The high-speed train from the countryside to Linkon City took three hours.
Li Jian watched the landscape blur past his window—rural farmland gradually giving way to sprawling suburbs, then the glittering towers of the capital rising like steel giants against the sky.
It had been eight months since he'd last seen his grandson in person. Eight months since Zayne had won that prestigious medical award and become even more unreachable, buried deeper in his work.
The apartment building was impressive—all glass and modern architecture, the kind of place that made Li Jian feel ancient just standing in the lobby.
The doorman eyed his simple clothes and worn cane with barely concealed disdain until he mentioned Dr. Li's name.
Then suddenly there were smiles, assistance, an elevator ride to the twenty-third floor.
Zayne answered the door in casual clothes—a rare sight. Black shirt, gray slacks, no white coat. But his posture was still rigid, his expression still carefully neutral.
"Grandfather." He stepped aside.
"You should have told me you were coming.
I would have arranged transportation."
"I'm not so old I can't take a train."
Li Jian entered, taking in the apartment with one sweeping glance. Immaculate. Minimalist. Cold. Like a hotel room, not a home.
"You live like a monk, Zayne."
"The space is functional."
Zayne closed the door. "Tea?"
"Please."
They settled on the balcony—Li Jian insisted, saying he wanted fresh air. The city sprawled beneath them, millions of lights beginning to twinkle as dusk approached.
Zayne poured tea with precise, practiced movements, and Li Jian noticed his grandson's hands. Steady. Strong. Surgeon's hands that saved lives daily.
But when had they last held someone just because?
"You've grown taller," Li Jian said, studying him. "How is that possible? You're twenty-five"
"An optical illusion, perhaps. Or your memory adjusting the data."
Zayne's lips quirked—almost a smile.
"You look well, Grandfather."
"I am well. Better than well, actually." Li Jian sipped his tea. "I have good company these days."
There it was—the slight tension in Zayne's shoulders. He knew what was coming.
"You're still spending time with that girl," Zayne observed. Not a question.
"Nana. Yes." Li Jian settled back in his chair, gazing at the city lights.
"She visited yesterday. Brought me soup because I mentioned my joints were aching. Homemade, Zayne. When was the last time someone made you homemade soup?"
"Hospital cafeteria provides adequate nutrition."
"That's not what I asked."
Silence.
Zayne looked away, those hazel eyes fixed on some distant point.
Li Jian recognized that look—his grandson retreating behind walls, analyzing emotions like they were symptoms to be diagnosed.
"You should start dating, Zayne,"
Li Jian said gently. "I'm not getting younger. I'd like to see you settled before I—"
"You're in excellent health for your age."
"I'm seventy-three. Excellent health doesn't mean immortal."
Li Jian's voice softened. "I worry about you. All alone in this cold apartment, all alone in that hospital. You need someone, child. Someone to come home to. Someone who makes life worth living beyond the operating room."
Zayne's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Romantic relationships require time allocation I cannot currently spare. The cardiology department is understaffed, and my surgical schedule—"
"Is an excuse."
Li Jian leaned forward.
"You hide in your work, Zayne. Just like you hid when your parents left. You think if you're busy enough, professional enough, perfect enough, the loneliness won't catch you."
For a moment—just a heartbeat—something cracked in Zayne's carefully controlled expression.
Pain, old and deep.
Then it was gone, smoothed away like it had never existed.
"I'm content with my life,"
Zayne said quietly.
"Content is not the same as happy."
Li Jian sighed.
"Your mother called me last week. Mentioned matchmaking arrangements. Said you rejected every introduction."
"The women were... incompatible. One asked about my salary within five minutes. Another spent the entire dinner photographing her food. The third discussed her father's business connections as if I were a networking opportunity."
"So find someone different. Someone real."
"Where, Grandfather?"
A trace of frustration entered Zayne's voice.
"Where do I find 'someone real' when every woman I meet sees either my position or my income? When I barely have time to sleep, let alone date?"
Li Jian smiled then, soft and knowing.
"You could start by meeting Nana."
Zayne's head turned sharply.
"Grandfather—"
"Just meet her. Once. Have dinner when you visit next month." Li Jian held up a hand before Zayne could protest.
"Not a date. Not a matchmaking scheme. Just... meet the girl who makes this old man smile again. Meet the girl who reminds me that kindness still exists in this world."
Zayne was quiet for a long moment, those analytical eyes studying his grandfather's face. Looking for what? Desperation? Manipulation? But he found only genuine affection, genuine hope.
"She's struggling, Zayne,"
Li Jian continued softly.
"Working herself to exhaustion. Walking home alone at night through dangerous streets. Last week, some drunk man followed her for three blocks. She had to hide in a convenience store until he left."
Something flickered across Zayne's face. Concern? Anger?
"That's statistically dangerous," he said, voice tight. "Late-night shifts correlate with increased assault risk, particularly for young women in low-income areas—"
"I know. I worry every night she works."
