Chapter 130 That's Your Heartbeat

"That is your heartbeat."

Liu Ruyan lowered her head, listened for a moment, and then looked up at him. In a serious tone that didn't sound like she was joking, she said, "Chen Yan, your heartbeat is saying that not a single word you just said was true."

Chen Yan opened his mouth, wanting to argue, but the residual warmth from where her forehead had rested against his chest remained. That warmth acted like a key, locking away all the prepared words he had.

"I..." he started, his voice raspier than he had expected.

Liu Ruyan didn't wait for him to finish. She stood on her tiptoes and left a kiss at the corner of his mouth, as light as the brush of a feather. Then she retreated quickly, stepping two paces back. She tucked her hands into the sleeves of her turtleneck sweater and hunched her shoulders, looking like a cat that had stolen a fish and was afraid of being caught.

"Fine," she said, her voice carrying a forced calm that trembled slightly. "Let's just say I said it first. You're not losing out anyway."

Chen Yan stood rooted to the spot, the warmth of her lips still lingering at the corner of his mouth—cool, with the faint taste of black tea and lemon.

"You..."

"Me what?" Liu Ruyan turned around and walked quickly out of the kitchen, her footsteps making sharp sounds on the wooden floor of the hallway. "I'm going to change. Make yourself at home. The guest room is the same one as before; the sheets were changed yesterday."

Her voice grew more distant, finally disappearing around the corner at the end of the hallway.

Chen Yan stood in the kitchen, the copper pendant light above the island still humming. He reached up to touch the corner of his mouth and then suddenly laughed.

It wasn't the kind of laugh from being amused; it was the kind where he didn't even understand why he was laughing, but he simply couldn't control it.

He laughed for about five seconds before realizing a problem.

Liu Ruyan had just said, "Let's just say I said it first." This meant she had taken the credit for saying "I like you" onto herself. From now on, in this unspoken but already commenced game, she had conceded to being the one who fell first.

In the business world, the one who falls first loses.

But in a relationship, the one who falls first is the brave one.

Chen Yan turned off the kitchen light and walked into the hallway, where he ran into the nanny who had served the tea earlier. Seeing him, the nanny gave a slight bow, her gaze containing a quiet scrutiny—not an offensive one, but more like someone who had been in this household for many years confirming something with her own eyes.

"Young Master-in-law, the guest room has been prepared. You'll need to let the hot water run for a bit in the bathroom; the plumbing in this building is a bit old."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," the nanny said, turning to leave. After a couple of steps, she looked back. "Oh, by the way, Miss Liu said that if you get hungry at night, there are wontons in the fridge. They were made this afternoon, shepherd's purse and pork filling."

Chen Yan was stunned for a moment.

Made this afternoon.

This afternoon, while he was sitting in the studio with Su Muxue, Liu Ruyan was at the manor, having someone prepare shepherd's purse and pork wontons.

How did she know he liked shepherd's purse and pork filling?

He had never said anything.

Never once.

He stood in the hallway, watching the nanny's back disappear at the end of the corridor, then slowly walked to the guest room door and pushed it open.

The guest room wasn't large, but it was kept very clean. A warm yellow lamp sat on the small bedside table. Next to the lamp was a glass of water, with a note pressed underneath it.

He walked over and picked up the note.

On the note was Liu Ruyan's handwriting. The strokes were as sharp as if carved by a knife, but every word was written with great care, as if she were afraid that if she wrote too sloppily, the other person might misread it.

"The water is cool. Drink it if you get thirsty at night. Don't drink the ice water from the fridge; it's bad for your stomach."

Chen Yan read the note twice, folded it, and put it in his trouser pocket.

He picked up the glass of water and took a sip. It was indeed cool, not icy—the kind of cool that was just right for drinking, with a hint of sweetness. It was as if it had been boiled and then left to cool for the perfect amount of time, reaching exactly this temperature at the moment she calculated he would be thirsty.

He set down the glass, sat on the edge of the bed for a while, then stood up and walked to the window to draw the curtains.

Outside the window was the manor's backyard. Several ground lights illuminated the lawn like a piece of dark green velvet. At the edge of the lawn was a row of camphor trees, their canopies swaying gently in the night breeze, making a rustling sound. Further away were the city lights of Shanghai City, coloring half the sky in a warm orange.

His phone vibrated.

He took it out and saw it was a message from Liu Ruyan.

