Bai Jianjia sat quietly in her study, practicing her calligraphy. Her phone on the corner of the sandalwood desk buzzed incessantly, like a trapped bee.
Holding her wrist steady, she paused the tip of her brush gracefully over the rice paper until the ink bloomed into a perfectly round character for “Peace.” Only then did she tilt her head to glance at the screen.
The headline was pitch-black and glaring.
She let her gaze linger for just two seconds before returning to the paper.
Her brush lifted again, tracing the strokes of the next character. The study was filled only with the scent of ink and the soft rustle of brush hair brushing against xuan paper, serene as an ancient temple in the deep mountains.
Outside the door came the sound of hurried footsteps, deliberately quieted.
Her mother, Lin Shuying, pushed the door half-open. Her usually gentle and composed face was unusually serious, her voice suppressing a tremor: “Jianjia, those things online… you…”
“Mom,” Bai Jianjia didn’t look up, her brush flowing like running water, “A clear conscience needs no defense.”
Standing in the doorway, Lin Shuying looked at her daughter’s straight spine and impeccably neat hair bun. Suddenly, she remembered when Jianjia was little; whenever she fell, she never cried, just quietly got up and dusted herself off.
That trace of panic miraculously subsided.
She gently closed the door, her waist and back straightening as she turned away.
The study returned to silence.
After finishing the last line of small regular script, Bai Jianjia put down her brush, washed her hands, and finally picked up her phone.
The trending topic had climbed to number one.
The discussion was filled with familiar rhetoric: “An academic purist finally bows to capital,” “Bai Muzhi’s lifelong reputation ruined by his only daughter,” “Does a massive ship like the Gu family also need cultural ballast?”
The attached image was a blurry profile shot of her and Gu Yuzhou from a family gathering seven years ago. She had just graduated from high school back then, and he was already the undisputed heir-apparent of the Gu family. In the photo, they sat across a round table from each other, entirely unconnected.
The comments were unsightly.
Her fingertips paused on the screen for a moment. Instead of tapping into the thread, she exited and opened a different chat window.
Ten minutes earlier, her father, Bai Muzhi, had sent a message containing photos of ancient book pages shot from various angles, with the caption: “A newly acquired Song dynasty rubbing. There’s one character whose meaning is questionable, take a look.”
Not a single word about the trending search.
The corners of Bai Jianjia’s lips curved upward. She zoomed in on each photo one by one, inspecting them carefully.
It was a rubbing of a certain stele, where a character resembling “Abyss” (Yuan) was severely eroded.
She typed her reply: “Looks like the ‘Yuan’ character? Dad, can a degree of erosion like this really stump you? Stop looking at your phone so much, it strains your eyes.”
Almost simultaneously, Gu Yuzhou’s chat box popped up.
No greetings, no pleasantries—just a concise link and a single sentence: “We are in this together, don’t let it get to you. I have already handled it.”
She tapped the link.
It was Gu Yuzhou’s personal social media account, posted just three minutes ago.
It lacked the airtight phrasing of a public relations department. It consisted of only a few short lines, the wording as sharp as a drawn blade:
“Ms. Bai Jianjia is my soon-to-be-wed fiancée. The integrity of the Bai family is not something petty individuals can disparage. Evidence has been secured, see you in court.”
The attached image was a distinctly aged photograph.
The picture showed the hands of two young children—one slightly larger, the other tiny, held tightly together. The background was blurred, but the furnishings of a study could be faintly discerned.
Below the photo was a line of handwritten, elegant, and powerful regular script: “Twenty years ago, a study pledge was made between the Bai and Gu families. Twenty years later, the promised time arrives as expected.”
The poster’s verified identity: Gu Yuzhou, Chief Executive Officer of the Gu Group.
Bai Jianjia froze.
She stared at the photo for a long time.
She recognized that little hand; tied around the wrist was a red string threaded with a tiny rain-flower pebble—a gift from Gu’s grandmother when she was five years old.
She had heard her mother mention it, but she had never seen this photo.
The comment section had already turned upside down.
“Is this personal?! Gu Yuzhou actually posted this on his personal account?!”
“Holy cow, this photo… so it was an arranged childhood engagement?!”
“The wind has shifted! This isn’t climbing high, this is an alliance set by our grandparents!”
“Am I the only one noticing the words ‘seeking marriage’? Gu Yuzhou said ‘seeking marriage’!”
“Evidence secured, see you in court… So ruthless, but so satisfying.”
……
Bai Jianjia’s fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of her phone.
She thought back to that meeting seven years ago. It was a banquet hosted by the Gu family elders to celebrate her acceptance into university.
Gu Yuzhou had just returned from studying abroad back then, wearing a crisp suit and sitting below the head seat. He spoke very little, occasionally conversing with the older generation in a deep and steady voice.
Halfway through the banquet, he stood up to offer a toast. When he reached her, his cup dipped slightly lower, and he said, “Jianjia, congratulations.”
What did she call him back then?
Right, “Older Brother Yuzhou.”
He nodded, expressionless, except for a trace of an extremely faint smile flashing in the depths of his eyes—so fleeting that she thought it was just her imagination.
