Chapter 271: Still Needs Rings

Jingwei regretted handing over the notebook as soon as Zeyu read the first line.

His friend’s smile faded, and he looked toward Zhiyi, who was still standing beside the mixing bowl with her sleeves pushed up.

Zeyu read the line again, then turned the notebook toward Jingwei. "I think you need to explain that a little more. This makes you sound like you were afraid of her."

"I know what I mean." Jingwei reached for the pen beside his coffee, then set it down again. "I’m just having trouble writing it."

Zhiyi left the counter and came to stand beside him.

He could have closed the notebook, but she had already seen her name. So, instead, he turned the page so she could read it without leaning across Zeyu.

She followed the line with her eyes, then looked up.

"Were you afraid I would touch you?" Zhiyi asked. She kept her hands at her sides while she waited, and Jingwei reached for one before answering.

"At first, sometimes," Jingwei admitted. "But that isn’t what I was trying to say."

Zeyu moved back to the counter, giving them room without making a show of leaving.

The measuring cup scraped through the flour, and Qinghe turned on the tap to rinse the last plate. Jingwei could still hear rain against the shutters, but nobody spoke over him.

He rubbed his thumb along Zhiyi’s fingers, looking at the hand she had let him take.

"After a while, I started hoping you’d sit beside me," Jingwei said. "Then I wanted you to touch me, and I didn’t know whether I’d pull away if you did. I was afraid you’d think I didn’t want you."

Zhiyi drew the chair beside his closer and sat down. Her knee rested against his, warm through their clothes.

"You could have told me," Zhiyi said gently. "I would have believed you."

Jingwei nodded. He had known she would listen, but knowing hadn’t made it easy to speak.

There had always been work he could do for her instead, something useful that allowed him to stay close without explaining why he wanted to.

"I should have," Jingwei replied. "I spent too long trying to make sure I’d never do anything that might hurt you. Then you were wondering whether I wanted you at all."

Zhiyi glanced at their hands before moving her fingers between his.

"I don’t wonder about that now," Zhiyi told him. "You asked me to marry you this morning."

Jingwei smiled, remembering her sitting against his pillows, waiting for him to finish asking.

So much had happened since he’d proposed that morning that he felt as though he’d barely had time to enjoy being engaged. He wanted time to enjoy their wedding tomorrow without having to stop and deal with another emergency.

He picked up the pen and crossed out the sentence.

"I’ll start with something you won’t have to ask me to explain," Jingwei muttered under his breath.

Zhiyi watched him write her name again. This time, he followed it with the words he had almost forgotten during his proposal.

I love you, and I want to keep making a home with you.

Her thumb moved over his knuckles, and Jingwei looked up to find her smiling.

"I’d like to hear the rest tomorrow," Zhiyi said. "Otherwise, I’ll know everything before you say it."

Jingwei closed the notebook and brought her hand to his mouth. "Then go help Zeyu before he decides the cake needs another cup of something."

At the counter, Zeyu looked up from the recipe. "I can hear you, and I haven’t added anything that isn’t written here."

Zhiyi returned to him with a quiet laugh. Jingwei watched Zeyu move the bowl between them and hand her the whisk, then turned back to the monitor beside his elbow.

The west landing remained empty.

The damaged camera showed only part of the ceiling, but the second view covered the door and stairs.

Below, the woman with the blanket sat alone near an office entrance. The two men were farther inside, beyond the camera’s reach.

Jingwei checked the other approach before opening his notebook again.

By the time Hanchuan and Shichen returned, the cake was in the oven and Zhiyi had flour on one sleeve. Shichen carried a broken cupboard latch and set it beside the sink.

"That was what fell in the kitchen," Shichen said, glancing at the swept floor. "The cupboard opened when we were hit. I’ll replace the latch."

Hanchuan came behind Zhiyi and brushed the flour from her sleeve while she asked about the corridors.

Jingwei listened as they described what they had found.

Their rooms were dry, the inner walls showed no new damage, and nothing had shifted in the vehicle bay. They would keep the shutters closed and watch the damaged side of the tower.

"We can use the small sitting room tomorrow," Shichen added. "It’s away from that wall, and we can move the chairs in tonight."

Jingwei looked toward the corridor. He had sat in that room dozens of times without imagining a wedding there.

He could picture it now, though: Zhiyi standing in front of him, their friends close enough to hear her without a microphone.

"I’d like that," Jingwei said. "We don’t need much."

"You still need rings," Zeyu reminded him, pulling off an oven mitt. "Have you thought about those yet?"

Jingwei had thought about little else between sentences in the notebook. He looked at Zhiyi’s wedding ring, then at his own bare hand.

"I have a plain band upstairs," Jingwei said. "It was my father’s. It’ll fit me, but it’s too large for her."

Zhiyi came back to his chair and rested her hand on his shoulder.

"Bring it down," Zhiyi told him. "I’d like to see it."

Jingwei went upstairs while Shichen began clearing the sitting room. The ring was in a small case at the back of his dresser, packed years ago with the few things he had refused to leave behind. He held it in his palm before closing the case.

When he returned, Zhiyi was waiting near the sitting-room doorway. She opened the case and touched the band, then looked at him.

"I can put this on your hand tomorrow," Zhiyi said. "We can find mine later."

Jingwei caught her gently at the waist and drew her closer. "I’d still like you to have something from me."

Zhiyi lifted her face as he bent to kiss her. She stayed against him afterward, her hand resting over the case between them.

"Then help me choose," Zhiyi said. "I brought a box of things from Xiling that I haven’t unpacked yet."

Jingwei followed her upstairs, leaving the notebook on his chair. At her bedroom door, she turned toward him and took his hand.

"There’s something in it I kept because of you," Zhiyi told him as she led him inside. "I wasn’t sure whether you’d remember giving it to me."