Sang Lu wasn’t as composed as she appeared on the surface.
But she reminded herself not to show any heaviness.
She shouldn’t let the conversation dwell on sighing over the past.
Just as she had advised herself many times before—when she didn’t want to dwell on negativity—she told herself to let unhappy things pass by once they were heard.
Once they were over, they were completely turned over.
Not a second more should be spent thinking about them.
She lifted her face, gazing steadily at Feng Yan, then curved her eyes and spoke lightly:
"The weather forecast says tomorrow will be sunny, and the day after too—"
She paused, her smile bright.
"—And the day after that, there’ll be a downpour. But this time, I’ll stay with you. I’ll drag you to watch TV with me, make you play Switch with me—whether you want to or not. I’ll make sure you’re too busy to think about the past."
"Do you know what they say? Every spring rain brings warmth. Once these rains pass, the weather will turn completely fine."
"And so will you—you’ll be completely fine too!"
Feng Yan stared at her, stunned.
A flicker of disbelief passed through his eyes.
For the first time, he had laid bare something he had buried in his heart for years.
He had wondered how she might react.
Pity? Or melancholy…
But it was neither.
The weight that had pressed on his heart for so long was effortlessly dispelled by her radiant smile.
She didn’t dwell on how painful the past had been. She didn’t offer empty words of comfort.
Instead, she told him how wonderful he was.
And that things would only get better.
The man, whose face was usually as cold as frost, suddenly felt a surge of lightness within him.
Like dark clouds parting under warm sunlight.
And in its place, another emotion began to spread through his chest.
He could hear it clearly—the erratic, uncontrolled thudding of his own heartbeat.
For years, he had shut himself away, unwilling to speak.
Staying within the predictable rhythm of life gave him a sense of stability.
He hated uncertainty. He hated things slipping beyond his control.
Losing control, losing order—those were things that always led to accidents.
And he despised the very word "accident."
Yet, somehow, Sang Lu was the exception to that rule.
The warmth of her soft palm wrapped around his fingers, the sensation unmistakable.
It was more grounding than the rigid routine he had clung to for so long.
The moment the thought surfaced, his body reacted before his mind could catch up.
His hand turned, taking control as he interlaced their fingers together.
His larger palm enveloping hers.
Sang Lu froze for a second, then glanced down.
Under the dim glow of the streetlamp, she saw Feng Yan’s well-defined fingers slide between hers.
Intertwined.
Then locked tight.
Her breath hitched.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze.
Feng Yan was much taller than her, and with the light behind him, she couldn’t make out his expression clearly. But she could tell—he was calm. Relaxed.
Was he uncomfortable being led?
Did he prefer being the one in control?
Was that it?
Sang Lu wondered silently.
She didn’t pull away, letting him keep holding her hand.
His lips parted slightly, hesitating before he finally murmured a single word:
"Okay."
Her thoughts were a jumbled mess. She wasn’t sure which part of her earlier words he was responding to.
The quiet garden path stretched before them.
He walked slowly, still holding her hand, their steps unhurried.
The night was peaceful, occasionally broken by the chirping of insects.
It should have been a perfectly serene moment.
But inside, Sang Lu’s emotions were in turmoil.
The way Feng Yan held her hand—just like the way he made her feel—carried a quiet intensity beneath his composed exterior.
Dominant. Unyielding.
Her breathing grew uneven.
She knew they were married.
Many things between them should have felt natural, inevitable.
They had acted intimately in front of their parents before—his arm around her waist, her hand tucked into his.
And more than once, he had pulled her into his arms in his sleep, unaware of what he was doing.
But this was different.
There were no external factors now.
Both of them were fully awake.
With their fingers tightly laced together, Sang Lu felt an inexplicable shyness creeping up on her.
His palm was warm, seeping into her skin, making her own breath grow hotter.
She steeled herself.
What’s the big deal about holding hands?
In all the novels she’d read, this wasn’t even an appetizer.
Yet here she was, her face burning over something so trivial.
How pathetic.
And in the minutes that followed, she proved herself even more useless—her palm grew slightly damp with sweat.
Her ears began to burn.
Finally, unable to stand it any longer, she tugged lightly at his hand.
"There are mosquitoes. I’m tired. Let’s go back."
Her voice was soft.
Feng Yan turned his head slightly and caught sight of the flushed tips of her ears.
His dark eyes flickered.
The next moment, Sang Lu felt his gaze lock onto her—heavy, deliberate.
It slowly traced over her face.
From her eyes, down her cheeks.
Then to her earlobes, her neck.
Everywhere his eyes lingered, her skin grew warmer.
"Let’s go back?" she repeated.
Only then did she realize her voice had gone slightly hoarse.
To her, this was the signal that their nighttime stroll and conversation were over.
She tried to subtly slip her hand free.
Being scrutinized like this was unbearable.
But she forgot—this man was a master of silence.
He kept watching her, saying nothing.
After a long pause, she took a shallow breath and met his sharp gaze head-on.
The man before her had a faint smile in his dark eyes, all traces of melancholy gone.
He studied her for a few more seconds, then the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
His voice was low, laced with an unreadable amusement:
"Alright. Let’s go back."
But instead of releasing her hand, he tightened his grip—mimicking her earlier gesture—and led her toward the villa.
Almost teasingly.
Then, completely out of nowhere—
His thumb, rough with calluses, brushed lightly over the back of her hand.
Again. And again.
As if he was playing with it.
Sang Lu felt like her face was about to combust.
