"There are silences that scream, and memories that bleed."
⸻
She had smiled for the last time the day Xue Zhen left.
It wasn't a bright smile.
It wasn't even full.
Just the corners of her mouth curling slightly at the sight of Xue Zhen's name on the monitor screen beside her hospital bed.
But he never called.
She waited anyway.
And at first, the doctors said she was recovering well.
Her appetite returned. Her fever lowered. She was even seen sketching in her notebook again.
But the moment he stepped out of that ward, summoned back to the capital —
her health began to fail.
As if the progress was only an illusion.
A quiet lie told by her body for his sake.
A last performance in the presence of the one person who ever made her feel real.
⸻
She used to blame him for everything.
And she never said it.
But the silence screamed it louder than words.
"Grandfather said it was the only way to help you."
"They cut me open so I could be worthy of the Xue name. Your empire."
"So now I'll beat you—at everything."
A month after the procedure, the diagnosis was clear.
Her gland removal wasn't healing.
It was decaying.
She never smiled again after that.
And when they finally saw each other again,
she didn't run to him.
She didn't scold him for not calling.
She didn't hug him the way she used to—
back when one summer felt like it could change the course of their lives.
Instead, she competed.
At every board meeting.
At every academic ranking.
At every social event where the Xue heirs were expected to shine.
She answered faster. She arrived earlier. She negotiated harder.
She cut off conversations. Corrected his statements. Took the lead—
even when it cost her sleep.
Even when it cost her oxygen.
Even when it cost her stability.
To outsiders, it looked like simple rivalry.
To the elders, it was "Xue Ning stepping up."
But to him—
it was a wall.
It was like their time in the summer house never happened.
Like the board game, the noodles, the hug—
were just a daydream she once had.
Before they turned her into a weapon.
Before the only thing left of her scent... was rage.
⸻
Yet the moment he walked into her hospital room a few days ago?
That hate seemed to disappear.
She wanted to apologize.
He shouldn't have been the target.
He wasn't the one who sent her abroad.
He wasn't the one who told her to be cut open.
He didn't even know she had to endure yearly checkups—
because her glands refused to heal.
He didn't know she needed him.
So desperately.
Now.
⸻
In the last three days, Xue Ning stopped speaking.
She didn't ask for water.
Didn't respond to the nurses.
Didn't check her phone.
She only looked at the butler.
As if his silence was enough answer for all her quiet questions.
⸻
Mr. Yuwen had been many things in his long life:
efficient, loyal, unshakeable.
He had never once knelt.
Not to the Xue patriarchs.
Not to the board.
Not to the life that had owned him.
But he knelt then — not to her, but to the past.
To the weight of his choices.
To the blood on his hands, invisible but heavy.
His voice cracked for the first time in decades.
"You were... a Xue.
More than most of them ever deserved to be."
Her eyes fluttered.
Then, slowly, her gaze drifted away — as if she was already looking somewhere he couldn't follow.
He couldn't stay.
He stepped out into the hall, pressing a hand to his mouth.
Told himself he would go back in after a walk.
Told himself she'd still be there.
He didn't know that when he returned, the room would be empty.
And the machines would be quiet.
⸻
Somewhere across the world, in a boardroom lit by cold LEDs, Xue Liyan's voice faltered mid-presentation.
It was a flawless report.
Numbers clean, projections sharp.
But in the middle of a sentence, his throat went dry.
He lost his place.
His father, Ling, glanced up.
Xue Jingshan, seated at the head of the table, frowned.
"What's wrong?" Jingshan asked.
Liyan didn't answer.
He just stared at the screen, heart pounding, an ache he couldn't explain curling under his ribs.
It felt like a warning.
Or a door slamming shut somewhere far away.
Even his father noticed.
A rare tremor crossed Ling's expression.
Jingshan set his pen down, fingers tightening just once before stilling.
No one said it aloud.
But they all felt something was gone.
⸻
Back in the Xue Estate gardens, Grandpa Rui sat with his tea under the camphor trees.
A breeze stirred.
His hand trembled against the porcelain.
The ripples in his cup were tiny, but they did not stop.
He looked at his shaking fingers for a long time.
Then set the cup down and closed his eyes.
"Ah," he murmured to no one.
"So soon."
The koi swam in circles.
The wind shifted.
And the old man did not drink again.
⸻
At the airport, Xue Zhen stood with his passport and ticket to Vienna clenched in his fist.
He had pushed his flight forward.
Cleared meetings.
Signed contracts in hours instead of days.
If he held the ticket tighter, maybe he could make the plane go faster.
Maybe he could get to her before—
His phone rang.
A number he knew.
A tone he hated.
He answered.
Listened.
Didn't scream.
Didn't drop the phone.
Didn't speak.
He just sat down slowly on the edge of a molded plastic chair, eyes fixed on nothing.
And he didn't get back up for hours.
⸻
The fever started that night.
A slow burn that crawled through his bones like grief with claws.
He missed her funeral.
He missed her.
And for the first time in his life—
Xue Zhen disappeared.