Was it to fulfill his grandfather’s dying wish?
Or did he simply not care whom he married?
His face revealed nothing.
That face was like a mirror—smooth and reflective, capable of showing everything except himself.
“Then—” Mother Shen spoke up, glancing at Shen Junyan, then at Gu Ziyao. “Then it’s settled?”
Shen Junyan stood up.
“I have matters to attend to,” he said.
He looked at Gu Ziyao—just once.
“We’ll discuss the specifics later.”
Then he turned and left.
His leather shoes tapped against the floor tiles, the rhythm still steady, the distance between each step still perfectly even.
The sound of his footsteps grew fainter—reaching the entryway, then the doorway, before disappearing entirely.
The living room was left with only the hum of the air conditioner and the chirping of cicadas.
Gu Ziyao sat on the sofa, her fingers still clutching her skirt, gripping so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Her expression was calm.
Too calm for someone who had just been promised in marriage.
But the fingers clutching her skirt were trembling.
When Mother Shen saw her out, she paused for a moment at the doorway.
“Miss Gu,” Mother Shen’s voice softened slightly, “Junyan is just like this. Please don’t take it to heart.”
Gu Ziyao nodded. “I understand, Mrs. Shen.”
She didn’t.
She understood nothing.
All she knew was that the air conditioning in that living room had been turned up too high—so high that a chill seeped from deep within her bones.
The sunlight beat down on her, hot enough to burn, yet she still felt cold.
Standing at the entrance of the Shen residence, she looked at the two neatly trimmed pine trees by the door, at the hazy gray sky in the distance, at the small patch of sun-bleached cement beneath her feet.
She suddenly wanted to cry.
But she didn’t.
She took a deep breath, placed the carved wooden box into her bag, zipped it up, stepped down the stairs, and walked toward the roadside.
Gu Ziyao thought that day was the hardest part.
But she was wrong.
After that day, there was no news from the Shen family.
One day, two days, three days. Every day, she went to the hospital to accompany her grandfather. He didn’t ask, and she didn’t speak.
Grandfather simply watched her, his cloudy eyes filled with expectation, worry, and a cautious reluctance to inquire.
On the fourth day, Shen Junyan’s assistant called.
Not Shen Junyan himself.
It was a man who sounded very professional, introducing himself as Lu, Mr. Shen’s assistant. He asked when Miss Gu would be available, as Mr. Shen wanted to meet with her to discuss the specific arrangements.
The phrase “specific arrangements” made Gu Ziyao’s stomach tighten.
But she agreed anyway.
The meeting was set at the fifty-sixth floor of the Shen Group building, in Shen Junyan’s office.
When Gu Ziyao arrived, the receptionist called upstairs to confirm, and someone escorted her to the elevator. As the elevator ascended, the floor numbers flashed rapidly, and her heartbeat quickened along with them.
When the elevator doors opened, she saw an entire floor of open space, dominated by a gray-white color scheme, with clean, sharp lines and no unnecessary decorations. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows was the Shanghai skyline, the Huangpu River glimmering in the distance.
Shen Junyan’s office was at the very end.
Assistant Lu Heng waited for her at the door and opened it for her.
“Miss Gu, please come in.”
She stepped inside.
Shen Junyan sat behind his desk, reading a document. Hearing footsteps, he didn’t look up, signing the document with his pen before finally raising his eyes.
“Sit.”
The same tone as before.
Not cold, not warm, not intimate, not distant.
Just “sit,” as if speaking to anyone who came to discuss business.
Gu Ziyao sat down opposite him.
The office was quiet, the air conditioning set so low that even in long sleeves she felt chilly.
On the desk stood a lamp with a black shade and a silver base, the lamp stand engraved with a German brand logo.
There was also a cup of coffee on the desk, already cold, with a ring of coffee stain on the side.
Shen Junyan set down his pen, leaned back in his chair, and looked at her.
His gaze was the same as that day at the Shen residence—calm, indifferent, devoid of any emotion.
“Miss Gu,” he began, “since you’ve come with the token, there are some things we should clarify upfront.”
Gu Ziyao’s fingers tightened on her knees.
“Go ahead.”
“First, a hidden marriage. No public announcement, no wedding, no wedding photos. For these three years, you are you, and I am me. Apart from the marriage certificate, there is no relationship between us.”
His voice was flat, as if reading the terms of a contract.
Gu Ziyao felt her throat tighten.
“Second, no interference. I won’t pry into your life, and you don’t need to concern yourself with mine. If you have any needs, contact me through Lu Heng, not directly. Of course, the Shen family’s financial support for the Gu family will not be a penny short.”
Financial support.
Those four words felt like a needle piercing Gu Ziyao’s heart.
He was serious.
This really was just a transaction.
“Third, a three-year term. After three years, the engagement will automatically dissolve, and we’ll owe each other nothing. The divorce procedures will be handled by lawyers; you won’t need to appear.”
He finished.
Three terms.
Not one of them was about “marriage.”
Not one of them was about “the two of us.”
From start to finish, this was not a marriage.
It was a business contract—with a term, clauses, parties, and liabilities for breach.
She was not his wife; she was his counterparty.
Gu Ziyao sat there, her face burning.
Not from heat, but from shame.
She felt like a fool, holding a family heirloom box, running to someone’s house and saying, “Marry me,” only for the other person to produce a contract and say, “Fine, sign here, and we’ll terminate in three years.”
She didn’t know how she managed to stay calm.
Her face showed no expression, her eyes didn’t redden, her lips didn’t tremble, and even her breathing remained steady.
But her fingers clenched tightly on her knees, her nails digging into her palms, leaving four crescent-shaped marks.
She wanted to stand up.
She wanted to say, “Forget it,” then turn and leave, walk out of this building, hail a taxi, return to the hospital, and tell her grandfather, “I’m sorry, I can’t do it.”
But she didn’t.
Because she remembered her grandfather lying in his hospital bed.
Remembered his hand, so thin it was almost skeletal.
Remembered the sheen of tears in his eyes.
Remembered him saying, “Grandpa is just worried about you being alone.”
She had no choice.
“Alright,” she said.
As the word left her lips, she felt as if she had signed a contract of servitude.
Not to Shen Junyan, but to the phrase “no other way.”
Shen Junyan glanced at her.
There was an extremely faint flicker in his eyes—not surprise, not emotion, but more like a confirmation. Confirmation that she had accepted these terms, confirmation that this transaction could proceed.
“Three days from now, ten in the morning, the Civil Affairs Bureau,” he said. “Bring your documents.”
He stood up.
That gesture signaled the end of the conversation.
Gu Ziyao also rose.