When Shao Yinan saw the investigation results, he frowned at the string of numbers on the screen.
They looked strangely familiar. He squinted, trying to place them — and then it hit him: didn’t his grandfather have a private room at Li’s hotel with that exact number?
His phone buzzed at that moment. A WeChat group message popped up.
“Since Grandpa’s feeling a bit better tonight, everyone come back to the old house for dinner.”
The words made his chest twitch. He remembered the last time he’d been home: Grandpa’s loss of appetite had become so bad it felt irreversible. Even Li the chef’s dishes, his favorite, had tasted like cardboard. He’d spent a fortune chasing specialists, trying everything to get the old man to eat, to snap back to life. And now, barely two weeks later, a group message casually announced that Grandpa was “a bit better”?
Wen Yin replied immediately when he told her, and she agreed without fuss. She only knew, vaguely, that her own grandfather had been unwell; she hadn’t connected that to the Shao family’s elder. She planned to eat at Li Xiangwei’s hotel first and then head over.
But then she received another notice: Grandpa had something on tonight and didn’t need her to cook.
Wen Yin was surprised, but it was a private family matter — she didn’t press it.
By the time Shao Yinan arrived at the old house, his eldest brother, his sister-in-law, and Shao Qi were already there. Shao Mingyang had come in just ahead of him. Shao Yuanjia trailed behind and slipped in with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Little brother’s back,” Yuanjia said, overly sunny.
The smile crawled over Shao Yinan’s skin. He didn’t bother to soften his words. “Don’t use that fake grin on me.”
The smile froze on Yuanjia’s face. He watched Shao Yinan’s retreating back with a hard, dangerous look and forced his mouth into something like a smile again. Inside, he ground his teeth. “Keep your mouth the same as ever,” he thought. As Shao Yinan walked away, Yuanjia’s expression went colder, the sort of cold that promised the game wasn’t over yet.
Inside, everyone was talking quietly on the sofa. When Shao Yinan reached the doorway, Shao Mingyang waved him over. Grandpa Shao — he’d been sitting there — turned his head and smiled when he saw him.
“Grandpa,” Shao Yinan said, nodding.
At first glance it was obvious the WeChat message hadn’t lied. Grandpa looked better: his eyes were clearer, a smile played at the corners, and his cheeks had color again. He no longer seemed perpetually listless.
“Feeling better?” Shao Yinan asked when they’d settled.
“Li girl’s hotel hired a new cook. The food there finally sits right with me again,” Grandpa said plainly, careful not to mention names.
Shao Yinan knew about Grandpa’s appetite problems. On his last visit he’d pulled together consultations with all manner of doctors, only to be told that medicine could only help so much — the real cure was getting Grandpa to eat on schedule and enjoy his meals. They’d tried different chefs; none worked like Chef Li had. Shao Yinan had reluctantly given up after that.
Now, in only a week or two, Grandpa’s complexion had changed entirely. Shao Yinan blinked, trying to prod more information out of him.
Grandpa smiled, amused by his persistence. He was enjoying keeping the secret. “You’ve always been curious,” he said. “Since I’m not telling, you’ll have to wait for a surprise.”
Shao Yinan pressed and pressed, but Grandpa kept dancing around the subject. Eventually Shao Yinan gave up, frustrated. The old man’s amusement only grew at his curiosity; clearly he’d decided to keep the mystery until the right moment.
After dinner Shao Yinan volunteered to walk Grandpa around to get some air.
On the way back, the evening light softened, and Grandpa’s laughter sounded lighter than it had in months. Shao Yinan let the sight settle into him and told himself he’d keep an eye on whatever was going on at Li’s hotel.
When they returned, Wen Yin was already home. Shao Yinan moved without thinking: he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.
“Sha—” she began, but he cut her off with a kiss.
It was sudden and possessive, a hungry, halting thing that left Wen Yin breathless. He kissed her again, his hands tracing familiar warmth, and she could do nothing but follow his rhythm, breath hitching.
Limp and laughing, she collapsed against his chest as his lips trailed down. “Still running away?” he murmured, fingertips gentle on the curve of her hip.
Wen Yin hid her face and blushed. “I… didn’t run,” she began, then shook her head. “This morning I really had things to do.”
His smile sharpened at that. “Do you think I’ll believe that?”
Her cheeks deepened. She sighed and tucked her head into his shoulder. “Fine. I ran on purpose.”
She refused to admit the real reason — that sometimes she fled because she was afraid of just how much he wanted her, afraid of the intensity of his claims on her. Even now, after all the times they’d been close, she still felt shy.
Shao Yinan’s expression softened. He cupped her chin and brushed a thumb across her cheek. “You don’t have to run from me,” he said quietly. “Not if you don’t want to.”
She stayed there, muffled in his chest, and for a moment the rest of the world — the dodged answers and the secretive smiles — faded into the evening air.