They stood there.
Hua Jing barefoot in the flowers, and Fu Jing Rong with clenched fists at his sides.
Neither moved.
Not a single step forward. Not a single breath that wasn't careful.
The air between them wasn't just thick—it was trembling.
Because somewhere in their bones, both of them felt it.
This wasn't just a moment in the present.
This was something bigger. Deeper.
But neither of them dared to reach for it. Not yet.
Hua Jing's fingers curled tightly into the sides of her gown. She didn't know why she couldn't move. Her feet were fine, her legs were strong again, but her body refused.
Because if she took even one step forward—if she dared to close this distance—and it all shattered?
She didn't think she could survive it.
And across from her, Fu Jing Rong stood stiffly. His body looked like it was ready to run toward her, crash into her arms, fall to his knees and beg her never to disappear again. But his mind?
His mind was a battlefield.
