Xu Anran stood at the door, not reaching for the paper right away.
The light in the rental apartment was old, with a ring of dust settled along the edge of the lampshade. The warm yellow glow fell on Shen Yuan’s face, illuminating the exhaustion in her eyes with stark clarity.
She wasn’t wearing makeup.
The Shen Yuan of the past rarely showed her bare face to him.
Even at home, she would dress herself up meticulously, looking polished and pretty.
She loved beautiful clothes, loved expensive lipstick, and loved speaking to him in that half-coaxing, half-commanding tone:
“Xu Anran, work a little harder, okay? Once you regain your memory in the future, you won’t forget me, right?”
Back then, he only found it absurd.
Regain his memory?
He didn’t even know who he was.
The only thing he knew was that he owed Shen Yuan his life.
So even when she was willful, even when she made a fuss, even when she trampled his dignity bit by bit into the mud, he endured it.
One year.
She said he just needed to stay with her for one year.
Now, there were still six months left.
But tonight, she suddenly pushed a so-called agreement in front of him, saying they would sleep in separate rooms, saying he no longer needed to give her his money, saying they would part ways after six months.
Xu Anran looked at her, his gaze cold and devoid of warmth.
“Shen Yuan.”
He finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse, carrying the lingering chill of the rainy night.
“You think I’d believe that?”
Shen Yuan’s fingertips curled slightly.
She had expected this.
But hearing him ask like that still made her chest feel like something was scraping against it—not violently, but with a dull, persistent ache.
She raised her eyes. “You don’t have to believe it.”
Xu Anran let out a cold laugh.
“Then why did you write this for me to see?”
“To tell you that from today on, I won’t use my identity as your lifesaver to demand anything from you.”
“And then?” Xu Anran stepped closer, one step at a time, his gaze landing on the paper. “Wait for me to let my guard down, then try a different approach?”
Shen Yuan’s throat tightened.
She wanted so badly to say, no.
She wanted to say, that Shen Yuan is gone.
She wanted even more to say, I’m not her.
But she couldn’t.
This world wouldn’t believe in book transmigration, and Xu Anran wouldn’t believe it either.
If she said it out loud, it would only become another absurd deception.
So she simply pushed the paper forward a little more.
“You can keep it. If I ever go back on my word in the future, you can use this as evidence.”
Xu Anran glanced down at it.
The handwriting on the paper was neat and elegant, the terms written out clearly.
Even the last clause was included—
[From this day forward, Shen Yuan shall not, under any circumstances, force Xu Anran into intimate relations.]
Xu Anran’s gaze paused almost imperceptibly.
In that moment, the air grew so still that the sound of rainwater dripping down the pipes outside the window was almost audible.
Shen Yuan’s cheeks burned, but she forced herself not to look away.
She knew how humiliating that line was.
But she had to write it.
The original body had done far too many things that crossed the line before.
Those hints, those coercions, those tests—one after another, like rotting vines, tangled between her and Xu Anran.
If she didn’t cut them off, he would always be on guard.
Xu Anran stared at that line, then suddenly picked up the paper.
Shen Yuan thought he would tear it apart.
But he didn’t.
He simply folded it slowly and tucked it into his coat pocket.
“Fine.”
His tone was frighteningly calm.
“I’ll keep it.”
Shen Yuan let out a breath of relief.
But the next second, Xu Anran spoke again: “Shen Yuan, don’t let me find out you’re playing some game again.”
She lowered her eyes. “I won’t.”
Xu Anran said nothing more.
He walked into the cramped kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a bottle of mineral water that was nearly empty.
The takeout containers that had once been piled messily in the fridge were gone. Leftovers had been portioned into fresh-keeping boxes, with small notes stuck beside them, written with dates.
His movements paused for a moment.
The living room floor had been mopped, the sofa cover replaced, and there were no scattered lipstick wrappers or delivery boxes in the trash.
Even at the entrance, beside his sneakers that had been soaked through by the rain, a pair of clean slippers had been placed.
They were his own slippers.
In the past, Shen Yuan had thought they were ugly, tossed them into the corner of the balcony, and almost never let them inside the door.
Xu Anran stood in front of the fridge, his brow furrowing slightly.
Shen Yuan didn’t notice his pause.
She had already gathered up the remaining paper and pen from the table, her voice soft:
“I’ll sleep in the living room tonight. You take the bedroom. You have work tomorrow, so you should rest well.”
Xu Anran turned around.
“You’re trying to move me again?”
Shen Yuan’s fingers stiffened.
She looked up at him, no grievance in her eyes, no ingratiation either—only a weary calm.
“No,” she said. “It’s just that I can sleep in the living room too.”
Xu Anran stared at her for a long time.
Finally, he screwed the cap back on the bottle, turned, and walked into the bathroom.
As the door closed, he heard a faint rustling from the living room.
Shen Yuan spread out the thin blanket on the sofa and carried an old pillow over.
Her movements were gentle, afraid of disturbing him.
Xu Anran stood in the bathroom, looking down at the neatly arranged toothbrush and razor by the sink.
His toothbrush had been replaced with a new one.
The cup had been washed clean too.
Beside it was a small sticky note.
[This one was old, so I replaced it with a new one.]
The handwriting was the same as on the agreement.
Xu Anran stared at the note, the coldness in his eyes slowly sinking, but not disappearing.
Shen Yuan had acted before too.
She was best at playing nice after making mistakes, waiting for him to soften, then demanding even more.
He couldn’t trust her.
He absolutely couldn’t.
But when he came out of the shower, he still glanced at the living room out of habit.
Shen Yuan was already asleep.
She was curled up on the sofa, the thin blanket pulled up to her shoulders, half her face buried in the pillow.
The rental was small, and the sofa was narrow. She wasn’t sleeping comfortably, her brow slightly furrowed, as if even in her dreams she couldn’t find peace.
Xu Anran stood at the bedroom door, silent for a long time.
Finally, he turned and went into the room, pulling out a thicker quilt.
When he reached the sofa, his footsteps stopped.
Shen Yuan seemed to be sleeping lightly; her lashes trembled.
Xu Anran’s grip on the quilt tightened.
After a few seconds, he set the quilt down at the other end of the sofa, without covering her with it.
He told himself this was enough.
He shouldn’t soften.
And he definitely shouldn’t soften toward Shen Yuan.
Back in the room, Xu Anran leaned against the door.
Listening to the breathing outside gradually grow quiet.
At that moment, a faint, inexplicable hesitation stirred in his heart.
The place really had been cleaned up.
Not to show anyone.
It was as if someone genuinely wanted to take this tangled mess of a life and, starting today, slowly straighten it out.
But how could that person be Shen Yuan?