“Hello, Mrs. Shen.” Gu Ziyao stood up and gave a slight bow.
“Have a seat.” Mother Shen sat down opposite her, her gaze sweeping over Gu Ziyao’s face before settling on the bag placed on the coffee table. “How is Grandpa Gu’s health?”
Gu Ziyao paused. “Not very well.”
Mother Shen nodded but said nothing.
The living room fell silent for a few seconds.
Gu Ziyao clenched her fingers, opened her bag, took out the carved wooden box, placed it on the coffee table, and pushed it toward Mother Shen.
“What is this?” Mother Shen glanced at the box but made no move to pick it up.
“The token exchanged by the two elders back then.” Gu Ziyao’s voice was soft, but each word was spoken clearly. “The jade pendant from the Shen family.”
Mother Shen’s gaze lingered on the box for several seconds.
Then she looked up at Gu Ziyao.
Her eyes held scrutiny, assessment, and something indescribable—not surprise, not shock, but more like a knowing look that said, “It’s finally here.”
“Are you here to bring up that arranged marriage?” Mother Shen asked.
Gu Ziyao’s throat tightened.
“Yes,” she said.
As the word left her lips, she felt as if something had been drained from her body.
It wasn’t relief or release—it was an inexplicable sense of loss, like jumping off a cliff without knowing if there was water below.
Mother Shen studied her for a moment, then picked up the landline phone on the coffee table and dialed a number.
“Junyan, come home for a bit.”
After a brief response from the other end, Mother Shen said “Mm” and hung up.
“He’ll be here shortly.” Mother Shen said. “Have a seat. I’ll have someone bring you a fresh cup of tea.”
Gu Ziyao waited for an hour.
During that hour, she drank a cup of tea and shifted her sitting position countless times on the sofa. Outside the window, the sunlight shifted from the east to the south. The cicadas, tired from chirping, rested for a while before starting up again.
She watched the clock on the wall, the second hand ticking slowly, one notch at a time.
She had imagined many times what Shen Junyan looked like.
There were no photos of him in business magazines, and online searches yielded only text descriptions. Based on those descriptions, she had pieced together a face in her mind—tall, lean, cold, like an iceberg when silent.
But she hadn’t expected an iceberg to have such a distinct shape.
When the doorbell rang, she stood up from the sofa.
Footsteps approached from the entrance hall—leather shoes tapping rhythmically against the floor tiles, unhurried and measured, each step spaced almost equally apart, as if measured with a ruler.
Then Shen Junyan walked in.
Gu Ziyao’s first thought was—he’s so tall.
She was 165 centimeters tall, barely reaching over 170 centimeters in heels, but as Shen Junyan entered from the doorway, she felt as if she were standing at the foot of a mountain.
His shoulders were broad, clad in a dark gray shirt with sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing wrists with distinct veins. His waist was narrow, his legs long, and he stood there like an unsheathed blade, every line sharp and defined.
His skin was pale—not a healthy pallor, but a cold, porcelain-like white, as if he never spent time in the sun. His features were sharp, almost unreal—prominent brow bones, a straight nose bridge, and a jawline so defined it seemed capable of cutting through one’s gaze. His lips were thin and pale, almost shapeless when pressed together.
His eyes were deep black, the pupils so dark and profound they seemed bottomless. When he looked at someone, there was no emotion in his gaze—neither cold nor warm, neither intimate nor distant. He simply looked at you as if observing an object.
He walked in from the doorway, his gaze sweeping past Gu Ziyao.
Just like that.
One glance, then he looked away.
As if she were a potted plant, a table, a stranger with no connection to him.
He didn’t even ask who she was.
“Mom.” Shen Junyan walked to the center of the living room and stood beside the sofa, not sitting down.
“Sit.” Mother Shen pointed to the sofa.
Shen Junyan sat down, taking the far end of the sofa, leaving a distance equivalent to two people between him and Gu Ziyao.
After sitting, his gaze fell on the carved wooden box on the coffee table, lingered for two seconds, then shifted away.
Mother Shen explained the situation—Grandpa Gu’s health, Gu Ziyao’s purpose for coming, the jade pendant, and the arranged marriage from thirty years ago.
Mother Shen spoke slowly and calmly, as if narrating something unrelated to herself.
When she mentioned the words “arranged marriage,” her tone showed no fluctuation, as if it were merely a standard business clause, not a lifelong commitment involving two people.
Shen Junyan remained silent throughout.
He sat there, one leg crossed over the other, fingers resting on his knee, motionless.
His expression showed no change—his brow didn’t furrow, his lips didn’t move, and the light in his eyes remained unshaken.
He was like a statue.
No, a statue is at least cold.
He was colder than cold.
It wasn’t so much indifference, because indifference is at least an emotion—a rejection of something. He wasn’t rejecting; he simply didn’t care. To him, the whole matter was probably no different from a contract requiring a signature.
Gu Ziyao sat across from him, her fingers clenched into fists on her knees.
She felt like a product displayed on a counter—being looked at, appraised, and decided upon.
No, products at least have price tags.
She didn’t even have that.
Mother Shen finished speaking, and the living room fell silent.
The air conditioning vent hummed, and the cicadas outside began chirping again, their sharp, piercing sounds squeezing through the gaps in the screen window.
Shen Junyan’s gaze fell on the jade pendant.
He looked at it for a long time.
Gu Ziyao didn’t know what he was looking at—whether he was examining the quality of the jade, thinking about something, or simply using it as an excuse to avoid speaking.
Her heart was beating so fast she could hear the thumping against her eardrums.
Her palms were sweaty, clutching the hem of her skirt on her knees, crumpling the fabric into deep creases.
She wondered, what if he refused?
What if he stood up, said “I don’t accept,” and walked away?
What would she do?
Grandpa was still waiting in the hospital.
Shen Junyan raised his eyes and looked at her.
It was the first time he had looked directly at her since entering the room.
Those deep black eyes rested on her face, devoid of any warmth. It wasn’t scrutiny, nor appraisal, not even curiosity. He simply looked, as if confirming a clause on a document, then shifted his gaze away.
“I agree to marry.”
Five words.
His voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear, each syllable almost equal in length, without any emphasis or emotion. It was as if he were saying “The weather is nice today” or “This contract is fine.”
As if it were nothing, as if he weren’t agreeing to a marriage.
Gu Ziyao froze.
She had imagined he might refuse, that he might hesitate, that he might lay out various conditions and demands.
She had even imagined he might storm out and slam the door.
The one thing she hadn’t imagined was that he would agree so easily.
In that tone.
She looked at him, trying to find the slightest clue in his expression—why had he agreed?
Was it for the Shen family’s reputation?