For the seven years after that, the two families continued their usual interactions, while the engagement hung there like an ancient piece of porcelain—everyone knew it existed, but no one dared to touch it lightly.
It wasn’t until she returned after completing her master’s degree and settled into her career that her father casually brought it up at the dinner table: “The Gu family asked a few days ago whether the engagement made previously still stands. If you don’t like it, I’ll go turn them down.”
At the time, she was just scooping a spoonful of crab roe tofu. Hearing this, she paused and said, “Let me meet him first and see.”
And then came last week, the formal meeting between the two families.
Gu Yuzhou sat beside her. As he held the pot to pour her tea, the tendons on the back of his hand slightly bulged, completely steady without a single tremor.
Later, she stared at that hand for too long—long enough for him to look up, causing her to hurriedly lower her gaze, her earlobes burning hot.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, it was a direct phone call from Gu Yuzhou.
Bai Jianjia took a breath and answered, “Hello?”
“It’s me.” His voice came through the electric waves, lower than in her memory. The background was very quiet; he must have been in his office. “Done reading?”
“Mhm.” She paused. “Thank you.”
“No need.” His speech pace was steady. “Do Uncle Bai and Aunt Lin need me to call them?”
“No need, my mom and dad understand.” Remembering her father’s ancient book photo, her tone lightened a bit. “My dad is playing with his rubings, and my mom just came to check on me. Everything’s fine.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment.
She could almost picture him sitting behind that massive desk, fingers tapping the desktop unconsciously.
“That’s good,” he said, then added, “I’ll suppress the trending searches, but there will inevitably be some ripples. Be careful when you go out these days, let me know anytime you need a driver.”
“I can manage on my own,” she said, feeling her tone was too rigid, so she softened it. “I really am fine, Brother Yuzhou.”
The moment those last three words slipped out, both of them fell silent.
Gu Yuzhou spoke first, his voice seemingly carrying something extra, like a thin crack melting in solid ice: “The wedding date on the eighth of next month—you really have no objections?”
“No.” She answered quickly, then feeling she had been too eager, added to cover: “It’s… pretty good.”
“The design drafts for the wedding attire will be sent to you then. Feel free to change anything you don’t like.” He paused. “Also, that photo was specially dug out of the old album by my dad. He said outsiders need to know this isn’t a transaction; it’s an old pact.”
Bai Jianjia’s heart grew slightly warm.
She gripped her phone tightly, her fingertips tingling slightly: “Mhm.”
“I’ll hang up first,” he said, yet didn’t hang up immediately. “Jianjia.”
“Mhm?”
“Pay no mind to those words.” His voice was deep, hammering down word by word: “You are wonderful. The Bai family is wonderful. That you could agree to this marriage,” he paused slightly, “is my, Gu Yuzhou’s, great fortune.”
The call disconnected.
Bai Jianjia maintained her posture of holding the phone to her ear. That phrase “great fortune” seemed to still linger in her ears.
The sunset outside the window slanted in, falling on the calligraphy she had just finished. The final stroke of the “Peace” character was heavy with ink, glistening with a moist sheen in the light.
Her phone lit up again.
This time, it was a special push notification from a marketing account—the official Weibo account of the Gu Group had reposted Gu Yuzhou’s post, adding: “On behalf of the entire Gu family, we warmly congratulate Mr. Gu Yuzhou and Ms. Bai Jianjia on their permanent bond. A century-old family friendship, three generations of affection; today we obtain a wonderful match, celebrating together as families.”
Immediately following that, the official Weibo accounts of the Jin Du Museum, the National Painting and Calligraphy Academy, several highly respected academic authorities, and even two long-retired former ministers reposted it one after another. Their words were earnest and filled with blessings.
The number one trending search completely changed its topic entry: #WhatDoesTrueSocialEqualityEvenLookLike#
Tapping into it, the top trending item was still that photo of the two small hands.
In the comments section, someone picked out the details: “Did you see the study desk in the background? That’s Old Master Bai’s collection, Ming Dynasty purple sandalwood!” “What high-society climbing? This is true matching in social status!”
Public opinion turned the tables in less than an hour.
Bai Jianjia turned off her phone.
She spread out a fresh sheet of xuan paper, ground the ink, and picked up the brush.
This time, she wasn’t writing small regular script.
Her brush suddenly shifted, ink splashing across the page as unconstrained cursive characters sprang to life, writing a poem by Li Bai: “The time will come to ride the wind and cleave the waves, I’ll set my cloudy sail straight and bridge the deep blue sea.”
The final stroke slashed down like a blade tip, piercing right through the paper.
She put down her brush, looked at the calligraphy, and suddenly smiled softly.
The study door was knocked on lightly, and her father Bai Muzhi’s voice came through: “Jianjia, the Gu family sent some new tea, saying Yuzhou specifically picked it out. Care to come out and taste it?”
“Coming,” she replied, rolling up the finished cursive writing and storing it in the innermost layer of her bookcase.
As she turned around, the very last ray of sunset outside the window fell right upon her face, warm and cozy.
She remembered Gu Yuzhou’s final sentence over the phone.
A great fortune?
Perhaps.
At least the hands that had held hers looked very nice.
And she suddenly found herself looking forward to what it would feel like twenty years later, when those hands held hers tightly once again.