Against the Algorithm

Chapter 50: What Was Meant to Be Found

Summary: In a city heavy with memory and morning light, a daughter steps into the legacy her mother never let the world erase. Behind sealed vaults and soft-spoken letters, answers unfold—not just in wealth or heirlooms, but in love preserved and trust passed forward. And when hands meet paper that waited years to be held, what's revealed isn't just history—it's belonging.

Chapter Fifty

The soft trill of his alarm buzzed quietly against the hotel nightstand, subtle but persistent—the kind of sound meant to wake without startling. The pre-dawn light filtered faintly through the heavy curtains of the suite, casting the room in a cool silver hue. The world outside was still dark, quiet, the streets of Shanghai barely stirring.

Sicheng stirred slowly, eyes blinking open as he reached out with one hand to silence the alarm. His body was warm beneath the covers, the sheets tangled loosely around them from the way they'd slept—close, instinctively drawn to each other in the stillness of the night.

And then he felt her.

Yao.

Her body was curled tightly against his, her smaller frame pressed into the solid line of his chest, arms wrapped around his waist, one leg hooked over his. Her head was tucked beneath his chin, her breath soft against his collarbone, the strands of her loose platinum hair tickling against his throat. She wasn't just close—she was wrapped around him, holding onto him with a grip that hadn't loosened once during the night. His arms were already around her, one cradling her back, the other resting across her hip, and he hadn't realized it until now, hadn't needed to think about it.

Because this?

This was becoming normal.

She clung to him in her sleep not out of fear, not because she was afraid of losing him—but because some part of her had finally decided that she was allowed to hold on and he wasn't going anywhere.

Sicheng shifted slightly, brushing his lips gently against the top of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo and something uniquely her. Her body didn't stir, but her fingers curled slightly tighter around the fabric of his shirt, as if even asleep, she could feel the movement. He let his eyes close for a moment more, letting himself feel it—her warmth, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the soft sound of her sigh as she nestled closer. And for the first time in a long time, he didn't resent the alarm. Because it had reminded him, before the rest of the day began—before the bank, before whatever truths waited in vaults and legal folders—that this was where they were now.

Together.

That she trusted him enough to sleep like this. To be like this. And he would give her the world if she asked. But for now? He just held her tighter. And didn't move.

The room was still wrapped in that hushed, early-morning stillness, the world outside the windows barely beginning to turn from silver to gray. The city below hadn't yet shaken off its sleep, and within the soft walls of the Palace Suite, neither had she.

Sicheng remained still for a moment longer, holding Yao gently against him, his arm curled protectively around her waist, her body warm and relaxed in a way that only sleep allowed. But they had things to do today, places to be, memories and legacies waiting just a few hours away.

So he moved.

Softly.

Carefully.

He tilted his head and pressed his lips gently to her crown, the scent of her hair comforting in a way that had become familiar and grounding. His lips lingered as he murmured low against her scalp, voice still gravelly with sleep.