The lamplight was dim, softened by the pale shade that spread a honey glow across the study room. Outside, spring night air drifted through the garden, carrying the faint rustle of bamboo and the occasional splash of koi in the pond.
Inside, silence pressed heavy.
Lin Qing Yun and Gu Ze Yan still sat on the floor, their heads resting on the low coffee table, their gazes brushing in the half-light. He had asked her about dreams. And she, with a calmness that chilled him, had said she did not deserve any.
Her words still reverberated in his chest. He fought the urge to argue, to deny it, to drown her darkness with his certainty. But he knew—if he rushed, if he pushed, she would retreat into that unreachable ocean within her.
So he stayed still, swallowing his heartbreak, waiting.
Finally, she blinked slowly, as though deciding whether to let him into a chamber she had kept locked for too long.
Her voice was quiet, steady, almost conversational, but the weight behind it pressed into his bones.
---
Qing Yun Speaks
"My life," she began, her eyes fixed somewhere past him, "was created from sin. An evil one."
Her gaze dropped, lashes casting shadows. "My mother was raped. And I was the aftermath. The… seed of evil, she called me."
The words struck like a blade. Ze Yan's body tensed, but he forced himself not to interrupt, not to flinch outwardly, though inside he was crumbling.
"Every curse, every slap, every scar," Qing Yun continued, her tone unnervingly calm, "was just a reminder of who I was. Worthless. A walking misfortune."
His hand twitched on the table, aching to reach for hers. But he stayed frozen, terrified that one wrong move would silence her.
"Do you… resent her?" His voice cracked before he could stop it. The question slipped out, trembling.
She lifted her gaze, meeting his. For the first time, he saw a flicker—not of anger, but of something softer, stranger.
"No."
Ze Yan's breath caught. "No?"
She shook her head, slowly. "Despite all that, she did her best. In her own way. She chose to give me life when she could have thrown me away. She could have killed me. But instead, she raised me. She bore the shame. She endured being abandoned by her family. If she wants to hate me, if she wants to blame me… it's her right."
Her voice didn't waver, but the quiet strength in it tore at him. This was the kindness he both loved and feared—the kindness that let her forgive the unforgivable.
Her lips curved faintly, bittersweet. "It wasn't always bad. When she met Si Yao's father, when she gave birth to her, she seemed… complete. Happy. For a while, I thought maybe… maybe there was hope. Si Yao became my hope. My light."
Her voice softened at the name, fragile, like porcelain ready to crack. "So I promised myself—I would protect her. With everything I had. She became my life."
Ze Yan's throat burned, but he kept silent.
"Things went bad," Qing Yun continued. "When Si Yao's father left, my mother lost herself. She broke. She poured everything on me—every wound, every disappointment, every rage. Because I was always the reminder. The symbol of her bad luck."
Her fingers brushed the wood grain of the table, tracing invisible lines. "So I studied hard. I worked harder. I wanted her to see me as something other than a burden. I gave everything—so maybe, maybe she could ease her pain. So maybe she wouldn't regret raising me."
Her lashes lowered, her voice thinning. "I created Sunny. For Si Yao. For my mother. For everyone. Because I thought if I became warmth, if I became light, then maybe I could change fate. Maybe heaven would forgive me for being born of something so filthy."
Her lips trembled faintly, but no tears fell. Only her eyes shimmered with an exhaustion so deep it frightened him.
"I gave everything to Si Yao—my dreams, my hopes, my life. All of it. Because I thought if she bloomed, then I was worthy. That I could be a good seed after all."
Her breath hitched. For the first time, she laughed—a hollow, bitter laugh. "But what did I do wrong? Why did fate take her? She was the one in her best stage, so full of brilliance. Why her? Why not me?"
Her laughter cut off abruptly, leaving silence in its wake.
Her voice dropped, almost a whisper. "I don't understand. I ask myself the same question you once asked me, Gu Ze Yan… why?"
She lifted her eyes, hollow yet burning. "Why do I have to keep moving, when everything is gone? When every step feels meaningless? Why not end it here? Why should I continue, when there's nothing left to carry forward?"
The words fell heavy, like stones sinking into a bottomless well.
---
Ze Yan's Breaking Point
Ze Yan's vision blurred. He hadn't even realized tears had spilled until they slid hot down his cheeks. He couldn't hold them back anymore—the dam inside him broke, overflowing with grief that wasn't even his, but which he felt as though it were carved into his own flesh.
Qing Yun turned her head slightly. For the first time, she looked at him directly. She saw his tears, and her lips curved faintly, almost tender.
"Don't cry, Mr. Gu," she said softly, lifting her hand to brush at his wet cheek. Her fingers were cool, light, like a ghost's caress.
That broke him completely.
Ze Yan surged forward, pulling her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. His tears soaked into her hair as his arms trembled around her.
"Please," he choked, voice breaking with desperation, "don't lose hope. Don't fade away. Stay. Even if your love isn't for me, even if it's for anyone else, don't let it vanish. Please, Qing Yun…"
He held her tighter, terrified that if he loosened even slightly, she would dissolve into smoke.
For a long moment, she didn't move. Then, slowly, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around him. She buried her face in his chest, silent, her body sinking into his warmth.
Ze Yan stroked her hair again and again, like soothing a frightened child, his tears still falling unchecked. He couldn't undo her past, couldn't erase her scars, couldn't give back Si Yao. But he could hold her now. He could keep her here, against him, alive.
---
A Fragile Embrace
The study room was quiet except for their mingled breaths. The lamp's glow blurred around them, soft and hazy, like the world itself was holding its breath.
Qing Yun's voice came muffled against his chest. "Why do you still hold me, knowing what I am?"
He pulled back just enough to see her face, cupping her cheeks with trembling hands. His thumbs brushed her skin, as though to erase the words before they could take root.
"You are not sin. You are not a curse. You are not evil." His voice cracked, raw with conviction. "You are Lin Qing Yun. And you're the only one I've ever—" He stopped himself, biting down on the confession that had lived in his throat for years. His eyes burned. "Please. Let me carry it with you. Whatever weight it is. Don't do this alone anymore."
Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came. Only her eyes, wide and glistening, stared into his.
The silence between them wasn't suffocating. It was fragile. Sacred.
And when she finally lowered her gaze and leaned into his chest again, letting his arms hold her without resistance, Ze Yan felt something flicker inside him—a fragile flame of hope.