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Chapter 16 — My Heart Feels Stifled, Like It’s Been…

Que Wanshu struggled a bit to keep up with Wei Xun.

He was tall with long legs — one of his strides equaled two or three of hers — and he walked fast. She had to half-jog just to stay close.

Feeling exhausted from keeping up, Que Wanshu tried to pull her hand out of his, but as soon as she moved, his grip tightened even more.

Wei Xun suddenly stopped in his tracks. Caught off guard, Que Wanshu bumped into his arm. To steady herself, she instinctively grabbed his forearm with her other hand — it looked like she was hugging his arm.

Startled, she looked up. Their eyes met, and the air between them froze.

After a few seconds, Que Wanshu looked away first and muttered softly, “You’re walking too fast. I can’t keep up.”

“…”

Wei Xun didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze dropped to their interlocked hands.

Que Wanshu followed his line of sight — and only then realized she had unknowingly tightened her grip on his hand as well.

His hand was much larger than hers, his fingers long and defined. As he gripped her hand tightly, the tendons on the back of his hand subtly bulged, exuding strength and a certain aggressiveness.

Her hand, in contrast, was paler than his, soft-skinned with rounded fingertips tinged faintly pink. At this moment, her small palm was mostly engulfed in his. The sensation gave her the strange impression of being entirely covered — hand and all — by him.

A wave of heat suddenly surged to her ears, burning so fiercely that Que Wanshu almost went deaf from it. She awkwardly released his forearm and tried to pull her hand back from his grip.

This time, Wei Xun let her go without resistance.

As soon as she was free, Que Wanshu instinctively took a step back, as if to put distance between them — to avoid something.

Wei Xun noticed. He saw the discomfort on her face, the way her eyelashes fluttered like frantic butterfly wings, and the physical step she took — just one — that felt like a chasm had opened up between them.

His lips pressed into a line, the corners of his eyes twitching slightly.

After a few seconds, he abruptly turned and walked away without another word. Que Wanshu stood there stunned for a moment, then hesitantly followed after him.

When he heard her soft, tentative footsteps behind him, Wei Xun paused. Though he was seething inside, he unconsciously slowed his pace.

They walked in silence all the way to the parking lot — one ahead, one behind — so far apart it seemed like they were just two strangers heading in the same direction by coincidence.

Eventually, Que Wanshu noticed that although Wei Xun’s motorcycle was clearly parked not far ahead, he veered off toward the left as if he hadn’t seen it. His head tilted side to side as though searching for his vehicle.

Unable to hold back any longer, Que Wanshu reached out and tugged on his sleeve.

“Wei Xun,” she called softly.

When he turned around with a confused look, she pointed in the opposite direction. “Your bike is over there.”

Wei Xun: “…”

After a brief silence, he expressionlessly turned around and walked in the direction she had pointed, muttering, “Oh. I saw it wrong just now.”

Que Wanshu followed behind him and noticed how his back looked a little stiff. She couldn’t help but press her lips together and let out a tiny, amused smile.

After all these years, this man’s selective blindness still hadn’t improved.

When they reached the motorcycle, Que Wanshu put on her helmet herself and fastened it. Then she looked at Wei Xun, who was already astride the bike, and asked, “Where are we going?”

Wei Xun suddenly remembered the words Zhao Xuanyi had said earlier — almost like a taunt directed at Que Wanshu — and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“To treat you to dinner,” he said with clenched teeth.

Que Wanshu: “…”

It’s just dinner. Why did he sound so furious about it?

–

Wei Xun brought Que Wanshu to a restaurant tucked away in a small alley.

At the entrance was only a plain, square sign with a single calligraphy-style character: “Jia” — the name of the restaurant. By now, the sky had darkened, and the sign’s warm yellow light glowed like a guiding lamp in the night.

The location was hidden deep in a residential alley. If not for being led there, one would never suspect a restaurant existed here.

