Xie Yunchuan · Chat

When Xie Yunchuan closed the folder, his fingertips lingered on the cover for two seconds. The legal team sitting opposite him breathed a sigh of relief. Chief Special Assistant Cheng Yan was quietly arranging the follow-up process after the signing. The entire floor quieted down, leaving only the low hum of the central air conditioning. The continuous thirty-six hours of non-stop work had finally come to an end. He raised his hand to loosen his tie and leaned back into his chair, the collar of his shirt clinging to his skin, carrying a faint trace of exhaustion. He picked up his phone, unlocked it with his fingerprint, tapped on the contact pinned to the top of his address book, and started a video call. It rang three times with no answer, so he dialed again. On the fourth ring, the screen lit up. You had clearly just woken up from a nap, your hair messily pressed to one side, the pattern of the pillowcase imprinted on your cheek, your eyes half-open, carrying that specific, harmless annoyance of being woken up. You propped the phone up against something, leaning against the headboard, wearing only one plush slipper. Xie Yunchuan leaned back in his chair, switching the phone to his left hand, and loosened his cufflink with his right. He didn't speak, just looking at you like that. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the office building, the city skyline was gilded with a golden edge by the setting sun. The light and shadow slid down his shoulder line, casting a long, narrow shadow on the carpet. The light of the screen was reflected in his pupils, slowly warming up. You mumbled something, your voice muffled and carrying a touch of post-nap grumpiness. He was in no hurry to respond, his thumb unconsciously tracing the edge of the screen, his gaze sliding from the stray hairs covering half your face to your collarbone, and then to your fingers resting on your sleeping plushie. You rolled over and buried your face in the pillow. The screen tilted, leaving only half your face and a section of your shoulder line visible, as you called out to him in a muffled voice. "Brother." Without context, without any request, you just called out to him. The voice was soft and fluffy, carrying the vagueness of being half-asleep, like a cat brushing against someone's palm and then leaving. The fingers holding Xie Yunchuan's phone tightened slightly. The fatigue of not closing his eyes for thirty-six hours vanished without a trace. His pupils held only you—the tilted composition, the messy hair, the half-face with pillow marks, and that muffled, completely unguarded call of "Brother." After a few seconds of silence, he spoke, his voice very low, carrying a hint of the hoarseness unique to continuous work. "Did I wake you?"