Are You Avoiding Yanci Because…

Wen Ruan chatted animatedly with Fu Jingbai about the script, their conversation flowing seamlessly as they dissected every scene. But a persistent prickle between her shoulders made her spine tense—someone was watching.

She turned abruptly, breath catching.

There he was: He Yanci, leaning against the back of a lobby sofa, long fingers scrolling idly through his phone. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up, silver-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose, a lazy elegance radiating from his dark shirt, unbuttoned at the collar to reveal a hint of collarbone. Those 长腿,unfairly striking, stretched out before him—too magnetic, too distracting.

Her heart stuttered.

"Fu Laoshi, I need to go—something came up," she managed, ending the call. Blinking rapidly, she met his amused stare."Forget me already?" He pocketed his phone, standing tall as he approached, a faint smile playing on his lips."Of course not. Business trip, Mr. He?" What a coincidence. Too convenient.

He nodded, eyes glinting. "Someone mentioned a 'short tour of Kyoto.' Since when does Jicheng fall under Kyoto's jurisdiction?"

Before she could retort, the bellboy interrupted. "Miss Wen, your room is ready. I'll take your luggage up.""Thanks. Let's go." She tipped the boy, flashing He Yanci a polite smile. "I'll head up now."

On her floor, the suite elevator across the hall dinged—He Yanci stepped out. Their eyes met, a beat of surprise before the floor manager rushed over, bowing apologetically. "Mr. He, our front desk made a mistake with the room assignment—"He waved it off. "No trouble. Miss Wen and I are old acquaintances."

The manager relaxed, unlocking her door. "Heating will take a moment to warm up, Miss Wen."

Stepping inside, Wen Ruan shivered—the air was crisp, bordering on cold for her sensitive constitution. Before she could protest, He Yanci said quietly, "My suite is already warm. Come in—we need to talk."

Is this about the engagement? She followed him in, greeted by a wall of cozy heat. He handed her new cotton slippers, his gaze lingering on her purple-tinged calves. "Still afraid of the cold but dressed like this? Not even wearing socks?""I checked the forecast," she muttered, slipping into the slippers. It was supposed to be warm.

"Wool allergy?" he called from the bedroom, returning with a striped blanket. "This is mine—treated to remove loose fibers. Hotel blankets often have lint."Grateful, she accepted it, touched by the thoughtfulness. "That was years ago. I was being 顽皮 (naughty), hiding a pet goose in my room. I buried my face in its feathers and ended up with fluff in my nose, making me sick. The doctor diagnosed a 'fur allergy,' but I never admitted the real reason—""Afraid they'd take the goose away?" He smiled faintly, memories of the giant white goose she'd adored flooding back. It had been almost as tall as her, and she'd insisted it was "their baby," making Cheng Lian and the others tease him mercilessly. "What happened to it?"Her smile faded, eyes downcast. "Cheng Lian and the others caught it and… cooked it. They hid it from me for half a year. When I found out, I was sick for weeks. After that, I moved south."

He winced, kneeling to tuck the blanket securely around her legs, his touch gentle but brief. "The blanket is clean. Warm up—I'll change my clothes.""Okay," she murmured, nodding as he disappeared into the bedroom.

With the blanket wrapped around her, she grabbed a finance magazine, but her phone buzzed—her mother, Min Qing. Her heart skipped a beat, and she instinctively declined the call. When it rang again, she accepted the video request but muted it first. If I hang up again, she'll definitely fly here.

"Ruan Ruan, what's going on? Why hang up on me?" Min Qing's face appeared, wearing a face mask and pajamas, voice sharp with worry."Sorry, Mom, I was in the bathroom," Wen Ruan lied, forcing a smile. "Why are you still up so late?""Don't change the subject! When you left, I told you to call before 7 PM daily. It's been days—no calls, no messages!" Min Qing sighed, softer now. "Show me your room. I want to check the environment."

Wen Ruan rotated the camera, knowing better than to refuse. "It's a presidential suite, Mom. The camera makes it look small, but it's spacious and well-ventilated.""Hmph, it looks cramped. Is Jingbai staying in the same hotel?"Wen Ruan froze, caught off guard. Why bring up Fu Jingbai? "Yes, he's in the next room, but he's still on set." Please don't ask for him."Aww, Jingbai's dramas are wonderful, but he works too hard." Min Qing paused, studying her. "Did he arrange your room?""Mhm," Wen Ruan lied, avoiding specifics.

"Good, good. The room looks nice." Min Qing nodded, satisfied now. "Ruan Ruan, be honest—are you avoiding Yanci because of Jingbai?""Mom, my situation with Yanci was decided by our families. What does Fu Laoshi have to do with this?" Wen Ruan laughed nervously, baffled by the leap in logic."Don't play dumb. I'm not blind. You and Yanci haven't formally engaged, but both families consider you a match. If you and Jingbai… care for each other, just handle things with Yanci first. I'm not against Jingbai—his mother and I were close friends. It's fate that he's her son."

Wen Ruan resisted the urge to groan. Fu Laoshi is my mentor, not a romantic interest! Before she could protest, Min Qing's eyes widened, staring past the camera."Yanci?"

Wen Ruan turned sharply, colliding with He Yanci's chest as he leaned over the back of the sofa, his jaw brushing her nose. The scent of sandalwood surrounded her, his presence overwhelming in the small space.

"Hello, Aunt Min," he said calmly, straightening slightly but staying close, a polite smile on his face. "I ran into Wen Ruan earlier. She mentioned you were worried about her stay, so I stopped by to check on her."

Min Qing's expression softened into a relieved smile. "Thank you, Yanci. It's good to see you looking out for her."

Wen Ruan stared at him, speechless. He's turning this to his advantage. But beneath the frustration, a strange flutter lingered—the warmth of his suite, the care he'd shown with the blanket, the ease with which he navigated her mother's questions.

The rain outside continued to fall, unaware of the delicate balance they walked—between the pretense of duty and the growing, unacknowledged pull toward each other. For now, the charade held, but every interaction chipped away at the walls they'd built, leaving them both wondering: How long can we keep pretending?