Chapter 247: Still Waters

*Runze’s POV*

Meng Tai’s face looks small and precise on my tablet screen. He is the project coordinator Grandmother assigned to me, someone who knows how to move things along so I don’t have to make forty phone calls myself. We have been working together for two weeks now, mostly through messages and shared files, but this is our third video call.

"The load-bearing calculation on the east wall," he says. "I’ve passed the drawings to the structural engineer to verify the supports. He’ll give us his report by the end of next week."

"Good. What about the material samples for the interior cladding?"

"Three variants confirmed. Spec sheets will be sent to you by tomorrow morning."

"Send them directly to my email. I’ll mark my preferences before noon."

"Understood." A brief pause follows as he checks his notes. "The site liaison confirmed availability from the fifteenth. I’ll schedule the first walkthrough for that week."

"That works. Anything else?"

"The revised development drawings for the second level are all processed and ready for the contractors."

"Alright. I’ll have the third level drafted by the end of the week."

We confirm two more deadlines before ending the call at ten forty-three.

I set the tablet on the nightstand.

Then I lie completely still for about thirty seconds, staring at the ceiling and doing absolutely nothing, mostly because that is all I am capable of doing right now.

My back has been a continuous low fire from my tailbone up to my shoulder blades. On top of that, the baby has been pressing against something on my right side since yesterday evening, sending a sharp complaint through my ribs every time I shift position.

It is ten forty-three in the morning and I am still stuck in bed. I made it as far as the bathroom earlier, sat on the edge of the mattress to catch my breath, and that ended any plans I had for today.

Yesterday, I told Ling Yue: *Same time tomorrow.*

So this morning, he knocked at eight-thirty, completely ready to go.

I opened the door. He looked at me, and I looked at him.

He was the one who had said *same time tomorrow* in the first place. He really should have known better.

"...Tomorrow?" he had asked softly.

I had just closed the door on his face.

***

Mrs. Wen has been in and out of the room all morning with quiet persistence, each visit producing something different. First, it was pumpkin congee that smelled genuinely good but sat wrong after three spoonfuls, then sweet red bean soup, then a plate of thinly sliced steamed chicken, and finally fresh fruit when everything else failed.

I’ve managed to eat most of the fruit, but I still feel guilty about leaving the rest.

Everything she brought was good. My stomach simply has its own strong opinions today and refuses to negotiate.

"You have to eat something proper," Mrs. Wen said on her third visit, looking genuinely worried.

"I ate the fruit," I offered.

She looked at the small fruit bowl, then back at me, her expression communicating exactly what she thought of fruit as a complete meal for someone in my condition.

I ate two more pieces of mango just to appease her.

She did not look appeased.

***

I must fall asleep at some point, because the next thing I know, the bedroom door is opening.

Then Bael is already moving across the room, dropping his suit jacket over the chair without breaking stride. He is beside the bed before I’ve even fully surfaced from sleep.

His hand finds my face first, his palm resting warm against my cheek. His eyes sweep over me quickly, searching for whatever he thinks might be wrong.

"I’m fine..." I murmur, though ’fine’ is entirely relative right now.

He doesn’t answer that. Instead, he straightens up and places a plain white bag on the nightstand.

"I got something. See if it goes down."

He sits on the edge of the mattress and opens the bag, pulling out a small ceramic bowl of steamed egg custard. The surface is barely set and completely smooth, topped with a light drizzle of soy and sesame oil. Next to it, he sets down a dish of cold silken tofu, dressed so lightly it’s almost plain.

I stare at the food.

"Where did you get this?"

"A place I know. Sit up."

He helps me adjust, rearranging the pillows behind me until I stop shifting, and then hands me the custard. I take the first spoonful carefully, waiting to see how my stomach reacts.

It doesn’t complain.

I take another.

Bael watches me in total silence. After the third spoonful, he seems to make a decision and gently takes the bowl from my hands. He lifts the spoon, fills it, and holds it out toward me.

I look up at him.

"You don’t have to—"

"Open," he says quietly.

I open my mouth.

He feeds me in silence, unhurried, refilling the spoon each time with the same calm focus he brings to everything else.

Halfway through the custard, I ask softly, "You left work so early."

"I did."

"Won’t that affect things?"

"Runze." He refills the spoon again. "Eat."

I eat.

There’s something in the way he says it that settles the question better than any answer would.

When the custard is finished, he sets the empty bowl aside and hands me the silken tofu. I manage to finish most of it on my own, taking slow bites as my stomach accepts each portion without complaint. It is the most I have managed to eat all day.

I set the dish back down.

Bael moves the empty containers to the nightstand, then reaches for the pillows behind me. He rearranges them against the headboard to create space, then settles in directly behind me so my back rests flush against his chest. His hands find the base of my spine and begin to move in slow, deliberate motions, his thumbs working deep into the tight knots that have been aching since morning.

I let out a long exhale.

My eyes start to drift shut before I can stop them. I try to force them open again.

"Stop," Bael says softly beside my ear.

"...I just woke up."

"And now you’re going back to sleep." His hands don’t stop their steady rhythm. "Don’t force yourself to stay awake."

I try to formulate another response, but I’m not even sure what sounds come out.

His hands keep moving, steady and warm against my lower back, and somewhere between one deep breath and the next, I stop trying to fight it.