Chapter 284: Domestic Grounds

*Runze’s POV*

By four in the afternoon, the last of the visitors had trickled out, leaving the studio quiet.

Bael had intentionally waited outside in his car until the street cleared. He knew that if the Chairman of Wuchen Group walked through the door during peak hours, the focus would instantly shift away from R.Z and onto corporate politics. He waited until the last potential client stepped out onto the sidewalk before coming inside himself, holding a simple wrap of fresh white lilies and eucalyptus.

Liang Feng and Meng Tai were the only ones left in the main room, finishing up the last of the packing boxes near the back shelf. The moment Bael set the flowers down on my desk, I stepped straight into his arms and stayed there for a long time.

He held me against him, his hands resting flat against my back, letting me lean my full weight against him until the lingering tension from the morning finally drained out of me. We stayed like that in the quiet room while Liang Feng and Meng Tai finished locking up the side storage.

The drive back to the estate was just as quiet. I rested my head against Bael’s shoulder the entire way, my fingers hooked loosely into his as I watched the city streetlights pass by the window. His presence was all I needed to recharge.

Now, sitting at the long dining table in the main house, that exhaustion is completely gone, replaced by the steady hum of home.

Recessed ceiling lights reflect off the dark polished rosewood table. Mrs. Wen stands near the sideboard, her hands clasped loosely in front of her apron as she oversees two younger maids setting out dinner.

The dishes arrive in a steady procession. A bowl of slow-braised pork belly glistening in dark soy glaze, surrounded by hard-boiled eggs that have soaked up the sauce. A platter of fresh river bass steamed with fine julienned ginger, scallions, and hot oil. Next to that sits a bowl of clear winter melon soup with tender pork ribs and goji berries, a plate of lotus root slices stir-fried with wood ear mushrooms, and a small dish of garlic-marinated cucumbers.

In the corner near the dining room doorway, Siying rests in her small bassinet. She is lying on her back, her little legs kicking against the soft padding as her hands reach up toward the small plush ring dangling from the toy arch above her head.

"Eat first," Grandmother says, setting her chopsticks down on her porcelain rest as the maids finish placing the final soup bowls. She sits at the head of the table, her posture upright. "You spent all day talking and standing on your feet, Runze. I can tell you haven’t had a proper meal since this morning."

"I had coffee," I say, picking up my chopsticks.

"Coffee isn’t food," Grandmother replies smoothly, her voice calm. "Eat some of the fish. Mrs. Wen had the kitchen source it fresh from the market this afternoon because she knew you would be tired."

Beside me, Bael fills a small bowl with clear melon broth and sets it beside my plate. He uses his clean serving chopsticks to select a piece of the steamed bass, placing it into my bowl before serving himself.

"He didn’t touch the pastries Ling Yue brought either," Bael says, a faint line curving his mouth. "Every time I looked over from the car or checked in with Liang Feng, he was either answering questions or taking notes."

"Did many people come?" Grandmother asks, picking up her tea cup.

"A few," I say, taking a bite of the tender fish. "An investor named Mr. Fu came by around eleven. He didn’t stay long, but he left a project brief on my desk."

"A project brief?" Grandmother asks, setting her tea cup down. "From an investor?"

"Yes," I say, setting my chopsticks against the bowl edge. "He was on the panel at the Dingshan presentation. It’s for a boutique library project, he wants an independent firm to handle the layout, and he expects my initial thoughts by Friday."

Grandmother sets her cup down without making a sound, letting her gaze rest on me. Beside her, Mrs. Wen offers a subtle smile before stepping back to adjust a serving spoon on the side tray.

"Private investors are rarely easy to satisfy," Grandmother says thoughtfully. "They do not look at personal stories or good intentions. They look at cost, efficiency, and whether a lead designer actually understands practical construction instead of just drawing attractive pictures."

"I know," I say. "He questioned my budget logic during the Dingshan panel months ago. I think he came to see if my firm could actually deliver what I claimed back then."

The challenge sits in the back of my mind, bringing a quiet, sharp stir of excitement. I know the work will be demanding, but it is exactly the kind of project I built my studio to handle.

"It is a good opportunity," Grandmother nods slowly. "But do not fall into the trap of taking every offer that comes through your door. Accepting every brief is not how a practice lasts. A young studio can get overwhelmed just as easily from taking on the wrong work as it can from having no work at all. Look at the terms first. If the project forces you to compromise your standards, walk away."

"I intend to look over the details tomorrow," I say. "If the framework does not make sense, I won’t take the contract."

Bael reaches over again, placing a piece of lotus root into my bowl. "He told Fu Zong he would have an answer by Friday without hesitation," Bael says, his tone even as his eyes meet mine. "He did not need any convincing."

Grandmother dips her head slightly. "Good. Confidence is necessary when you are running your own practice." She looks at Bael. "And what about your security detail? Did they stay out of the way?"

Bael takes a sip of water, unbothered by her question. "They stayed down the street. Liang Feng handled the front entrance. Though two municipal patrol cars stopped near the corner around noon."

I pause, looking over at him in surprise. "Patrol cars? I didn’t see any patrol cars."

"You were busy talking to a reporter," Bael replies smoothly, picking up his chopsticks. "Liang Feng handled it. The patrol cars were responding to a traffic complaint nearby. They didn’t interfere with the opening."

A small laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "You were watching the whole street from your car, weren’t you?"

"I was simply keeping track of the neighborhood," Bael says mildly.

Grandmother watches us with a quiet expression, her posture relaxed in a way that feels very different from the strict distance she kept during the early months of our marriage arrangement.

From the corner of the room, a sudden rustle of fabric breaks the quiet, followed by a sharp, tiny squeal. Siying has missed the hanging plush ring, her fist swinging wide as she lets out an impatient, bubbling noise that turns into a short whimpering cry.

"I’ll get her," I say, setting my napkin down and pushing my chair back.

I walk over to the bassinet and reach down. At two and a half months old, Siying isn’t a sleeping newborn anymore. Her beautiful eyes are wide open, tracking my movement instantly as I slide my hands under her arms and lift her up. She rests against my chest, her little legs kicking against my arm while her small fist clutches the lapel of my shirt.

I bring her back to the table, sitting down with her resting securely in my lap.

"Look at those eyes," Grandmother says, her thumb lightly brushing Siying’s soft cheek as I settle back into my seat. "She gets more alert every day. She insists on being where people are talking."

"Mm," I hum softly, adjusting the blanket around Siying’s shoulders as she blinks up at us. "She really does. Feifei was disappointed she missed her today, she came to the studio opening hoping to get some time with her."

"Feifei can come to the house," Grandmother says simply. "With so many strangers coming and going at the studio, it’s better for Siying to stay somewhere quiet and familiar. You were right to leave her here."

Siying turns her head slowly toward my voice, her eyes locking onto mine as her mouth opens in another small, enthusiastic bubble. Bael leans over sideways, extending one finger toward her. Siying’s little hand instantly clamps around his pinky with a firm, steady grip.

"She doesn’t let go easily," Bael remarks, his voice softening as he lets her hold his finger.

"She knows who is paying attention to her," Grandmother counters, her lips curving upward as she watches the baby.

I watch Bael let Siying hold his hand while Grandmother serves herself a spoonful of soup, and I take up my chopsticks again.

Outside the windows, the estate gardens are getting dark under the night sky. Inside, the room is quiet, settled, and completely grounded.

"Eat, Runze," Grandmother says, setting down her spoon and looking across at me. "You have done enough talking for one day."

"Yes, Grandmother," I say.

I take another bite of food, leaning slightly into Bael’s side as Siying burbles quietly in my lap, completely content to stay right where I am.