The restaurant’s entrance was a pair of old-fashioned wooden doors. If Que Wanshu had come alone, she’d never have dared to push them open. But Wei Xun was clearly a regular — he confidently pushed open the doors and led her inside.

Once through the doors, they found a small courtyard between the gate and the main building. They crossed the courtyard and had just reached the building when someone came out to greet them.

“Mr. Wei,” said a middle-aged man with a warm smile. He led them inside. “Your table is ready. Please follow me.”

The restaurant was small, with only five or six tables, but the décor was warm and inviting — it felt like coming home.

The owner seemed to be a fan of photography and motorcycles. His collections and photos were displayed all around. Que Wanshu looked around curiously as they made their way to a window-side seat.

The menu had already been prepared. Once they sat down, Wei Xun slid the menu in front of her.

“Pick something you want to eat,” he said.

Que Wanshu opened it and saw that the place served creative dishes inspired by traditional Zicheng cuisine. After reading through it, she still had no idea what to pick. So she slid the menu back to him and said, “You choose. I’m fine with anything.”

“Anything?” Wei Xun echoed meaningfully. When she nodded, he chuckled softly and lowered his head to browse the menu.

The man who had welcomed them — the restaurant owner — stood nearby with a notepad, ready to take their order.

A few seconds later, Wei Xun finally made his selections, ordering five or six dishes — all house specials and his regular favorites. The owner jotted them down and was about to ask about dessert when—

Wei Xun added:

“No ginger, scallions, or cilantro. Onions must be cooked, not raw, and chopped — not shredded. Cucumber must be peeled. Light on the vinegar. No spice. Easy on the garlic. Substitute the pork tenderloin in that dish with Matsusaka pork. Don’t undercook the grilled beef — no basil leaves. No pepper, celery, wood ear fungus, or carrots in the soup. Cut the potatoes smaller. And take out the beans from that dish.”

He paused briefly, then added,
“Oh, and one hot mulled wine tiramisu — without cinnamon powder.”

The owner: “…”

Que Wanshu: “…”

The owner struggled to write everything down.

Que Wanshu stared, dumbfounded.

She couldn’t believe it — after all these years, how had this guy become so ridiculously picky about food?
She clearly remembered that he used to be such a good kid who never fussed about meals growing up.

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— Wait.

Something’s off.

The picky one… wasn’t he — it was her.

Only now did Que Wanshu realize why all those food preferences had sounded so familiar — they used to be her eating habits. She really had been raised to be quite finicky — not just picky about food, but about how it was prepared and how it tasted. To cater to her plate, her parents had even replaced seven different chefs in a single month.

But things were different now.

The changes in her family didn’t just reshape her life and her values around money — they changed a lot of other things, too.

She looked up and said to the restaurant owner, who was sweating bullets trying to write down Wei Xun’s requests:
“Wait — just make everything the usual way, as long as it’s not too spicy and the beef isn’t too rare.”

She paused and added,
“And… no cilantro.”

That was much simpler than everything Wei Xun had just said. The owner was stunned and asked, “And the cinnamon powder on the tiramisu?”

Que Wanshu smiled. “That’s fine.”

“…All right,” the owner replied, casting a glance at Wei Xun — who was frowning deeply, staring at Que Wanshu like his entire understanding of her had just been overturned.

The owner asked cautiously, “Mr. Wei, shall I prepare the meal according to the young lady’s preferences?”

Wei Xun snapped out of it and responded, “Mm.”

The owner nodded, collected the menu, brought over a pot of hot tea, and headed into the kitchen.

At that moment, every table in the small restaurant was filled — men, women, old and young — most of them laughing and chatting over their meals. Only Que Wanshu and Wei Xun sat in awkward silence. Even the soft background music couldn’t smooth out the stiff atmosphere between them.

Wei Xun sat with his arms crossed, eyes lifting to catch yet another uneasy expression on Que Wanshu’s face.

