it. Go to sleep."
He honestly didn't know—he'd never considered whether, if he'd married Vivian Belle, he would want to hold her like this, too.
But in all these years, he'd only ever held Cecilia Ye this way.
Since their marriage, for the first two years, all he ever did was hold her as she slept, like a little girl.
Until that night when Cecilia Ye turned twenty.
She'd been so frightened, trembling all over—but she'd responded to his kisses so seriously, shy and yielding, her voice soft as a kitten's.
Remembering it now, Fu Zhiyé felt his body heat up.
He let out a quiet sigh and got up to shower again.
*
The next day, Cecilia Ye unexpectedly received a message from Julian Jarvis.
They hadn't been in touch for a while. Usually, their conversations were only about Cecilia Ye's artwork.
But this time was different.
[Cecilia, the illustrator you like is having an exhibition at Shuiyun Pavilion* this Friday. I've got a ticket for you. Come see it!]
Cecilia Ye's favorite illustrator was Quentin Zane. His works brimmed with dazzling colors, like he was able to capture all the world's beauty on a single canvas.
Maybe it was because her own painting style was more reserved and subtle that she admired such vibrant artwork so much.
She hadn't seen any new works from Quentin Zane that year—turns out he'd been preparing for this show. It must be spectacular.
She replied right away.
[Great, thank you, Julian Jarvis! I'll be there.]
[Sure. Call me when you arrive—I'll meet you at the door.]
On Friday, Cecilia Ye woke up early. Outside was cloaked in the chill of autumn.
She wore a short, fuzzy jacket, a plaid miniskirt, and long white socks—looking just like a student fresh out of school.
Fu Zhiyé had already left, probably for work. After telling her grandparents she was heading out, Cecilia Ye left the old estate.