Zhong Ziyan wanted to sleep with the celestial globe in her arms at night, her longing completely unconcealed.
But the housekeeper merely wore an expression of speechless dismay, pretending not to notice Zhong Ziyan’s hopeful gaze as he placed the globe in a corner of her bedroom.
Zhong Ziyan trailed behind him into the room she hadn’t visited in a long time, utterly enchanted by the celestial globe: Ah, what a big golden sphere.
Only after the housekeeper tactfully mentioned that it was an artifact and not suitable for prolonged handling did Zhong Ziyan reluctantly return to the living room.
Wei Hanyun was still sitting there.
Zhong Ziyan suddenly felt her souvenir was far too thoughtless.
After all, she had merely slipped unnoticed to the seabed, using elven magic to quietly cultivate a patch of coral and harvested two small fragments.
The whole process had taken less than twenty minutes.
But the golden sphere was thiiiiis big!
Deeply feeling the need to repay her boss’s generosity, Zhong Ziyan pondered for a moment before discreetly messaging Fang Nan, who was also in the living room, from behind Wei Hanyun: Is Wei Hanyun still having a poor appetite?
Fang Nan replied instantly, as if living inside his phone: Yes, that’s right. But the boss is good at hiding it—out of masculine pride, he probably won’t let you notice.
Zhong Ziyan promptly headed to the kitchen.
Wei Hanyun caught her fleeting reflection in his dim computer screen: "…"
Fang Nan, who had also been working nearby, subtly shrank into his armchair, cautiously minimizing his presence.
Fortunately, within ten minutes, Zhong Ziyan returned with a refreshingly cool sweet soup, personally presenting it to Wei Hanyun with earnest yet clumsy persuasion: "The chef said you haven’t tried this yet. It’s really delicious."
Wei Hanyun continued typing without looking up, the picture of a man swamped with work: "I’m busy now. I’ll drink it later."
Fang Nan: "…" This is too much. Why are these fake newlyweds like this?
"Oh…" Zhong Ziyan set the tray down on the table, frowning slightly in puzzlement.
She turned and quietly left the living room, then called Hua Shuangshuang, who had just parted ways with her, recounting the situation and seeking advice.
Hua Shuangshuang had just arrived home when she received her superior’s call, initially assuming it was work-related—only to find it oddly endearing.
…And even carried a faint whiff of romantic awkwardness.
"So, after returning, you and your husband exchanged gifts, and you made him sweet soup as thanks, but he didn’t seem interested?" Hua Shuangshuang summarized succinctly. "Was there anything unusual before this? At the airport, I didn’t see him come to pick you up?"
Zhong Ziyan defended her boss: "He’s very busy. I told him beforehand not to come. But he happened to be home when I arrived."
Hua Shuangshuang: "…" What flavor of dog food is this?
A tsundere husband + a bluntly pragmatic wife—the image writes itself.
But duty-bound and harboring natural fondness for Zhong Ziyan, Hua Shuangshuang contemplated briefly before offering a solution: "It’s actually very simple. Just interact with him as you did before your vacation. No need for special gestures or thanks."
Zhong Ziyan: "Really?"
"Really." Hua Shuangshuang’s reply was calm and assured.
Convinced, Zhong Ziyan thanked her warmly before hanging up, her tone noticeably lighter.
Hua Shuangshuang kicked off her heels, crouched by the shoe cabinet, and opened Weibo to Wei Hanyan’s post gushing about Zhong Ziyan’s adorableness—giving it a resounding like.
High salary, a gorgeous and sweet boss—what job could be better?
Buying a house next year!!
…
Armed with Hua Shuangshuang’s advice, Zhong Ziyan relaxed and bid Wei Hanyun farewell, announcing she was off to game.
—Every piece of equipment and game cartridge bought on the island had been meticulously brought back.
The housekeeper had suggested repurchasing them, but Zhong Ziyan couldn’t bear abandoning her half-finished progress, so she carried them all home.
The plane was spacious anyway.
In the time Zhong Ziyan spent doting on the golden globe and brewing sweet soup, the housekeeper had already overseen the setup of her gaming rig in the basement entertainment area.
Wei Hanyun: "…" He stopped Zhong Ziyan as she headed for the elevator. "Wait."
Zhong Ziyan turned back, puzzled.
"We’re going out this afternoon to settle a favor you owe," Wei Hanyun said.
Rarely indebted to anyone, Zhong Ziyan immediately understood: "The manuscript from last time? You’re coming too?"
Her focus shifted substantially from gaming.
"Yes. I happen to be free today," Wei Hanyun checked his watch. "We can leave now. Call those two to confirm."
Fang Nan: "…" Soooo free, huh? Do you know how hard I worked to clear this day’s schedule?
The matter had lingered in Zhong Ziyan’s mind, so she reluctantly set gaming aside and called Teacher Qian, whose contact she’d exchanged earlier.
—The grumpy old man from that day hadn’t even left her his number.
"You’re coming over?" Teacher Qian sounded delighted. "Perfect timing! My son visited yesterday, and I overbought groceries—worried they’d go to waste."
"Can I bring someone?" Zhong Ziyan asked.
