The winter sky was pale, a muted gray that pressed low over Liangcheng. The city looked softer in this kind of light, as if even the air itself wanted to keep quiet.
Inside the car, silence stretched between Gu Ze Yan and Lin Qing Yun, but it was not the heavy silence of strangers. It was the silence of two people holding the same ache in their chests, neither needing to fill the space with words.
Ze Yan drove slowly, one hand steady on the wheel, the other stealing glances toward her.
This morning, she was different. Warmer. Yesterday, she had looked like an empty shell—expressionless, breath shallow, eyes like glass. But today, she had eaten the breakfast he prepared, carefully cut fruit on porcelain plates. She had even stood beside him in front of the mirror, tying his tie with calm hands, exactly the way she always did before they went to work.
And before they left, she had bent down at the aquarium to sprinkle food into his fish tank. The fish darted up eagerly, unaware of the grief that had entered the house. Watching her lean close, whispering a soft greeting to the fish as though nothing had changed, had made something in him splinter quietly inside.
How strong was she? How could she hold herself so steady, when even he, a man used to storm and sabotage, felt like he was breaking?
He glanced at her again. She caught his gaze this time, lips curving into a faint smile.
"Look at the road," she murmured gently.
His throat tightened. He turned back to the windshield, but his heart would not calm.
---
They did not go straight to the funeral home. Instead, Qing Yun asked him to take her to her apartment first.
"She needs clothes," she said softly. "The last time… she should be dressed properly."
When they arrived at the familiar complex, neighbors quickly gathered. Word had already spread through the courtyard, like wind carrying fire.
"Qing Yun, ah—" An auntie with red eyes clutched her sleeve, crying openly. "Stay strong, child. Heaven is cruel, but you must take care of yourself."
Another woman dabbed her face with her sleeve. "That girl was so polite, so clever. How can this happen? You must eat, you must rest, don't fall sick too."
Qing Yun, instead of collapsing into their grief, did what she always did—she smiled, bowed her head slightly, and comforted them.
"Thank you… thank you for caring for Si Yao and me all these years. Please don't cry too much. She wouldn't want that."
Her voice was steady, soothing, like warm water poured into cold hands. The aunties cried even harder, but they also nodded, touched by her composure.
From a short distance, Ze Yan followed, his chest aching as he watched her. She was the one who had lost her sister, yet she was the one calming everyone else. He had never admired her more, and never hated fate more, than in this moment.
---
At her apartment door, yellow tape crisscrossed the frame. A uniformed officer stood nearby, clipboard in hand.
"I need to get my sister's clothes," Qing Yun said quietly.
The officer hesitated, then nodded. "Please, but only briefly. Be careful not to disturb the investigation."
Inside, the air was faint with detergent and dust. The small apartment seemed even more bare than usual, as if grief had scraped it hollow overnight.
Qing Yun walked straight to her sister's room. The police moved aside, watching her silently.
She opened the wardrobe. Neatly folded uniforms, plain cardigans, a few simple dresses. Her fingers hovered, then stopped when her eyes landed on a soft pink embroidered dress with little bows on the sleeves.
A memory rose unbidden: Si Yao's face lighting up on her birthday, twirling shyly in front of the mirror, cheeks flushed. "It looks like a dating dress, Jie. One day, when I…" Her words had trailed off in embarrassment, but Qing Yun had known. She had blushed because of that boy in her class, the one she liked.
This dress had been carefully hung and rarely worn. Her sister had cherished it, saving it for a future that would never come.
Qing Yun's hand trembled only once as she lifted it from the hanger.
She added a pair of small shoes polished clean, the soft blanket Si Yao always pulled around her shoulders when she studied late, the plush rabbit she hugged to sleep, and one thin book—the book Qing Yun had read to her when she was small and scared of their mother's shouting.
Each item was a fragment of memory, a piece of love she could not let go.
---
At the door, the police checked her bundle carefully before letting her leave. As they did, her eyes fell on the sofa—Si Yao's school bag still sat there, heavy with books. The strap was twisted, as if dropped carelessly after a long day. It looked ready to be picked up again tomorrow.
Her chest tightened, but she did not touch it.
When she stepped back outside, faint marks of dried blood were still visible on the ground below, even after yesterday's drizzle. A group of officers spoke quietly, pointing toward the stairwell where the fall had happened.
Qing Yun did not stop, did not ask. She walked on as though she had not seen.
Ze Yan was waiting, his tall frame a shadow against the weak light. The moment she appeared, he strode forward, wordless, and took the bag of belongings from her arms. His fingers brushed hers deliberately, silently promising: Let me carry this now. You've carried too much already.
She allowed it.
---
The drive to the funeral home was long and quiet. Outside, the city moved as always—traffic, neon signs, children with umbrellas hopping over puddles—but inside the car, the air felt different, sealed in by grief.
Qing Yun sat with her hands folded in her lap, gazing out the window. The bundle of clothes and toys rested between them, heavier than any luggage.
Ze Yan glanced at her again. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He wanted to say something—anything—but nothing seemed enough.
So he simply reached across, found her hand, and held it gently.
For once, she did not tease him, did not call him clingy. She turned her head and gave him the faintest smile, so warm it made his chest ache.
At last, they arrived at the funeral home. The building loomed quiet, its doors heavy with shadows.
Carrying the bundle in his arms, Ze Yan stepped forward first, as if he could shield her from even this.
Behind him, Lin Qing Yun followed, her steps soundless, her face calm.
She carried nothing in her hands now, but he knew—she carried everything in her heart.