Chapter 280: Mountain Light and Vignettes

Runze’s POV

Morning light pours through the floor-to-ceiling glass of the villa bedroom, painting the white linen sheets in warm gold.

Bael is still asleep beside me, one arm draped lazily over my waist, his dark hair messy against the pillow, looking completely undone and relaxed in a way the city never gets to see.

I slip out from beneath his arm as quietly as I can, taking a quick shower before heading into the dressing room.

When I brought our bags, I made sure not to pack a single formal suit for Bael. He spends almost his entire life wrapped in dark double-breasted jackets and precise ties; today is about letting him just be a man enjoying a weekend with his family.

I lay out the outfits on the lounge chair. For Bael, a soft, stone-gray textured knit sweater paired with tailored charcoal trousers—casual, but sharp enough to suit his height and broad frame effortlessly. For myself, a clean, cream-colored cashmere top paired with well-fitted indigo denim jeans.

And for Siying, I pull out a tiny pastel knit dress with delicate ruffles around the shoulders and small matching booties that my Feifei gave me when they came to visit.

By the time I finish dressing Siying on the daybed, Bael is awake, leaning against the doorframe in his sleep pants, running a hand through his rumpled hair as he watches us.

"What’s all this?" he asks, his voice thick with sleep as his eyes sweep over the laid-out clothes.

"Your dress code for the day," I say, giving Siying’s small dress a light smoothing touch before looking up at him with a grin. "No suits allowed on mountain grounds."

Bael raises an eyebrow, stepping closer to inspect the sweater. "You packed my clothes?"

"I curated them," I correct him, standing up to hand him the knit top. "Go change. We’re taking pictures today."

He lets out a low, amused huff, but takes the sweater without argument. When he comes out ten minutes later, adjusted and put-together, the look is striking. Without the sharp, rigid structure of his usual corporate wear, the soft texture of the knit softens his sharp jawline while highlighting the breadth of his shoulders. He looks modern, relaxed, and incredibly handsome.

"Well?" Bael asks, adjusting his cuffs with a slight, hesitant tug. "Does it meet your standards?"

I step close, reaching up to smooth down the back of his collar, letting my hand linger against his neck. "You look stunning, Bael."

A faintly self-conscious smile touches his expression before he tilts his head down and presses a swift, lingering kiss to my temple. "Let’s go eat before you decide to change my shoes too."

We take breakfast out on the private glass terrace overlooking the deep bamboo valley. The villa staff has set up a rich, vibrant morning spread featuring the mountain’s finest local delicacies—steaming bowls of slow-simmered wild pine-mushroom porridge topped with braised abalone, delicate hand-folded dumplings stuffed with fresh river shrimp and winter bamboo shoots, crisp slices of sweet mountain melon, and fragrant osmanthus-infused white tea brewed from the morning’s fresh mountain spring water.

Siying sits comfortably in her portable bassinet beside our table, her bright eyes wide as she tracks the movement of leaves in the morning breeze, letting out quiet, satisfied coos while Bael feeds me bites of a warm lotus-paste bun across the table.

Once breakfast is cleared, I grab my phone, pack Siying securely into her front chest-carrier against my chest, and lead Bael out toward the villa’s private stone trail that winds down into the bamboo forest.

Liang Feng is near the courtyard entrance, standing straight in his neat jacket. He steps forward when he sees us coming, his professional posture instantly snapping into place.

"Good morning, Master Bael, Young Master Runze," Liang Feng says politely. "The weather is clear for your walk down to the tea groves. Please let me know if you need anything brought down from the villa."

"Liang Feng," I interrupt smoothly, stepping up to him with a bright smile and holding out my phone. "We don’t need anything brought down, we need a photographer. You’re on camera duty for the next hour."

Liang Feng blinks, his stoic, professional composure faltering for a split second as he looks between my phone and Bael. "Photographer, Young Master?"

"Yes," I say, placing the phone firmly into his hands. "We need family photos along the trail. Just press the shutter button when I tell you."

Liang Feng looks down at the phone as if I’ve handed him a confidential contract, holding it with rigid, overly careful fingers. He glances at Bael for confirmation.

Bael merely gives him a quiet, amused nod. "Do as he says, Liang Feng. Treat it as a high-priority assignment."

"Understood, sir," Liang Feng says, taking a small, surprisingly formal step back as he frames the screen.

We start walking down the stone path where tall, ancient bamboo pillars arch overhead, filtering the sunlight into soft green beams.

"Okay, Liang Feng, take one here!" I call out, turning back to Bael.

I pull Bael by his sleeve until he’s standing beside me under the bamboo canopy. Bael hesitates for a second, standing somewhat straight, but I roll my eyes playfully, wrapping one arm around his waist and leaning my head against his shoulder while Siying slumbers peacefully against my chest.

"Relax your shoulders, birthday boy," I mutter under my breath.

Bael lets out a soft chuckle, his arm sliding around my shoulders and pulling me against his side. His gaze softens completely as he looks down at me and Siying.

Click. Click.

"Got it, Young Master," Liang Feng announces, adjusting his position on the path with intense, focused precision.

I walk over to check the screen. The shot is perfect, the contrast of the bamboo background, Bael’s relaxed posture, and the quiet, radiant warmth between us looks effortless.

"These are amazing," I tell Liang Feng, showing Bael the screen. "See? I told you you looked good in that sweater."

Bael looks at the photo for a long moment, his eyes lingering on the way his arm is wrapped tightly around us. "Keep that one," he says quietly.

We continue down the winding trail until the path opens up to a sunlit, terraced hill overlooking a small, private mountain tea garden operated by local master growers. The air smells sharply of fresh earth and young tea leaves.

Instead of just observing from the lookout point, I tug Bael toward the small wooden pavilion where an elderly man is sorting through freshly harvested white tea buds.

"Ah, visitors," the old master greets us warmly, bowing slightly as he notices Siying. "Welcome. Would you like to sample the autumn harvest?"

"We would love to," I say, sitting down on the low wooden bench and nudging Bael to sit beside me.

For the next hour, we participate in a private tea-tasting session. The old master brews several steepings of silver needle white tea in delicate gaiwans, explaining the subtle shifts in aroma and clarity based on which side of the mountain hill the leaves were picked from.

Bael, who usually drinks tea as a formal habit during corporate negotiations, finds himself genuinely drawn into the process. He holds the small cup to his nose, inhaling the floral steam before taking a slow sip.

"The flavor on the second steeping is cleaner," Bael observes thoughtfully, his sharp analytical mind kicking in naturally, though his posture remains relaxed. "It has a sweeter finish than the teas we source for the estate’s main reception halls."

"That is because this hillside gets the morning mist directly from the river, sir," the old master explains with a proud smile.

I look at Bael, leaning my shoulder against his. "We should order a supply of this leaf for the estate."

Bael turns to look at me, a soft, knowing flicker in his dark eyes. "For the main house?"

"No," I smile, tilting my head slightly. "For the glass tea library on the hill. We’ll keep a canister there specifically for afternoons like this."

Bael’s expression softens instantly. He reaches beneath the low tea table, his hand finding mine and weaving our fingers together, squeezing firmly.

"Then we will take the entire batch from this harvest," Bael tells the master smoothly.

I laugh softly, shaking my head. "You don’t need to buy out the entire harvest, Bael."

"I want to make sure we don’t run out," he answers simply, bringing my hand up to his lips and pressing a quiet, lingering kiss against my knuckles right there in the warm sunlight of the mountain pavilion.

Liang Feng, standing a respectful distance away near the entrance of the garden, discreetly lifts the phone and catches the moment—the bright mountain light framing the three of us, completely peaceful, completely together.