What Do You Really Feel About Wen Ruan?

He Yanci's calm response only fueled Grandpa He's irritation. The old man loathed his grandson's polished, mercantile demeanor—hypocritical, hollow, entirely insincere.

Leaning on his cane, Grandpa He descended the stairs, shooting He Yanci a withering glare. "You've picked up every shallow habit from those business fools! What a disgrace!""Yes, it's all my fault," He Yanci readily admitted, handing the tea pet to the butler and offering his arm to steady the old man.

In a fit of pique, Grandpa He swatted his hand away, marching briskly to the main sofa. "Whose fault would it be otherwise? If Old Wen hadn't taken that knife for me, none of you brats would even exist! Does marrying his granddaughter offend you so much?"Father He coughed awkwardly—the "brats" included their own generation.

Grandpa He's voice trembled with emotion, coughing dramatically—half genuine, half performative to provoke his grandson. "Don't play innocent. I know you too well. Did you abandon that girl to rush back to the office? Let me make this clear: you will marry Wen Ruan. This 'getting to know each other' isn't for you to sabotage. When she joins our family, she'll be my precious granddaughter. Hurt her, and you'll answer to me first."

He Yanci stayed silent, amused by the old man's theatrics.

Grandpa He ranted for over an hour, accusing He Yanci of arrogance and deceit, until he grew winded. The butler finally coaxed him to rest, but not before he tasked He Yanci's parents with "disciplining" their son, invoking the old adage "A son's faults are his father's failures."

His parents offered only concerned glances and inquiries about his work—proud of his independent success, they couldn't bring themselves to scold him after Grandpa He's tirade.

As He Yanci disappeared up the stairs, Mother He sighed, "The old man is relentless. Forcing two strangers together—how will they ever make it work? Wen Ruan is delicate; she can't handle stress or harsh words. A single argument could be disastrous.""Wen Ruan was a premature baby, yes, but she's stronger now," Father He reassured her. "Yanci will manage. If he's against this, he'll find a way to end it without conflict."Mother He frowned, "I'll need to gauge his true feelings. If the old man pushes too hard and Yanci rebels, I won't stand by and let this destroy both families' dignity."

He Yanci had just settled into his study when a text from Wen Ruan arrived:"Mr. He, I'm home. Thank you for tonight's hospitality."He checked the time: 00:30. Late to report safety?He replied: "2G network?"

Wen Ruan, engrossed in writing for two hours, cursed softly when she saw the delayed message. She'd scheduled it for 9:30 PM, not midnight!"Sorry, I got home ages ago. Forgot to send—this is a belated update."He Yanci smiled: "Free to talk?"

Is he finally addressing the engagement? She replied: "Sure."

His call came immediately. "Mr. He, how can I help?" she asked sweetly, her tone lighter than their formal dinner—playful, not guarded.

"He hardly 'help.' I'm surprised you're up so late, Miss Wen. I thought you kept strict hours.""I always sleep early—this is just a midnight wake-up," she lied, fearing he'd tell her mother about her late-night habits.

"Grandpa mentioned you seemed upset earlier. Glad it's nothing serious."Wen Ruan froze, recalling her mother's questions about her red eyes. Did he really think she'd been crying over him?"Just my mother overreacting. Please don't take her words to heart."

So she did cry. He Yanci chose his words carefully. "You know Grandpa—he'll hound anyone until he gets answers.""Did he scold you?" she asked, guilt rising. "I'll call him tomorrow to apologize.""No need. Keeps him lively—scolding us is good for his health."

She laughed, a soft, genuine sound. More charming than the stiff "Miss Wen" from earlier.

"Still, I'm sorry you got dragged into this.""Not a problem."

She didn't believe him for a second. A midnight call to discuss "nothing"?

"Did something happen tonight? Are you unwell?" He remembered his mother mentioning Wen Ruan's tears during her grandfather's illness. Is the old man's condition worsening?

"All good, thanks," she assured him, emphasizing, "I watched a movie that made me cry—too touching.""Which one?""The new indie film with Fu Jingbai."He paused, "Cousin of Cheng Lian, I think. He mentions him sometimes."

Wen Ruan's tone brightened, "You know Fu Laoshi?""Barely. Cheng Lian's movie nights always feature his films."

"He's an excellent scriptwriter," she said, pride creeping in. If only he knew I wrote those scripts.

"Seems he has a knack for emotional beats," He Yanci conceded, though he'd never paid much attention. "Want to catch the next film together? I could use a break."

Another "obligation date"? She declined politely, "I'm better at staying home—my health makes going out… complicated.""You seemed fine tonight. Fresh air and normalcy are good for anyone."His reasoning matched her own—she'd never let her health define her in the south. But in Kyoto, her parents treated her like glass.

"Still, I prefer writing at home."He Yanci heard the rejection, but the corner of his lip twitched. "Fair enough. If you ever crave adventure, I make a decent tour guide."

Persistent, isn't he? She played along, feigning exhaustion, "It's late—I'm drifting off. Get some rest too, Mr. He. Sleep is important.""Good night, Wen Ruan.""Night."

After hanging up, He Yanci studied her contact, amused by her evasiveness. Not as fragile as she seems.

A knock interrupted his thoughts—his mother entered, frowning at his coffee. "Replace that with milk. I'll have the kitchen send some up.""Just finishing work."She sat, sighing, "I need to ask: now that you've met Wen Ruan, how do you truly feel about her?"