546: Chapter 541 Is all of this a coincidence?

He was not wearing a suit, but rather a well-tailored pair of gray casual trousers paired with a soft white shirt.

His wrist was bare, and the entire person looked like a scholar from a well-off family.

In his hand, he held the book that Wu Ya had painstakingly sourced overnight from an antique bookstore—The Lost Imprints of Florence.

The pages of the book were yellowed, emitting a faint scent of ink and the flavor of time.

Inside the nursing home, it was so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat.

The air was filled with a faint, mixed aroma of disinfectant and blooming flowers.

Following the information Wu Ya provided, he first visited the elderly man he was supposedly 'sponsoring'.

The old man had no idea who he was, only assuming he was a volunteer sent by a charity organization.

Shen Yan spent half an hour chatting with him, inquiring about his health and listening to him recount stories from his youth.

Every detail was executed flawlessly.

Even if He Wanqing sent people to investigate, they would only arrive at one conclusion:

Mr. Shen, a low-key benefactor.

Three o'clock in the afternoon.

Shen Yan timed his arrival precisely at the glass conservatory of the nursing home.

This was the place where He Wanqing would inevitably spend some time alone after visiting her grandmother.

She needed a space to process the strength she had forced herself to maintain while accompanying her relative.

As expected.

Less than five minutes after he sat down on a bench, a slender figure walked in.

He Wanqing was wearing a plain-colored dress, without makeup, her hair simply tied back.

A trace of fatigue was etched on her face, and her eyes held an unconcealable sorrow.

She seemed not to notice the other person in the conservatory, walking straight to a cluster of blooming white camellias, standing still, motionless.

Like a melancholic sculpture.

Shen Yan did not approach immediately.

He was waiting for an opportunity.

A moment that would not make her feel violated, yet allow for a natural opening to conversation.

He opened the book in his hand, his gaze fixed on the pages, but his peripheral vision remained locked on that figure.

A slight breeze drifted through the conservatory's ventilation window.

It ruffled a few strands of He Wanqing's hair.

It also flipped the page of the book in Shen Yan's hand.

With a rustle.

An old photograph tucked inside the book was caught by the wind and floated gently to the ground.

It landed precisely by He Wanqing's feet.

The moment had arrived.

Shen Yan stood up and walked over with a perfectly calibrated hint of apology.

"Excuse me, that's mine."

His voice was gentle, without any trace of aggression.

He Wanqing was startled by the sudden sound. She lowered her head and saw the photograph by her feet.

It was a black-and-white picture of a young craftsman intently carving a ring in front of an ancient vise.

She bent down and picked up the photo.

Her gaze lingered on the picture for a moment.

The craftsman's eyes in the photograph evoked a long-lost sense of familiarity within her.

It was the piety toward skill and the passion for creation.

She handed the photo back to Shen Yan, her eyes holding a hint of scrutiny and caution.

"Sir, may I ask who you are?"

The upper-class circle in Hong Kong City was not large; she had never seen this face before.

"My surname is Shen."

Shen Yan took the photo back and thanked her with a smile.

"I am here to visit an elder."

He offered no further explanation, appearing to be just an ordinary visitor.

He Wanqing nodded, not pressing further.

She turned, preparing to leave.

She habitually maintained distance from strangers.

"You seem quite interested in this photograph?"

Shen Yan asked casually the moment she turned away.

He Wanqing paused in her steps.

She turned her head to look at Shen Yan.

"The person in the photo is my grandfather."

Shen Yan's tone was calm, as if recounting a story unrelated to himself.

"He was also a jewelry craftsman when he was young."

He Wanqing's expression shifted.

The icy shell enveloping her showed a slight crack.

"He spent his entire life dealing with gold and silver, but he always said the most precious things were not the materials, but the human heart and the craftsmanship."

Shen Yan gently stroked the old photograph, a genuine sense of nostalgia surfacing in his eyes.

This photo was real.

He had asked Wu Ya to find it from the old photo albums at the Shen family home.

The person in the photo was indeed his grandfather.

However, his grandfather was not a jewelry craftsman, but a carpenter.

But the focus and spirit belonging to a craftsman were the same.

"It's a pity that very few people understand this now."

He Wanqing's voice was soft, carrying a barely perceptible sense of loss.

"In this era of fast consumption, everything prioritizes efficiency and cost."

"Craftsmanship has become the least valuable thing."

Hidden within her words was a deep unwillingness regarding the impending decline of her family's brand.

"No."

Shen Yan shook his head.

"Craftsmanship will never be worthless; it's just that fewer people understand it."

He turned the book in his hand so the cover faced He Wanqing.

"When a skill is forgotten, its value, conversely, becomes priceless."

The Lost Imprints of Florence.

He Wanqing's gaze was firmly captured by the book title.

She knew this book.

It was one of the most authoritative yet obscure works studying the goldsmithing techniques of the Renaissance period.

She had searched for a long time, only ever seeing photocopies in library archives.

A person who would read such a book, a person who also had a craftsman for a grandfather, a person who would appear here on a Friday afternoon to visit an elder.

All these elements combined caused the wariness in her heart to dissipate by more than half unconsciously.

"You... also like this?"

She asked tentatively.

"Rather than liking it, I revere it."

Shen Yan closed the book.

"My grandfather often said that every piece polished with care has a soul."

"My maternal grandfather said the exact same thing."

He Wanqing blurted out.

After speaking, she realized she might have revealed too much.

She never easily exposed her innermost thoughts to outsiders.

"It seems we were both nurtured by the older generation of artisans."

Shen Yan smiled, his smile gentle and sincere.

He did not press her about her maternal grandfather, nor did he try to force closeness.

He simply withdrew the topic at the perfect moment.

"It's getting late; I should take my leave. I hope I haven't disturbed you."

He nodded slightly, polite yet distant.

Then, he turned and left decisively.

Without another word, without leaving any contact information.

Like a gentle breeze that had come and gone.

He Wanqing stood rooted to the spot, watching his receding figure disappear through the conservatory door, lost in thought.

She lowered her head to look at the cluster of camellias.

For some reason, a heavy stone that had been pressing down on her heart for a long time seemed to have its corner nudged.

This man surnamed Shen was very special.

He lacked the stench of quick profit-seeking that permeated the merchants of Hong Kong City.

His gaze was as calm as deep water.

He understood her.

Even more so than the so-called relatives around her, he understood the persistence and arrogance deep within her heart.

Was all of this coincidence?