"Your husband, right?" Teacher Qian chuckled. "As long as you don’t mind our humble home and my plain cooking, you’re both welcome."
Zhong Ziyan thought Teacher Qian’s home-style dishes were quite tasty.
After hanging up, she relayed this to Wei Hanyun, prompting the housekeeper to arrange their ride.
Fang Nan briefly left, returning with a small safe in tow as they boarded the car.
Only upon arriving at the unremarkable residential building did Fang Nan hand the safe to Wei Hanyun.
Seeing its heft, Zhong Ziyan intercepted it mid-transfer, effortlessly carrying it one-handed: "Let’s go."
Fang Nan winced at her cavalier handling, recalling how white-gloved security had treated the manuscript with reverence post-auction. His sympathy wavered—unsure whom to pity more.
The old walk-up had no elevator. Unfazed by the safe’s weight, Zhong Ziyan climbed to the top floor. As she reached for the doorbell, Wei Hanyun stopped her: "One more thing."
From his waistcoat pocket, he produced a plain ring.
"For appearances," he said, offering it to her instead of putting it on himself.
Still holding the safe, Zhong Ziyan took it without hesitation, smoothly sliding the modest band onto Wei Hanyun’s ring finger with his cooperation. She gave it an experimental twist to check the fit.
Then she rang the bell.
The door opened to reveal not Teacher Yang or Teacher Qian, but a young man with delicate features.
When he pulled open the door and saw Zhong Ziyan, he froze momentarily before collecting himself. "Miss Zhong? Please come in. My parents have been waiting for you." His tone was perfectly normal—if not for that noticeably prolonged pause. Wei Hanyun observed silently.
Zhong Ziyan, of course, didn’t notice. She nodded. "Sorry for the intrusion."
The young man stepped aside to let her in, scratching his ear awkwardly. "Apologies for the cramped space. Make yourselves at home."
"I’m Wei Hanyun," Wei Hanyun introduced himself, extending a hand. "And you are?"
The young man’s gaze at Wei Hanyun was far more complicated. "You—no need for introductions. Of course I know who you are. I’m Yang Xiuzhu."
Wei Hanyun smiled. "Ziyan mentioned how kind your parents were last time. I came to express my gratitude." He then beckoned to Zhong Ziyan. "Done carrying the box? Hand it over."
Zhong Ziyan gave an absentminded "Oh" and tossed the safe at him before darting off to the kitchen, completely oblivious to the stern-faced old man sitting stiffly on the sofa, watching international news.
"Teacher Yang," Wei Hanyun greeted the visibly fuming elder with a nod. "This is a token of appreciation from Ziyan and me."
Yang Xiuzhu’s smile was strained. "A safe as a gift? That’s... certainly unique."
"Valuable gifts should be kept secure before being presented. A safe is no different from wrapping paper," Wei Hanyun replied smoothly.
Yang Xiuzhu: "..." But this was a "Time Capsule" safe from that German manufacturer—worth over a million each.
Since when was wrapping paper this expensive?
Yang Xiuzhu couldn’t fathom why Wei Hanyun was standing in his modest home.
The man wore a simple yet impeccably tailored three-piece suit, looking utterly out of place in their cramped apartment complex.
Wei Hanyun wasn’t some self-made entrepreneur who’d clawed his way up from poverty. He’d been born at the very pinnacle of human society.
Yet here he stood, perfectly at ease in this eighty-square-meter flat, even gesturing like the host. "Shall we talk in the living room?"
Yang Xiuzhu found himself complying instinctively. "Ah—yes, this way. Let me make some tea." He hesitated. "Do you drink tea, Mr. Wei? Just ordinary Longjing."
"That’s fine," Wei Hanyun replied graciously, stepping over to the seething old man and placing the safe before him. "Teacher Yang, why not take a look?"
The old man eyed Wei Hanyun with deep suspicion. "I don’t care who you are—don’t think you can fool me! I’m not senile yet!"
Wei Hanyun recited the combination calmly. "See for yourself first."
Grumbling, the old man put on his reading glasses and painstakingly turned the dial. When the door finally clicked open, he found several slim cases stacked inside.
"Hmph! As if some flashy trinkets could—" His tirade died abruptly as he gaped at the contents. "Bach! Brahms! Beethoven! Where on earth did you get so many—these aren’t cabbages at the market!"
"Glad you’ve accepted them," Wei Hanyun said with a faint smile.
Teacher Yang’s hands trembled slightly. No, no—if he really took these, that student of his in the kitchen would have no chance left.
Since when did having filthy money make someone so insufferable?
"Ziyan bought these specifically as a gift for you," Wei Hanyun added gently. "If they don’t meet your standards, feel free to tear them up. They’re of no use to me."
Teacher Yang’s fingers shook harder. Was this man serious? These weren’t some dog-eared newspapers—they were priceless original manuscripts from the masters of classical music! Tear them up?!
"Can’t bring yourself to do it?" Wei Hanyun offered politely, reaching out. "Shall I assist?"
Instinctively, Teacher Yang clutched the three manuscripts to his chest. "These are cultural treasures of humanity’s musical heritage!"
He retreated, fuming inwardly. Damn it all—since when did wealth grant someone the right to act so shamelessly?
