I'm sorry, but your fiancé loves me.

Qin Qihan heard his own heart pounding in his ears like a drum, clutching his phone:

"Then I should go back to China right away."

Then he heard Yun Muqian sigh softly. "Qin Qihan, listen to me. You're lying in a hospital bed right now. The doctor said you need to rest. I'll talk to you about how you got back."

She cares about him; she still cares about him.

"It's none of your business how I answer." His voice was forced from deep in his throat, hoarse and low. "Tell me where you are, where you live, your old house or the new place you found. Tell me, and I'll tell you right now—"

She hung up the phone.

With a soft click, Qin Qihan maintained his position holding the phone, listening to the monotonous and rhythmic sound.

The assistant cautiously approached: "Mr. Qin... please reinsert the needle."

Qin Qihan took the phone away from his ear, stared at the familiar number on the screen for two seconds, then turned off the screen and gripped the phone tightly in his palm. "Back home."

The assistant's face turned pale instantly.

"Mr. Qin, the doctor said you need to be observed for at least five days."

"Go back to China." Qin Qihan looked up at him. All the madness and loss of control in his eyes had subsided, replaced by a deep, almost icy calm: "If you don't arrange things for me, someone else will. Then you won't need to come back."

The assistant stood there, his lips trembling slightly, before finally turning and leaving.

Qin Qihan returned to China in the early hours of the morning.

When the plane landed, it was still dark. The airport lights shone a stark white on the tiled floor of the arrival hall. He was wearing the same hospital gown he had worn yesterday, with a black down jacket that his assistant had casually bought over it.

The gauze on her forehead had been replaced with a new one, but a faint pinkish tinge was still visible underneath.

His face was as white as paper, his lips were almost completely drained of color, and there was a dark circle under his eyes. He got into the car waiting at the arrival gate and gave an address.

The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror, wondering what was wrong with his boss, Mr. Qin, but didn't dare to ask any questions and stepped on the gas.

The car drove through the empty streets in the early morning and arrived at the upscale apartment where Yun Muqian lived.

When Qin Qihan arrived downstairs, it was already mostly daylight. He stood at the entrance and looked up at the window. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in a warm yellow light, so there shouldn't be any other men inside.

He knocked on the door, and footsteps soon came from inside. The door opened a crack, and Yun Muqian's face appeared behind the crack.

She wore a loose silk robe, her hair was casually gathered at the back of her head and tied into a loose bun, and a white face mask was on her face, only revealing the outline of her eyes, nostrils and mouth.

Her hand rested on the doorknob, her nails painted a fresh, bright red. The moment she saw him, her eyes widened slightly, as if she hadn't expected him to actually be there.

But that expression lasted for less than a second. Then her gaze slid from the gauze on his forehead to his pale lips, and then to the exposed collar of his hospital gown beneath his down jacket. The corners of her mouth curved into a smile.

"Oh," she said, her voice muffled through the face mask, "you actually came back."

Qin Qihan stood at the doorway, a dull ache emanating from beneath the gauze on his forehead, his temple throbbing as if something was pushing against him. He moved his throat as if to say something, but no sound came out.

Seeing that he didn't speak, Yun Muqian tilted her head, gesturing for him to come in. "Come in first, don't just stand there."

She turned and walked inside, sat down in front of the sofa in the living room, peeled off her face mask, folded it up and threw it into the trash can next to the coffee table, then looked up at him.

"Have you eaten?" she asked, her tone as casual as if greeting a casual friend visiting. "I have some frozen dumplings in my fridge, want me to cook you a few?"

Qin Qihan stood at the junction between the entrance hall and the living room, wearing the airport slippers he hadn't had time to change out of. In front of him was her relaxed figure nestled on the sofa. He stood there, his heart aching.

"You..." His voice was terribly hoarse, "Aren't you going to ask me... how I'm feeling?"

Yun Muqian leaned back on the sofa, tilting her head to look at him. "I asked, I asked if you were really back. But you didn't answer."

"You!" His voice suddenly choked, and his eyes reddened instantly. "When I woke up in the hospital, you weren't there. I called you more than a dozen times, but you didn't answer."

He got up, took a plane back, stood at her door and knocked. When she opened the door, she had a face mask on and new nail polish on.

This woman is truly heartless.

Yun Muqian shrugged slightly: "You can't blame me for that."

Qin Qihan's voice suddenly lowered, becoming almost a whisper:

"Yun Muqian, I fucking like you...do you even know that?"

The thin layer of moisture in his eyes finally gathered into a single drop, which slid down the corner of his eye. He didn't raise his hand to wipe it away, but Yun Muqian couldn't bear to watch any longer.

Why are you crying?

He took a few steps forward, stumbling and scrambling, his knees nearly hitting the edge of the coffee table. Then he lunged at her, kneeling on the floor in front of her, resting his forehead on her shoulder, and wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her tightly.

His body was trembling, and tears were streaming down his face. He wasn't sad about how Yun Muqian treated him; he was crying because he was afraid that she really didn't like him anymore.

"Qin Qihan, get up."

He didn't move, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder, his voice muffled as he said, "Let me hold you for a little while... just a little while."

"Don't cry," she said, a hint of helplessness finally softening in her voice, as she gently ran her fingers through his hair.

Qin Qihan sniffed, looked up at her, his lips slightly parted, as if he had been crying too hard and couldn't breathe:

"Do you find me annoying?"

"It's quite annoying."

Qin Qihan's eyes darkened for a moment, and the hand around her waist loosened its grip slightly.

"But," she paused, "you shielded me from an avalanche, flew for hours to see me... if I told you to get lost right now, I wouldn't be a good person either."

Qin Qihan's eyes suddenly lit up, and he buried his face back in her shoulder.

Then he heard Yun Muqian's voice coming from above him, so calm it sounded like a casual remark: "But it's not really appropriate for you to be staying in the home of a single, unmarried woman like me."

Qin Qihan slowly lifted his head from her shoulder, his eyes still red, with undried tears hanging on his eyelashes, and the tip of his nose was also red. He looked disheveled and vulnerable.

He looked at her, his brows furrowing slightly, as if trying to understand the meaning of her words, or as if waiting for her to follow up with "just kidding" or "just teasing you."

But Yun Muqian didn't laugh. She looked down at him and said, "I live alone now. I don't have a boyfriend or a roommate. If word gets out that you're staying here, what will people think?"

Qin Qihan knelt on the floor in front of her, looking up at her. The morning light shone through the gap in the curtains, casting a line of light and shadow on his face. His expression slowly changed from vulnerability and attachment to a confused and slightly hurt look.

"You want me... to go back?" he asked, his voice so soft it was as if he was afraid of mishearing the answer.

Yun Muqian gazed at him and nodded frankly and generously.

Who is really going to play the good guy?