He gave a silent, bitter laugh. His chest simmered with a mix of anger and ridicule.

Look at her — smiling so brightly around others, but always timid and anxious in front of him. Wei Xun was almost certain: if he had let her decide when Zhao Xuanyi invited her to dinner, she would’ve left with her without hesitation.

Why?
Why did she seem so unwilling to spend time with him?
Was he really so unbearable that she looked like she couldn’t wait to run the first chance she got?

Wei Xun didn’t voice these questions, but if he had, Que Wanshu would probably have told him to look in the mirror and see what kind of expression he was making.

He already had a commanding presence — and now, sitting there with arms crossed and a sharp, cold stare, he looked like an interrogator scrutinizing a criminal. Anyone on the receiving end of that look would feel crushed by the pressure.

Not to mention, Que Wanshu was especially sensitive to other people’s emotional shifts. She used to think she understood Wei Xun very well — one look from him, and she’d know exactly what he was thinking. But maybe they had just been apart for too long, because now… she couldn’t read him at all.

She could only tell that he was angry — but not why — and that made her even more uneasy. Trying to lighten the mood, she picked up the teapot.

Just as she was about to ask if he wanted tea, he suddenly spoke:

“When did you start liking cinnamon?”

Que Wanshu froze and looked into his probing eyes.

It wasn’t just Que Wanshu who had been thinking like that — Wei Xun, too. He’d always believed he knew her inside and out, but now he was realizing just how much she had changed. His entire understanding of her had been completely overturned.

Which, logically, made sense. Eight years was a long time.

Wei Xun understood that people inevitably change — but this degree of change, this feeling of everything slipping out of his grasp, made him deeply uneasy. He desperately wanted to reclaim the version of her he once knew.

“I don’t really like it,” Que Wanshu said, pressing her lips together. “It’s just… I can kind of tolerate it now.”

Kind of tolerate?
In Wei Xun’s world, there was no such thing as vague answers like that.

He frowned. “If you don’t like it, then you don’t like it. Why force yourself to accept it?”

Que Wanshu hesitated, then muttered, “Because… it’s not bad enough to hate. And if I’m too picky, it might be a hassle for others.”

She used to be able to demand all kinds of dietary preferences because the chefs at home were highly paid by her parents. Accommodating her tastes was part of their job.

Even when dining out, she could make detailed requests because the restaurants she frequented were upscale, often members-only. “Customer satisfaction” was a core principle — fulfilling a guest’s tastes was just baseline service.

Money isn’t everything — but sometimes, it gives you the leverage to ask for things.

But if you walk into an average-priced diner and immediately start rattling off picky requests, dictating how every dish should be made — isn’t that just being difficult?

Que Wanshu didn’t want to become “that kind of customer.”

So she had to adapt. After all, people are capable of adjusting to their environment. Even bottom lines… can move further and further back when circumstances change.

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“…”

After hearing her explanation, Wei Xun went silent.

Here it was again — that indescribable feeling.

His heart felt like it had just taken a punch — so hard it knocked the air out of his lungs. He understood why she thought that way. He knew exactly why. And maybe that’s why it suffocated him even more.

He stared at her — and suddenly, his brain was flooded with a string of numbers, like a financial report flashing through his mind. In just a few seconds, he mentally calculated all the assets under his name.

He didn’t even know why he was thinking about that.

He just… had a sudden thought:
Is there a way to make her return to how she used to be?

Would money be enough?
Well — he had plenty of that.

If she wanted to be picky, so be it. If she wanted to be “troublesome,” so be it.
None of that should be a problem.

It shouldn’t have to be her problem.

So he raised his hand and called the owner back over.

“I want to order another hot mulled wine tiramisu,” he said.

Then he shot Que Wanshu a glare and added through clenched teeth:
“With no cinnamon powder.”

The owner: “…All right.”

Que Wanshu: “…”

So now even being able to tolerate cinnamon had become a crime?

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