Chapter 193: Back to Work

*Runze’s POV*

I woke up much later than usual.

For a second, I instinctively reach behind me, expecting to feel Bael’s warm chest or his arm resting over my waist.

Empty.

The blankets on his side are pulled back neatly. They are still warm to the touch, but Bael is already gone.

I sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and swing my legs over the side of the mattress. I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment, letting my eyes get used to the room.

Something catches my attention on the nightstand.

A folded note rests neatly underneath a glass of water.

I smile before I even pick it up.

Bael’s handwriting is clean and firm, written in dark ink.

*You looked too peaceful to disturb.

Don’t rush up.

I’ll finish early and come straight home.*

A small warmth spreads through my chest as I trace my thumb over his signature.

"...Liar," I murmur to the empty room.

He probably wrote that last line just to keep me from worrying while he catches up on everything he missed.

Still...

I fold the note carefully, open the small drawer beside the bed, and tuck it neatly into the corner.

I take my time washing up, changing into a soft pair of loose pants and a comfortable long-sleeved shirt. Downstairs, the house is very quiet. Mrs. Wen has a warm plate of rice porridge and sliced fruit waiting for me at the small dining table. I eat slowly, listening to the soft clatter of kitchen pans in the distance.

After breakfast, I walk back upstairs, but I don’t go back to the bedroom.

Instead, I stand in the hallway outside the study for a long moment.

I haven’t picked up a pencil since the night Grandmother and Bael caught me secretly sketching in my bedroom weeks ago. The doctor had been clear about avoiding long periods of deep focus, and everyone—from Grandmother to Bael—had enforced those rules strictly, making sure I spent my days resting, sitting in the garden, or lounging downstairs.

I knew they were only trying to protect me and the baby. But yesterday, while waiting for Bael to come home from his long day at the office, I made up my mind.

Grandmother entrusted this project to me. I feel much better now, and I don’t want to keep putting it off when I know I’m ready.

I reach out, turn the handle, and step inside.

My pencil case waits right where I left it on the corner of the table. Beside it rests the small box containing my personal jade seal—the one Grandmother gave me when I came home from the hospital, carved with only my name, *Runze*.

And in the center lies the sketchbook Grandmother gave me.

My fingertips slide gently across the cover before I open it.

The unfinished draft greets me on the open page—the initial concept for Grandmother’s project that I had been secretly drawing on my lap the day Bael caught me in our bedroom. The rough graphite lines are still there, right where I dropped the pencil when he told me to stop.

I lean in closer, studying every mark I made that day.

The core idea is solid. The overall layout for the estate structure makes sense, and the main foundation lines hold up well.

But looking at it now on my drafting table instead of rushing on my knees, I can see where it needs work. The base proportion feels too stiff and rigid, and the decorative arches near the central entrance don’t flow into the main roofline the way I envisioned. It looks heavy instead of elegant.

I reach into my case, pulling out my favorite drawing pencil and a soft eraser.

Now that I have proper space and time, I can fix what I started.

Almost without thinking, my hand begins to move.

One line.

Then another.

I erase the harsh, hurried edges from weeks ago, softening the archways and refining the balance near the base.

I rotate the sketchbook to get a better angle for my wrist, shading the structural pillars to create depth. I pick up my small plastic ruler, carefully measuring the distance between the central hall and the side wings to make sure both sides align evenly.

Correct the curves.

Fix the proportions.

The room grows still around me. The ticking clock on the wall fades into background noise. Before long, I stop noticing the passage of time altogether, hearing nothing except the quiet scratch of my pencil against rough paper.

It feels good to pick up where I left off. It feels good to turn that rushed, interrupted sketch into something real.

A gentle knock on the wooden frame pulls me back to reality.

"Young Master?"

Mrs. Wen steps inside, holding a tray in her hands.

I blink, looking up from the page, my eyes adjusting to the bright room. Only then do I realize my fingers are stiff, aching slightly from gripping the thin pencil for so long without a break.

"...What time is it?" I ask, my voice a little scratchy from disuse.

"A little after noon," she answers with a gentle, patient smile.

I stare at her, surprised. "...Already?"

