The feeling of autumn grew stronger. The sunlight had lost the scorching intensity of summer and became clear and lingering, shining through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows and casting slanted, warm patches of light on the smooth floor of Yan Hanxie's apartment.
The indoor temperature was comfortable. In the air floated the faint fragrance of freshly replaced lilies, mixed with a slight warmth from simmering food.
Yan Hanxie's body was like a plant that had survived the harsh winter. Under careful care and the drive of her own strong will, it slowly yet firmly began to grow branches and leaves again.
The doctor's instructions of "rest quietly" and "avoid fatigue" were still in effect, but that stagnant feeling controlled by weakness and medication was fading from her day by day.
Her complexion now carried a healthy flush, her eyes had regained their former bright sharpness, and although she was still slender, her movements once again revealed the calm rhythm that belonged to her.
Zong Yi's "avoidance" strategy, under Yan Hanxie's silent yet omnipresent "erosion," appeared increasingly powerless, increasingly like a self-deceiving joke.
She still tried to draw a clear line between them, but that line had long been blurred by Yan Hanxie through various "legitimate reasons" and irresistible closeness.
What made Zong Yi feel even more powerless was that she discovered she was beginning to "get used to it."
Used to at least one call or message every day (even if it was just brief work confirmation); used to unconsciously glancing at her phone during busy moments, expecting the flashing of that particular number; used to subconsciously searching for Yan Hanxie's figure when stepping into this apartment; even… used to some of her seemingly casual yet actually possessive touches and gazes.
Habit was something even more frightening than a heartbeat.
It soaked into a person silently, and by the time you realized it, you were already deeply trapped, unable to peel yourself free.
That afternoon, Zong Yi was delayed for a long time by an international video conference. By the time she arrived at the apartment, dusk was already approaching.
Aunt Zhou had finished work. The apartment was quiet.
Yan Hanxie was not in the usual living room or study.
Zong Yi changed her shoes and walked a few steps inside before finally seeing her in the open western kitchen area connected to the living room.
Yan Hanxie stood with her back to the entrance, in front of the wide kitchen island.
She was wearing a light gray set of home clothes. The soft fabric fit her tall, slender figure.
Her long hair was loosely tied behind her head, revealing her pale neck.
The glow of the sunset happened to slant through the window beside her, coating her entire body with a soft golden edge, even the edges of her hair tinted with warm light.
She lowered her head slightly, seemingly fiddling with something. Her movements were focused and… clumsy.
Zong Yi stopped in her tracks and for a moment did not dare make a sound to disturb the tranquil scene.
The air carried the warm fragrance of simmered food and a faint scent similar to something slightly burnt.
Then she saw Yan Hanxie pick up a knife—not a sharp chef's knife but a small fruit knife—and gesture toward a round potato on the kitchen island.
Then, somewhat hesitantly and unsteadily, she cut down.
The blade tilted. The potato pieces that came off were uneven in size, their edges rough.
Yan Hanxie seemed dissatisfied. She picked up another piece and tried again.
This time was a little better, but the movements were still unfamiliar, even carrying a kind of cautious tension, as if that were not a potato but a craft item requiring delicate precision.
Zong Yi's heart felt as if something had lightly bumped against it.
Yan Hanxie could cook?
No, she had almost never seen Yan Hanxie cook.
In her understanding, Yan Hanxie's time should be spent handling contracts worth hundreds of millions, formulating multinational strategies, or enjoying dishes carefully prepared by famous chefs in high-end restaurants, rather than… standing here, somewhat awkwardly wielding a small knife in front of a few potatoes.
Yet the scene before her was so real.
The sunset, the warm kitchen, the woman in home clothes with her long hair loosely tied up, her unfamiliar yet serious movements… formed a picture filled with a strange sense of everyday life and… an inexplicable softness.
Zong Yi unconsciously walked a few steps closer.
Her footsteps startled Yan Hanxie.
She stopped what she was doing and turned around.
When she saw Zong Yi, there was not much surprise on her face. Only in those bright eyes did a faint trace of embarrassment—similar to being caught in the act—flash quickly before calmness returned.
"You're back?" Her tone was ordinary, as if standing in the kitchen cutting potatoes was the most natural thing in the world. "Did the meeting go smoothly?"
"…Smoothly." Zong Yi's gaze fell on her hands, then shifted to the variously shaped potato pieces on the kitchen island. "You're…?"
"Making soup." Yan Hanxie replied concisely, turning back around and picking up the knife again, continuing to struggle with the potato. The lines of her profile appeared slightly tense in the sunset light. "What Aunt Zhou makes… is always just a little lacking in heat."
That reason again.
Zong Yi almost thought Yan Hanxie had some sort of obsession with "heat control."
But this time, looking at Yan Hanxie's unskilled and even somewhat clumsy knife work, the words "Let me do it instead" rolled on the tip of her tongue several times but did not come out.
She simply watched quietly.
Watching Yan Hanxie somewhat laboriously cut the potatoes into uneven pieces, watching her treat the carrots the same way, watching her open the lid of the stew pot—inside was chicken soup already boiling and fragrant—and then she carefully poured those potato and carrot chunks in, splashing a little broth that made her pull her hand back slightly from the heat.
Her movements were unfamiliar, even somewhat flustered.
