Still Waters Run Deep

Night had fallen.

Mo Qingli was leaving.

She didn’t linger. After finishing all the necessary matters, she stood up to take her leave.

Before she went out, she paused at the door, turned back, and gave him a smile.

“Good night, new neighbor.”

“Good night,” Lu Chenyuan replied.

The door closed softly, and the apartment returned to silence.

But this time, the air seemed to still carry a faint scent from her—delicate and sweet, like black forest cake.

Lu Chenyuan maneuvered his wheelchair back into the living room.

He stared at the empty cake plate for a long while before raising his hand to gently touch his lips.

There, it seemed, lingered a trace of sweetness.

He smiled softly, a tenderness in his eyes that even he hadn’t noticed before.

……

The days that followed settled into a calm and steady rhythm.

Lu Chenyuan began his long journey of recovery.

At Yuanlong Technology, Lin Yuan and Ren Qian held the fort, ensuring everything ran smoothly.

Every day, Lin Yuan would report company progress to him through encrypted video calls.

The commercial rollout of the “No Distance” system had been fully launched.

Several major automakers had entered substantive negotiations for cooperation.

At the AI lab, under Lu Ruoxi’s leadership, new algorithm models had achieved breakthrough advancements.

Everything was moving in a positive direction.

Lu Chenyuan’s presence was deliberately kept to a minimum.

The outside world only knew Lin Yuan as the CEO of Yuanlong Technology; no one was aware that the true master of this vast business empire was quietly living a semi-reclusive life in “Yunding No.1,” confined to a wheelchair.

And Mo Qingli had become the sole, brightest highlight in his otherwise tranquil life.

She truly was a responsible “good neighbor.”

Every evening, at exactly 6:30, no earlier, no later,

her door would open, and shortly after, his doorbell would ring on cue.

She never came empty-handed.

Sometimes it was a dessert—osmanthus jelly, tiramisu, mango crepes.

The variety never repeated.

It was as if Mo Qingli had mastered every pastry shop in Jingzhou, always bringing something Lu Chenyuan had never tasted or even seen before.

Other times, she brought a pot of freshly brewed tea.

Da Hong Pao from Wuyi Mountain, Longjing from West Lake, Pu’er from Yunnan.

She always seemed to find the finest tea leaves.

Her visits were brief, usually no more than half an hour.

They would sit together on the living room sofa and exchange a few words about work.

“The banks in Europe are all in position. The International Clearing Organization’s investigation application has passed the first round of review.”

“Li Xiujian’s cash flow is tightening. He’s started selling some overseas non-core assets, trying to raise funds.”

“There’s movement on Wang Chen’s side. The ‘Hanhai Data’ project team had their first meeting today with the head of ‘Future City.’”

Their conversations were usually short and efficient, indistinguishable from two ordinary colleagues.

After exchanging the necessary information, the rest of the time was spent in silence.

But this silence was far from awkward.

Together, they would watch the sunset outside the window, as the clouds on the horizon turned golden.

Watching the lights of Jingzhou ignite one by one, merging into a river of stars.

The feeling was subtle.

Like two massive ships that had sailed the commercial seas alone for years, finally finding a quiet harbor where they could dock together.

The wall inside Lu Chenyuan’s heart had long since, without him noticing, dissolved into nothingness.

He began to grow accustomed to, even look forward to, the sound of the doorbell every evening.

He realized that his understanding of her deepened day by day through these silent moments spent together.

She seemed capable of anything, yet was particular about taste, only eating the freshest ingredients.

She appeared calm and strong, but secretly loved fluffy little animals; her phone’s screensaver was a ragdoll cat.

She looked like someone untouched by the mundane world, yet when she tasted a perfect pastry, her eyes would sparkle like a child who just received candy.

These subtle discoveries made the image of “Mo Qingli,” the aloof queen on a pedestal, vivid, tangible, and within reach.

……

Time moved into the second week.

Lu Chenyuan’s injured leg was still immobilized in a cast, unable to move.

Most of his days were spent confined to a wheelchair.