"The heating in the guest room is a bit high; you can open the window. But don't open it too wide; when the wind is strong, the window might close on its own. Don't get your hand pinched."

Chen Yan stared at this message for five seconds. He typed a few words and then deleted them, repeating this three times before finally replying with just one word.

"Okay."

Less than ten seconds after the message was sent, the other party's status changed to "typing..." This status lasted for nearly a minute, then disappeared without anything being sent.

After another ten seconds or so, "typing..." appeared again, then disappeared again.

This was repeated three or four times.

Chen Yan leaned against the windowsill, watching the recurring and disappearing "typing..." on his phone screen. He suddenly felt that this was more like a story than any script he had ever read.

A woman who was decisive and ruthless in the business world, who could make a tens-of-billions-of-dollars deal tremble with a single sentence in a boardroom, had been typing in a chat box for a minute without sending a single word.

He finally couldn't help but laugh out loud.

The laughter seemed a bit abrupt in the quiet guest room. He quickly stifled it, but the curve of his mouth wouldn't go away.

The phone vibrated again.

This time it wasn't a message, but a call.

Caller ID: Liu Ruyan.

He answered.

"Hello."

There was two seconds of silence on the other end, and then Liu Ruyan's voice came through. It was lower than usual, with a slightly husky quality unique to having just showered.

"What are you laughing at?"

"I'm not laughing."

"You laughed. I heard it."

Chen Yan didn't know how she could hear him laughing through the phone, but he had already learned not to ask Liu Ruyan "how do you know" questions. Because she always knew.

"Alright, I laughed," he said. "Because your 'typing...' status flashed for almost two minutes without a single word coming through."

There was another two seconds of silence on the other end.

"I was deliberating on the wording," Liu Ruyan said, her tone carrying a forced, serious dignity after being exposed. "I'm used to writing formal documents; even sending a message requires precise language."

"The wording on that note you wrote me was quite precise."

"...You saw the note?"

"I saw it. I drank the water, too. It was cool, not icy, just right for drinking."

A very soft sound came from the other end, like a sigh of relief. It was so soft it was almost inaudible, but Chen Yan heard it.

"That's good," Liu Ruyan said. "Go to sleep early. You have to go to the studio tomorrow."

"You too. You have to meet with securities firms and analysts tomorrow."

"Mm."

"Liu Ruyan."

"...Mm?"

"Goodnight."

The other end went quiet. It was a long silence, so long that Chen Yan thought she had hung up, but the call duration was still ticking on the screen.

"Goodnight," she finally said those two words. Her voice was much softer than before, so soft it was as if she were afraid the words might be too heavy and break something. "Chen Yan."

Then she hung up.

Chen Yan placed his phone on the bedside table, lay down on the bed, and turned off the lamp.

The guest room fell into darkness, with only the distant city lights outside seeping through the sheer curtains, casting a blurry play of light and shadow on the ceiling.

He closed his eyes, his mind spinning with a jumble of things—Qin Shi's anonymous email, negative reports in financial magazines, the analysts he had to meet tomorrow, the short drama scenes to be filmed the day after, Su Muxue saying "maybe someone doesn't want to just be your scenery," and that kiss on tiptoes from Liu Ruyan in the kitchen.

And that bowl of shepherd's purse and pork wontons.

He had never said he liked to eat them.

But she knew.

How did she know?

He rolled over in the darkness, pulling the quilt up to his chin, and smelled the clean, faint scent of lavender on the pillow.

The same scent as in Liu Ruyan's bedroom.

The same scent as on that cushion.

He closed his eyes and, amidst that scent, slowly drifted into sleep.

He didn't know how long it had been when he vaguely heard footsteps in the hallway.

Very light footsteps, so light it sounded like someone walking barefoot on the carpet. The footsteps passed his door, paused for a few seconds, and then continued forward, getting further and further away until they finally disappeared at the end of the hallway.

He rolled over without opening his eyes.

A very, very slight curve appeared at the corner of his mouth, one he wasn't even aware of.

The next morning, Chen Yan was woken up by his phone alarm.

Seven o'clock sharp.

He sat up and found that the glass on the bedside table had been replaced—it now held warm water, with faint steam rising from it. Next to the glass was a set of neatly folded clothes: a dark gray overcoat, black trousers, a white shirt, and even socks and underwear were prepared. Every item was folded as neatly as a display sample in a department store.

Another note was pressed on top of the clothes.

The same handwriting, the same sharpness mixed with earnestness.

