At last, one could finally say that the Xiā family had been reunited.
The weight of years—of absence, of grief, of longing left unanswered—seemed to lift in that single embrace. Even the usually sharp and aloof Weillian, who wore arrogance like a second skin, had reddened eyes at that moment. His lips trembled, though he pressed them into a thin line to keep his composure.
Madam Xiā pulled Sīān close against her chest, as though terrified that if she loosened her grip for even a heartbeat, he would vanish like a mirage. She gathered her son to her with a desperate tenderness, and in doing so, drew the rest of the family—including the usually reserved Father Xiā—into one great, warm embrace.
For the first time in so very long, the Xiā family was whole.
Sīān was engulfed in this flood of familial affection, smothered in warmth he had never asked for yet found himself secretly craving. His lashes lowered, his heart strangely light.
