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The day had stretched long and still. Summer sunlight soaked into the tiled rooftops, and the sound of crickets slowly replaced the breeze. It was nearing dusk when Lin Yu finished pruning the last row of grapevines along the southern slope. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow and glanced toward the stone trail that wound through the hills.
He had no appointments today.
No messages.
And yet, she came.
The black sedan emerged slowly from the tree-lined path, pulling to a stop just beyond the lotus bridge. The engine shut off. The driver remained seated.
Only one door opened.
Shen Lihua stepped out.
She wore a pale green dress today — cotton, soft, modest in cut, but clinging lightly to her figure. Her short jacket was ivory-white and unbuttoned, her shoes low-heeled and discreet. She carried no bag, only a small satchel and a folded scarf.
Lin Yu met her at the courtyard gate.
"Is it too late?" she asked softly.
"It's never late here."
She smiled faintly, then stepped into the courtyard.
He led her toward the plum tree bench, where the air was cool and fragrant. Lanterns had already begun to flicker to life, their soft light pooling on the stone path.
"You didn't send word," he said.
"I didn't want to think," she replied. "I just wanted to walk. And then I was already halfway here."
"You're alone."
"My husband is in Suzhou for a seminar. Yinyin… she knows I'm here. She didn't ask questions."
They sat together under the tree. Her hand rested in her lap, calm but curled, like it wanted something to hold but had forgotten how.
"I've been thinking," she murmured. "Of the past. Of choices. Of who I was before medicine, before marriage, before children."
"And who were you?"
She looked at him.
"I was wild," she whispered. "Not careless. Just… passionate. The kind of girl who kissed under bridges and swam naked at midnight."
Lin Yu smiled. "Then where did she go?"
"She grew afraid of time. Of disappointment. Of needing too much."
He didn't speak, only waited.
"When I came here the first time," she continued, "I thought I was curious. Then I told myself it was maternal — that I was checking on Yinyin. But today, I came for myself."
She turned toward him.
"I want to feel desired. Not respected. Not admired. Desired."
He rose and offered her his hand.
She took it.
They entered the side residence — the one with the long curtains and quiet tatami room. It smelled of jasmine and cedar. The paper walls let in only golden dusk.
She stood in the center, hands at her sides.
"I'm older than the others, aren't I?" she said softly.
"You're different."
"I have stretch marks. I have a scar from gallbladder surgery. I have a body that's borne life."
"I want that body," he said. "Exactly as it is."
She exhaled shakily, then stepped out of her shoes and reached behind to unzip her dress. It fell to the floor in a whisper. Beneath, she wore simple lace underwear — elegant, not showy. Her skin was pale, warm, faintly marked by time and care.
He stepped to her, hands sliding gently along her waist. Her breath hitched as he kissed her shoulder, then the hollow beneath her throat. Her fingers curled into his robe.
"You make me feel shameless," she whispered.
"No. Just honest."
They moved to the floor mat, surrounded by the hush of a summer evening. He kissed her with slow hunger, his hands reverent but sure. Her moans were deeper this time — throatier, fuller. Not gasps of surprise, but sighs of something long denied.
When he entered her, she arched, one hand over her mouth, the other gripping his wrist.
Their rhythm was unhurried. Deep. Like a tide swelling with old longing. Her eyes filled with tears halfway through, but she didn't cry out. She pulled him close, mouth brushing his ear.
"Don't stop," she said. "Even if I beg you."
He didn't.
She broke three times beneath him, each one slower, more raw. Her voice grew hoarse with it — not from volume, but from truth. And when she finally collapsed into him, trembling, she whispered his name like it was her first and last prayer.
Afterward, she lay curled on the mat, bare and glowing with sweat. Her hand traced lazy circles on his chest.
"You're dangerous," she murmured.
"I just listen."
"Most men don't."
He kissed her forehead.
"I never ask you to come," he said.
"And yet, I always do."
They bathed together in the private hot spring bath behind the main residence — the one hidden behind flowering reeds and bamboo screens. The warm water soothed her aches, and she rested her head on his shoulder, eyes half-lidded.
"I'll age, Lin Yu," she whispered. "You won't want me someday."
"I'll always want you," he said. "Because I don't take parts. I take all."
She let out a sound that was part laugh, part sob.
"You say that like love."
He didn't answer.
By the time they dressed again, the moon had risen. She stood at the edge of the balcony, her hair wet, pulled into a loose knot, eyes glowing in silver light.
"You're not just building a farm here," she said. "You're building something... else."
"Something peaceful."
"Something seductive."
She touched his face with both hands, then kissed him one last time — slow, mouth lingering.
"Next time," she said, "I want you to keep me for days."
"I will."
She left just before midnight. The same driver took her home, silent, never asking questions.
As the tail lights faded into the hills, Lin Yu stood in the entranceway, bare-chested, robe loose, the scent of her skin still clinging to him.
A notification blinked quietly.
> Romance Progress: Shen Lihua – 87%
Emotional Layer: Bound Flame
Bond Level: Intimate – Loyal
Reward: Medical Network Summon (Level 2 – Director Access)
New Trait Gained: Trust of Maternal Circle
New Path Unlocked: Family Healthcare Network (Tier 1)
He dismissed the interface.
Dahuang lifted his head from the steps, let out a soft groan, and went back to sleep.
In the garden, the crickets sang under the moon.
And within the stillness, something old and beautiful had begun to bloom again.
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End of Chapter 10