A week later, the two met at the civil affairs bureau.
The process was quick.
Photos, signatures, stamps—when the marriage certificate was in hand, Yu Yan stared at the two names printed side by side, feeling slightly dazed.
He Chiyan’s voice sounded beside her ear. “Let’s go to your apartment. I’ll help you move.”
Only then did Yu Yan truly feel it—she had married He Chiyan. From now on, they would live together, intimately close, and yet she knew almost nothing about him.
Where he lived, what habits he had, what he liked and disliked—she knew none of it.
The driver remained silent throughout the ride. Yu Yan and He Chiyan sat in the back seat, an arm’s length apart.
“This is Chen Lu, one of my assistants.” He Chiyan gestured to the man in the passenger seat. “If anything comes up in the future, you can contact him directly.”
Chen Lu turned around and nodded respectfully. “Hello, Madam.”
Yu Yan responded with a slight sense of unease.
Her apartment was in a converted old shikumen building, three stories tall, its exterior walls covered in creeping ivy.
“I live on the third floor.” Yu Yan got out of the car.
He Chiyan got out as well and instructed Chen Lu to wait downstairs.
The stairwell was narrow, and motion-sensor lights flickered on with each footstep. Yu Yan pulled out her keys to unlock the door, acutely aware that He Chiyan was standing half a step behind her.
His presence enveloped her, carrying the crisp scent of cedarwood.
When the door opened, the small studio apartment was warm and exquisitely arranged—an off-white sofa, a wooden bookshelf, watercolor paintings and design sketches hanging on the walls.
Beyond the south-facing floor-to-ceiling windows was a small balcony where a few pieces of freshly washed clothing hung, along with several sets of lace underwear.
Yu Yan’s face flushed instantly.
She hurried over to bring the drying rack inside, but He Chiyan caught her wrist.
“I’ll do it.”
He Chiyan reached out to collect the clothes. His fingers were long, with clearly defined knuckles, and he carefully removed the soft fabrics.
Underwear, sleepwear—he folded them one by one and placed them in the rattan basket nearby.
“Actually… I could have done it myself,” Yu Yan said quietly.
He Chiyan didn’t look up. “Isn’t it natural for a husband to help his wife tidy up?”
He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, yet Yu Yan felt her heart beat a little faster.
After clearing the balcony, He Chiyan began to survey the small space. His gaze swept across the books on the shelf, passed over the unfinished design sketches on the work desk, and then stopped at the armrest of the sofa.
A scarf was draped there—a classic Burberry, men’s style.
He Chiyan walked over and picked it up. “His?”
Yu Yan was tidying the books on the table and glanced up. “Mm. He Fan’s.”
He Chiyan folded the scarf in half, walked to the trash can, and let go.
The scarf fell in.
He turned to look at Yu Yan. “Mrs. He, things from an ex shouldn’t be kept.”
What he said made sense, and Yu Yan agreed, but it still stung a little.
Not because she had any lingering feelings for He Fan—it was just that those were six whole years of her life, the good and the bad, all of it part of who she was.
He Chiyan seemed to read her emotions and walked over. “Can’t bear to part with it?”
“No.” Yu Yan shook her head. “I just think it’s a little ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous about what?”
“Ridiculous that I once truly believed I could cross class lines with the owner of that scarf, through true love.” Yu Yan gave a self-deprecating smile. “In the end, it was nothing but a mirage.”
She turned her face away and began packing.
Clothes, books, art supplies, cosmetics.
She didn’t have much—it didn’t take long to fill two suitcases and a cardboard box.
He Chiyan rolled up his shirt sleeves, took the heavier suitcase, and lifted the cardboard box with his other hand. “You don’t need to move anything. I’ll come back for the rest.”
Yu Yan wanted to say she could manage, but He Chiyan was already heading out the door with the things.
This man—until today, he had been an unreachable business legend, the head of the He family she could never aspire to. Now he was her husband, her mover.
