The street smelled of rain and liquor.
Lin Qing Yun stood before a narrow lane where dim yellow bulbs swayed in the winter wind. Old balconies sagged with rusted bars, laundry forgotten in the damp. At the end of the lane, a single-story house leaned against its neighbors, patched with old paint and warped wood. Shards of glass glinted under the weak light — broken bottles scattered like forgotten confessions.
On the steps sat a woman, arguing with a man whose voice was slurred by drink. She clutched another bottle in her hand, hair tangled, face red from alcohol. She swung her arm wildly, shouting insults too coarse for the wind to soften. When the man cursed back, she flung the bottle — it exploded against the ground, spraying shards at Qing Yun's feet.
For a moment, silence. Then Lin Hui Zhen turned, eyes narrowing to focus on the young woman who had quietly walked closer.
Her lips twisted. Without a word, she staggered inside the house, leaving the door half-open like a challenge.
Qing Yun breathed once, steadying herself, then stepped in.
---
The house smelled of stale alcohol and mold. Curtains sagged across the windows, muting the light until everything inside looked the color of ash. A lone bulb swung overhead, buzzing faintly. On the table: cigarette butts drowned in cheap beer, bowls with dried sauce clinging to the edges, a crumpled pack of medicine no one had taken.
Lin Hui Zhen dropped into a chair, slamming down her empty glass. Her laugh was sharp and humorless.
"What do you want, ah?" Her words slurred, but her tone carried venom. "Come to see how miserable I am? Or did you come for money? You already paid my debts last time—what, now you want it back?"
Qing Yun shook her head gently. Her voice was quiet, calm. "I would never ask you for that."
The older woman sneered, leaning forward. Her eyes were bloodshot, yet behind the haze was a familiar cruelty. "Don't pretend. Don't come here acting righteous. You think your fake kindness fools me? You disgust me, Qing Yun. You've always been disgusting. Since the day you were born, you brought nothing but misfortune."
The words landed like stones, each one heavier than the last. Qing Yun stood still, expression calm, hands at her side. Her silence only seemed to ignite her mother further.
"You ruined everything!" Lin Hui Zhen shouted, pounding the table. "You ruined my life. If not for you—if not for you—I wouldn't have ended up like this! You think your little polite voice, your respectful face, makes you a good daughter? Pah!" She spat on the floor. "I should've never kept you. Should've let you rot before you even saw the world."
Her chest heaved, breath sour with liquor. Then she smirked cruelly, tilting her head. "So why are you really here? Come to parade your success? Some rich man feeding you now, is that it? Think you're better than me?"
Qing Yun lifted her chin slightly, her lips parting as if it took great effort to form the words. "I came… to tell you about Si Yao."
At that name, silence cracked open the air.
Lin Hui Zhen squinted, then burst into laughter—loud, hysterical, echoing off the bare walls. "What about her? That precious sister you always babied, hm? What? Did she finally realize you're cursed and leave you too?"
Qing Yun's voice was almost a whisper. "Si Yao is gone."
The laughter choked into a gasp. Then, suddenly, more laughter—sharper, uglier. The woman slammed the table, pointing a trembling finger. "Of course! Of course it's you. Who else could it be? You killed her. You killed your sister! You're death itself, Qing Yun. Death follows you everywhere. I knew I should've never left her with you. I should've taken her away. I should've let you rot!"
Her scream pierced the room. She grabbed a cup and hurled it across the floor; porcelain shattered against the wall. She grabbed a plate next, throwing it at Qing Yun. It grazed her cheek — a thin line of red bloomed, sliding down her pale skin.
But Qing Yun did not move. Did not flinch.
Lin Hui Zhen collapsed against the table, wailing Si Yao's name. "My baby! My poor girl! Taken away because of that cursed thing standing there!" She slammed her fists, howling like an animal in grief and rage.
Through it all, Qing Yun stood silently, like a figure carved in stone. Inside, her heart trembled, cracking in places that had already broken too many times. She wanted to cry, but no tears came. Only silence, only calm.
When her mother's wails softened into drunken sobs, Qing Yun reached into her coat and placed a bank card on the table.
"This," she said softly, "is everything I saved for Si Yao's tuition. It has no meaning now. Please… take it. Live well. Be healthy, if you can. And be happy, if you can."
Her mother glanced at the card, then back at her, face twisted with hatred. "Keep your filthy money. I don't want anything from you."
Qing Yun bowed deeply, forehead nearly touching the dirty floor.
"Thank you," she whispered, "for giving me life."
No answer came. Only drunken breathing and the faint clink of glass rolling across the table.
Qing Yun straightened, blood still streaking her cheek, and turned toward the door.
---
Outside, Xu Wei Ran had been waiting. He had heard everything. His fists were clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms. His chest rose and fell as if holding back fire. When Qing Yun stepped out, the wound on her cheek glistening in the pale light, his heart nearly broke.
But she said nothing. She only adjusted her coat, smoothed her hair, and murmured: "Let's go."
Her voice was so calm, so steady, it made Wei Ran ache.
He wanted to speak, to rage, to tell her she didn't deserve a single word that woman said. But he swallowed it all, because he knew her too well. He knew that when Lin Qing Yun decided to endure, nothing could move her but time itself.
So he simply walked beside her, shielding her from the wind with his body, his silence filled with more devotion than words could carry.