Against the Algorithm

Chapter 22: How It Begins

So, with a steady breath that settled deep in his chest, with the same iron will that had carried him through years of pressure and leadership, with the same unwavering certainty that had always shaped the way he handled the things that mattered most—he leaned forward, rested his forearms against the desk, and met her gaze directly, letting the weight of what he was about to say settle between them long before the words themselves followed.

"There's one more thing you need to know, Yao."

And that was all it took.

Her hands, which had been gently fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie in that unconscious way she always did when her nerves were catching up to her thoughts, went still. Her breath hitched—just slightly—but it was enough. Her wide hazel eyes lifted to his, slowly, carefully, and when they locked onto his, he could see the shift. She was listening. Waiting. She knew something important was coming.

And he wasn't going to let her wait long. His voice, low, smooth, deliberate in its cadence, filled the quiet room like something final. "I don't date for the sake of dating." A pause. A breath. A moment of stillness. Then—softer. Heavier. Carried on a current of something deeper. "I have plans for you, Xiǎo Tùzǐ." Another pause. Then—lower now, quieter still, but piercing through the space between them like a promise. "I have plans to make you my wife."

And with that, silence.

Complete. All-consuming.

Yao didn't blink. Didn't breathe. Her lips parted in a soundless reaction, her entire body locking up in a way that told him, with crystal clarity, that she had not been expecting that—not here, not now, not yet. A flush bloomed across her cheeks, deep and vivid and spreading like fire from her collarbone to the tips of her ears as she immediately dropped her gaze, curling tighter into the sleeves of his hoodie like she could physically disappear into them. But she didn't run. She didn't protest. She didn't laugh it off. Because this wasn't something she could dismiss as teasing. This wasn't a joke. This wasn't a passing comment meant to fluster her. This was Sicheng.

And Lu Sicheng didn't say things he didn't mean. He didn't make declarations unless they were deliberate. And she—still processing, still swimming through the overwhelming surge of everything that statement meant—didn't know how to respond, didn't know what to do with the weight of the words he had just given her. But then—just as she began to spiral, just as she started to feel the panic rising, something surfaced.

A memory.

A moment from long ago.

Something her mother had once told her in that quiet, offhand way parents sometimes shared their own stories, when she was too young to understand their depth but old enough to remember them. And before she could overthink it, before she could even question why she was saying it—she spoke.

Soft. Shy. Honest.

"My mother told me once that my father said the same thing to her."

Sicheng froze as his amber gaze sharpened, narrowing slightly, zeroing in on her like he had just been handed something important.

And she wasn't finished. Still flushed. Still hiding behind her sleeves. Still speaking with that breathless, vulnerable tone that only surfaced when she was too flustered to guard herself. "He was older than her too. Eleven years older."

Sicheng said nothing. Just tapped his fingers once against the desk. Waiting.

"And my mother," she continued, her voice growing softer, more thoughtful, like the memory itself grounded her, "she'd only ever been with him. Her whole life." She paused again, then let out a slow breath. "I think... I think it might just be how it goes in my family." Her eyes dropped to the table, fingers still brushing the edge of the portfolio absentmindedly. "My grandmother was the same. She only ever loved my grandfather. And he was fifteen years older than her."