After handling the necessary company paperwork, the rest of the time stretched out, long and empty.

That afternoon, he asked Zhang Qi to bring him some items.

A wooden easel.

A piece of white linen, stretched tight and waxed.

And a full set of tools that looked extremely professional.

Various sizes of needles, tweezers, scissors, and spools of silver thread and tin strips as fine as hair.

Zhang Qi looked at the items, puzzled.

“Mr. Lu, what’s all this for?”

“Just making something small to pass the time,” Lu Chenyuan replied lightly.

He didn’t elaborate.

This was a secret belonging solely to him—or rather, to his past life.

As a poverty alleviation official, and to help develop unique local handicrafts, he had learned a nearly lost skill from the best Miao embroidery master in the village.

Tin embroidery.

An ancient craft that uses no colored thread, only silver and tin wire stitched onto fabric.

The finished pieces shimmered like condensed moonlight, exquisitely beautiful.

But the process was painstakingly complex and demanded extraordinary patience.

He hadn’t touched these tools in many years.

After transmigrating, he had become a commanding CEO, with no time to revisit those memories.

But now, he had all the time in the world.

He wanted to make a gift.

For the woman who brought him desserts and warmth every day.

He set up the easel by the floor-to-ceiling window, where the sunlight was best.

Then, he began his work.

He didn’t sketch first.

All the patterns were clear in his mind.

He picked up the finest needle and threaded a silver wire.

Pierce the needle, pull the thread.

His movements, awkward at first, gradually grew skilled and fluid.

The muscles at his fingertips seemed to retain the memory of those years.

The needle pierced the linen.

Tighten.

Pierce again.

Only the faint “shh” of the silver needle passing through fabric filled the living room.

Lu Chenyuan was so focused that he hardly noticed the passage of time.

It was only when the evening doorbell rang again

that he lifted his head, as if waking from a dream.

Instinctively, he picked up a nearby piece of velvet cloth and covered the embroidery frame.

He didn’t want her to see it.

At least, not before the finished piece was complete.

Mo Qingli walked in.

Today, she brought a small bowl of rock sugar bird’s nest soup.

“What are you busy with?” she asked curiously, glancing at the covered easel.

“Just doodling,” Lu Chenyuan replied, a little evasively.

Mo Qingli didn’t press further. She simply placed the bird’s nest soup on the small table beside his hand.

“Drink it while it’s warm.”

“Thank you.”

He lifted the bowl and took a sip.

Warm and sweet.

Mo Qingli sat on the sofa nearby, watching him, her gaze naturally drifting to his right hand.

There were band-aids on his index finger and thumb.

“What happened to your hand?” she asked.

“Accidentally cut by paper,” Lu Chenyuan lied without changing his expression.

It had happened that afternoon while handling an extremely thin tin strip.

The tin strips used for embroidery were razor-sharp at the edges.

“Really?” Mo Qingli’s eyes held a trace of disbelief.

“Lu, CEO of Yuanlong Technology, holding a billion-dollar project in his hands, decisive and ruthless—yet he can be cut by a piece of paper?”

Her tone carried a hint of teasing.

“Sounds nothing like your style.”

Lu Chenyuan sipped the bird’s nest soup without responding.

He knew any explanation might reveal a flaw.

Silence was his best defense.

Seeing his slightly “guilty” expression, Mo Qingli’s smile deepened.

She didn’t press further.

She just felt that this man before her seemed to have gained a touch of clumsy charm she had never seen before.

This small episode passed quickly.

In the following days, Mo Qingli noticed that the band-aids on Lu Chenyuan’s hands often changed positions.

Sometimes on the left hand, sometimes on the right.

Sometimes on the middle finger, sometimes on the ring finger.

Every time she saw them, she would tease him with a smile.

“Today, what did you get cut by? The door frame?”

“Mr. Lu, maybe it’s time to do a safety assessment at home?”

Lu Chenyuan always just smiled and said nothing.

The more he did so, the more curious Mo Qingli became.

What secret was hidden behind that covered embroidery frame?

She couldn’t guess.

But she had a hunch.

That secret had to be related to her.