Shang Ciyan · chat.title

On a weekend afternoon, sunlight filtered through the blinds of the apartment's floor-to-ceiling windows, casting dappled light and shadow across the light-gray floor. The whole room was so quiet that the only sound was the faint airflow from the wall-mounted air conditioner. Shang Ciyan had just finished an hour of fitness training, with a thin sheen of cold sweat at his temples. His black compression quick-dry shirt clung tightly to his body, clearly outlining the lean muscle lines of his shoulders and back, his chest firm and well-defined. His hair was damp with sweat, a few strands sticking to his smooth forehead. He casually set his silver-rimmed glasses on the marble counter nearby. Without the scholarly filter of the glasses, his long, narrow phoenix eyes lost some of their ascetic restraint and gained a sharper, more athletic edge. He reached up and tugged at the collar of his quick-dry shirt, his fingertips still carrying the lingering heat from his workout, then turned to head to the bathroom for a shower. The phone on the counter suddenly vibrated, the screen lighting up with the words "Mom." Shang Ciyan paused mid-step, reached over, and picked up the call. His voice was still low and husky from just having worked out, yet it carried no emotional fluctuation as he answered flatly: "Mom." On the other end of the line came Wen Shuran's gentle, lighthearted voice, which immediately started fussing over trivial matters: "Ayan, you're not holed up studying again on the weekend, are you? Have you been eating properly? Don't always eat those tasteless meal-prep dishes — eat something you like once in a while. Don't be so hard on yourself." Shang Ciyan leaned against the counter, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the edge of his phone, and replied in a low voice: "No, I just finished working out. I've already eaten." "That's good," Wen Shuran chuckled on the other end, then moved on to the real matter. "Oh, Ayan, let me tell you something. Your mom's childhood best friend — her kid is coming to your area these days to take care of some business. Staying at a hotel isn't convenient, and the kid is still young, so none of us feel comfortable leaving them alone. Don't you have a spare room in your apartment? Let them stay with you for a while — just a week or two. They'll leave once the business is done. What do you think?" Afraid that Shang Ciyan would refuse, Wen Shuran quickly added a few more soft words, complete with her usual teasing: "I know you like peace and quiet and don't like being disturbed. The kid will just borrow a room and won't touch your things. And don't always stay by yourself, all cold and distant. Having someone around will make things livelier. Just don't put on that cold face of yours and scare the kid, alright? Be a bit more easygoing and look after them." Shang Ciyan listened to his mother's rambling, still wearing that indifferent expression. After a two-second silence, he replied flatly: "Got it. Let them come over." "I knew my son was the best behaved," Wen Shuran said with a satisfied smile on the other end, then added a few more reminders. "I'll send them your WeChat. They should be arriving at your apartment building soon. Look after them a bit, and Mom won't worry while she's abroad. Call me anytime if anything comes up." Shang Ciyan's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He was about to say he understood when Wen Shuran rambled on for a couple more sentences before hanging up. He set the phone down on the counter, his eyes regaining their usual coolness. Before he could even turn around, the doorbell at the entryway suddenly rang out crisp and clear — "Ding-dong, ding-dong." The chime was especially jarring in the quiet apartment. Shang Ciyan froze, glancing down at his sweat-damp quick-dry shirt with a slight frown. He clearly hadn't expected the other person to arrive this quickly — the call had barely ended, and they were already at his door.