Morning came quietly, but not gently.
A pale, silver light seeped through the thin curtains of Lian Yu's room, stretching across the wooden floor in long, fragile lines. Dust motes drifted in the air, slow and unbothered, as though the world itself had decided to move at a softer pace today.
Outside, the distant hum of the city stirred awake—vendors setting up stalls, the low rumble of passing vehicles, the faint call of a hawker advertising breakfast buns.
Yet inside the room, there was a stillness
that pressed against the chest.
Lian Yu lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
He had woken earlier than usual, though he couldn't say exactly when. Sleep had slipped away from him in fragments, leaving behind a strange mixture of calm and unease. It was a contradictory feeling—one that sat awkwardly in his chest, like a truth he hadn't fully accepted.
At ease… because his father was finally behind bars. Uneasy… because a man like that never stayed contained for long.
A slow breath escaped his lips as he closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to organize his thoughts into something manageable.
His father was not an ordinary man. He was the kind who treated rules like inconveniences and people like tools. A man who could smile warmly at you while already calculating how to use your secrets against you. There were no moral boundaries—only opportunities.
Escape? That man would find a way.
Blackmail, coercion, manipulation… it didn't matter what method he used. He had done it before. He would do it again.
And if there was one person he would go after first—Lian Yu's eyes opened sharply.
His mother.
A faint, humorless smile tugged at his lips.
If he could corner his own wife, bend her will with threats and hidden leverage, then of course she would be the first target again. She had always been the easiest to hurt—not because she was weak, but because she loved too deeply.
But this time… things would be different.
"This time," he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible in the quiet room, "you'll not have to find her first."
He turned his head slightly, gaze falling on the empty wall beside his bed. His expression hardened—not with anger, but with a calculated resolve that didn't belong to someone his age.
He already had a plan.
Not a reckless one. Not something born from emotion. A precise, deliberate plan.
And as for convincing his mother… that wouldn't be difficult. She trusted him. Perhaps too much. But this time, that trust would be used to protect her, not harm her.
Still, there was another matter.
His sister.
At the thought of her, something in his chest tightened—not the sharp pain of his condition, but something heavier, more suffocating.
Cici.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand across his face. Reclaiming her self-worth… that would not be simple.
Years of damage didn't vanish overnight. Words spoken in cruelty, actions that chipped away at dignity—they lingered, embedding themselves deep within a person's sense of self. His sister had endured too much, quietly, stubbornly, as though suffering were something she had simply accepted.
That… would have to change..No matter how difficult it was. But even that wasn't what troubled him the most.
His gaze drifted toward the window, where the light had grown slightly brighter now, the day pushing forward whether he was ready or not.
The lecture room.
The word alone felt heavier than it should.
There was something he had been deliberately avoiding—something he refused to examine too closely, as if ignoring it might somehow lessen its reality.
But it didn't. It never did.
The first time he had a cardiac arrest… was when he saw her.
Ciao Ren.
Even thinking her name made his breath falter for the briefest moment. At the time, he hadn't understood it. How could he? A simple glance, a fleeting moment of trying to see more of her—and then darkness, pain, the sterile scent of a hospital room.
He had dismissed it.
Coincidence, he told himself. Bad luck.
But then he tried again. And again.
Each time, the same result. Each time, his body betraying him more violently than before. The hospital became a place he visited too often, the beeping machines and concerned voices forming a pattern he could no longer deny.
It wasn't until the third time—when the pain had nearly consumed him entirely—that the truth became impossible to ignore.
The closer he got to her… the closer he came to death. His fingers curled slightly against the bedsheet.
"What kind of ridiculous fate is this…" he whispered, though there was no humor in it.
To meet the person you loved most…
And be forbidden from even standing near them.
He let out a quiet breath, long and steady.
What would happen today?The thought lingered, heavy and unavoidable.
They would share the same class for two months. The same space. Avoidance wouldn't be as simple as turning away or leaving early. There were limits to how much distance he could maintain without drawing attention.
Still…
His expression settled into something firm.
He would avoid her.
At all costs.
Even if it meant appearing cold. Even if it meant hurting himself. Even if it meant tearing himself apart in the process.
Because the alternative…
His gaze dimmed slightly. Death didn't frighten him. It never had.
In his past life, it had even been his end goal—a deliberate choice, a final act meant to atone for everything he had done. A punishment he had accepted without resistance.
And even now… that intention hadn't fully disappeared.
But not yet.
There were things left unfinished. Debts that had not been repaid. People he could not abandon.
"When it's all over…" he murmured softly, "then I'll die."
It was a simple conclusion. A fair one, in his mind. But until then—He had to live.
And that meant staying away from Ciao Ren.
With that resolve settled, Lian Yu finally pushed himself up from the bed. The quiet room seemed to shift with him, as though acknowledging the decision he had made.
By the time he entered the dining area, the house no longer felt as still. Warmth filled the space—both in temperature and atmosphere.
The table was already set, and for a moment, Lian Yu paused at the entrance, his eyes narrowing slightly in quiet surprise.
The food… was excessive.
Not in the way of extravagant banquets meant for elites, but in a way that felt almost… nostalgic. Rare dishes that weren't made often anymore. Meals that required time, effort, and a kind of care that couldn't be rushed.
