The Tuscan sun dipped low, brushing the rolling hills in molten gold and amber as their rental car snaked along dusty country lanes. Su Wanwan leaned her forehead against the cool window, breath fogging the glass at the sight of endless lavender fields—violet seas rippling in the breeze. "It's more breathtaking than any photo," she murmured, glancing at Lu Shiyan, whose hand rested warmly on her knee as he drove.
He smiled, eyes crinkling. "Told you. No emails, no boardrooms, no hacks—just us and this." They'd fled Chengdu at first light, trading permits and sabotage for a stolen weekend in Tuscany, a childhood dream sparked by her grandmother's faded snapshots of those same purple expanses.
The villa was a weathered stone cottage cradled at a hill's base, ringed by gnarled olive trees and a riot of sunflowers. A wooden gate groaned open; a golden retriever—Max—barreled across the yard, tail whipping the air. "The owner swore he's the best host," Lu Shiyan said, crouching to ruffle the dog's ears.
Su Wanwan let her suitcase thud onto the terracotta tiles. Exposed beams arched overhead; a cavernous stone hearth yawned beside floor-to-ceiling windows framing the lavender. A rough-hewn table held a dusty Chianti and two glasses. "Perfect," she breathed. Lu Shiyan stepped behind her, arms circling her waist; she melted against his chest, heartbeat syncing with his.
For once, no deadlines loomed. They wandered the fields, Max nosing blooms, while Su Wanwan wove a lavender crown and perched it on Lu Shiyan's dark hair. "My Tuscan prince," she teased. He bowed theatrically, then drew her close, lips grazing hers. "And you—my warrior princess who slays firewalls and councils." Lavender and his cologne mingled; the world shrank to their shared breath.
Dinner was improvised in the cramped kitchen: hand-rolled pasta slick with garden tomatoes and basil, charred chicken, arugula tangled with peach slices. They ate on the terrace as the sky bled rose and tangerine, Max snoring at their feet. "Tell me a secret," Su Wanwan said, wineglass catching the last light.
Lu Shiyan stared across the valley. "Sixteen. I bolted from boarding school, thumbed rides to the mountains. Three nights alone—then a storm swallowed the trail. I was sure I'd die out there. A shepherd's lantern saved me. He said courage isn't fearless; it's stepping forward while trembling. That night I decided to build something that mattered." His fingers laced hers. "Your turn."
She traced the rim of her glass. "Grandmother kept lavender sachets under my pillow when nightmares came. After she died, the scent hurt too much. Here, though—it feels like she's breathing with me. These farms… they're her legacy. Growth. Nurture." Her voice cracked; he slid beside her, arm a shield.
"We'll make her proud," he promised. They lingered under stars, trading childhood ghosts, future dreams—Shanghai's hybrid towers of affordable homes and sky-high farms, a village where residents fed themselves and each other. They spoke of children, of retiring to lavender-scented hills, of never letting the grind steal this.
In bed, Max sprawled across their feet; Su Wanwan curled into Lu Shiyan's warmth. "Don't let it end," she whispered. He kissed her temple. "It won't. We'll keep coming back."
Morning arrived in birdsong. Fresh bread, jam, espresso on the terrace, then a hike through olive groves silvered with dew. They paused on a ridge, valley unfurling below. "I could live on this rhythm," she said. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "We will—between battles. Promise me: no matter the chaos, we carve out these pockets." She sealed it with a kiss.
Peace fractured mid-afternoon. Lu Shiyan's phone buzzed—Lin Zhou, voice tight. "Shanghai's burning. Plans leaked. Accusations of gentrification, fake rent hikes. Jiangs' fingerprints everywhere. Council wants us Monday or they pull the permit."
Lu Shiyan's knuckles whitened on the phone. "Flight home. Now." To Su Wanwan: "I swore they wouldn't touch this weekend." She gripped his hand. "They don't get to steal our joy. We fight smarter."
They said hasty goodbyes to Max and the villa, lavender fields blurring past the windows like a half-remembered dream. On the plane, Su Wanwan hammered out a press release; Lu Shiyan orchestrated lawyers and allies, voice steel wrapped in calm. "Contracts lock rents for twenty years. Jiangs are panicking—we're the future they can't buy."
Shanghai greeted them with neon and exhaust. Lin Zhou waited at arrivals, folder thick with affidavits. "Community leaders are rallying, but Jiangs have buses of protesters for dawn."
Hotel suite became war room. Spreadsheets, call logs, sworn statements. Su Wanwan's eyes burned, yet adrenaline sang. "Truth is our blade," she said. Lu Shiyan's hand found hers across the chaos. "And love is our armor."
They collapsed near sunrise, her head on his chest, city humming beyond the glass. "Tomorrow we bleed for this," she murmured. His arms tightened. "Together. Always."
As sleep claimed her, lavender ghosts danced behind her eyes—proof that beauty was worth every scar they'd earn.