She floated into the room like a ghost, draped in white from neck to ankles. Her dress was loose, flowing, soft like silk. The high neckline framed her collarbone delicately, and the subtle folds down the front gave her an almost regal aura. The simplicity of her attire only enhanced her elegance.
She was… beautiful. Painfully beautiful.
The realization struck him bitterly. Then his eyes locked with hers. Her blazing golden Amber eyes. Those pretty, pretty eyes looked like molten lava, furious enough to consume the world. A single vein pulsed on her forehead... But she was still expressionless.
She looked like she could burn the world to ashes... and smile while doing it.
Mo Yichen froze. But for a flicker of a second…...just a flicker...something shifted in his chest.
An itch. Was it… pity?
No. He shoved the thought away like a blade too hot to hold. But it lingered. Like a whisper. A shadow in the back of his mind. And then… His gaze dropped to the red splotch spreading across her dress. His eyes narrowed.
Her hand.
Wrapped in gauze. Yet blood still seeped through, deep red, like a rose blooming violently on white silk.
Something cracked inside him. Intrigued.
But why?
Madam Xia saw his gaze and turned to her daughter, and in that moment, her composure crumbled. Tears spilled freely. Her eyes were heavy with guilt, weighed down by choices she had no power to undo.
She took a step forward, hesitant, almost trembling, perhaps to hold her daughter, to comfort her. But Xia Ruyan met her eyes. Blank, Hollow, and Unforgiving.
Madam Xia gasped softly, the breath catching in her throat. There was no warmth in her daughter's eyes.
No trace of the child she once cradled. Only a haunting void. It shattered her. But still… Madam Xia didn't retreat. She stood tall. Because a mother must sometimes be the villain to protect her child. Even if it means bearing her hatred forever.
"Mr. Xia…" Mo Yichen finally spoke, his voice cold and controlled, one brow lifting slightly. "What happened?"
Mr. Xia cleared his throat. "Please give us a moment." He walked toward his daughter gently, as though approaching a frightened bird.
"Let's get this properly wrapped," he murmured. But Xia Ruyan turned to him, eyes solemn, voice low and heavy.
"Baba," she said, her voice steady, low, and final. "The blood that must be shed… cannot be held back. And some wounds must remain open, so a person never forgets where they were broken." Her words stabbed deeper than any knife. Mo Yichen was intrigued. What was happening here?
Mr. Xia's lips quivered. His eyes filled with unshed tears that refused to fall, not yet.
He turned to Mo Yichen and gently placed her injured hand in his. "You can take her," he said. "I entrust her to you."
Mo Yichen instinctively grasped her soft and delicate hand. But before he could even register the warmth of her skin, she tore her hand away like his touch was unwelcome air. And still, something beneath his ribs quietly and unwantedly stirred.
His jaw ticked with amusement or irritation. Maybe something else. Something he can't name.
"Promise me… you'll keep her safe," Madam Xia whispered, voice cracking. The dam broke. Her tears fell unrestrained.
Mo Yichen didn't hesitate. "I will." And the moment the words left his mouth, he was stunned. Why did I say that? Why did those words come so easily, like they'd been waiting for release? He never made empty promises. To him, a promise was sacred. It was an honor. Then why the hell did he just make one? She was already walking away.
The doors to the garden stood open, petals drifting in with the wind. Ruyan reached the threshold, pausing beneath the arch of blooming roses. The morning sun filtered through the petals, bathing her in soft light. Her white dress whispered around her ankles as a breeze curled past, almost as if the wind itself hesitated with her.
She stood still. She didn't turn. Didn't speak. Just stared into the house. Into what was once her world. The walls were quiet, but her mind was loud. Too loud…. even in the silence… she heard it.
A laugh.
Quick, careless, alive. A call of her name, light as rain.
A teasing scold. A sudden giggle. The jingle of anklets on marble floors. Water dripping from a courtyard fountain. Curtains drawing, feet running, someone humming.
And then....
His voice.
That voice.
"Janan."
The name lingered, rich and low. A thread of warmth and thunder wrapped into one. She hadn't known what it meant back then. Not really. But now…
Now it echoed in her bones. It sat beneath her skin like a brand she couldn't scrub away.
Her nose stung. Her throat felt dry, too tight to swallow. Still, her eyes didn't tear up.
Because this pain… it wasn't meant to be washed away. Hence, she will never cry again.
"My soul's calm… even your silence echoes loudly in me." The words slid into her ears as if whispered right beside her. It was not a memory or a delusion. It was presence. Like someone standing behind the veil of sight. Watching. Waiting. Listening.
Ruyan didn't move.
She stared deeper into the house as if she could burn the image into her soul, every crack, every corner.
Every flicker of shadow that still carried him. And her heart whispered, Don't leave me here alone.
Her parents stepped behind her, watching her fragile figure caught in the light. They didn't speak or interrupt. Because they saw what she was doing. They saw that she was not just saying goodbye to a home.
She was saying goodbye to someone they would never see again. Someone whose absence still thundered in her chest like a second heartbeat.
Madam Xia's hand flew to her mouth as her knees buckled slightly. Mr. Xia held her steady. Tears streamed down her face, and still, Ruyan didn't look at them. Instead, she tilted her head ever so slightly. Her eyes no longer stared; they searched.
As though if she looked long enough… the shape of him might appear behind the curtains. As if the echo might call her name one last time. As if the universe might shift and undo what was done.
But there was nothing. Only air. Only roses blooming around a bleeding girl.
Then… in a voice so soft it was barely audible, she spoke.
"Goodbye."
It was a whisper. A prayer. Or maybe... a vow. To the ones she could still feel, and the one they could never see again.
The one whose voice would not leave her soul. Not now.
Not ever.