Morning in Shanquan Village came with a soft breeze and light mist drifting along the tops of the rice fields. From a distance, the landscape looked like a silk painting — ink-washed terraces, dew-covered stalks, and low-roofed houses disappearing into the clouds.
Lin Yu stood on the back porch of his residence, barefoot on the warm wood, sipping fresh-ground coffee from a handmade ceramic cup. The aroma was strong, earthy, with a hint of roasted almond. He didn't rush. Dahuang lay stretched across the steps, snoring lightly, one paw twitching in a dream.
It was a day without plans — just how Lin Yu preferred it.
But peace in the village rarely remained untouched.
At precisely nine o'clock, the electric shuttle van rolled through the outer gate. The clinic's assistant — a quiet girl named Xiaoman — stepped down first, carrying a clipboard. She bowed politely as she approached Lin Yu.
"She came," Xiaoman said simply, her voice a little breathless.
Lin Yu gave a slight nod.
He knew who.
Shen Yinyin stepped down next. She wore a light gray athletic jacket over a loose white linen shirt, black yoga pants, and soft-soled running shoes. Her hair was in a low ponytail, and a pair of fine gold-rimmed glasses sat on her nose — practical, understated.
She didn't look toward him right away.
Instead, she took a deep breath of the air, then slowly lifted her eyes to meet his.
There was no smile. But there was warmth.
"I thought I wouldn't return," she said.
"And yet?"
"I wanted to see what I remembered… and what I invented."
He gestured toward the garden path. "Walk with me?"
They moved slowly, side by side, through the morning-drenched orchard. The cicadas had not yet begun their chorus. The world felt hushed, but awake.
"You came for work?" he asked softly.
"There's a rehabilitation center being funded nearby," she replied. "Stroke and chronic injury patients. I volunteered to consult on the design and early-stage therapy model."
"And you asked for Shanquan as your base."
Her lips lifted slightly. "Did the system tell you that?"
"I didn't ask it."
She looked at him, eyes unreadable.
"I haven't told my husband," she said. "That I'm here. That I'm alone."
Lin Yu stopped walking.
"Do you want to be?" he asked.
She was quiet.
Then she stepped closer — just enough that their shoulders brushed.
"I don't know what I want," she said. "But I'm tired of pretending I want nothing."
They stood like that for a long moment before she spoke again.
"Can I see the room?"
He knew which one she meant.
She followed him back through the courtyard, past the koi pond and the meditation platform, up the side stairwell to the guest wing — the one she'd spent a night in last time, restless and sleepless after watching him in the moonlight from the window.
The room had been cleaned but not changed. Same scent of cedarwood and green tea. Same wide bed, pale bedding, open balcony view of the valley.
She stood near the window, one hand resting lightly on the frame.
"You remember details," she said.
"I remember moments."
She turned around.
This time, when she stepped toward him, there was no trembling. Only silence.
She reached up, touched the side of his face, then moved her hands to the zipper of her jacket. She unzipped it slowly, revealing the soft white linen of her blouse. It was slightly sheer in the morning light. He could see the shape of her body beneath — subtle curves, the rise of her breath, the tension in her posture.
"I haven't felt beautiful in a long time," she said.
"You are," he replied.
He stepped close, not rushing, and lifted her chin gently with his fingers. Their lips met — not forceful, but full of things unsaid. She pressed against him, her hands resting on his chest, her body warming quickly. When he kissed her again, it deepened — her mouth parting, breath catching.
He unbuttoned her blouse slowly, exposing the delicate white bra beneath. Her skin was soft and warm, her stomach taut with faint lines of age and care. She gasped softly when his lips found her neck, then her collarbone, then lower.
When they fell into the sheets, her moans were muffled against his shoulder, her fingers clutching the back of his neck.
She came undone slowly — with rising waves of release, the way only a woman who had waited too long could. She arched beneath him, breathless, mouth open, eyes shut. He moved within her deliberately, matching her rhythm, until she cried out, pulling him closer, her voice choked in his name.
Afterward, she lay with her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"I feel guilty," she whispered.
"You don't need to."
"I feel alive," she corrected.
"Then stay."
"I can't."
"But you want to."
"Yes."
They didn't speak for a long time. Outside, the wind passed gently through the trees. In the hallway, Xiaoman padded past, careful not to disturb.
When Shen Yinyin rose, she dressed slowly. Not with shame — but with reverence. As if she wanted to memorize how it felt to wrap herself in her clothes again after being bare with someone who truly saw her.
As she reached the door, she paused.
"I may not come again," she said.
"I won't ask you to."
"But if I do…"
"I'll be here."
She stepped into the hall and was gone.
The next few days passed in their usual calm. Lin Yu supervised the digging of a new irrigation trench. He met with an elder farmer to finalize this season's harvest plan. He walked Dahuang through the hills at dusk, stopping to watch the fireflies return to the ponds at night.
But one evening, as he stood on the second-story balcony overlooking the valley, a notification flickered across his inner vision.
> Romance Progress: Shen Yinyin – 64%
Emotional Layer: Trembling Clarity
Reward: Provincial Medical Board Access – Tier I
Unlock: Specialized Summon - Rural Medicine & Rehab Expert x1
He smiled faintly.
Later that same week, just before sunset, a letter arrived — handwritten, sealed with a personal wax stamp.
It came from Fang Yaqin, the deputy mayor's wife.
A single line:
"I miss the way you watched me when I wasn't pretending."
He folded the letter carefully and placed it in the drawer beside his bed.
As the lanterns were lit one by one across the courtyard, the shadows grew deeper. A warm night breeze carried the scent of lotus and sweet osmanthus through the window.
Lin Yu lay back in the chair, letting his thoughts drift.
He didn't chase these women.
They came to him — one by one — carried by exhaustion, emptiness, and the quiet promise of being seen without needing to perform.
And he — steady, patient — received them all.
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End of Chapter 8