The hotel lobby buzzed with a soft kind of chaos—heels against polished marble, muted conversations in low tones, the faint tinkling of glass from the lounge nearby. But to Gu Ze Yan, every sound blurred into static. His focus was a single figure.
Lin Qing Yun.
She was still the same. And yet, not at all. The face he once woke up to, smiled at, kissed goodnight—now framed with an aura of distance he didn't understand. The faint scratch on her cheek startled him, but what unsettled him most was her eyes: clear, deep, and impossibly calm. Too calm. They were not the eyes of his Sunny.
Before he could even move, Xu Wei Ran spoke first, his voice steady, his hand still loosely brushing Qing Yun's fingers.
"I'll be in our hotel room, waiting."
Hotel room. Our.
The words seared like acid in Ze Yan's veins. He clenched his jaw, fury rising, but before he could spit out something reckless, Qing Yun gave Wei Ran a small, elegant nod. Without even looking back, Wei Ran left them, disappearing toward the elevators.
Gu Ze Yan's fists curled so tight his nails dug into his palms. That man dared—dared—to say it so openly. To walk away like some protector, some… rightful companion. As if Qing Yun belonged to him. As if Ze Yan himself had never existed.
He wanted to roar, to demand, to drag her away. But then she turned to him. Her voice—soft, polite, almost detached—cut through his chaos.
"Let's go."
No warmth. No hesitation. No trace of the playful girl who used to tug his sleeve and smile up at him.
She walked first, leading him out of the lobby and through a side door that opened to the hotel's garden. Ze Yan followed, steps heavy, his chest a battlefield. The garden was quiet, lanterns glowing faintly against manicured hedges. She found a bench in a secluded corner and sat, her posture straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
He stood for a moment, unsure. Unsure if he wanted to beg, to embrace, to rage, or to collapse. The thousand things boiling inside him clashed until he felt paralyzed. At last, he sat beside her, the distance between them an ocean he didn't know how to cross.
The silence stretched, unbearable.
She sat still, eyes focused forward, expression calm. Elegant. Like a queen granting audience. This wasn't Sunny. Sunny would fidget, tease, soften the tension with a joke or a sweet grin. This Lin Qing Yun looked at him like the ocean looked at the shore—distant, eternal, too vast to read.
And then he saw it. The faint red mark running across her cheek, a scratch. Instinct took over. He reached out, fingertips brushing her skin.
"What happened?" His voice cracked.
For the briefest second, her lips curved into a smile. But it wasn't the bright, heart-melting smile he knew. This one was thin, restrained, almost foreign. A smile of acknowledgment, not warmth.
He froze. Who was she? Where had his Sunny gone?
"Why?" he finally whispered, voice rough, the one question that consumed him.
Qing Yun didn't answer immediately. She lowered her lashes, breathed in once, then looked back at him. Her gaze was calm, terrifying in its steadiness. When she finally spoke, her tone was so composed, so measured, that it chilled him.
---
"Gu Ze Yan," she said softly, "when I saw Si Yao in the mortuary room… do you know what I felt?"
He swallowed, throat tight. His heart already braced for something he didn't want to hear.
"A relief." She exhaled, her lips twitching upward into a faint, almost bitter smile, as if mocking herself. "My beloved sister, my only family… lying there so still. I should have cried. I should have collapsed. Sunny would have. But me?" She let out a small, broken laugh. "I felt like shackles had finally been removed. I was free."
Her words struck like knives. Relief? Free? No, that couldn't be right. He shook his head slightly, eyes stinging, but she continued.
---
"All my life, it was always—"
Her voice lowered, slipping into mimicry:
> 'Qing Yun, your sister needs you.'
'Qing Yun, you have to be strong.'
'Qing Yun, be the good sister, solve the problems, carry the weight.'
Her fingers clenched on her lap, then loosened again with deliberate grace.
"So I created someone else. I created Sunny." She turned her gaze back to him, calm but piercing. "Because Qing Yun was selfish. Because Qing Yun wanted to scream, to break, to disappear. So Sunny was born. Sunny was always cheerful, always bright. Sunny smiled so others didn't have to worry. Sunny laughed so others wouldn't pity her. Sunny gave hope, even when she had none left herself."
Her words flowed evenly, each syllable deliberate, practiced, like she had rehearsed this confession in her head a thousand times.
"Sunny made people comfortable. When they knew my background, my story, my struggles—if I wore a smile, if I carried joy, it made them feel better. They helped me more when I was Sunny, not Qing Yun. So I polished her. Day by day. I perfected her. Everyone clapped. Everyone loved her. And pathetic Lin Qing Yun… was buried deeper and deeper."
---
Her lips pressed together, her voice trembling only slightly. "Since I was small, I never saw happiness from my mother. Only cruel words. Slaps. Cold eyes. That's all I received. When Si Yao was born, I swore she wouldn't suffer the same. So Sunny became her teacher. Sunny taught her love, kindness, joy. When my mother abandoned us, Sunny stepped up. Sunny took care of everything. Because she had to. Because Si Yao looked up to her."
She inhaled deeply, her voice lowering further. "At first, it wasn't so hard. Smiling. Teaching joy. Pretending. But eventually… it became suffocating. Every day, every moment, I had to act. Smile, laugh, radiate light. It became an obligation. A mask that stuck so tightly I forgot how to take it off."
Her hands rose, covering her face. And then, finally—her voice cracked. Just a crack, raw and heartbreaking. "But I'm tired."
The garden fell silent. Even the faint hum of the city beyond seemed to vanish. Only her words hung heavy in the air.
---
Gu Ze Yan's chest constricted so tightly he could barely breathe. His Sunny—his bright, radiant Sunny—sitting here telling him she never existed. That she was only ever a mask. That the woman before him was tired of pretending.
He wanted to shout, No! Sunny is real, you are real, everything was real! But the words tangled in his throat.
He turned his head toward her fully, drinking in every line of her face. She looked fragile, breakable, and yet impossibly strong. Her eyes glistened faintly, but no tears fell. No collapse, no outburst—only calm control. It terrified him more than any sob could have.
His hands trembled, reaching slightly, then pulling back, unsure if he had the right to touch her anymore.
"Qing Yun…" His voice broke. But she didn't flinch. Didn't soften.
Her truth hung between them, heavier than chains.