Once the process of recovery began, it was like a thawing river of ice—seemingly slow on the surface, yet beneath it powerful undercurrents surged forward irresistibly.
Yan Hanxie's body was steadily rebuilding its functional indicators at a speed that even the doctors found slightly surprising.
But Yan Hanxie herself perceived more clearly than anyone that the hidden ghost called "weakness" still lingered like a shadow.
This weakness did not only appear in the occasional rapid breathing or the brief dizziness when standing after sitting too long.
It appeared even more clearly… when she looked at Zong Yi.
Zong Yi still arrived punctually every day, carrying the outdoor scent soaked with sunlight or light rain, and that increasingly practiced yet seemingly more deliberate sense of "carefulness."
She had visibly grown thinner. At the collar of her once well-fitting shirt there was now a barely noticeable gap. When she bent to hand over water, the bones at her wrist were more pronounced than before. Beneath those always calm and self-controlled eyes, faint shadows had formed—traces of constant rushing around and some restrained emotion intertwined.
Yan Hanxie's gaze always followed her silently.
Watching her adjust the bed's angle, her slightly bent waist so slender it seemed it could break with one firm fold.
Watching the delicate and overly fragile neck revealed beneath the strands of hair that fell as she lowered her head to check the thermometer reading.
Watching the thin outline of her shoulders and back, drawn tight with stubbornness, as she sat by the window working with her back half turned.
Too thin.
In Yan Hanxie's heart, a faint ripple of mixed heartache and dissatisfaction would inevitably appear.
So thin… how could that be acceptable?
In this condition, let alone "pursuing her wife," she feared even a slightly forceful hug might hurt her—or worse… that she might not even be able to hold her.
If she decided to run, with Yan Hanxie still recovering and lacking strength, wouldn't she only be able to watch helplessly?
This thought was like a small thorn lodged in the increasingly clear nerve called "possessiveness" within Yan Hanxie, bringing a hidden and sharp anxiety.
No.
She had to become stronger.
Not the kind of hollow "recovery" shown by medical indicators, but real strength—enough to support an embrace that could not be refused, a restraint that could not be escaped, and perhaps… many more romantic yet excessive thoughts quietly surging in her hidden mind.
So while cooperating with the hospital's rehabilitation plan, Yan Hanxie began her own "extra training."
At first it was only inside the hospital room, during the moments when the nurse was absent and Zong Yi had not yet arrived.
Holding onto the wall, she tried taking a few extra steps until the muscles in her calves trembled faintly with soreness.
Lying in bed, she secretly performed very small static exercises to train her core and arms. Each tightening and relaxing of muscle made fine beads of sweat appear at her temples. Her heart beat faster from the increased load, but the sensation of regaining control of her body and feeling strength gradually return brought a nearly intoxicating pleasure.
Later, it developed into using the basic equipment in the rehabilitation room.
She always chose the lightest weights. Her movements were standard and slow, her gaze so focused it seemed almost devout—as if the cold iron was not just equipment, but bricks essential for building the future enclosure with which she would "capture" someone.
At first the rehabilitation therapist worried she was pushing too fast, but after several checks her heart rate and blood pressure remained within safe ranges, and her muscles responded well. The therapist could only remind her to act within her limits, while secretly marveling—President Yan's willpower for recovery was astonishing.
Naturally, Yan Hanxie's thoughts were deep and far from simple.
Strengthening her body was only a basic step in her grand blueprint of "pursuing her wife."
At the same time, she never relaxed her efforts in approaching and slowly consuming her "prey."
She always found opportunities.
For example, when Zong Yi handed her a cup of warm water, she would "just happen" to raise her hand to take it, her fingertips "accidentally" brushing across the back of Zong Yi's hand, lingering a fraction of a second longer than a polite contact required.
Or when Zong Yi bent down to adjust the blanket at the corner of the bed, she would slightly turn her head so that the ends of her hair would "unintentionally" brush across Zong Yi's lowered cheek.
Or during walks in the garden, when passing steps or uneven ground, she would naturally lean a little more heavily against Zong Yi's support, giving more of her weight to her. Her arm would press closer against Zong Yi's, feeling the curve of muscles tightening under the weight and the warmth through the fabric—warmth she was becoming increasingly reluctant to let go.
Every seemingly accidental yet carefully calculated touch was like a small stone thrown into a still lake, sending ripples spreading through Zong Yi's heart.
Yan Hanxie could clearly see the panic flashing in Zong Yi's eyes, the faint redness rising on her face, and the increasingly fragile composure she tried to maintain.
It pleased her.
It was like personally polishing a precious piece of jade, watching it gradually shed its hard outer shell under patient shaping, revealing the warm glow within.
That afternoon, Zong Yi brought a stage report of the "Spark Project" that required Yan Hanxie's review and signature.
Yan Hanxie leaned against the headboard and accepted the document but did not hurry to read it. Instead she slowly rubbed the edge of the pages with her fingertips, her gaze resting on Zong Yi standing somewhat awkwardly at the foot of the bed.
