The Lin family's manor had a history of over a thousand years. It was part of Muyao's grandmother Luo Qingling's dowry. Luo Qingling had been a capitalist heiress during the Republican Era; the Luo family had donated nearly all of their property to avoid political danger and government scrutiny. She was the second child, with an older and a younger brother, both of whom tragically died in the war. The news devastated her parents, and they passed away not long after, leaving Luo Qingling the sole survivor of the family.
Overwhelmed by grief and burdened by memories, Luo Qingling later joined the military as a military doctor, hoping to escape the sorrow that clung to her. It was there that she met Lin Anguo. Their bond grew slowly and quietly until it blossomed into love—and eventually, into marriage.
In the Lin manor
It was a once-a-week routine for Muyao to visit her grandparents at the Lin Manor. No matter how busy the Lin family members were, every one of them was expected to come back at least once a month for a family gathering—dinner together, a bit of conversation, and updates on their lives. The only exception was Lin Weiran and Lin Boyuan, who both worked as confidential researchers for Hua Xia.
As the celebrity trailer rolled past the ancient stone archway and into the courtyard, Muyao lifted her eyes to take in the familiar scene. The manor, bestowed upon the Luo family by the imperial court over a thousand years ago and passed down to the Lin family through marriage generations later, carried the quiet weight of history in every carved beam and weathered tile. Even after so many centuries, it still stood with the same solemn dignity.
In the dining room
The rest of the Lin family was already seated, waiting for everyone to arrive so dinner could begin. Soft conversations drifted around the long table, but despite the steaming dishes laid out in front of them, no one lifted their chopsticks. The Lin family tradition was strict—dinner never started until every member was present.
Chen Wei, who had been walking quietly behind Muyao, stepped forward and approached Lin Anguo. At the moment, Anguo was speaking with Xia Xuexing about something interesting he had encountered during his recent business trip. Leaning in, Chen Wei whispered a brief account of what had happened to Muyao in the celebrity trailer.
Xuexing—and Muyao's grandfather, who could hear Chen Wei clearly from where he sat—both turned their eyes toward Muyao. The sight of her slightly swollen, reddened eyes made their hearts tighten, as if pierced by a hundred needles. It hurt them deeply to see her like this.
Though they had long sensed that Muyao was hiding something about Lu Luoli's death, none of them dared to push her. They knew too well what happened the last three times they tried to make her face the truth. The fear of losing her—of watching her attempt suicide a fourth time—kept their questions locked in their throats. So they could only watch her quietly, hearts aching, waiting for the day she might finally speak on her own.
The family had gathered in the grand hall, voices overlapping with laughter and chatter, but one familiar presence had been missing for months. Lin Anruo, Muyao's elder sister and a medical research director, had finally managed to return home despite her demanding work. Anguo and Xuexing had already explained to her about Muyao's inner voice and what had happened at the recent family meeting, so she approached her youngest sister with a knowing smile. "I heard you've entered the entertainment industry… and even landed a role in Director Zhang's script," she said, her voice carrying both curiosity and pride. Muyao felt a small flutter of surprise at her sister's words—not just because of her rare appearance, but because Anruo seemed to understand her in a way no one else did.
Muyao was surprised to see her elder sister at home. She forced a small smile, her eyes slightly puffy and red. "Yeah, but I still need some more improvement in my acting, so I had Li Zhenwei prepare an acting teacher to teach me more techniques and impressions. I'll start my acting class tomorrow," she said, trying to sound cheerful.
Anruo's heart ached at the sight. She could see through the forced smile and knew exactly why Muyao had been crying, but no matter how much she wanted to, she felt hopeless—unable to pull her one and only little sister out of the trauma she was going through.
Anruo stepped a little closer, her usual calm replaced by a quiet softness. "Muyao… you don't have to push yourself so hard," she said gently, though she knew her words would only brush the surface. Muyao lowered her gaze, pretending to smooth the hem of her sleeve as if she hadn't heard.
For a moment, Anruo considered reaching out, pulling her into a hug the way she used to when they were younger. But the distance between them now wasn't physical—Muyao had built walls around her pain, walls Anruo didn't know how to break without hurting her further.
"You're doing well," Anruo finally said instead, her voice steady but heavy with unspoken worry. "Even if you don't believe it yet."
Muyao's lips trembled before she steadied them. "I'll be fine, sis." The words were soft, almost convincing, but the lingering redness around her eyes betrayed her.
Anruo could only sigh inwardly. She wanted to protect Muyao from everything—from the past, from her own memories—but all she could do now was stand beside her, hoping that one day Muyao would allow herself to breathe again.
Ever since two years ago, every time Anruo managed to return home after long stretches buried in new medical research, she would hear Muyao crying softly in her room at night. The sound was faint, barely a whisper through the door, but to Anruo it was unmistakable—a cracked, exhausted kind of crying that came from someplace deeper than simple sadness.
And yet, every morning without fail, Muyao would step out of her room with clear eyes and a gentle smile, acting as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't spent hours trying to hold herself together in the dark.
Anruo had tried so many times to speak, to ask, to comfort—but every time she opened her mouth, Muyao's fragile smile would stop her. She didn't want to break her sister's illusion of normalcy, even if she could see right through it.
For all her intelligence, for all her achievements as a medical research director, Anruo felt painfully helpless. Her knowledge could save patients, advance treatments, push medical science forward… Yet she couldn't heal the one person she wanted to protect the most.
Sometimes, in her quietest moments, she regretted not choosing psychology instead. If she had learned how to navigate emotions and trauma—if she had even the tools—maybe she wouldn't be standing here feeling powerless while her little sister slowly drowned in silence.
But regrets couldn't turn back time, and all she could do now was stay close, hoping that one day Muyao would allow her to help, even just a little.