Li Jian's hands trembled slightly around his teacup.
"She won't accept more help from me. Too proud. Says I've already done too much. But if she had... I don't know. Someone in the city. Someone with resources. Someone who could ensure her safety—"
"You want me to what? Offer her money?" Zayne's tone sharpened.
"That would be inappropriate, possibly offensive—"
"I want you to meet her,"
Li Jian interrupted firmly.
"Just meet her. See what I see. Then decide for yourself."
Zayne stood abruptly, walking to the balcony railing. The wind ruffled his dark hair, and for a moment he looked younger, vulnerable. The city lights reflected in his hazel eyes—beautiful and terribly lonely.
"You speak about her often,"
Zayne said finally, not turning around.
"More than you've spoken about anyone since Grandmother died."
"Because she makes me feel less alone."
Li Jian's voice cracked. "Because when your grandmother passed, I thought I'd never care about anyone that deeply again. But this girl... she brings groceries when I'm sick. She listens to my old stories. She laughs at my terrible jokes. She's given me a reason to wake up in the morning, Zayne. Do you understand? She's given me purpose again."
Zayne's hands gripped the railing, knuckles white.
"Last time I saw you smile like this,"
Zayne said quietly, "was when Grandmother was alive."
"Exactly." Li Jian stood slowly, joints protesting, and joined his grandson at the railing. They stood side by side, grandfather and grandson, staring at the vast city below.
"So indulge an old man. Meet the girl who brought light back into my life. That's all I ask."
The silence stretched. A plane blinked across the darkening sky. Traffic hummed far below like a distant ocean.
"What's she like?" Zayne asked finally, surprising them both.
"Beyond the stories. What is she actually like?"
Li Jian smiled. "She's... sunshine after rain. She's had everything taken from her—wealth, stability, childhood—but she hasn't let it make her cruel. She still smiles. Still helps others. Still believes in goodness." He paused. "She reminds me of you, before the world taught you to protect yourself."
Zayne's throat worked. "I doubt we have much in common."
"You both carry the weight of the world alone. You both forget to live while you're busy surviving. You both—"
Li Jian touched his grandson's shoulder gently, "—deserve to be happy. Even if you've convinced yourselves you don't."
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Later That Night
Li Jian had gone to bed in the guest room hours ago. The apartment was silent except for the soft hum of the city below.
Zayne stood on the balcony still, coffee growing cold in his hands. Stars struggled to shine through Linkon's light pollution, but a few persisted—distant, bright, unreachable.
Angelina Wang.
He'd heard her name so many times now it was familiar, comfortable. Like a melody played often enough to memorize without meaning to.
His mother had been pushing matchmaking arrangements for months. Daughters of business partners, colleagues' sisters, "suitable" women with proper breeding and education.
He'd rejected them all.
They were... transactional. Interested in Dr. Li, the chief of cardiology, the award winner, the rising star. Not Zayne. Not the person beneath the title.
Did that person even exist anymore?He thought about his grandfather's words.
You hide in your work. You think if you're busy enough, the loneliness won't catch you.
Was that true? Was he hiding?.
Zayne reviewed his life with clinical precision: Excellent career. Financial security. Professional recognition. Physical health optimal. Social relationships... minimal. Emotional fulfillment... undefined. Romantic prospects... nonexistent.
An incomplete life. Functional but not whole.
He thought about the girl his grandfather described. Working until midnight. Walking dangerous streets alone. Saving money for school while feeding her siblings. Smiling despite everything.
Something about that image—that stubborn, beautiful resilience—made his chest feel strange. Tight. Uncomfortable.
When had someone last needed him? Not Dr. Li the surgeon, but Zayne the person?When had he last let someone close enough to need him?.
His phone sat on the small table beside the cold coffee. He picked it up, scrolled through his contacts. His grandfather's number glowed on the screen.
Just meet her. Once.
Zayne didn't believe in love. Love was unpredictable, unquantifiable, illogical. Love was a chemical reaction in the brain—dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin—dressed up in poetry and delusion.
Love was what his parents claimed to have before they chose their careers over him.
Love was a risk he'd decided long ago he couldn't afford.
But curiosity... curiosity was logical. Scientific. Understanding the source of his grandfather's attachment—that was reasonable.
Meeting her once to verify she wasn't taking advantage of an old man's generosity—that was protective, responsible.
That wasn't about love at all.
The stars blinked above him, indifferent and eternal.
Angelina Wang, Zayne thought, tasting the name in his mind. The girl who made my grandfather smile again. The girl who walks through darkness but somehow still carries light.
"Someday,"
he murmured to the empty night.
"I'll meet her someday."
Not because his grandfather asked.
Not because he was lonely.
But because it had been so long since someone made him curious about anything beyond the sterile walls of his hospital.
And that—that small spark of interest in something other than surgery—felt almost like hope.
Even if Zayne Li no longer remembered what hope was supposed to feel like.
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To be continued.