The air inside the Jiang household was thick with the scent of jasmine tea and the low hum of the evening news, but for Jiang Min, the walls seemed to be closing in. She sat huddled on the worn fabric of the sofa, her spine curved like a broken reed. Her face was buried deep in her palms, her fingers pressing against her eyes as if she could physically push back the memories of her own cruelty.
"Aiya, what have I done?" she whispered into her hands, her voice muffled and thick with soul-crushing guilt.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the seven-year-old version of Le Mei—not the "Ice Goddess" of the Gold Circle, but a small girl in a white dress, standing paralyzed in a schoolyard while Min shouted heartless words about fathers who "didn't care enough to show up."
The front door opened, and the rhythmic sound of keys being placed on the console announced the arrival of her parents. Jiang Rou, her father, and Lin Xia, her mother, entered the living room with the weary but warm energy of a long workday. They stopped mid-stride, their expressions shifting instantly to deep worry.
"Min-Min?" Rou hurried to her side, his hand hovering over her shaking shoulders. "What's wrong? Did someone at school... did someone bully you?"
At the word bully, a sob finally broke through Min's throat. She lunged forward, throwing her arms around her mother's waist and burying her face in Lin Xia's apron. The dam had burst.
"Mama... I'm the one," Min wailed, her voice cracking. "I'm a bad person."
Lin Xia stroked her daughter's hair, her brow furrowed, while Rou sat on the edge of the sofa, looking helpless. Between jagged breaths and hiccuping sobs, Min began to pour out the poison that had been sitting in her heart since the mall.
"When I was six... before the 'War' started... There was a girl. Mei," Min gasped out. "She once saved me and in return she asked me to join SH's and become her friend . I wanted to repay her. But then we started first grade, and the world changed. It became rich versus poor, Gold Circle versus Strivers. She stood with her people, and I stood with mine."
She looked up at her father, her eyes red-rimmed and swimming in tears. "I was so angry that she 'chose' them over me. I dragged her father into our arguments. I told her he was a coward for not being there. I've been throwing those words at her for nine years, Papa."
Min's voice dropped to a haunted whisper. "Brother Wei told me tonight... her father died right in front of her. She has a trauma so deep she collapses if his name is mentioned. And I... I've been using his memory as a weapon."
Rou's face softened into a look of profound pity. He reached out, squeezing Min's hand. "Min-Min, listen to me. You were a child. You didn't know the weight of the shadow she was carrying. Don't be so hard on yourself—"
"No, Rou." Lin Xia's voice was like a strike of flint—sharp and cold. She pulled back slightly, looking her daughter directly in the eyes. Her expression wasn't one of comfort, but of a teacher demanding a lesson be learned. "Don't coddle her. If she has done wrong, she must carry the weight of it."
Min flinched at her mother's sternness, her heartbreak intensifying.
"You remember my policy, Jiang Min," Lin Xia continued, her voice unwavering. "What we receive from others, we must return in kind—whether it is a bowl of rice or a helping hand. But the inverse is also true: what we give to the world, we must be prepared to receive back. You gave her salt for a decade-old wound. Do you expect the world to give you sugar in return?"
Rou looked at his wife, pleading with his eyes. "Xia, she's already suffering."
"She should suffer," Lin Xia replied, though a flicker of softness touched her eyes for a split second. "Suffering is the only thing that cleanses a dishonest heart. If you truly regret this, sitting here crying into my lap won't fix the hole you dug in that girl's soul."
Lin Xia stood up, smoothing her apron. "You have a debt to pay. A debt of honor. You should apologize. Not as a rival, and not as a Striver. But as a human being."
Min sat frozen for a long moment. The tears didn't stop, but the frantic shaking did. She looked at her hands—the hands that had held a "Warrior's" broom to fight a girl who was already broken. Slowly, she wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. A new light entered her eyes—not the fire of a rebel, but the steady, cold iron of firm determination.
"I understand, Mama," Min said, her voice small but clear. She stood up, her legs finally feeling steady. "I'll go. I'll make it right."
At Gu's estate
The morning mist clung to the trees surrounding the Gu's estate, a quiet witness to the heavy task ahead. Inside the dining room, the clink of porcelain against wood was the only sound until Gu Jian, Wei's father, broke the silence.
