Inside the tightly shut doors of the clinic office, the air was heavy with the faint scent of disinfectant and herbs. Nim Si stood still, his posture rigid, one hand resting on the windowsill as if the wooden frame were the only thing holding him upright. The pale morning light streamed in through the thin curtains, cutting across his features and deepening the shadows beneath his eyes. He looked every bit like a doctor—a composed man in his white gown, steady, professional—but inside him churned a storm that threatened to rip through his calm exterior.
Yunxi had seen him. Yunxi had spotted him, and he had hidden away.
The thought alone sent a wave of shame crawling up Nim Si's spine. How terrible of a person must he be, that even when standing in the place he claimed as his own, he had to duck behind walls and doors like a coward? And yet, shamelessly, he stood here, playing the role of a healer, a man of virtue. A doctor. After everything he had been involved in—after every stain, every secret, every betrayal—he still wore this mask as though nothing clung to him.
The silence in the office shattered as the door swung open. The abrupt sound made him flinch, his hand tightening against the sill.
"Master, did I scare you?" Bailu's cheerful voice cut through.
Nim Si turned slowly, his expression carefully schooled into something steady. "No, I just wasn't expecting anyone."
He threw the towel in his hand onto the side table and lowered himself into the chair with deliberate ease, as though every move needed to be controlled.
Bailu lingered at the door, shifting uneasily before stepping in. "Sir, why can't you just meet him? He seems like a calm person…" He hesitated, his gaze flicking to Nim Si's expressionless face, but pressed on anyway. "You know him, right? He said he knew—"
"Cut the crap, boy!" Nim Si's voice cracked like a whip, sharp and full of warning.
Bailu's words died instantly, swallowed in the heavy silence that followed. He dropped his gaze to the floor, guilt painting his young face. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Nim Si broke the silence, his voice colder now. "If he comes back again, tell him I have no intention of meeting him. None at all. So you should tell—"
A knock came at the door, abrupt and unwelcome. Before Nim Si could finish, two men in nursing cloth stepped inside.
"Doctor," one of them said respectfully, holding out a small pouch, "the gentleman from earlier left this here. He made us promise to give it to you. He seemed… really sad." The man paused, his eyes curious. "Do you happen to know—"
"I would like to get back to work," Nim Si interrupted sharply. "Bring in the next patient."
The words sliced through the nurse's question before it could form. The two exchanged a glance, curiosity thick in their eyes, but they knew better than to press. They withdrew silently, whispering between themselves as they went, and Bailu followed after them.
When the door shut, the silence returned—thick, suffocating. Nim Si's gaze slid to the pouch lying on the table. His breath hitched almost imperceptibly. Slowly, hesitantly, as though the object might burn him, he reached for it.
His hand closed around the pouch. His fingers tightened. He raised it high, his intent clear: to throw it away, to be rid of it once and for all. But at the last second, something seized him. His arm trembled. He froze, lips pressing tightly together, and his eyes burned red.
He wanted to cry.
The emotion swelled in his chest, raw and heavy, but Nim Si crushed it back down, refusing to let it spill. With a low breath, he shoved the pouch into the lower locker with almost violent force. He couldn't throw it away. But neither could he bring himself to open it.
What had happened to him?
Another knock interrupted his torment. Nim Si quickly straightened, wiping all trace of emotion from his face. When the nurse entered with a young lady in tow, she smiled politely and gestured.
"This way, miss." She guided the woman into the chair before leaving them alone.
"Hello," Nim Si greeted, his voice steady, almost too steady, as he buried the chaos within him once again.
---
Meanwhile, far from the clinic's suffocating office, Yunxi sat hunched in the corner of an ordinary restaurant. His fingers drummed impatiently against the wooden table as his mind replayed the disastrous scene at the hospital. His chest burned with frustration, his mood foul enough to curdle the air around him.
He had gone all the way there, endured the ride, endured the wait, endured the condescension of strangers—only to be denied. Again.
He cursed under his breath, then louder, drawing glances from the other customers. "They could have just let me see him once. Once! How long is he going to avoid me?" His voice rose, bitter, raw. "It's like what happened is entirely my fault. That bastard…"
A woman at the next table slammed her cup down. "Why do you keep using vulgar language in public, you brat?"
"Just because he's rich, he thinks he can do whatever he wants, tcss," another muttered.
Yunxi's head snapped up, his glare sharp enough to cut. "I should just leave."
Realization dawned on him—he had chosen an ordinary restaurant, not a private inn. His voice had carried, his frustration laid bare for everyone. He pulled a few coins from his pocket and tossed them onto the table with a clatter. "Damn it," he muttered, rising sharply to his feet.
A few men moved as if to confront him, but Yunxi didn't so much as flinch. He had seen too much, lived through too much, to be rattled by a handful of loudmouthed fools. His expression was cold, detached, as he walked out the door without a backward glance.
Outside, the cool air hit him, but it did nothing to soothe his temper. He mounted his horse, the animal snorting softly beneath him, and rode at a slow pace. His mind churned with conflicting thoughts: should he return home, leave it all behind for the day? Or should he turn back, storm into that hospital, and demand answers?
Every frown, every grimace that crossed his face betrayed his inner turmoil. His mind was a battlefield, each thought another weapon cutting into his already restless heart.
He didn't even notice the carriage until it was nearly upon him. Its polished wood gleamed, the horses finely bred, the insignia unmistakably royal.
Inside, a beautiful young woman sat with her maid. Boredom laced her gaze—until it drifted out the window and landed on the lone rider. Her breath caught. She leaned forward, pulling the curtain aside, her eyes lighting with sudden recognition.
"Stop the carriage!" she commanded.
The carriage jolted to a halt. With the maid's help, the young lady stepped down gracefully, though her haste betrayed her. Her gown swayed, her jewels glimmered, but none of it mattered compared to the spark of excitement in her eyes.
"Brother Yunxi!" she called, her voice cutting through the woods.
The rider stopped. Yunxi turned, his brow furrowed, confusion stark on his face.
"Brother Yunxi, brother…" she called again as she hurried toward him, her maid trailing behind. Her voice trembled, full of joy and hope. "Did you forget me?" Her wide, pleading eyes shone like a puppy's.
Yunxi stared at her, his expression unreadable. His gaze flicked to the maid behind her, whose face mirrored the same eagerness. The way they looked at him—like he was someone precious, someone they had longed to see—stirred something faint, a whisper of familiarity.
But he did not know her. Not truly.