Chapter 6: Grace in Character
The remainder of the journey was shrouded in an uncanny silence within the car; An Tong and Rong Shen exchanged no words. As they approached the CBD intersection, held up by a red light, the man’s steady voice broke the stillness. “Since your last treatment, have you experienced any symptoms of emotional detachment?”
An Tong, who had been quietly lost in thought, replied, “No, I’ve been fine these past few days.”
Rong Shen glanced sideways, his gaze lingering on the girl's face. The warm yellow glow of the streetlights spilled in through the windows, bathing her in a patchwork of shadows. Her hair was tied back, exposing features marked by both composure and aloofness—a cool beauty, seemingly untouched by the world.
His Adam’s apple shifted slightly, and his eyes casually skimmed the book resting on her lap—the topmost title was “Algorithm Empire,” a foreign programming text.
Within five minutes, the car stopped at the mouth of Yunhai Road. The alley was narrow and dim; Cheng Feng turned to remind her, “Miss An, the car can’t go further. Is your house far? If you like, I can walk you part of the way.”
An Tong declined, pressing the button to open the door and glancing at Rong Shen with a calm farewell. “Thank you. I’ll go ahead.”
The man didn’t respond, his gaze deep as he watched her, possessed by an inexplicable desire to see more emotion flicker across her face—whether joy, anger, sorrow, or laughter, anything at all.
Moments later, Rong Shen dusted off the crease on his trousers and stepped out of the car with a graceful bow.
He nodded toward the shadowy alley. “Where do you live?”
The girl stood still, a faint curve at her lips. “No need to escort me. It’s close.”
“Let’s go, the road is dark,” he said, his voice steady and unhurried—not forcedly considerate, but bearing the effortless grace of a mature man.
Though An Tong struggled with emotional disorders, her cognition was sound. The more lightly he spoke, the more resolute his attitude became.
Reflecting on this, An Tong sighed silently and, turning, offered a polite concession. “Then I’ll trouble you.”
A soft echo hummed in Rong Shen’s nose as the two walked side by side, shoulders half a foot apart, into the depths of the alley.
Behind them, Cheng Feng sat in the car, pondering seriously. That Miss An, to have Ninth Master personally escort her home—she truly was remarkable.
The alley was dark, silent, and deep.
Clutching her books, An Tong listened to the steady footsteps of the man beside her, searching for a topic to pass the time. There were still a few minutes’ walk from the alley’s entrance to the bungalow; without conversation, the atmosphere would surely become awkward.
Perhaps sensing this, Rong Shen adjusted his cufflinks and asked casually, “Is there anyone else at home?”
An Tong’s breath caught, feeling averse, yet she weighed how best to avoid the subject.
His gaze deepened, and with a tone that seemed to see through everything, he remarked, “Avoidance will only worsen your condition. Facing reality is more effective than running from it.”
A rare expression crossed An Tong’s face, her voice slightly unsteady. “No, just me.”
Rong Shen tilted his head, the smile at his lips gentle and urbane. “Facing reality is painful, but it makes us clearer.”
An Tong unconsciously slowed her pace, looking up at the man—nearly six-foot-three—and feeling somewhat at ease. “Is this part of the therapy?”
“Not treatment,” Rong Shen lowered his eyes, one hand in his pocket, elegant and composed. “Just a way to better understand my patient.”
His patient, his tone encouraging and his openness reminiscent of a kindly elder guiding a younger generation.
An Tong studied him discreetly, unable to pin down his true age. Ultimately, she suppressed her curiosity, wary of offending this conscientious therapist.
After a few minutes, the dilapidated bungalow came into view.
Holding her books in one arm, An Tong pointed toward the house. “I’m here.”
Rong Shen glanced over. “The wind’s strong tonight; go inside.”
He remained at his spot, apparently intending to watch her enter.
This deepened An Tong’s impression of him. Truly, he was as noble as jade, his integrity woven into his very being.
She took out her keys and, glancing back at the man standing like a pillar in the night, finally offered a serene smile. “Good night.”
...
At the Cloud Peak Villa, Rong Shen entered after half past midnight.
Passing the fountain at the entrance, Uncle Li, the butler, hurried out. “Ninth Master, the Old Madam is here.”
Rong Shen glanced at his watch, his handsome features darkening. “When did she arrive? Why wasn’t I informed?”
Uncle Li wrung his hands awkwardly, murmuring, “The Old Madam came around eight. She wouldn’t let us notify you—insisted she wanted to see what you’re up to, always out late and back early. She’s still waiting in the living room.”
Rong Shen pinched the bridge of his nose and strode into the villa.
The living room was brightly lit.
Under the crystal chandelier sat an elderly lady, her face gentle and kind. She wore a deep brown traditional suit, a string of prayer beads around her neck, her eyes lowered in obvious fatigue. Behind her stood several burly bodyguards.
“Old Madam, Ninth Master is back,” a bodyguard announced, bowing.
The old lady eased her brow and asked in a quiet tone, “So you’re finally home?”
“Just finished some business,” Rong Shen replied, settling into the single armchair opposite, his lips curled in a lazy smile. “What wind brought you here tonight?”
Sharpness and shrewdness flashed in her eyes as she studied Rong Shen. “If I didn’t come, you’d forget who you are.”
“That’s a bit much,” he said, arm draped over the sofa, smiling lightly. “I’ve been busy lately. Was going to come home in a few days to play chess with you—”
“Don’t flatter me,” she interrupted, her tone full of tolerance and helplessness despite her displeasure. “Count the days for yourself. How many times have you been home in the past three months? I have no idea what you’re busy with all day. Happened to pass by today, so I came myself to see who’s keeping you out so late.”
Rong Shen crossed his legs and reached for a box of tea cigarettes from the cabinet beside the sofa. “You’re not here to see me—you want to arrange a marriage for me, don’t you?”
The old lady sighed, her voice full of earnest concern. “Little Nine, it’s not that your grandmother is rushing you, you know—”
“I agree.”
“Hm?” She straightened, looking back at her bodyguards. “What did he say? Did I hear right?”
The bodyguard, his face expressionless, replied loudly, “Old Madam, you heard correctly. Ninth Master says he agrees.”