Because You Are Gu Chengyong

Gu Chengyin looked at Lin Qingyan.

Sunlight squeezed through the gaps in the window lattice, thin streams of it, falling across her face, her shoulders, and her scattered hair.

Her cheeks still carried the faint pink hue he had coaxed out of her this morning, and her lips were still slightly swollen.

Her voice was still hoarse, and her body still bore the marks he had left.

But the way Lin Qingyan looked at him was as serious as a minister receiving an imperial decree in the court.

Gu Chengyin suddenly felt a tightness in his throat.

This feeling was far too unfamiliar to him.

So unfamiliar that it took him a full breath to recognize what it was.

"Little Aunt."

Gu Chengyin spoke.

His voice was lower and softer than he had intended.

"Hmm?"

"You…"

He paused, his thumb brushing across the back of her hand again.

It was as if he was hesitating over whether to finish the sentence.

But only a moment passed before Gu Chengyin continued:

"How did you know?"

Lin Qingyan glanced at him, and then the corners of her lips curled up slightly.

The curve was not large—barely noticeable, even.

But it held so much.

Pride, satisfaction, and the quiet joy of being needed.

"Because you're Gu Chengyin."

There was no explanation, no analysis, no reasoning at all.

Because you're Gu Chengyin, so I know what you need.

Because you didn't immediately go handle other matters—you came back to see me first.

That means this isn't urgent, that you've already done everything you can.

The crucial piece isn't in your hands.

Because your movements and reactions have been half a beat slower than usual, meaning you're thinking about something.

And what you're thinking about isn't some courtly maneuver—you've already worked through all of that.

You're thinking about how to negotiate this deal with me.

Because Gu Chengyin never asks for help.

That's his pride, his confidence.

So Lin Qingyan said it for him.

Not waiting for him to speak, but placing the answer before him before he could even open his mouth.

Lin Qingyan didn't want to make a deal with Gu Chengyin, didn't want their feelings to be tainted by self-interest.

She only wanted to help him when he needed it.

He needed her to go see Emperor Luo.

Then she would go.

That was Lin Qingyan.

No need for him to ask, no need for a transaction, no need to owe anyone a favor.

She was willing to go simply because he was Gu Chengyin.

Nothing more.

Gu Chengyin looked at Lin Qingyan, and the thin layer of ice in his eyes melted silently.

Not a dramatic collapse, but a gradual softening—beginning at the edges, turning soft, thinning out, becoming water.

That water didn't spill out; it seeped deeper into his eyes, merging into a tender place he had never carefully examined before.

He tightened his grip on her hand.

Not the tentative, testing hold from before, but a firm, solid one—as if he wanted to press her hand into his palm.

His fingers closed, palm against palm, every inch of skin fitting perfectly together, without even the tiniest gap.

"Little Aunt," he called out again.

"Hmm?"

"Over at His Majesty's side…"

Gu Chengyin paused, as if searching for the right words.

But in the end, he simply said, without embellishment:

"It might get a bit troublesome."

Lin Qingyan's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes brightened.

Not the spark of ignition, but the glow of being watered—like a plant receiving moisture. The leaf itself remained the same, but the veins were now suffused with life, making it stand out vividly.

"I know," Lin Qingyan said.

Then, she reached her other hand out from under the blanket.

The one not held by Gu Chengyin, slender and pale, still warm from the bedclothes.

Gently, she laid it over the hand that held hers.

Two hands stacked together.

Gu Chengyin's below, Lin Qingyan's above.

His fingers were long and strong, knuckles sharp and defined.

Hers were delicate and soft, fingertips slightly cool.

When the two hands overlapped, it was like a carefully composed painting.

Dark ink and light ink, strength and softness, cold and warmth—

Balanced together on a small canvas in a subtle harmony.

"Troublesome or not, I'm still going," Lin Qingyan said.

Her voice was still hoarse, but her tone was as calm as if she were commenting on the nice weather.

"After all, you're my Chengcheng."

When she said that, the corners of her lips curled higher than before.

This curve wasn't pride or triumph—it was satisfaction.

Gu Chengyin said nothing. He just looked at her.

At the upward tilt of her lips, at the warm, gentle light in her eyes, a light meant only for him.

His thumb brushed across the back of her hand once more, then stopped.

They stood in quiet silence, gazing at each other.

Outside the window, the sunlight shifted a little more, the rays through the lattice transforming from three beams to five, bathing the two by the bed in a bright, clear glow.

The light fell on their intertwined hands, outlining every finger with perfect clarity.

Here was his knuckle, there her fingertip.

Here was the boundary where skin met skin, where lines intersected, where their temperatures mingled.

Those boundaries blurred in the light.

It was hard to tell where he ended and she began.

All that was visible was the pair of hands layered together, like a water-smudged ink painting.

The outlines dissolved, the borders vanished, leaving only vast swaths of dark and light ink merging into one.

Lin Qingyan lifted her gaze from their hands and back to Gu Chengyin's face.

"I'll go soon," she said.

"It's been a while since I last visited the palace anyway. Don't worry, Chengcheng."

She paused, a flicker of mischief in her eyes.

"I'll 'reason' properly with that bastard."

Reason properly.

Coming from Lin Qingyan's mouth, it sounded as if she were merely planning to talk things through with Emperor Luo.

The corner of Gu Chengyin's mouth finally twitched, and he silently offered a moment of pity for Emperor Luo:

"His Majesty might have a headache for a few days."

"Serves him right. That bastard deserves it," Lin Qingyan said, her tone dripping with undisguised schadenfreude.

"If it weren't for Zhao'er, I'd have already sent him to meet my sister."

At the mention of Luo Zhao, a thought struck Lin Qingyan.

"Chengcheng."

"Hmm?"

"Even though you've lifted the hypnosis on Zhao'er, you should still take precautions. Otherwise…"

Lin Qingyan's tone turned peculiar—hard to describe.

Not stern, not warning, not jealous.

Or rather, a little bit of all three, with each only a tiny portion.

Mixed together, it became a tone full of wary vigilance tinged with helpless resignation.

Like an ant guarding a piece of honey, fending off other ants while knowing full well that the honey itself was never the most stable thing.