Gu Yuzhou, however, nodded. “Tradition has its merits. It’s just…” He paused. “Uncle Bai and your aunt mentioned that when you were little, you liked that ‘bright candles burning high, a spring night within silk curtains’ kind of bustling liveliness described in Song poetry.”
The heat that had just faded from Bai Jianjia’s ears flared up “with a roar” all over again, burning even more intensely than before. How on earth did her parents remember a casual exclamation she had made as a young girl reading poetry in her boudoir, and why on earth would they tell him?
“That was… many years ago,” she had to lower her eyelashes, avoiding any gaze he might cast her way, her eyes falling on her fingers interlocked within her coat pocket. “Reading poetry when I was young, I just felt those kinds of lines were radiant with lanterns and full of colorful splendor—lively enough to yearn for. Now that I think about it, the matter of marriage ultimately comes down to the state of two people’s hearts. Keeping things simple, where both sides feel comfortable, is more than enough.”
“Keeping it simple,” Gu Yuzhou repeated, no emotion discernible in his tone. “That’s fine too.”
He said nothing more, simply shifting his gaze away from her face and back out toward the river.
The surface of the river was rendered brilliantly colorful by neon lights and boat lamps, looking deceptively calm and dazzling. Yet underneath, undercurrents surged, and the water’s surface was ruffled by the wind, stirring up layer upon layer of endless, unceasing ripples.
The fleeting embarrassment that had flashed across her face when he brought up “bright candles burning high,” along with her lowered-gaze posture of avoidance just now, had all registered clearly in his eyes.
Ever since she accepted the marriage proposal, all she had ever said was that she would “listen to the arrangements of the elders.” Now, even for a wedding that happened only once in a lifetime, her only answer was “keep it simple.” These pieces fit together like scattered puzzle pieces in his heart, forming a vague shape—perhaps, to her, this marriage was ultimately nothing more than a graceful performance driven by family responsibility, a smooth and natural outcome rather than a choice born from the heart’s true desire.
As for Gu Yuzhou himself, what kind of position did he occupy in her heart? Was there even a shred of emotion that transcended responsibility and obligation? The moment that thought surfaced, he rationally pressed it back down.
He shouldn’t have expectations to begin with.
Bai Jianjia turned to look at him. His hand was resting on the railing.
Those fingers were long and clean, the nails neatly rounded with extremely faint creases at the knuckles.
It was precisely this pair of hands that had inadvertently brushed against her just moments ago, and now rested calmly in the biting wind.
The door to the terrace opened again, and a few staff members walked out. Gu Yuzhou raised his wrist to check his watch. “It’s getting late,” he turned to her, his voice resuming its customary steadiness. “I’ll take you back.”
The return car ride was even quieter than the trip there.
Perhaps sensing the subtle atmosphere in the back seat, the driver tacitly slid up the partition between the front and rear compartments.
Thus, the back seat formed a completely enclosed, private space. Bai Jianjia still wore his coat, and that crisp yet warm scent was everywhere, wrapping her securely within it.
Street lamps outside the window streamed into a river of light. She looked at Gu Yuzhou’s profile reflected in the car window, suddenly recalling those sparse online discussions from the past few days—all sorts of speculations about this arranged marriage, some of which had not been very kind.
“Jianjia…” Gu Yuzhou spoke up suddenly, his voice exceptionally clear in the enclosed cabin. “Regarding those media reports… you don’t need to pay them any mind.”
“I haven’t paid them any mind,” she said softly. She had just been thinking of bringing this up to him herself, and hadn’t expected him to speak first.
“That’s good.”
Another silence followed. The car turned into the old district, the shadows of the plane trees flickering on and off across the car window. Watching the familiar streetscapes outside, Bai Jianjia suddenly asked:
“Then do you mind?”
Gu Yuzhou clearly hadn’t expected her to ask that.
He turned his head, a trace of surprise flashing in his eyes behind his lenses before slowly settling into a deeper emotion.
