The heavy doors of the Leng estate opened into a quiet drawing room. Afternoon light filtered through tall windows, casting warm gold across the marble floor. Leng Xuanmo stepped in, composed, but his eyes were searching — not with anger, but with something quieter: understanding, perhaps, or the need for it.
Ning Ruomo sat near the window, teacup in hand, her posture as elegant as ever. Across from her, Leng Meixuan scrolled through her tablet lazily, while Yumo leaned against the armrest of a nearby chair. Madam Leng remained upstairs, unseen.
"I heard you went to see her," Xuanmo said without preamble.
Ning Ruomo didn't look up. "News travels fast in this house."
"I wanted to hear it from you," he added, stepping further in. "You never liked her. Why now?"
Ruomo finally met his gaze. Her expression wasn't defensive, only tired. "I didn't go to plead for your sake, Xuanmo, if that's what you think. I went because I owed the girl a few words. Words I should have said long ago."
Leng Yumo glanced up, surprised, but said nothing.
Xuanmo remained still, his voice neutral. "You called her a gold digger. More than once."
"Yes," Ruomo said quietly. "And I was wrong."
The silence in the room stretched thin.
"I was raised in a world where women climbed for power through men," she continued. "So when you brought her into our circle, I didn't see her for who she was. I only saw a threat to our name — someone who didn't belong."
"And now?" Xuanmo asked.
"Now I see a young woman who stood on her own after we stripped her of everything." Her gaze dropped to her tea. "She didn't run, didn't beg, didn't try to worm her way back. She walked away. With dignity."
Meixuan arched a brow. "That doesn't sound like you, Aunt Ruomo."
Ruomo gave a faint smile. "Maybe I've changed."
"I told her I was wrong to judge her by her background. That I misread her strength as ambition, her loyalty as dependence. And I apologized."
"She accepted it?" Yumo asked softly.
Ruomo didn't answer right away. "She didn't say much. But she listened."
Xuanmo looked down for a moment. "She's changed, hasn't she?"
"More than you know," Ruomo murmured. "She doesn't flinch anymore when you mention your name. But neither does she soften. That warmth she used to carry for you—" She stopped. "It's buried now."
Xuanmo's jaw tightened slightly.
"She doesn't hate you," Ruomo added. "But she's guarded. And I don't blame her."
Meixuan stood and walked toward the window, voice light. "So now the same mother who said she'd never let a Lu into the family is suddenly endorsing her son's pursuit?"
"I'm not endorsing anything," Ruomo replied. "That girl owes us nothing. But if Xuanmo intends to win her back, he needs to understand what we took from her… and why it may never be forgiven."
Xuanmo looked at his mother. "Would you accept her now?"
Ruomo held his gaze. "She never needed my acceptance. But if she ever comes back to you, on her own terms, then yes — I'd welcome her. Not for our family's sake, but for yours."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then, softly, Yumo said, "She's the only one who ever stood up to us… and still wished us well."
"I didn't think much of her then," Meixuan added. "But maybe we all underestimated her."
Xuanmo gave a small nod, something unreadable passing through his expression.
As he turned to leave, Ruomo's voice stopped him. "If you're serious, Xuanmo… don't try to fix things with grand gestures. She's not that kind of girl. She never was."
He glanced over his shoulder. "I know."
And then he left — not in anger, but with quiet resolve. Behind him, Ning Ruomo looked down into her tea again, her reflection faint in the surface.
For the first time in years, she wasn't thinking about pride or face. She was thinking about the woman her son loved — and the one she had finally started to understand.