The sun continued its slow climb above the peaceful trees, golden rays slipping through the dense canopy and scattering across the grass in soft, shifting patterns.
A light breeze moved the leaves, carrying the quiet scent of earth and greenery through the shaded clearing. The distant rustle of branches and the occasional call of a bird filled the spaces between the forced conversations happening under the trees.
Mo Xingxue sat with her gaze fixed on those trees, her mind far away. She was thinking of Su Wanyan and the children—of the warmth of an arm around her waist, of Shen Guoxing's bright laughter, of Mo Yan's tiny hands curling against her fingers.
The memories were soft and solid, a quiet place she could retreat into. Everything about the man beside her was deliberately pushed to the edges of her awareness. The soft grass pressed under her, the dappled light shifted across her lap, and she kept her posture carefully closed.
