Slow to mature after marriage

Yanhe International seems to be facing some turbulent times these past few days.

Bo Yan sat in the main seat, twirling a pen in his hand, listening to reports from his subordinates. Project progress, quarterly reports, next quarter's budget—he went through them one by one.

His face remained expressionless, except when someone called out the wrong number, he glanced up at it.

That one glance wasn't heavy, but the person reporting it felt a chill run down their spine.

After the meeting, Bo Yan returned to his office.

Wang Jin pushed open the door and came in, carrying a stack of documents. Just as he was about to speak, he heard Bo Yan ask a question.

Does your wife inform you when she goes on business trips?

Wang Jin was stunned for a moment.

"...Yes."

Bo Yan nodded and fell silent.

Wang Jin put down the documents in his hand and stood there, unsure whether to leave or stay.

Two seconds later, Bo Yan asked again.

"How did you report it?"

Wang Jin thought about it.

"I just... send a message saying where I am, where I'm staying, and roughly when I'll be back. Sometimes I'll call when I arrive."

Bo Yan leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the view outside the window.

"Did she send it on her own initiative?"

"Yes." Wang Jin nodded. "We've been married for so many years, we're used to it."

Bo Yan did not respond.

Wang Jin stood there, suddenly realizing why his boss's mood was so low today.

He carefully considered his words before speaking.

"Mr. Bo, perhaps your wife... forgot because she was busy?"

Bo Yan looked away and glanced at him.

"Forgot for three days?"

Wang Jin opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say.

He can't very well say that the original agreement stipulated that they were not close couples who would talk about feelings—it's unrealistic to expect your wife to report every detail of her itinerary, is it?

Bo Yan seemed to understand his hesitation, and that ambiguous light lingered in his eyes for a moment before disappearing completely.

He threw the pen on the table.

"Go."

-

Mu Siwan has indeed been busy these past three days.

The case in the neighboring city was more complicated than she had imagined. An unidentified body, preliminarily determined to have been dead for more than two weeks, and the scene was chaotic, with so many samples collected that they filled the table in the makeshift laboratory. She went there before dawn every day and didn't return to the hotel until it was completely dark, her hands never leaving those samples and reports except for meals and bathroom breaks.

She barely looked at her phone for three days.

She occasionally felt the vibration in her pocket, glanced at it, and saw it was a message from the work group. Her chat with Bo Yan remained stuck on the period; she didn't open it, nor did she think they had anything to say to each other.

On the afternoon of the third day, the case was finally closed. She got into the car and returned to Beijing, leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

-

Muyan Garden.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon when Mu Siwan opened the door. The living room was empty. Grace, curled up on the sofa armrest, raised its head at the sound and flicked its tongue. She went over, patted its head, went upstairs, and lay down on the bed.

She just wanted to lie down for a while.

When I opened my eyes again, the room was pitch black.

The curtains weren't drawn, and it was already pitch black outside. She stared at the ceiling for two seconds, her senses slowly returning—what time was it? How long had she slept?

She turned her head away.

In the dim light, she saw a figure standing at the door of the dressing room.

He wore a black suit with crisp shoulders and stood with his back to her. He raised his hand and slowly untied his tie from around his neck, hanging it on a rack to the side.

"Thin inkstone".

She took the initiative to speak, calling his name, her voice hoarse from just waking up.

The man slowly turned around.

In the darkness, his expression was obscured; all that could be seen was his slender silhouette leaning against the doorframe of the dressing room, arms crossed, in a relaxed posture.

"It's not easy."

He spoke slowly, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Miss Mu, do you still remember my name?"

Mu Siwan sensed something was off about his words and looked at him with suspicion.

"What's wrong with you?"

Bo Yan had no intention of keeping it to himself.

Trying to outmaneuver a human-machine interface will only drive you crazy in the end.

He walked over and stood by the bed, looking down at her. It was so dark that only her silhouette was visible, but the cold, distant feeling he exuded was exactly the same as when they first met.

"Miss Mu has to go on a business trip to Jinshi at the last minute," he paused, "and it turns out that I, as her husband, have no right to know."

Mu Siwan then realized what he was angry about.

"I left too early that day," she said. "I told Aunt Chen while you were still asleep. I asked her to pass on the message to you."

Bo Yan stared intently at her, uttering two words that were ambiguous.

"Pass on the message?"

"Yes." She nodded. "She said she told you."

He chuckled, but it was cold and uninspired.

"So, I'm not worthy of you saying it to me in person?"

The room was so dark that only their silhouettes could be seen. His gaze fell on her face, heavy and fixed, waiting for an answer.

Mu Siwan fell silent.

It's not that I'm not good enough for you.

only--

She did want to use this business trip to create some distance between the two of them, to ease the entanglement between them.

For the past three days, Mu Siwan hasn't checked her phone, replied to messages, or thought of him.

It's not because I'm busy.

It's because it's not quite right.

Those feelings of being out of control—the kiss on the door, the swaying water in the hot spring, and the rapid beating of his heart when he pulled her into his arms—none of them felt right.

Anything beyond the scope of the agreement made her instinctively want to back down.

She lowered her eyes.

"It's no different," she said. "The final result is the same anyway."

-

After that conversation, the two barely saw each other for the next week.

Bo Yan left early and returned late, only coming home after she had gone to bed. Occasionally, they had some precious time together in the evenings; Mu Siwan would sit in the living room painting while he went to his study to work.

The two of them, separated by that door, each did their own thing and did nothing to interfere with each other.

Maintain the initial distance.

Adults don't need to be so explicit.

Bo Yan understood what she meant by those words—she wanted to take a step back.

He really should back down.

I've been out of control for too long lately. Those inappropriate possessivenesses, those inexplicable irritability, and that night when I almost couldn't resist pulling her into my arms.

None of these are things that should be included in the agreement.

He sat in his study, twirling a pen in his hand, staring out the window.

Treat each other with respect.

This is what he has always wanted.

-

It's already the middle of the month again.

At the entrance of Chengyuan, Mu Siwan reached out and took Bo Yan's arm.

The movements were more natural than before, but still carried a certain deliberate trace—like a rehearsed play, with each step perfectly timed.

Bo Yan's large hand simultaneously wrapped around her waist.

My palm touched the skin beneath that small patch of fabric, and through the thin spring clothing, I could feel her body temperature.

He unconsciously stroked it gently.

Mu Siwan's body stiffened slightly.

The spot on my side that was touched suddenly started to feel numb.

Bo Yan knew—this was her sensitive spot.

Upon entering the hall, the old lady, oblivious to the subtle undercurrent between the two, greeted them as she came in.

"Come in quickly, it's cold outside."

Bo Yan's hand was still around her waist, he didn't let go.

Mu Siwan followed his steps inside. The spot on her side where he had touched felt like it had been burned, numb and tingling, and the numbness wouldn't go away.

She glanced at him sideways.

The man stared straight ahead, his face bearing his usual lazy expression, utterly indifferent.

Mu Siwan looked away.