“I mind,” he said slowly and clearly, every word carrying heavy weight. Then, he added the most crucial phrase: “I mind them using those words to hurt you.”
Not “harming the reputation of both families,” not “affecting the dignity of the alliance,” and not even “causing unnecessary trouble,” but very explicitly and very personally—”hurt you.”
Bai Jianjia’s heart felt as though it had been gently squeezed by an invisible hand; it didn’t hurt, but it carried a sour, swollen flutter that rapidly spread through her entire body.
She gazed fixedly at him.
The interior lighting was dim right then, half-illuminating and half-shadowing his profile, yet his expression was exceptionally earnest.
That earnestness was neither the sharpness of a business negotiation nor the steady composure of fulfilling a duty, but something much more private and closer to the heart.
“Actually…” she began softly, her fingers unconsciously twisting the chain of her handbag, “those words can’t hurt me. I’ve known since I was little that standing in a certain position destined one to face certain voices. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“Just that I don’t like being misunderstood.” She raised her eyes, meeting his gaze candidly. “Especially, being misunderstood as a cold transaction.”
Gu Yuzhou gazed back at her. Right now, she had shed the poised exterior of a high-society heiress, and her eyes held a rare, unvarnished directness.
It suddenly reminded him of that little girl from years ago who would stubbornly push herself over a piece of calligraphy that hadn’t turned out quite right—possessing that exact same look of stubborn sincerity.
“I understand,” he said. “That’s why I said the other day that we are ‘in this together.'”
The corners of Bai Jianjia’s lips curved upward. It was her first truly relaxed smile of the evening, her eye corners curving slightly and shallow dimples appearing beside her cheeks. “I remember.”
The car stopped in front of the old Bai family residence.
Gu Yuzhou got out first, walking around to the other side to open the car door for her.
When Bai Jianjia stepped out holding the hem of her gown, he naturally extended a hand—not to steady her, but hovering loosely in the air so she could use it for leverage if needed.
She lightly rested her hand upon his.
Her fingers brushed against his palm, feeling the warmth and texture of his skin.
It was a very brief touch before she pulled away, standing still in front of him.
“Tomorrow,” Gu Yuzhou looked at her, “if you’re willing, you can come take a look at the Gu Group’s culture and art center. There’s a recent ancient book restoration project that Uncle Bai said you might find interesting.”
This was an invitation, and even more so, a gesture—he was actively opening his world up to her.
Bai Jianjia nodded. “Okay.”
“I’ll come pick you up then.”
“Mhm.”
She turned and walked up those familiar bluestone steps.
Reaching the front door, her hand resting on the door ring, she paused and looked back for some reason.
Gu Yuzhou was still standing by the car, not getting back in right away.
The heavy night wrapped around his tall, straight figure, making him look somewhat solitary.
He had somehow acquired a slender cigarette between his fingers, though he hadn’t lit it, just holding it idly.
“Good night, Yuzhou-ge.” She said softly across a distance of a few steps.
“Good night, Jianjia.”
Those few words fell lightly into the night, like a feather brushing across the tip of her heart.
The door closed.
Gu Yuzhou stood in place for a little longer before turning to get into the car.
As the car slowly drove away from the alley entrance, he looked through the car window at the shrinking Bai residence in the rearview mirror, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing against that unlit cigarette.
The delicate sensation against his collarbone still lingered on his fingertips.
He closed his eyes, took off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
When he opened them again, a rare gentleness, one he hadn’t even realized was there, flashed across his eyes.
Meanwhile, inside the door, Bai Jianjia leaned back against the door panel, listening to the sound of the car fading away, her fingers pressing gently against her left shoulder—where the skin that had been touched still held a vivid memory.
This encounter, which had begun with responsibility and obligation, seemed to be quietly breaking free from its initial track in this not-yet-deep spring night, tentatively pushing forth the first tender yet stubborn shoots toward a direction neither party could have anticipated.
The night was gentle, sheltering all the quietly growing affections and unvoiced heartbeats.