"The clothes are newly bought; the tags are removed and they've been washed once. The ones you wore yesterday have been taken to the laundry and will be returned tonight. Breakfast is at 7:30 in the first-floor dining room. Don't be late."

Chen Yan picked up the note and read it twice.

Newly bought.

Washed once.

Tags removed.

He looked down at the sweater he had worn yesterday; there were still water stains on the cuffs from when he was washing dishes last night.

He suddenly felt that this woman's way of doing things was just like her—quiet and unassuming, yet every step landed perfectly on the mark. You'd think she hadn't done anything, but by the time you regained your senses, you'd find that everything had already been arranged.

After washing up, Chen Yan put on the new set of clothes. The shirt size was just right, the coat's shoulder width was just right, and the length of the trousers was just right. Every piece seemed to have been bought specifically for his build, without the slightest discrepancy.

He took a look at himself in the full-length mirror in the guest room and then frowned.

This wasn't right.

It was impossible for Liu Ruyan to know his measurements. She hadn't measured him, hadn't asked, and he didn't even remember ever taking off his coat in front of her.

Unless she had looked into it.

Either she asked Su Muxue—Su Muxue had helped him buy clothes before and knew his measurements.

Or she had measured him herself—while he was asleep.

He recalled the less than ten minutes he spent asleep on the sofa last night.

And the sound of those incredibly light, barefoot footsteps passing through the hallway.

Chen Yan stood before the mirror, silent for five seconds, before turning and walking out of the guest room.

In the first-floor dining room, Liu Ruyan was already seated at the table.

Today she wore a black suit jacket over a white silk shirt. Her hair was tied up, revealing the clear lines of her neck and a pair of simple pearl studs. She looked like a completely different person from the one in the kitchen last night—if last night was a blade sheathed, then today the blade was drawn, its edge glinting coldly in the morning light.

Before her sat a cup of black coffee and half a finished croissant. She held a tablet in her hand, reviewing some documents.

Hearing footsteps, she looked up at him.

Her gaze lingered on him for less than two seconds, scanning him from top to bottom, before retracting and falling back onto the tablet.

“Do the clothes fit?” she asked, her tone as flat as if she were asking if the weather was nice.

“They fit.” Chen Yan pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. “How did you know my size?”

Liu Ruyan's finger swiped across the tablet without her looking up.

“Guessed.”

“Guessed?”

“Mm. Visual estimation plus experiential judgment.” Her tone didn't fluctuate as she spoke, but Chen Yan noticed the index finger of the hand holding her coffee cup tap twice against the handle.

That was a small habit she only had when she was nervous.

“Experiential judgment?” Chen Yan took a sip of the warm water on the table. “Have you bought clothes for many people?”

Liu Ruyan finally looked up and glanced at him.

There was a hint of 'you're looking for death' in that look.

“No. I've only bought them for you,” she said, then returned her gaze to the tablet. “But before I came, I had my assistant look up the size charts for several brands you frequently wear.”

Chen Yan opened his mouth.

Having an assistant check brand size charts.

This meant that when she asked her assistant to check, the assistant knew she was buying clothes for a man. If the assistant knew, it meant the entire senior management of the Liu Group likely knew as well—the speed at which such gossip spreads is faster than any official document.

“Aren't you afraid of people gossiping?” Chen Yan asked.

Liu Ruyan took a bite of the croissant and chewed slowly, her eyes on the tablet. It took a few seconds before she answered.

“Let them talk.”

Those three words were spoken very softly, but they carried great weight.

Chen Yan didn't ask further.

Halfway through breakfast, Liu Ruyan's phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, her brow furrowing slightly, and answered.

“Speak.”

Whatever was said on the other end made her frown deepen, a shallow 'river' shape appearing between her brows.

“When did this happen?”

The caller said a few more things. She put down her croissant and picked up a napkin to wipe her fingers. Her movements were slow, so slow it seemed she was deliberately suppressing some emotion.

“I see. Have the legal department look at it first, then email it to me. I have a meeting this morning; I'll look at it after the meeting.”

She hung up and placed the phone face down on the table.

Chen Yan watched her without speaking.

Liu Ruyan took a sip of coffee, set it down, and fixed her gaze on the phone on the table as if looking at something she didn't quite like but had to face.

“Qin Shi has made his move,” she said, her voice flat, as if reading a weather report. “'Financial Weekly' was published this morning. The cover story is 'The Liu Family Equity Mystery: An Uncertain Future for a Business Empire.' Twelve full pages, co-signed by three reporters, one of whom is a subordinate of the deputy editor-in-chief Qin Shi met last night.”