When they reached downstairs, Chen Lu opened the trunk. He Chiyan loaded the luggage, then turned to look at Yu Yan. “Aside from the one suitcase left, is that everything?”
Yu Yan remembered the bathroom. “There are still some clothes in the bathroom I didn’t grab. It’s humid in there—if I leave them, they might get moldy. I’m planning to sell this place later, and mold would be a hassle to deal with.”
The southern climate was peculiar—clothes left in slightly damp places would grow mold before long, sometimes even mushrooms.
“I’ll get them.” He Chiyan turned and headed back upstairs.
Yu Yan wanted to follow, but Chen Lu politely stopped her. “Madam, please get in the car. Let the boss handle it.”
He Chiyan pushed open the door. The bathroom was small, clean and tidy.
On the counter sat an electric toothbrush and skincare products, all in feminine styles. On the rack beside the mirror hung a pale purple towel and some clothing.
His gaze swept over these items, then stopped at the shelf in the corner.
A men’s shirt.
His eyes darkened.
He knew Yu Yan and He Fan had never lived together, but seeing with his own eyes an article of clothing belonging to another man in her private space—the feeling still pierced his heart like a needle.
He Chiyan expressionlessly crumpled the shirt into a ball and tossed it into the trash can to keep the scarf company.
He turned on the faucet and washed his hands. The icy water rushed over his fingers, but it couldn’t wash away the restlessness in his chest.
Yu Yan and He Fan’s past was an established fact—he’d known that for six years.
But knowing and seeing it with his own eyes were two different things. It had been too long. He had waited too long.
Back in the car, Yu Yan noticed that He Chiyan’s mood seemed off.
She asked, “What’s wrong?”
He Chiyan didn’t look at her. “Nothing.”
But clearly, something was wrong.
Yu Yan thought for a moment, then suddenly understood. “Did you see something?”
He Chiyan said nothing.
That was as good as admitting it.
Yu Yan’s heart tightened. What was in the bathroom? She thought back—ah, that shirt.
He Fan had come by last week, saying he had an important meeting, but he’d spilled coffee on his shirt beforehand.
Her place was close to his company, so he’d come over to take a shower.
Yu Yan explained, “That was an accident. He spilled coffee on himself and came by temporarily to change clothes. He didn’t take it with him…”
He Chiyan’s voice was somewhat cold. “No need to explain. Whatever goes on between you two, I don’t want to pry.”
But his tightly pressed lips and slightly furrowed brows both said: I’m not happy.
A strange feeling rose in Yu Yan’s heart.
But why?
“Mr. He,” Yu Yan called softly.
“Hm?”
“Are you angry?”
He Chiyan finally looked at her. “No.”
Yu Yan was certain. “Yes, you are.”
He Chiyan turned his head away. “If a husband sees another man’s belongings in his wife’s residence, and thinks about how that other man once spent the night in his wife’s home—wouldn’t it be abnormal if the husband weren’t angry?”
Yu Yan was momentarily taken aback, then said softly, “Our past is a fact, but he and I never spent the night together… never.”
He Fan had been remaining chaste for Su Wanqing all these six years. She and He Fan had had intimate contact—kisses, embraces—but they had never spent a night together.
“I know,” He Chiyan turned his head back.
But he couldn’t control it.
Yu Yan thought: What does he know? He doesn’t know anything!
The car drove into Hengtian Gongguan in Lingcheng and stopped before a lakeside villa.
Gardens, a swimming pool, the main building—the property was enormous, matching every expectation Yu Yan had of a luxury mansion.
Yu Yan asked, “Do you usually live here?”
He Chiyan led her inside. “I travel frequently for work, so I don’t stay in Lingcheng much. But after we’re married, I’ll come back more often.”
Yu Yan’s heart skipped a beat.
Come back more often? That meant…
He Chiyan seemed to see through her thoughts. “Your room is on the second floor, right next to mine. Don’t worry—until you’re ready, I won’t touch you.”