7 Containing Warmth
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With a ding, the elevator doors slid open. Wen Shuhan was visiting his office for the first time. After confirming the doorplate, she knocked gently on the half-open single-pane glass door.
No one answered inside. She glanced sideways and saw the computer monitor turned away from the door in a corner.
No sign of anyone.
“Should I come in?” She hesitated a moment, then pushed the door and stepped inside.
The door opened fully. A floor lamp cast a warm glow over the room. Chen Yansi was seated at his desk, working. The soft light blurred the sharp, rugged lines of his brows and eyes.
Behind him, the entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows was draped with sheer curtains. The CBD skyscrapers sparkled brightly, strings of halos cascading like liquid light at the intersections of the streets, pooling into a still, luminous backdrop behind him.
He lifted his eyelids to glance her way. She averted her gaze calmly, placing the lunchbox on a nearby round table. She then took out a few tightly sealed white porcelain bowls, opening them one by one. Warm steam rose and mingled faintly with a fresh, sweet aroma.
“Let’s eat first. Aunt Tang made all of this herself,” she said, her back still to him.
A leather swivel chair creaked as it moved back. Chen Yansi stood, rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt, leaving some buttons undone so the collar hung slightly open. He walked over and sat down.
He sampled the braised sea cucumber and shrimp dumplings briefly, and only sipped a few mouthfuls of the ginseng chicken soup.
Seeing that he hadn’t stayed long before returning to his desk, Wen Shuhan followed his movement with concern. “Aren’t you going to eat more? Or... is it not good?” she asked.
Chen Yansi, focused on the computer screen, replied distractedly with a faint hint of displeasure beneath his calm tone: “Too salty.”
“Salty?” She scrutinized the dishes doubtfully, recalling the moments she had helped in the kitchen. The more she thought about it, the less it made sense.
“I only added one spoonful of salt. How could it be—”
Suddenly, she swallowed her words.
She had indeed fallen into a trap she’d dug for herself. Chen Yansi’s smirk was lazy but victorious. “So it really was you who made it.”
“...I helped make it, but it’s not that bad, right?”
Besides the braised sea cucumber, she had made the rest.
He hadn’t touched a single bite. No respect at all.
Well, the taste was mediocre at best; she accepted defeat. “If you’re not eating, I’ll pack it all up.”
“Who said I’m not eating?”
“...But you said it’s salty.”
“Then eat it now before it gets cold.”
...
As Chen Yansi ate, he multitasked—one hand holding chopsticks, eating without much interest, the other scrolling through work emails on his phone.
No one spoke. The cool air inside remained constant and still.
Wen Shuhan sat on a sofa chair across from him, leaning slightly forward, elbows resting on her knees, chin in her hands, gazing aimlessly out at the night view.
Unconsciously, the glass reflected the interior.
On the table lay an opened pack of cigarettes, a Dunhill lighter resting beside it, and a thin layer of ash settled in the ebony ashtray.
He wasn’t much of a smoker, only lighting up when irritated, never more than one a day.
Yet the ashtray contained the remnants of more than a single cigarette.
A glass still held a third of a dark amber liquid, partially melted ice cubes floating within.
He had poured Yamazaki whiskey into his coffee again.
Though whiskey coffee was a real drink, seeing such a cup before her, Wen Shuhan could almost taste the bitter, pungent peat smoke.
She found it hard to accept such an extreme way to stay alert.
How could his stomach handle it?
A faint heaviness settled in her chest. She blinked, refocusing, only to be swallowed once more by the nightscape.
Chen Yansi finished replying to an email, sipped the now lukewarm soup, and quietly looked up.
Like a tilted cinematic shot, half of her face was barely palm-sized, her delicate, translucent nose tip faintly flushed.
Her slightly curled lashes drooped as her gaze fixed distantly, clear yet blurred, holding a trace of emptiness like a misted mountain far away.
A small, pale red mole hid beneath the collar of her knit sweater, a deep shadow trailing down.
Chen Yansi’s Adam’s apple moved subtly before he withdrew his gaze.
Wen Shuhan had been daydreaming for quite some time. When she snapped back, a few seconds of consciousness still slipped away.
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“Wen Shuhan,” he called in a low voice.
“Hmm?”
For a moment, disoriented, she looked up and found Chen Yansi standing right before her.
Her heart skipped, realizing she had nowhere to retreat.
He braced one hand on the edge of the sofa chair, leaning his entire upper body forward. Then, with the other hand, he gently clasped her neck.
Startled and confused, she lifted her face, exposing the most vulnerable part of her skin.
Held captive, she swallowed awkwardly, lashes fluttering. “What do you want to do?”
Chen Yansi kept his eyelids half-closed, eyes deep and intense, lowering his head slowly, his breath brushing over her.
“Don’t—” Her heart pounded loudly. Suddenly, he stopped.
A faintly cool sensation pressed down with his fingertip, lingering on a spot on her neck.
It was a little moist, the scent of soothing ointment.
She paused her breath.
“What happened? It’s all red.” He maintained his domineering stance as he spread the ointment, his voice hoarse with fatigue. “So careless.”
Wen Shuhan avoided his gaze and replied a moment later, “I got a little splashed by hot oil in the kitchen.”
His brow twitched slightly.
“Does it hurt?”
She shook her head slightly. “Not really now.”
“No feeling at all?”
She clenched her empty hand. “No... not anymore.”
“Is that so?” Chen Yansi’s breath brushed her cheek, his hand still holding her neck.
Her phone vibrated suddenly.