The dining room was silent for two seconds.

Chen Yan put down his chopsticks and leaned forward slightly.

“The content?”

“We don't know the full picture yet,” Liu Ruyan said. “The magazine hasn't been fully distributed; the legal department got an early leaked electronic version. But apparently, the legal director's first reaction after reading it was—not a single word in this piece is false, yet not a single word is the whole truth.”

“Selective presentation.”

“Exactly.” Liu Ruyan looked at him, a 'you really do understand' light in her eyes. “They interviewed three former Liu Corporation executives, all from Liu Haoran's faction. They cited two financial reports, both from two years ago. They quoted four recordings from shareholder meetings, all taken from the single most controversial agenda item. All the facts are true, but when all the facts are put together, the picture they paint is false.”

Chen Yan leaned back in his chair, quickly arranging and combining this information in his mind.

“This is the first card,” he said.

“Yes.”

“He has more cards behind this.”

“Yes.”

Liu Ruyan stood up, walked around the table to the floor-to-ceiling window of the dining room, and stood with her back to him. The morning light shone in from outside, gilding her black suit jacket with a golden edge, but her figure looked a bit thinner than usual in the light.

“'Financial Weekly' is a monthly magazine with a small circulation, but its influence is concentrated in financial circles. He chose this platform not to inform the public, but to let those who need to know find out—investors, analysts, brokerage firms, banks. When these people see it, they will ask questions. When they ask, the Liu Corporation has to answer. When we answer, the topic will ferment. Once it ferments, the next card can be played with even greater impact.”

“So what do we do now?” Chen Yan asked.

“We do nothing.” Liu Ruyan turned around, backlit, her face hidden in the shadows, but every bit of sharpness in her voice was clearly audible. “As said in yesterday's meeting, we won't do what he expects us to do. The press release remains unchanged and will go out this afternoon. As for the meeting with the brokerage analysts, move it up to eleven o'clock; I'll go personally.”

“And me?”

“You go to the studio as usual,” Liu Ruyan said, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. “The progress of the short drama project cannot stop. The more Qin Shi wants to see the Liu Corporation in chaos, the less chaotic we can be. Everything being normal on your end is the best response.”

Chen Yan stood up and walked over to her.

In the backlight, her face wasn't very clear, but those eyes were still bright, startlingly so. It wasn't the warm brightness from the kitchen last night that carried the scent of pickled fish soup; it was a murderous brightness that came from finding a way out after being backed into a corner.

“Liu Ruyan,” he said.

“Mm.”

“The coffee in your hand spilled.”

Liu Ruyan looked down. The coffee cup in her right hand had tilted, and coffee was slowly trickling down the side of the cup, dripping onto the hem of her black suit jacket and spreading into a small dark stain on the fabric.

She stared at the stain for two seconds, then placed the coffee cup on the side cabinet. She pulled a pack of tissues from her pocket, took one out, and slowly wiped the hem.

Her movements were slow and meticulous, like cleaning a blade that had just seen blood.

“It's fine,” she said softly. “It'll come out.”

Watching her head bowed as she wiped the hem, Chen Yan suddenly thought of her bending over to pick up that crumpled paper in the kitchen last night—the same focus, the same quietness, the same stubbornness of 'no matter how small the matter, if it's in my hands, it must be handled properly.'

“Let me help you.” He reached out for the tissue in her hand.

She dodged.

“No need.” She looked up at him, the corners of her mouth curving into a very faint arc. “Go to the studio. Today is the first official day of filming; it wouldn't be appropriate for you, the screenwriter and producer, not to be there.”

Chen Yan looked at her, wanting to say something, but in the end, he said nothing.

He turned and walked out of the dining room, through the hallway, past the study where they had the meeting last night, past the conference room with the gray carpet, and through the door leading to the underground garage.

When he reached the door, he suddenly stopped.

“Liu Ruyan.” He turned back and called out toward the dining room.

“What is it now?” Her voice drifted out from the dining room, carrying a hint of impatience, but that impatience was fake; he could tell.

“That bowl of wontons—I'll come back to eat it tonight.”

The dining room was silent for two seconds.

Then her voice came through, much softer than before, so soft it was as if she feared it would be blown away by the wind.

“Okay. I'll save it for you.”

Chen Yan smiled, pushed open the door, and walked into the underground garage.