Completely unlike the President Yan who commanded everything in the conference room and refused to give an inch at the negotiation table.
Yet at that moment, Zong Yi's heart softened completely.
A strange, warm, slightly sour current slowly flowed through her heart.
She suddenly remembered a rumor she had heard long ago, when she was still very young and full of awe for this young female president.
It was said that Yan Hanxie had been strictly raised by her grandparents since childhood. Her life skills were almost zero, and all her time had been spent learning how to become a qualified heir.
Back then, Zong Yi had thought it natural and had even admired that almost inhuman focus.
But now, looking at the woman before her who was slightly frowning and clumsily moving because she was stewing a pot of soup, she suddenly felt… a little heartache.
"Let me do it." She finally stepped forward, her voice unconsciously softer as she took the somewhat inconvenient small knife from Yan Hanxie's hand and picked a more suitable slicing knife from the knife rack.
Yan Hanxie did not refuse. She only stepped aside slightly, her gaze following Zong Yi's movements the entire time.
Zong Yi's knife skills were naturally much more skilled than Yan Hanxie's.
She quickly cut the remaining potatoes and carrots into even rolling chunks, her movements smooth and carrying the familiarity of someone used to home cooking.
Then she checked the heat of the stew pot, lowered the flame, and put the lid back on.
"Half an hour on low heat will be enough." She washed her hands, dried them with a towel, and turned around.
Yan Hanxie was standing just one step behind her, quietly watching her.
The sunset light enveloped them both. The air was filled with the warm aroma of food and the faint fragrance of lilies.
"You can cook." Yan Hanxie stated. It was not a question.
"Mm. Living alone, you have to know a little." Zong Yi answered simply.
Yan Hanxie nodded and said nothing more. Her gaze remained on Zong Yi's face, deep as if she were reassessing her, or as if through her she saw something else.
The kitchen fell quiet for a moment, with only the gentle bubbling sound of soup simmering in the pot.
This silence was no longer filled with probing or tension like before. Instead, it carried a strange, reassuring peace.
"Go sit over there. It'll be ready soon." Zong Yi pointed toward the sofa in the living room, trying to break the overly quiet atmosphere.
Yan Hanxie shook her head instead. She sat down on the high stool nearby, her gaze directed out the window at the gradually darkening sky.
"Stay with me for a while," she said.
It was neither an order nor a plea.
Just a plain statement, yet Zong Yi could not refuse.
She also sat on the high stool beside her. The two were separated by the kitchen island, looking out at the same dusk beyond the window.
Neither of them spoke.
The last glow of sunset dyed the clouds a magnificent purplish red, then slowly sank beneath the city skyline.
Lights gradually came on. In the distance, buildings lit up with scattered points of light.
The fragrance from the stew pot grew richer, warmly filling the entire space.
Zong Yi secretly glanced sideways at Yan Hanxie.
The outline of her profile looked much softer in the dimming light. Her long lashes lowered slightly, her expression calm, even carrying a rare trace of relaxation.
That soft set of home clothes made her no longer seem so unattainable. Instead, there was a kind of… reachable vulnerability and reality.
The Buddhist beads on Zong Yi's wrist pressed heavily against her skin.
She suddenly remembered where those beads came from, remembered how they had once been abandoned in the dust before she picked them up and wore them on her wrist. She remembered Yan Hanxie's words: "Wearing them is good too."
Perhaps some things, after circling around, would eventually return to where they were meant to be.
Like this pot of soup that required patient waiting, like… this silent yet tacit companionship at this moment.
"It's ready." Zong Yi stood up, turned off the stove, and lifted the lid. The rich aroma rushed out.
She filled two bowls with soup and placed them on the kitchen island.
Yan Hanxie picked up a spoon, scooped a spoonful, blew on it, and brought it to her lips.
Then she paused and lifted her eyes to look at Zong Yi.
"The heat is just right," she said, the corner of her mouth curving into a very faint but genuine smile.
That smile was like a stone falling into a calm lake, sending a gentle ripple through Zong Yi's heart.
She lowered her head and also took a sip of the soup.
The warm liquid slid down her throat, the warmth spreading all the way to her limbs.
Outside the window, night had completely fallen. The city lights glittered brilliantly.
And within this small kitchen, two women who had once been separated by mountains and seas—different in status and deep in their thoughts—sat facing each other drinking soup, sharing the simplest warmth created by clumsy attempts and tacit cooperation.
The road of chasing her wife was long.
But perhaps it did not always need to be calculated step by step.
Sometimes it was enough to stop, stew a pot of soup together, watch a sunset, and share a moment of silent companionship.
That slow, flowing warmth and sincerity were the quietest yet most powerful weapons to pierce through all defenses.
Yan Hanxie looked at Zong Yi across from her, who was lowering her head to drink soup, the tips of her ears slightly red. The smile in her eyes deepened.
The prey had already grown accustomed to her territory, accustomed to her presence, and had even begun… to walk into her kitchen on her own.
Then would it still be far from the day she willingly walked into her heart?
She was not in a hurry.
She had a lifetime to wait slowly, to slowly stew this pot of soup called "Zong Yi."
Until her bones softened and her flesh fell apart, until she could no longer leave this small space illuminated with warmth and light for her.
—
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