He Yanci: What Do You Think of Me…

He Yanci led Wen Ruan to the hospital rooftop, her delicate skin already marked by a faint red blush where his grip had pressed too firmly on her wrist. He stepped back, creating a cautious distance, his eyes lingering briefly on the tender spot before turning to face the misty Kyoto sky.

"What did you want to discuss?" she asked, breaking the silence. Hadn't their conversation in Jicheng already settled things?

He didn't respond at first, staring at the weak sun struggling to rise through the chill. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost as if testing the words: "Wen Ruan… what do you think of me?"

"???" She blinked, confusion written across her face.

He turned abruptly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a intensity that took her aback. "How do I compare to Fu Jingbai?"

He scoffed inwardly at the question. In terms of wealth, his business empire far surpassed the actor's earnings. Looks? He'd never felt insecure about his sharp features and commanding presence. Height? A solid 189cm versus Fu's 185cm listed online. Physique? Years of discipline had honed his frame into something far more imposing. Yet here he was, seeking validation like a nervous suitor.

Wen Ruan frowned, perplexed by the comparison. Fu Laoshi was warmth incarnate, a mentor and friend. He Yanci, for all his polish, had always kept her at arm's length—until now.

"I think Grandpa's proposal makes sense," he continued, ignoring her silence, "assuming your feelings for Fu aren't… serious." His tone turned pointed, almost challenging. "Well?"

"Since when have my feelings for Fu Laoshi been 'serious'?" she protested, her cheeks flushing with indignation. Her wide, earnest eyes and slightly puffed cheeks made her look both fierce and fragile. "He's a friend, nothing more. You're putting words in my mouth!"

His expression softened marginally, the rigid set of his shoulders easing as he slid his hands from his pockets. "Good. That simplifies things. You know your grandfather and parents have always viewed me as the ideal match—status, background, compatibility. In our world, marriages are rarely just about love; they're about alignment."

She stayed silent, struggling to reconcile this pragmatic version of him with the boy who'd once rolled his eyes at her every whim. Was he really suggesting a marriage of convenience?

"Besides," he added, voice colder now, "I'm at a stage where a stable marriage benefits my career. My company's focus on medical tech innovation requires a reputable image—married, responsible, unencumbered by rumors. And you know Grandpa He: once he decides something, resistance is futile."

Wen Ruan understood the calculus: he needed a spouse to bolster his professional credibility, and she was the logical choice, favored by both families. But she'd always believed he'd reject such a transactional union, not propose it as a solution.

His gaze lingered on her, the sharpness in his eyes softening ever so slightly. "With Grandpa Wen in this state, announcing our engagement could give him the will to fight. You can't deny it would bring him joy."

His words were logical, almost cruel in their practicality. She wanted to refuse, to insist on a marriage rooted in love, but the image of her grandfather lying pale in the ICU made her hesitate. He'd always wanted this union—maybe it was her last chance to make him happy.

Before she could reply, the rooftop door creaked open. Min Qing stepped out, her worried frown easing at the sight of them. "Ruan Ruan, Grandpa is conscious—he's been asking for you."

Wen Ruan's face lit up, tears of relief pooling in her eyes. He Yanci's posture relaxed, his voice gentle as he said, "Go to him. We'll talk later."

She nodded and hurried downstairs, leaving Min Qing to eye He Yanci cautiously. "Yanci, please be gentle with her. Her heart is fragile, especially now."

He offered a reassuring smile, the kind he reserved for elders. "Don't worry, Aunt Min. We were just discussing logistics."

"Logistics?" Min Qing's eyebrows shot up.

In the ICU, Wen Ruan found her grandfather semi-awake, his hand thin and frail in hers. "Grandpa, you're a terrible liar," she whispered, tears spilling as she pressed his hand to her cheek. "You promised to take me to see Switzerland's first snow. Now you're here, telling me He Yanci is the only one who can protect me… well, we're getting married soon. You have to wake up to walk me down the aisle—Dad will steal your place otherwise."

His lips moved faintly, her childhood nickname and "Yanci" escaping in a breathy murmur. She leaned closer, her heart twisting at the mention of He Yanci's name on his lips. Maybe this was fate, or duty, or something in between.

Outside the ICU, He Yanci stood by the window, her delicate scent still clinging to the coat he'd lent her. Grandpa He sidled up, chuckling at the scene inside. "Don't pretend you're immune to her tears, boy. I saw you hovering like a mother hen."

He Yanci rolled his eyes, though a strange tightness clenched his chest at the sight of her hunched over the bed. "Grandpa, emotions are a liability in business."

"Hmph. Business," Grandpa He snorted. "You'll realize one day that some things matter more than spreadsheets."

He Yanci didn't respond, his gaze fixed on Wen Ruan's trembling shoulders. She's a means to an end, he told himself. Nothing more.

Later, in the quiet corridor, He Yanci sat alone, spinning his agarwood beads, until the ICU door opened. Wen Ruan emerged, her eyes red-rimmed, her posture defeated. He stood immediately, draping his coat over her shoulders without a word. "Your parents are resting in the family room."

She nodded, too exhausted to speak. He studied her—small, vulnerable, yet stubborn as ever. The memory of her as a child, trailing him with sticky hands and endless questions, overlapped with the woman before him, now wrapped in his coat like a shield against the world.

"Let's get some fresh air," he said, his voice gruffer than intended.

She followed, her steps unsteady in high heels. He slowed his long strides, a silent concession to her smaller frame.

"Still cold?" he asked, noting how she huddled deeper into his coat.

"Who knew Kyoto would turn so bitter? It was sunny in the south when I left." She tugged the oversized sleeves, her hands disappearing completely.

His jaw tightened at the mention of the south—of Fu Jingbai, who lived there, who made her laugh, who wasn't bound by decades of family expectations. "Why go back so suddenly?"

"University work," she lied, avoiding his gaze. The truth was she'd fled the confusing mix of tenderness and calculation in his eyes, the way he made her question everything she thought she knew.

He didn't press, leading her to the elevator. In the lobby, a bustling nurse jostled her, and he caught her waist instinctively, steadying her against his chest. She stiffened, but his hand lingered for a heartbeat too long before sliding down to clasp her hand, their fingers interlacing in a gesture that felt both foreign and strangely right.

She stared at their joined hands, her heart racing. Since when did he touch her so openly?

"Eat something," he said, guiding her to a café, his tone back to its usual bluntness, as if the moment hadn't happened.

She sighed, defeated, and picked up a spoon. The soup was warm, comforting, but her mind raced. Was this the start of a partnership, or a prison?

As he watched her eat, his expression unreadable, she wondered: Could duty ever grow into something more? Or would they spend their lives as strangers under the same roof?

The hospital around them hummed with life, unaware of the silent pact forming between them—one born of duty, anchored in compromise, and shadowed by the faintest flicker of something unnameable.

For now, it was enough. For Grandpa, for the illusion of stability, they'd play their roles. But deep down, both knew this was no ordinary marriage.

It was a gamble—on family, on fate, and on a future neither could fully see.

And as He Yanci's thumb brushed her knuckle in a brief, almost imperceptible gesture, she wondered: Was he gambling too?