Late night settled gently over the ancestral home. The courtyard had gone quiet.
Somewhere deeper inside the residence, Qiū Huà Bǐ had disappeared with his phone, a full stomach, and no obvious intention of returning until morning.
The silence he left behind suited the house.
Yè Yī stood outside Violet's room. His hand hovered over the door for one second, then five. Finally at ten he knocked.
No answer.
He waited another moment before sliding the door open himself.
Violet sat at the low wooden table. Several old documents lay spread before her, rescued from one of the ancestral chests.
She wasn't searching through them. She turned each page with the patience of someone confirming memories rather than discovering them.
The room smelled faintly of old paper and cooling tea.
Yè Yī closed the door behind him.
"I've been thinking..."
Without looking up, she answered,
"That narrows it down to almost everything."
His mouth twitched.. barely.
"About what you said..."
She waited.
"The part about swearing into something."
Only then did she lift her head. Her eyes calm and attentive. Nothing in her expression suggested surprise.
He stepped closer.
"If it has to happen..."
He paused.
"...then dragging it out serves no purpose."
"The ritual. The acknowledgment. We should simply do it."
She blinked once.
"What ritual?"
He frowned.
"The sworn sibling ceremony. You told me we shouldn't do it on an empty stomach. So..."
He straightened unconsciously.
"...let's do it properly."
There wasn't even a trace of embarrassment. He had already accepted the decision. Now he only wanted to carry it through.
Violet looked at him for a long moment. Then... she leaned back.
"I wasn't talking about me."
The words reached him, but their meaning didn't.
"...What?"
"I wasn't asking you to become my sworn brother."
Silence followed.
"I was reminding you of someone else."
Something changed behind his eyes. His voice grew quieter.
"...Explain."
She folded her hands together.
"Four years ago... There was someone."
He remained still.
"She wasn't related to you by blood. She was older than you. She laughed easily. She loved wearing red."
A pause.
"..And she had the habit of correcting your calligraphy."
His breathing faltered.
"When you were fifteen... She told you your grip was too stiff."
His voice came out lower than before.
"...Stop."
She continued anyway.
"She was the only person you ever treated like family."
His hands closed into fists.
"Where did you hear that?"
"I didn't."
"You just said—"
"I never mentioned her name."
He froze.
She hadn't.
That unsettled him more than if she had.
"You stopped saying 'family' after she disappeared."
Her voice remained level.
"You replaced it with... 'responsibility'."
His throat tightened.
"She left... Without saying anything."
"Yes."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
She said nothing more. She didn't need to.bIf she explained why... everything would come too early.
His frustration finally surfaced.
"You don't get to speak about her like that."
"I'm not speaking about her."
She met his eyes.
"I'm speaking about you."
He stepped forward.
"You implied she abandoned—"
"I implied she disappeared."
A small pause.
"You decided the rest."
The words landed cleanly. He couldn't answer them.
She let the silence settle before speaking again.
"You misunderstood me. When I said you should swear yourself to something that wouldn't let you disappear... I wasn't asking you to bind yourself to me."
His gaze sharpened.
"I was asking why you stopped looking."
His reply came almost immediately.
"I didn't."
"For how long?"
"...Months."
"And after that?"
'Nothing.'
Finally—
"...People leave."
"Sometimes."
Her voice remained calm.
"Sometimes they don't."
He looked at her.
"They're removed.. or prevented from returning.. or forced to leave without having the chance to say goodbye.. Or.. "
The room seemed colder.
"...They made their decision."
"What exactly are you suggesting?"
"That someone like her doesn't simply vanish. Not without leaving something behind."
"She didn't."
"She did."
He stared.
"...Where?"
Violet held his gaze.
"In you."
He didn't know whether to be angry or relieved or neither.
"She taught you restraint. She taught you patience. She taught you how to survive."
A faint pause.
"And somewhere along the way... she also taught you never to need anyone again."
His silence answered for him.
"You convinced yourself she chose to leave. So you decided never to give anyone that chance again."
"That's not true."
"It is."
His voice hardened.
"You don't get to dig through someone else's past."
She shook her head once.
"I don't dig."
"I observe. I wasn't offering to become your sworn sister."
She spoke so quietly the words almost disappeared.
"You already gave that place to someone."
Another pause.
"It simply hasn't reached its ending."
His eyes narrowed.
"...You're saying she's alive."
"I'm saying..."
She looked toward the open paper window.
"...that people who choose to leave usually leave answers."
Her gaze returned to him.
"... Or they leave silence."
The room became very still.
"If you're wrong..."
His voice had become almost calm again.
"...you're reopening something you don't understand."
"If I'm right..."
she answered,
"...you've been standing in the same place for four years."
Her words held no accusation, no pity. Only truth.
After a long while, he asked,
"So this was never about sworn siblings."
"No."
"Then what is it about?"
Violet didn't answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely louder than the wind outside.
"It's about deciding what you really want."
She looked directly at him.
"Closure..."
A quiet breath.
"...or the truth."
Neither of them spoke again. The question remained between them.
Neither willing to leave. Neither willing to move.
Deep inside her mind, another thought surfaced. It never reached her lips.
If I told you where she is... you wouldn't be happy.