The first thing Lin Qing Yun felt was sunlight.
It poured through the sheer curtains in a pale golden stream, touching the edges of the bed, scattering across the smooth floor, and breaking into soft gleams on the carved wooden wardrobe. The air carried the faintest fragrance of sandalwood and tea, and underneath it, the low murmur of running water—the koi pond outside.
When she opened her eyes, she almost thought she was dreaming.
This room was too serene, too clean, too… beautiful. Nothing like the dim little apartment she had lived in for years, where shadows clung to corners and silence pressed close against her ribs. Here, even the quiet was gentle.
She sat up slowly, the pale quilt slipping from her shoulder, and looked around. Elegant furniture in warm walnut tones, silk drapes swaying lightly with the morning air, a balcony that opened onto a view of manicured gardens and bamboo swaying in rhythm with the breeze.
It was unreal. It was not her world.
A knock came. Before she could respond, the door opened.
Gu Ze Yan walked in, carrying a lacquer tray balanced carefully in both hands. He wore a simple white shirt and dark slacks, sleeves rolled up. His hair was slightly disheveled, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. But the pride on his face as he set the tray down on the table beside her bed almost made him look boyish.
"I made you breakfast," he said softly, as though afraid she would vanish if his voice was too loud.
On the tray: steaming porridge with a sprinkle of scallion, a small dish of pickled vegetables, delicate buns still giving off warmth, and a pot of jasmine tea.
Qing Yun lowered her eyes. She picked up the spoon, stirred the porridge once, and took a small sip. The warmth spread through her, but she ate no more than a few spoonfuls before setting it down again.
Ze Yan immediately leaned closer. "Is it not to your taste?" His brows furrowed, voice laced with worry.
She shook her head lightly. "No. It's fine."
But her gaze drifted, unfocused. Her hands folded neatly on her lap, her eyes dull with exhaustion, as though nothing before her mattered enough to hold her attention.
The sight tightened something deep inside him.
He had dreamed of her at this table, dreamed of her smile warming the cold walls of his life. Now that she was finally here, she looked so far away.
He forced a smile. "Then… after breakfast, let me show you the house. Just a little walk. Fresh air will be good for you."
Qing Yun nodded once, expression unreadable.
---
He led her slowly through the mansion, careful that she did not strain herself.
The entrance hall rose with a double-height ceiling, light cascading down from the skylight. A carved screen of mountains and rivers divided the space like a poem etched in wood. The air smelled faintly of incense, calming and dignified.
"This is the foyer," he explained gently, as though giving a tour of his heart. "Every guest passes through here, but only the people I trust are allowed past this screen."
She said nothing, her steps measured, eyes drifting from detail to detail but never resting long.
The main living room opened with floor-to-ceiling glass that revealed the infinity pool outside, its water blending into the line of the river beyond. Warm greys and jade-green accents softened the space. Sculptures, paintings, books—all carefully chosen.
He pointed, explained, told small stories of each piece. She only nodded politely, her expression calm, like a guest walking through a stranger's home.
They passed the dining hall, the kitchens, the tea pavilion where the koi pond shimmered under bamboo shadows. He explained everything, trying to fill the silence, trying to find some spark in her gaze.
Finally, he brought her to the last room.
The study.
---
When the door opened, her eyes shifted.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, filled with books—classics in Chinese and English, works of philosophy, literature, history, even rare editions she once mentioned in passing. A polished mahogany desk stood by the window, beside it a chair positioned for reading in natural light.
The moment she stepped inside, her fingers lifted almost instinctively. She reached out and traced the spines of books, pausing at titles she recognized, pulling one down and opening it. The faint scent of paper and ink filled the room.
For the first time in weeks, her gaze softened. Not much—but enough. Her shoulders eased slightly. Her lips curved just faintly as she turned the page.
Ze Yan's chest loosened with relief.
This was why he had built this room—why he had built this house. Every corner, every wall, every quiet space of tranquility had been designed for her. He had imagined her here, barefoot in the garden, reading in this library, resting her head on his shoulder in the pavilion. For years, he had carried this dream like a secret flame.
And now she was here.
He could hardly breathe.
"Do you… like it here?" he asked carefully, almost afraid of the answer.
Qing Yun looked up from the book.
Her eyes were clear, dark as still water, but there was no light in them. No joy, no warmth. Only an exhaustion so deep it seemed carved into her bones.
She gave a small, sad smile. "It doesn't matter. Whether I like it or not."
The words fell like ice.
Ze Yan froze. His heart, just moments ago light with relief, collapsed under the weight of her indifference.
She sat at the desk, opened the book again, but her gaze was distant. Her fingers rested on the page as though she were reading, but her eyes looked beyond the words, beyond the room, beyond even him.
He stood there, helpless.
This was not the "Sunny" who had once lit his world with laughter. This was not the bright girl who could turn pain into warmth with a smile. This was Lin Qing Yun stripped of her mask, quiet, distant, unreachable.
Something broke inside him.
He stepped forward without thinking, wrapped his arms around her from behind, and held her tightly. His forehead pressed against her shoulder, his arms clinging as though she might vanish if he loosened even a little.
"Sunny…" His voice was hoarse, trembling. "What should I do?"
But she did not resist, nor did she return the embrace. She simply sat there, calm and silent, her body yielding but her heart far away.
His chest ached. For the first time, he understood what Xu Wei Ran must have felt all these years—trying to hold onto her when she was already fading into shadow.
Her light was gone.
And he did not know how to bring it back.
He clung tighter, whispering like a man lost: "Tell me. Please. Just tell me what to do."
But she gave no answer.
Only the sound of pages fluttering softly in the half-open book, the faint trickle of water from the koi pond beyond the window, and the quiet breathing of a girl who looked like she no longer belonged to the world.