Wen Shuhan hurriedly answered, using the chance to push him away and briskly walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Her tone was calm: “Aunt Tang... yes... he should have finished working overtime. We’ll head back soon... okay, bye.”
After hanging up, she clenched the phone and turned back. Chen Yansi was facing away, casually putting on his jacket. His long legs stood relaxed and straight, the dark fabric of his trousers subtly creased by the motion.
Wen Shuhan shifted her gaze to the round table, noticing he had finished the shrimp dumplings and chicken soup, but the plate of braised sea cucumber remained untouched.
“What a waste,” she muttered, “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have brought food at all. Let you starve...”
He retorted coldly, “Do you really take me for deaf?”
“...” She ignored him.
—
Returning to the old residence past midnight, each retreated to their own bedroom.
Chen Yansi opened his door to find a cardboard box on the carpet.
Inside were all the gifts he had previously given her.
He approached slowly, picked up a velvet gift box, and rubbed it thoughtfully. His eyes darkened briefly, expressionless, before he placed it back exactly as before.
Separated by a wall, Wen Shuhan was taking a shower.
The steam was perfect for zoning out. She thought a lot.
Besides necklaces and bracelets, there was a seventeenth-century pigeon blood ruby collar—originally a unique exhibit meant for public display, now bought by him.
All were one-of-a-kind personal jewelry.
Like some tenuous, intertwined bond, winding itself tightly around her.
After she returned the gifts, Chen Yansi showed no reaction.
With his temper, if someone did something he disliked, he could threaten openly or act covertly. One finger’s movement could completely crush her intentions.
Yet he did nothing, simply storing them away untouched.
Wen Shuhan refused to overthink it, accepting this as the closing of a chapter. They maintained a state of mutual non-interference.
The next day, she resumed dance practice as usual.
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At evening rush hour, she and Zhao Yan left the building together.
Waiting at the crosswalk, she spotted Liao Xiaoyu in the distance.
Xiaoyu stood by the rear door of a Maybach, as a man stepping out from the car tousled her hair.
Before Zhao Yan could express curiosity, someone from the dance troupe nearby whispered, “Who’s that guy?”
Another replied, “Probably her uncle. He picked her up before.”
“I remember now. Heard her uncle is a senior executive at the company.”
...
“Did you hear that, Shuhan?” Zhao Yan nudged her arm. “I was thinking, everyone else signed with Xu Sheng, but she struts around like she owns the place. She’s got that smug, bullying vibe, like a petty tyrant.”
Wen Shuhan rarely gossiped about irrelevant people. Just as Zhao Yan was about to say more, Wen Shuhan’s phone rang. She answered, “Hello?”
A gentle, straightforward female voice came through: “Hello, is this Ms. Wen Shuhan?”
“Yes, speaking. May I ask who’s calling?”
“Ms. Wen, we’re calling to thank you for your generous donation to the Central Zoo. The funds will be used to improve the animals’ living environment, purchase medical supplies, and care for injured animals unable to survive in the wild, bringing them into our zoo.”
Wen Shuhan was stunned. “You said that money was donated by me?”
“Yes, the donor’s name and phone number match yours. As a token of gratitude, we’d like to send you some commemorative gifts by mail. Would you be able to receive them?”
“...What kind of gifts?”
The voice chuckled warmly. “Our latest season’s creative merchandise from the zoo. Would you prefer a capybara plush with a little backpack, a fluffy stacking capybara toy, or a laid-back capybara meditating with an orange on its head? Maybe one riding a turtle? What do you think?”
“...” Wen Shuhan felt as if a hundred capybaras were ambling around her head.
In fact, there really were a hundred such souvenirs.
This had to be Chen Yansi’s doing. Who else would donate ten million all at once in her name?
Last time she returned his gifts, now he tried another approach to negotiate with her—a tangled boomerang of subtle pull and push.
Though it seemed a prank, he had genuinely done a good deed, leaving her no grounds to refuse.
The rule they set when breaking up—to not disturb each other—was broken again.
So what exactly did he want?
Meanwhile, at the top floor of the Ling Sheng International Tower, Chen Yansi was negotiating with the head of another group.
“The deadline for settling the final payment on the Nanwan New District development project can be extended,” Chen Yansi said, crossing his legs and lightly tapping his fingers on his relaxed knee. “On one condition: seven percent of Hangtuo’s shares.”
The other man’s tense expression deepened with difficulty as he forced a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Chen, for considering us. But the shares... well, it’s possible, but needs some time. Could you see if it’s possible to reduce it to three percent?”
Chen Yansi’s expression remained cold, showing no mercy. “Mr. Li, no one supports you unconditionally.”
Just as victory seemed near, his phone vibrated on the table.
Chen Yansi glanced at the screen lazily. Not knowing who it was, his assistant Qiu immediately understood and took the phone away to answer from a distance.
A slightly exasperated, teasing female voice came through: “Chen Yansi! Was that you? I don’t need so many capybaras!”
Qiu quickly replied cautiously, “Is this Miss Wen? Please don’t be upset...”
After a pause, her tone calmed considerably: “Sorry. Is Chen Yansi busy? When he’s free, could you please ask him to call me back? Thank you.”
“Understood.”
Qiu returned to the negotiation table, handing the phone back during a tea break, leaning down to whisper, “Mr. Chen, it’s Miss Wen.”
Chen Yansi raised a brow. “What did she say?”
“She said there are too many capybaras; she doesn’t need them.”
He chuckled softly through his nose.
“So what does she want?”
Qiu hesitated, scratching his temple. “She... wants you?”