Liu Qingge went to Liu Mingyan’s gym out of habit more than obligation. Once, his presence had been necessary—his name alone had drawn crowds, his reputation lending weight and legitimacy to her venture. Now, the place thrummed with life on its own. The equipment was occupied, the mirrors crowded, the air warm with exertion and confidence. His sister no longer needed him as an instructor, or as decoration.

He was there because Shen Yuan wanted to see it.

Shen Yuan had gone on about it with bright enthusiasm, about how impressive it was, about how cool Liu Qingge would look teaching there. The praise had been excessive, unearned, and delivered with a smile that made refusal impossible. Liu Qingge had caved with barely any resistance at all. Mingyan, of course, had noticed. She’d laughed quietly into her sleeve, eyes sharp with amusement.

The moment they stepped inside, attention followed.

Liu Qingge felt it like pressure against his skin—the instinctive turns of heads, the pauses mid-rep, the lingering looks that slid over his frame with practiced appreciation. He had always known he was attractive. It had never mattered. Beauty was an accident of bone and muscle, no more valuable than a well-made tool. Before Shen Yuan, it had held no meaning at all.

Shen Yuan drew eyes just as easily.

Not in the same way—less imposing, more disarming—but the effect was undeniable. He stood close to Mingyan, relaxed and curious, hands loose at his sides, expression open as he took in the space. Liu Qingge noticed the way people glanced at him, the way gazes lingered a fraction too long.

Irritation sparked, sharp and unreasonable.

Without thinking, Liu Qingge shifted, stepping just enough into Shen Yuan’s space to block the line of sight. Then another step. Broad shoulders became a wall, his presence deliberate and unyielding. The impulse felt instinctive, protective to the point of absurdity. Shen Yuan didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps didn’t mind. He remained by Mingyan’s side, listening attentively as she spoke, nodding along, clearly more interested in conversation than equipment.

That, at least, was a relief. Shen Yuan was not the gym type.

Liu Qingge barely had time to settle before someone approached him—a woman with confidence sharpened by intent. She asked for help with the weights, lashes fluttering as she leaned too close, gratitude already practiced into flirtation. Liu Qingge assessed the setup, corrected her grip, adjusted the load. His hands were precise, movements economical.

His attention, however, kept drifting.

Even as he focused on the bar, his awareness stretched across the room, tracking Shen Yuan’s position without conscious effort. He noted the tilt of his head, the way he laughed silently, the ease with which he fit into Mingyan’s space. The woman spoke again; Liu Qingge acknowledged it absently, eyes flicking up only long enough to ensure safety.

He finished the adjustment, stepped back, and gave a short nod.

Across the gym, Shen Yuan was still there—safe, unbothered, smiling.