"Busy lately?" Yan Hanxie asked. Her voice had regained its usual cool clarity, though with a deeper tone after illness.
"Not too bad. 'Spark' is progressing smoothly. Vice President Sun is handling the other matters," Zong Yi replied concisely.
"You've lost weight." Yan Hanxie's gaze swept openly from top to bottom across Zong Yi before stopping on her face. Her tone sounded like a plain statement, yet it carried undeniable penetration.
Zong Yi's body tightened almost imperceptibly. She subconsciously raised her hand to adjust her shirt collar, which was not even particularly open.
"Maybe… the weather's been hot lately. I haven't had much appetite."
"Is that so?" Yan Hanxie said noncommittally. She set the document aside and suddenly extended her hand toward Zong Yi. "Come here."
It was not a command, yet harder to refuse than one.
That outstretched hand had long fingers. Because of her recent training, although still thin, faint lines of strength had begun to appear around the joints.
Zong Yi froze in place, looking at that hand and then into Yan Hanxie's unfathomable eyes. Her heart began pounding wildly in her chest.
Reason told her she should refuse, should keep her distance, yet her feet seemed nailed to the floor.
Yan Hanxie did not urge her. She simply held out her hand and looked at her quietly. Her eyes were calm, yet carried invisible pressure—and a trace of almost seductive patience.
Time flowed slowly in the quiet hospital room. Outside the window came the faint sound of cicadas.
Finally, as if hypnotized by that gaze or drawn by a force she herself could not understand, Zong Yi moved extremely slowly, step by step, toward the bed.
When she came within reach, Yan Hanxie suddenly turned her wrist. Instead of taking Zong Yi's hand, she directly and precisely grasped her wrist.
The strength was not heavy, but firm enough.
Zong Yi trembled and instinctively tried to pull back, but Yan Hanxie had already used the motion to draw her slightly closer.
The distance between them shrank instantly until their breaths were audible.
Holding her wrist, Yan Hanxie's thumb slowly brushed the sensitive skin inside Zong Yi's wrist bone—and the string of sandalwood Buddhist beads resting against it.
"Wearing it actually suits you," Yan Hanxie said softly, her gaze fixed on their overlapping wrists. Her tone revealed no emotion. "You're just too thin. It feels bony to hold."
Her thumb pressed lightly against the beads again, as if measuring the outline of the bones beneath.
Zong Yi's breathing completely lost its rhythm.
Where her wrist was held, she could clearly feel another person's warmth and strength. The brushing touch, rough with faint calluses and mixed with the cool hardness of the beads, shot up her arm like electricity and struck her heart.
She wanted to break free, yet her body felt weak and powerless. Her cheeks burned hot, even the tips of her ears flushed red.
Yan Hanxie took in this rare sight of Zong Yi completely losing her composure. Deep in her heart, the beast she had carefully nurtured let out a satisfied murmur.
But she knew she could not push too hard.
So she released her hand naturally, as if she had merely confirmed something.
The moment the grip disappeared, Zong Yi even staggered slightly from the sudden emptiness.
"Leave the report here. I'll look at it later." Yan Hanxie picked up the document again, her gaze already returning to its usual distant calm, as if the brief aggressive touch had never happened. "Go back and eat properly. Next time you come, I don't want to see you still like this."
She paused, then raised her eyes again, locking her gaze onto Zong Yi as she added in a low but clear voice:
"What I raise shouldn't be this thin."
After saying that, she lowered her head and began reading the report, not looking at Zong Yi again.
Zong Yi stood there, as if nailed in place by the words "what I raise." Her ears buzzed, and the heat on her cheeks refused to fade.
On her wrist, where Yan Hanxie had held her, it felt as if the imprint of fingers and warmth still remained.
She looked at Yan Hanxie's lowered, focused profile, at the slightly pressed lips that seemed to hold an unquestionable curve. In her heart, that chaotic wasteland had a spark thrown into it—bursting suddenly into flames.
She almost fled from the hospital room.
Only after entering the elevator and seeing her flushed face and dazed expression reflected in the cold metal walls did Zong Yi suddenly come back to herself, cold sweat breaking across her back.
Yan Hanxie…
What exactly did she want to do?
Inside the hospital room, after Zong Yi left, Yan Hanxie slowly put down the document in her hand.
She raised the hand that had just held Zong Yi's wrist, her fingertips lightly rubbing together, as if savoring the slender bones and the warmth of that skin.
Too thin.
She thought about it, her gaze deep.
She had to recover faster, become strong faster.
Otherwise…
How would she have enough strength to embrace, to restrain, to… do everything she wanted to do to that person?
She slowly clenched her fist, feeling the solid strength in her arm muscles gradually returning.
The road of pursuing her wife was long, but every step she took was clear and firm.
Whether strengthening her body through training or advancing step by step in intimacy, the goal was only one—
To draw her into her arms and never let go again.
—
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