"Is everything prepared, Wei? The offerings, the incense? When do you plan to leave?" Jian asked, his voice carrying the weight of a man who still mourned his brother-in-arms.
Wei offered a reassuring smile as he finished a bite of his congee. "Everything is ready, Papa. I'll head out the moment I finish breakfast."
His mother, Gu Lin, reached out to pat Wei's hand, casting a playful, protective glare at her husband. "Let the boy eat in peace, Jian. Why are you rushing him? It's a long day."
"I'm not rushing him," Shanyuan countered with a sigh, his expression softening into regret). "It's just... I wish I could accompany you. But your mother and I have that charity gala. It wouldn't be right to miss it."
"Don't worry, Papa, Mama," Wei said, his voice a calm anchor. "I will take care of everything. Uncle Le Xin knows your heart."
Just as a warm smile spread across Lin Shu's face, Wei's phone vibrated on the table. He glanced at the screen, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. It was Jiang Min.
"I'm outside your gate," her voice came through, unusually quiet and stripped of its usual "Warrior" fire. "Waiting."
"Okay. I'm coming." Wei stood abruptly, tossing his napkin aside. "I'm heading out now. Take care, Mama, Papa!"
"Always in such a rush," Gu Lin called after him, shaking her head as she watched his retreating back. "He didn't even finish his eggs!"
Outside the wrought-iron gates, Min stood shivering slightly in the damp morning air. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her usual bravado replaced by a haunting heaviness.
"How come you're here?" Wei asked, walking toward her with a searching look.
Min didn't look him in the eye. Her gaze remained fixed on her shoes. "I want to accompany you. Let's... let's go to the cemetery together."
Wei saw the flicker of guilt in the slump of her shoulders. He didn't push for answers. He simply nodded and gestured toward the waiting car. As the door opened, Wei placed his hand firmly over the top of the frame—a silent, protective gesture to ensure she didn't hit her head—and waited for her to slide in before joining her.
At The cemetery
The cemetery was a sea of gray stone and weeping willows. They stood before a pristine headstone engraved with the name Le Xin. Wei moved with practiced filial piety, arranging the fresh fruit, the traditional liquor, and the incense with steady hands.
Wei dropped to his knees on the damp earth. He uncorked the bottle and poured the wine onto the ground three times—once for the heavens, once for the earth, and once for the soul. He bowed low, his forehead nearly touching the grass.
"Uncle," Wei whispered, a sad but beautiful smile touching his lips. "I finally came. I know it took too long. But don't worry... I'm here now. I will definitely take care of Mei. I won't let her suffer anymore."
Beside him, Min felt a physical jolt at his words. "I won't let her suffer." Her legs began to shake, the weight of a decade of insults pressing down on her like a mountain.
Wei continued to chat with the grave as if Le Xin were sitting right there, sharing a light joke about how stubborn Mei had become. He finally stood and stepped aside, giving Min her space.
Min approached the stone as if walking toward a judge. She sank to her knees, her movements jerky. She poured the wine three times, her hands trembling so hard the liquid splashed. When she bowed, she didn't get back up. She stayed there, her forehead pressed against the cold earth, and began to sob.
"Min? What's wrong?" Wei moved toward her, his face full of worry, reaching out to lift her.
"No!" Min cried out, her voice breaking. "I'm sorry, Uncle! I don't deserve forgiveness! All these years... I was the one. I kept hurting her. I used your name to break her heart. I'm ashamed to even look at her face!"
Wei froze, his hand suspended in mid-air. He listened to the raw, jagged edges of her confession—the way she called Mei "friend" and "victim" in the same breath.
"How can I walk into school tomorrow and see her? Every time she looks at me with those cold eyes, she's just trying to survive the wounds I kept reopening. I don't deserve to be her rival. I don't even deserve to be her shadow. I've been a coward, picking on a girl who was already standing in the dark."
Min's crying became more intense. As if the heavens were responding to her grief, a sudden, cold rain began to fall.
Wei didn't say a word. He slowly shrugged off his heavy jacket and draped it over Min's shaking shoulders, shielding her from the downpour. He knelt beside her, his voice a low, steady hum against the sound of the rain.
