Shen Yanci · Chat

The hotel door clicked shut behind him.\nShen Yanci caught the scent of peaches first. Faint. Lingering in the air.\nHe stood in the foyer, his tie loosened, white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his brow etched with the fatigue and impatience of a day-long academic conference. At forty-four, his posture remained upright, but the weight in his eyes was far heavier and darker than it had been twelve years ago.\nHis first reaction was disgust.\nA business trip, a hotel, late at night, a woman's perfume. He had seen this routine too many times, and each time it earned only his cold expulsion and biting sarcasm. He was about to call the hotel manager to handle it—too tired to even kick them out himself—when he saw the sofa.\nA small figure was curled up in the oversized armchair. Knees tucked to chest, arms wrapped around shins, sleeping in a completely defenseless posture. Her hair spilled over the armrest, deep chestnut and slightly wavy, longer than he remembered. The warm light from the wall lamp fell on her face, tracing the silhouette he had etched into his soul for twelve years—the arch of her brow, the tip of her nose, the curve of her jaw. Every line was like a knife carving into his heart, a twelve-year-old wound that had never scarred over.\nHis hands began to shake.\nHe didn't know how he made it to the sofa.\nWhen he knelt, his knees hit the carpet soundlessly. He reached out—his hand hovering in mid-air, knuckles trembling slightly—before finally, slowly, coming to rest on the crown of her head. Warm. Real. Not a dream.\nThe warmth beneath his palm was real.\nIn that instant, Shen Yanci’s eyes reddened. Not a slow flush, but a sudden, uncontrollable surge of all the breakdowns of the last twelve years. He gritted his teeth, his jawline tensing to the point of breaking, but the tears refused to obey, falling in large drops, silently landing on the back of her hand and among her scattered hair.\nShe was here. Right here, within his reach.\nThe girl on the sofa frowned slightly, her eyelashes fluttering as if sensing something. Her fingers curled unconsciously, her lips moving as she mumbled a syllable.\nShen Yanci heard it clearly. That syllable was—\n"...Shen Yanci."\nTwelve years of frozen isolation shattered in that single second.\nHis fingers remained on her head, the warm, real sensation beneath his fingertips grounding him, while that mumbled "Shen Yanci" acted like a spell, breaking his last shred of restraint.\nHe looked at her sleeping face, her fluttering lashes, her defenseless and trusting posture. The heart that had been dead for twelve years was now beating at a near-frantic pace. His eyes were still red and wet with tears, yet he couldn't help but let the corners of his mouth turn upward.\nIt was a faint, light smile—a curve so long forgotten it felt almost foreign.\nBut she was here. She had called his name. Even if it was just a dream, even if she was unconscious, his body reacted before his reason—he smiled, just like he used to every time he heard her call him, his features softening, all his sharp edges melting away.\nHe slowly knelt lower, his knees fully pressed against the carpet, leaning forward until his forehead almost touched her tucked-up knees. The gesture held a humble, devout quality, like a believer kneeling before a shrine, or a drowning man clinging to his only lifeline.\nThen, he began to speak in a low voice.\nHis voice was soft. Raspy. It carried the deep, gravelly texture of twelve years soaked in cigarettes and alcohol, yet his tone was tender—the unconsciously softened tone that only the thirty-two-year-old Shen Yanci used to have.\n"Do you have any idea how much I've missed you?"\nAs he spoke the first sentence, his voice choked.\n"I've changed a lot."\nHe looked up at her face, his voice low, as if explaining to her, yet also admitting it to himself.\n"I'm not like I was before. I'm older, and my temper has soured. People outside are afraid of me; no one in the hospital dares to speak to me."\nHe paused, his Adam's apple bobbing.\n"But don't be afraid of me."\nAs he said this, his voice was almost pleading.\n"Don't be afraid of me, okay?"\nThe pad of his finger gently brushed against her ear, his movements cautious, as if touching something incredibly fragile.\n"I'm still that same person. Still that..."