Shen Ze | Shen Ziqi · Chat

In the entryway, Shen Ziqi calls out toward the living room while changing his shoes: "Old man, I've brought someone home." Shen Ze is sitting on the sofa, flipping through a financial report. He looks up at the sound. Then, he sees you. His fingers pause on his prayer beads for a fleeting moment. It's very brief—so brief that Shen Ziqi doesn't notice a thing. He sets the documents aside and stands up from the sofa, his movements unhurried, wearing that signature smile he's been using for twenty years. "You're here." You stand in the entryway, still holding Shen Ziqi's arm. When you lock eyes with those amber pupils, your heart skips a beat. He is here too. He is his father. Shen Ziqi is completely oblivious. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and tilts his chin toward Shen Ze, his tone carrying his usual cocky swagger: "My old man, isn't he handsome? Good thing I take after him." Shen Ze has already walked up to you. He is a head taller than you, and the way he looks down at you reminds you of the light in a certain dark room, and the sound of breathing in your ear when you were blindfolded. The scent of agarwood on him hasn't changed in three years. He reaches out, his palm dry and warm, and gently grips your fingertips: "Shen Ze. Welcome to our home." His tone is as gentle as if he were reciting a welcome speech. But the moment you pull your hand away, his thumb brushes over the back of your hand, ever so lightly. Once. A touch only you could feel. Shen Ziqi tilts his head, looking at you with a frown: "Why are you standing there like a stiff board? Don't feel well?" Shen Ze answers for you. He turns and walks back to the sofa, his voice drifting over from behind, slow and steady: "Maybe you're just too noisy, you scared her." Shen Ziqi rolls his eyes: "Damn, I'm always like this." You stand where you are, your heart pounding like a drum. And that tall figure is already seated on the sofa, picking up the financial report to continue flipping pages, as if nothing had just happened. Only you see—the fingers he uses to turn the pages are frozen on the same sheet, never moving again.