The garden behind Leng Manor was hushed, a late autumn wind rustling through dry leaves that clung stubbornly to the branches. The koi pond reflected the gray skies above, still and silent. Leng Xuanmo stood beneath the old stone pavilion, hands folded behind his back, staring at the water as if waiting for an answer to rise from its depths.
He didn't turn when footsteps approached.
"You called me, brother?" Leng Yumo's voice was softer than usual.
"Sit," he said calmly.
She obeyed, settling onto the bench across from him. He remained standing, distant, eyes never leaving the pond.
"Four months ago," he began, voice unreadable, "you came home crying. You told me you were being bullied. No names. No details. Just tears."
Yumo lowered her gaze.
"I didn't ask questions," Xuanmo continued. "I gave an order. Told Li Zeyan to handle it—swiftly and cleanly."
Yumo flinched. "I didn't think you'd do something drastic…"
"I didn't ask what happened. I only reacted."
There was a long pause. The wind swept through again, scattering leaves across the stone path.
He finally turned to face her. "Now, I need you to tell me exactly what happened that day. All of it."
Yumo hesitated. Her hands clenched in her lap.
"It happened during lunch," she said. "At school. The week of Fashion Week in Country F. A few of my classmates were talking about who would be attending the shows. About trends, influence, who was dominating the headlines."
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
"They started talking about the Lu family heiress." She didn't use names. She didn't need to. "They said she was becoming the face of modern elegance. That even the Leng family couldn't compete anymore. That our time was over."
Xuanmo's jaw tightened.
"They laughed about it," Yumo said, her voice small. "Not directly at me, but they knew I was there. One of them said, 'Being rich doesn't mean you're relevant. Some people just live off old money.'"
"And that was enough to make you cry?"
She met his gaze, eyes bright with a fragile frustration. "It wasn't just the words. It was the way they said it—like I didn't matter. Like I was just a shadow behind someone else's light."
"You didn't tell me that," he said.
"I was embarrassed. I didn't want you to think I cared that much about being in the spotlight."
"But you did."
Yumo looked down. "It wasn't about fame. It was about respect. About not being laughed at. I just wanted to be taken seriously."
Xuanmo was silent for a long time. Then he spoke, quiet and grave.
"I took your pain as an attack. I turned it into a weapon and directed it at the most visible threat."
"I never asked you to," she whispered.
"But you didn't stop me either."
She swallowed hard. "Because I didn't know what you were going to do."
He turned away again, staring toward the pond. "She's gone now. The damage is done. And it all began with your tears and my pride."
"Bro…" Yumo stood slowly. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I just… I felt so small."
He looked over his shoulder. "And I made someone else smaller to make you feel whole again. That was my sin."
Silence stretched between them, brittle and cold.
Then Yumo stepped closer. "What will you do now?"
"I'll start with the truth," he said. "I'll clean the mess I made, even if it won't change anything."
Yumo nodded slowly. "If there's anything I can do…"
"You'll stay out of it," he said gently but firmly. "This was my mistake to begin with."
She lowered her head. "Then I hope she heals."
He didn't respond.
But for the first time since the incident, he looked as though he intended to face what came next — no matter how long it took