"I suspected you might lose track of time if I didn’t come check on you," she says, stepping closer to the desk. "You always forget everything else when you start drawing."

Apparently, I had. It felt like barely twenty minutes had passed since I opened the sketchbook.

She sets a light lunch on the small side table near my desk—a bowl of warm vegetable soup, a small bowl of rice, and a glass of fresh juice. "I brought something simple so you wouldn’t skip eating."

"...Thank you, Mrs. Wen."

I place my pencil down and rub my hands together to warm my fingers. I hadn’t even realized how hungry I was until the smell of the warm soup filled the air.

I eat quietly at my desk, looking over the modified design while I chew. The proposal draft is coming along so much better now. The archways look natural, the base feels balanced, and the layout finally looks like something I can present with confidence.

After I finish eating every bite, Mrs. Wen begins gathering the empty bowls onto her tray. She sets the glass aside, but then she pauses, looking down at me thoughtfully.

"Young Master."

"Hm?" I look up, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

"You’ve been sitting in this chair for hours now."

I blink, looking down at my lap. "...Have I?"

"Yes. A short walk outside in the fresh air would do both you and the little one some good. Sitting in one spot for too long isn’t good for your legs."

My hand unconsciously rests over my stomach, feeling the slight weight beneath my palm.

"...You’re right," I say softly. "I should stretch a bit."

***

A few minutes later, I step outside and stroll slowly through the eastern garden.

The afternoon breeze is cool—not cold, just enough to keep the warm summer air pleasant against my skin.

Two young maids trail behind me at a respectful distance. They don’t chatter or crowd me, staying out of the way while I take my time following the smooth stone path that winds around the flowerbeds.

Birds chatter somewhere in the leafy branches above, flying between the tall trees. Nearby, the water from the stone fountain trickles quietly into the round pool below.

I walk slowly, keeping my hands tucked into the pockets of my light jacket. I look at the blooming shrubs, the neatly trimmed green bushes, and the bright white petals scattered along the grass.

By the time I reach the stone bench beneath the wide maple trees, my legs feel a little tired, so I sit down to rest.

I lean back against the smooth stone, taking a deep breath of the fresh, clean air.

Suddenly, the baby gives a tiny kick right against my palm.

I smile automatically, smoothing my hand over the fabric of my shirt to cover the spot. "You’re awake too?"

As if answering my voice, another faint movement brushes against my skin from the inside, a soft, fluttering roll that makes my heart melt.

I laugh softly to myself, resting both hands over my stomach, feeling completely peaceful in the quiet garden.

Then, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

The buzz breaks the quiet moment. I pull the device out, checking the glowing screen.

A message from Mrs. Zhou.

I smile softly, expecting another one of Mrs. Zhou’s usual messages asking how I’m doing.

I tap the notification to open it.

*Did you see the news?!*

A second message pops up right beneath it a moment later.

*I’ve been trying to reach Ling Yue ever since I saw it! He isn’t picking up his phone!*

My smile slowly fades as the frantic tone of her words sinks in.

My fingers freeze over the screen. My heartbeat suddenly speeds up, a strange, cold tightness replacing the warmth in my chest.

Ling Yue? What happened to him? Why wouldn’t he pick up his phone?

Without replying to the text, I exit the message app with shaking thumbs and open the main news feed on my browser.

I scan the top headlines quickly, scrolling past financial updates, weather reports, and local entertainment gossip.

Nothing about Ling Yue. Nothing about his family business either.

My phone vibrates in my hand again, making me jump.

A third message arrives from Mrs. Zhou. This time, there is no text—just a blue link to an online article.

My chest tightens even further, making it hard to take a full breath. My thumb hovers over the screen for a second before I tap the blue text.

The web page takes a moment to load, a bright advertisement banner popping up across the top of the screen before the main text appears.

I scroll past the image.

And then the bold headline comes into view.

**Heir to DingShan Real Estate, Jin Hao, announces engagement to Tang Group’s Sole Heir, Tang Suyi.**

...

Everything around me seems to stop instantly.

My eyes remain glued to the screen, reading those same names over and over again, trying to make sense of the words typed on the glass.

Jin Hao. Tang Suyi. Engagement.

My mind goes completely blank.

Unable to move.

Unable... to breathe.