Morning sunlight filtered gently through the tall windows of the Liangcheng mansion, landing in pale streaks across the living room floor. The world was still, as if holding its breath.
Lin Qing Yun descended the staircase slowly, her steps measured. She had not slept deeply, but when she woke, the ache in her chest was no longer the frantic storm of the night before. It was quieter, heavier, but less sharp—as though her tears had worn the edges down.
Gu Ze Yan was already waiting in the foyer. He wore a simple black shirt, the lines of his figure clean against the subdued color. He did not look up immediately; he was fastening the button on his sleeve, his movements deliberate, unhurried.
When his eyes lifted, they softened at once.
"The car is ready," he said, his voice even, careful not to press. "We can go whenever you're ready."
Qing Yun nodded faintly. She reached for her scarf, but before she could wrap it around herself, Ze Yan stepped forward. He took the soft fabric from her hands and draped it gently over her shoulders, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck for the briefest moment. The touch was light, but grounding.
She did not resist.
---
The ride out of the city was quiet.
Liangcheng's skyscrapers fell away to the riverside, then to the outskirts where fields stretched and mountains loomed faintly in the haze. The river gleamed like molten glass under the sun, willows trailing their long fingers in the current. Farmers bent over rows of vegetables, children ran barefoot down dirt lanes.
Qing Yun sat by the window, her hands folded loosely in her lap. Her gaze remained fixed on the passing scenery, though her eyes seemed to look past it, deep into a place only she could see.
Ze Yan sat beside her, one arm resting casually against the door. He did not disturb her silence. Every so often, his gaze slid toward her, but he said nothing. The car's steady hum filled the space between them, unbroken.
---
The hillside cemetery lay beyond the outskirts, nestled between rows of tall cypress trees. The air grew cooler as the car wound upward, cicadas fading until only the rustle of branches remained.
A caretaker met them at the gate, bowing respectfully when he saw Ze Yan. "Mr. Gu."
Ze Yan returned the nod, then glanced toward Qing Yun. "This way."
She followed him up the stone path. The ground was immaculate, weeds trimmed, gravestones polished to a soft sheen. White flowers bloomed in orderly rows, their fragrance faint but steady.
When they reached the familiar plot, Qing Yun halted.
Her breath caught.
The gravestone stood clean and elegant, its lines sharp against the earth. Fresh lilies rested at its base, their petals still damp with dew. The carved name—Lin Si Yao—was clear, unmarred, as though time itself had not dared to touch it.
Qing Yun's chest tightened painfully. She had not seen this stone since the day the ashes were buried. She had avoided it, fled from it, for five long years.
Yet here it was, cared for as if the years had never passed.
Her eyes flickered to Ze Yan. "You… kept it like this?"
He inclined his head slightly. "I asked someone to tend it. To keep it clean." His gaze lowered, shadows flickering across his expression. "I only came a few times myself. On her death day. On Qingming."
He paused, his voice softening, almost self-mocking. "Each time… I wondered if you'd be here. I thought, foolishly, maybe I'd see you again."
Qing Yun's heart constricted. She turned her face back to the gravestone, unable to meet his eyes.
---
She knelt slowly, her knees pressing into the grass.
Her fingers hovered over the carved name, trembling slightly before they settled against the cold stone.
For a long while, she said nothing. Words crowded her throat, but none would form. She was not the type to speak to the dead, to pour her heart into the air and believe it would reach. She was rational, measured. And yet…
Her lips parted, barely moving. "Si Yao… Jiejie is here."
The breeze stirred, rustling the cypress leaves.
Memories rose unbidden: Si Yao's bright laughter echoing through narrow streets, her stubborn insistence on clinging to Qing Yun's sleeve, her tears when scolded, her joy when praised. The image was so vivid, so alive, that Qing Yun's vision blurred.
Her throat closed. A single tear slipped down her cheek, landing dark against the polished stone. Then another.
She did not weep loudly, as she had in Ze Yan's arms the night before. She did not speak long words of apology or longing. She simply sat there, tears sliding silently down her face, her heart whispering what her lips could not: I miss you. I miss you still.
---
Behind her, Ze Yan stood a step away. He did not intrude. His hands were in his pockets, but his gaze was steady on her slender figure, shoulders bent before the stone.
For five years, he had come here with the fragile hope of seeing her. And now, at last, she was here. The sight tightened his chest in a way no grief could.
After a long while, Qing Yun rose. She brushed at her damp cheeks with the back of her hand. Her voice was low, almost unsteady. "Thank you… for taking care of her."
Ze Yan's eyes softened. "It's what I should do."
---
They walked back down the path together. The lilies swayed gently behind them, the cypress trees murmuring in the breeze.
The car ride down was hushed. Qing Yun leaned slightly against the window, her reflection faint against the glass. Her expression was calmer now, though her eyes were still rimmed red.
Ze Yan sat beside her, his fingers loosely intertwined, gaze forward. The silence between them was not uncomfortable, but it was heavy, weighted with things unsaid.
At last, his voice broke the quiet. Low. Careful.
"Qing Yun."
She turned slightly, surprised at the gravity in his tone.
His eyes stayed fixed ahead. "Back then… did you ever see me as an obligation too?"
Her breath caught. For a moment, she wanted to deny it, to ease the shadow in his words. But she had never been one to lie to him.
Her lips moved. "…I did."
The air inside the car shifted, dense.
She continued, her voice steadier. "That's why I left. Because it wasn't fair to you. To stay, while seeing you that way… it would've been cruel."
Ze Yan finally turned his head. His gaze was dark, unreadable, his jaw set tight.
His voice was rough, almost raw. "And now?"
The question hung in the air like a blade, sharp and unrelenting.
Qing Yun's lips parted. Her eyes widened slightly, caught by the weight of his stare. Words rose to her throat—hesitation, truth, fear, all tangled together.
But no answer came.
The car continued down the winding road, the silence stretching taut, the question still suspended between them.