Zihan carried Meilin all the way into the Liu residence.
The stone path gave way to the familiar wooden steps, and just as he crossed the threshold, Grandpa Tang—who had been resting in the main hall—looked up.
His gaze froze.
For a moment, the old man said nothing. His sharp, seasoned eyes swept over the scene:
Zihan's steady posture.
Meilin resting against his back.
The way his hand was still supporting her leg, careful even now.
Zihan stopped in front of the sofa and slowly bent down, letting Meilin slide off his back. He made sure she was seated properly before straightening.
Tang Yuze immediately stepped forward. "Grandpa, she slipped during the hike. Her ankle's injured."
Grandpa Tang's expression softened at once. He leaned forward, concern written clearly across his face. "Does it hurt badly?"
Meilin smiled faintly. "It's fine, Grandpa. Just a small injury."
Only then did Grandpa Tang lift his gaze—finally looking properly at Zihan.
And Zihan, sensing the weight of that stare, straightened unconsciously.
Meilin turned her head slightly and spoke first, her voice gentle and respectful.
"Grandpa Tang."
The old man studied her for a second longer, then nodded, the lines around his eyes easing. After a pause, he turned to Zihan and said warmly,
"You helped Meilin all the way back. Since you're already here, why not stay and have dinner before leaving?"
Zihan hesitated—just a heartbeat.
Then he nodded. "Thank you, Grandpa."
The decision was made.
Soon, everyone moved toward the dining hall.
Grandpa Liu and Grandpa Tang walked side by side at the front, their low voices exchanging quiet remarks. Tang Yuze carefully supported Meilin, matching his pace to hers, while Zihan followed just behind them, his gaze unconsciously lingering on her back.
The dining hall was softly lit, the scent of food already filling the air.
The table was soon set with traditional dishes—
Steamed chicken glazed with light soy sauce,
Braised pork belly, glossy and rich,
Stir-fried seasonal greens,
Lotus root soup simmered to perfection,
And bowls of fragrant white rice.
Everyone took their seats.
Meilin sat between them.
Zihan on her right.
Tang Yuze on her left.
Across from them, the two grandfathers sat together, quietly observing.
Chopsticks moved. Conversation softened. The room filled with the gentle clink of porcelain and the comfort of a shared meal.
While everyone's attention was on the food, Meilin lifted her chopsticks.
She reached toward the steamed chicken, selected a tender piece with practiced ease, and placed it—lightly, naturally—into Zihan's bowl.
It was done so smoothly that no one noticed.
Except him.
Zihan paused.
He turned his head slightly to look at her.
Meilin, however, had already lowered her gaze, calmly eating her own food, her expression composed—almost as if she hadn't been the one who served him just now.
As if it were nothing.
But something warm stirred quietly in Zihan's chest.
A faint smile touched his lips—soft, unguarded, gone almost as soon as it appeared.
Across the table, Grandpa Tang noticed.
His eyes narrowed slightly, then softened again, a knowing look passing through them before he returned to his meal.
Dinner ended peacefully.
Afterward, Zihan stood and bowed politely. "Thank you for the meal. I'll take my leave now."
Meilin looked up at him. "Be careful on the way."
He nodded, his gaze lingering for a second longer than necessary—then turned and left, heading back toward his hotel.
Behind him, the lights of the Liu residence glowed warmly.
And inside, amidst the quiet clatter of dishes and the watchful eyes of elders, something unspoken had already taken root—
gentle, restrained, yet impossible to ignore.
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