"Min," he murmured, pulling her into a protective side-hug. "If you can't face her yet, then let me. I will stand between you and your guilt. I will take your burden on my behalf until you're strong enough to carry it yourself."
Min turned and buried her face in his chest, clutching his shirt as she wailed into the rain. Wei held her, his gaze fixed on Le Xin's headstone, a silent promise in his eyes. He had returned to Shanghai to fix the broken pieces, and here was the first shard beginning to heal.
After a long time, the heavy sobs turned into soft hiccups. Wei slowly lifted her to her feet, adjusting the jacket so it covered both of their heads like a makeshift tent.
"Let's go," he said gently.
They walked away from the grave together, huddled close under the shared jacket, two silhouettes moving through the mist—one carrying the past, the other carrying the hope of a different future.
Monday . The Classroom:
The vibrant, chaotic energy of the Shanghai High hallways seemed to flow around Jiang Min like water around a jagged, unmoving stone. For three days, the "Warrior" of the Strivers had become a ghost in her own life.
During second-period Mathematics, the scratching of sixty pens against paper was the only sound in the room. Min sat at her desk, her gaze fixed on a crack in the wooden floorboards. Her pen was held loosely in her fingers, not a single digit written on her blank worksheet.
"Jiang Min!"
The sharp crack of a ruler against the chalkboard made the entire class flinch. The teacher, a stern man with spectacles sliding down his nose, glared at her. "I have asked you three times to solve the equation on the board. Is the floor more interesting than your future?"
Min blinked, her eyelashes fluttering as if waking from a deep sleep. She didn't snap back with her usual witty defense. Instead, she stood up slowly, her shoulders hunched.
"I... I'm sorry, Teacher. I wasn't paying attention," she whispered, her voice a hollow rasp.
The class erupted in hushed whispers. Zhao Feng and Zhang Hao exchanged a look of pure shock. Min apologizing? Without a fight? It was like seeing a lion purr at a hunter. She sat back down, her head bending low, her hair shielding her face from the curious stares.
Near the lockers, the Gold Circle was gathered in their usual formation—a wall of silk and expensive perfume. At the center stood Le Mei.
Mei's sharp eyes tracked Min as the girl walked toward her own locker. Usually, this was the moment for a "collision"—a sharp shoulder nudge or a biting remark. But as Min approached, her pace slowed. Her eyes, usually burning with the fire of a rebel, were clouded and wet.
Before their paths could cross, Min abruptly pivoted, turning down a side corridor she didn't need to go down, just to avoid passing Mei.
Mei's hand froze on her locker door. Her "Ice Goddess" mask didn't break, but her fingers tightened until her knuckles turned white. She watched Min's retreating back, noting the way the girl's steps lacked their usual bounce. "Why is she running from me?" Mei wondered, a strange, cold sensation blooming in her chest.
At lunch, the Strivers gathered on the rooftop. It was usually a riot of loud laughter and shared buns. But today, Min sat on the very edge of the concrete ledge, her legs dangling over the side. She wasn't eating. She was staring at the horizon, her fingers absently plucking at a loose thread on her sweater.
"Min-Min, eat something," Xu Ling whispered, holding out a piece of fruit.
Min didn't even turn around. "I'm not hungry, Ling. You guys go ahead."
The group fell silent. They didn't know how to handle a Min who didn't lead them, who didn't shout, who didn't even look them in the eye. She looked lonely—not because she was alone, but because she was trapped in a room inside her own mind where no one else was allowed.
From the doorway of the rooftop, Gu Wei leaned against the frame, his arms crossed. He had been watching her for days. He saw the way she flinched when she saw Mei. He saw the dark circles under her eyes that even her mother's makeup couldn't hide.
He saw her guilt eating her alive.
Wei didn't approach her yet. He knew that some fires had to burn themselves out before they could be extinguished. But as he watched her small, slumped figure against the vast Shanghai skyline, his expression softened into one of deep pity.
He realized that by telling her the truth, he hadn't just given her a secret; he had given her a cross to carry. And for a girl like Min, who valued justice above all else, the weight of her own past "crimes" was proving to be heavier than any Gold Circle bullying.