In the study separated from the master bedroom by just a wall.
Feng Yan sat with his head lowered, elbows propped on the desk.
His fist pressed against his forehead, lips pressed into a taut line, as if enduring some unbearable agony.
A low, rumbling noise suddenly echoed in his ears.
His breathing hitched.
His throat tightened.
Thick smoke. The sensation of drowning.
Weightlessness. Suffocation.
All of it crashed over him at once.
It felt as though closing his eyes would plunge him into endless darkness.
It was happening again.
The same tormenting visions that haunted him daily.
After a long moment,
he took several deep, steadying breaths.
Only then did the tension ease, his composure returning.
His palms bore shallow, crescent-shaped marks—left by his own nails.
Time to take the medication.
He thought.
Rising from his chair, he strode toward the door, brows furrowed.
The moment he pulled it open, Sang Lu stood right in front of him.
The door had been yanked open abruptly.
Sang Lu was still mid-motion, hand raised to knock.
Her slight forward momentum didn’t stop.
Almost instinctively,
Feng Yan lifted his arm, using his height and reach to steady her by the shoulders.
The difference in their builds was stark—Sang Lu looked like a kitten scooped up in his grasp.
Only once she regained her balance did he withdraw his hand.
When she looked up, she met Feng Yan’s cool, composed gaze.
A flustered, surprised smile tugged at her lips.
"Thanks," she said.
Feng Yan’s eyes lingered on her.
Sang Lu had just showered.
Her hair was damp, strands clinging with lingering moisture.
For a fleeting moment,
Feng Yan felt as though the warmth radiating from her seeped into him.
That humid, living breath.
The suffocating weight in his chest lightened ever so slightly.
The warmth traveled down his windpipe.
His tight throat relaxed.
His vision cleared.
Only then did he notice the stack of papers Sang Lu was holding out.
"These are some rehabilitation notes for selective mutism patients. Thought you might find them helpful if you ever have time to look."
Sang Lu’s eyes curved into crescents, getting straight to the point.
Feng Yan paused.
His gaze remained fixed on her face.
Her hair, usually curly, had straightened from the wash, cascading down her back.
But one stubborn strand clung to the side of her neck.
Curling upward.
Suddenly, an inexplicable itch flickered across his heart.
As if that stray lock had brushed against him too.
Feng Yan stared at that single strand.
For no reason, the thought of smoothing it down crossed his mind.
The realization startled him.
His thoughts snapped back into focus.
Where did that come from?
Sang Lu was long accustomed to Feng Yan’s impassive expressions.
Her eyes flicked past him into the study, spotting his still-lit laptop.
"Well, I’ll let you get back to work. Don’t forget to check those when you can~"
With that, she shoved the papers into his arms.
Feng Yan lowered his head, accepting the stack.
The instant the documents were in his grasp,
Sang Lu spun on her heel with a cheerful skip.
Gone in a blink.
Even after her figure disappeared down the hallway,
Feng Yan remained at the study’s entrance, lost in thought.
The light from behind cast his silhouette onto the floor—
broad shoulders, straight posture.
The window was open, letting in a faint evening breeze.
The moon hung bright, stars sparse.
A cool, dim glow pooled in his dark irises.
Thanks to his keen sense of smell,
a delicate fragrance lingered in the air around him.
His gaze flicked toward the potted plant on his desk—
a Japanese black pine bonsai.
Odorless.
The scent wasn’t coming from there.
When he looked back toward the empty hallway,
a belated realization flickered in his eyes.
That fragrance… it was hers.
His fingers curled slightly at his sides.
Perhaps his earlier assumption had been wrong.
It wasn’t stepping out of the study that felt like entering another world.
Rather, any space Sang Lu occupied
became that other world.
A world where his burdens could momentarily fade.
……
By the time Feng Yan returned to the study after taking his medication,
his expression had settled back into its usual sharp composure.
Standing with his back to the door,
his gaze drifted to the stack of documents.
After a long pause,
he finally sent Sang Lu a message.
[Feng: Thank you.]
It was clear these weren’t just printed online articles.
Sang Lu had meticulously highlighted sections in different colors.
Light blue for cutting-edge foreign research.
Grass green for psychological counseling cases of anxiety responses.
Orange—her own handwritten notes.
Beneath one patient’s testimonial, she’d scribbled:
「Not peer-reviewed data, but worth a try~ ＾▽＾」
Her handwriting was neat, rounded.
Nothing like his own.
Feng Yan could almost picture her writing those words.
……
In her bedroom,
Sang Lu was sprawled out, engrossed in a novel, internally squealing over the sugary romance.
When the notification popped up,
she blinked in surprise.
Huh?
No way.
Did the ice block just thaw?
This was the first time he’d ever initiated a text.
Thrilled, she sat bolt upright, cradling her phone as she typed back:
[Which one? From this morning or just now? LOL~]
She remembered clearly.
Earlier, she’d sent him a few Detective Conan clips.
And now, the documents.
Which "thank you" was this for?
She wanted specifics.
This time,
it took several minutes for Feng Yan’s reply to come through.
[Feng: Thank you.]
???
Thank her?
Vague but not vague.
Could she interpret this as…
him appreciating both the videos and the materials?
Wow. Big shot’s got a way with words, huh?
Grinning, she fired back:
[What’s between us goes beyond thanks~]
She couldn’t be more grateful to have a surface-level husband who never lectured her with paternalistic nonsense or tried to control her.
He provided a cushy safety net, letting her chase her career dreams without worry.
Freaking awesome.
More like one ounce of effort, tenfold returns.
What was there to thank?
They were way past formalities.
Her eyes crinkled with amusement.
She wanted to say more but caught herself—she’d already bombarded him with messages today.
Too chatty. Verbal assault isn’t cute.
Biting her lip, she forced herself to stop.
Before Feng Yan could reply, she wrapped it up with a few stickers.
Know when to quit.
Chat over.
She locked her phone and dove back into her novel.
All the words she’d held back came pouring out in the comments section instead—
"Married a social-climber for 3 years, endured his family’s abuse, got divorce papers while in labor—I’ve had ENOUGH. Author, drop 10 chapters NOW so I can plot my revenge…"
……
Meanwhile,
Feng Yan watched as six notifications exploded onto his screen in rapid succession.
[Sang Lu: What’s between us goes beyond thanks~]
[Sang Lu: slaps your back like a bro]
[Sang Lu: BTW your study’s pothos is thriving. Green thumb much? [thumbs up]]
[Sang Lu: Breaking news: My daily nonsense quota has been exceeded. Sleepiness detected…]
[Sang Lu: Gn~ kitten tucks itself in]
His eyes felt… noisy.
Yet his dark pupils remained calm.
Not a trace of irritation.
After a beat,
the tension between his brows softened.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corners of his eyes.
A quiet huff of laughter escaped him.