The aroma alone was enough to stir something deep within him—rich broth, stir-fried vegetables glistening lightly with oil, tender cuts of meat arranged neatly on porcelain plates.
It felt like a feast from another time.
He stepped forward slowly, pulling out a chair as his gaze shifted to his mother.
"Ma," he began, picking up his chopsticks, though his curiosity lingered, "what's the occasion?"
He gestured lightly toward the table.
"Are we celebrating something? It's not your birthday… and Cici-jie's is still far off." A faint smirk touched his lips, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're not making all this for that psycho, are you?"
His mother didn't react to the jab.
Instead, she smiled—softly, almost wistfully.
"Why's that?" she replied gently. "Can't I make good food for you both?"
Her hands moved with quiet familiarity as she adjusted a dish, her voice calm but carrying an undercurrent he couldn't quite place.
"It's been a long time," she continued, "and I fear this practice will disappear when I close my eyes."
The words landed heavier than expected.
Lian Yu's smile faltered—just for a moment.
A subtle shift. Barely noticeable.
But it was there.
He lowered his gaze, masking the flicker of discomfort that passed through his expression. The thought… it wasn't one he wanted to entertain. Not now. Not when there were already too many things weighing on his mind.
He shook his head lightly, as if brushing the moment away, and reached for a piece of meat, placing it in his mouth without another comment.
Silence settled briefly between them.
Then, something clicked. His brows furrowed slightly as he glanced around.
"…Ma," he said after swallowing, his tone more casual than the thought forming in his mind, "where's Cici?"
He paused, chopsticks hovering mid-air.
"Why isn't she here? Did she go out for something?"
His mother didn't answer immediately.
And in that small delay… something in Lian Yu's chest tightened.
Then she spoke.
"No," she said simply. "None of that."
She placed down the bowl she was holding, her movements steady, almost too steady.
"She's gone back to her husband's house," she continued. "Her husband told her to come home. Just this morning."
The world seemed to stop.Lian Yu's hand fell. The chopsticks slipped from his fingers, landing softly against the table—but the sound echoed louder than it should have.
His body went still. Completely still.
"…Her husband's house?" he repeated, his voice quieter now, stripped of its earlier ease.
The words felt wrong. They didn't settle.
They didn't make sense. A cold, creeping sensation spread through him, starting from his chest and reaching outward, slow and suffocating.
No.
No matter the circumstances—
That was not a place she should ever return to. Not to that man. Not to that house.
His gaze darkened, the calm from earlier dissolving completely, replaced by something far sharper.
This… was unacceptable.
No matter what the situation was—
He was not leaving his sister there.
____
"This morning? Around what time?" Lian Yu asked, his tone deliberately light, as though the question carried no weight.
But the way his fingers tightened ever so slightly around his chopsticks betrayed him.
His mother did not seem to notice.
She lowered her gaze to the table, her voice calm, almost too calm. "Around three in the morning."
The words fell quietly.
Yet to Lian Yu, they struck like a hammer.
"What?" The single syllable slipped out before he could restrain it. His composure cracked, his head snapping up sharply. "Three in the morning?"
The chair legs scraped faintly against the floor as he shifted forward, disbelief flashing across his face, quickly overtaken by anger.
"And you let her go?" His voice rose despite himself, sharp and incredulous. "What kind of stupidity is that?"
The air in the room changed instantly. The warmth from earlier—the gentle domestic calm—evaporated, replaced by a tension that clung to every surface.
His mother flinched slightly, though she did not look offended. If anything, she looked… tired.
"You know how he is," she said quietly, her hands clasping together in her lap as if to steady herself. "You know how irrational he can be. No matter what you say, he won't change his mind."
She paused, her lips pressing together, as though reliving the moment.
"I tried," she added softly. "I really did. But… he threatened us."
Silence followed. Heavy. Suffocating.
Something dark flickered in Lian Yu's eyes.
Anger—yes. But not the reckless kind.
This was colder.
Sharper. More controlled.
This… he thought, his jaw tightening, this is exactly what I ignored before.
In his previous life, he had turned a blind eye to it. The unreasonable demands. The suffocating control. The quiet suffering disguised as normalcy. He had dismissed it.
Endured it. Allowed it. And where had that led them? Nowhere good. Not this time.
This time… he would not ignore it.
If that man wanted to be unreasonable, then fine. He would respond in kind. His gaze hardened, a decision settling firmly within him. And at the center of that decision… was his mother.
She was a liability.
Not because she was weak—but because she cared too much. Because she would hesitate. Because she would try to endure instead of escape. Sending her away… was no longer just an option.
It was necessary.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his anger down, burying it beneath a more composed exterior.
"Ma," he began, his voice calmer now, though a subtle edge remained, "do you remember how you once said you wanted to become an artist again?"
The sudden shift in topic caught her off guard.
She blinked, clearly puzzled, her brows knitting slightly. "That's… just an old dream," she replied after a moment, her tone uncertain. "You shouldn't think about it."
A faint, almost self-conscious smile touched her lips, though it didn't reach her eyes.
"Besides," she added, "I still have you and your sister to take care of."
Lian Yu shook his head slowly.
"No," he said, more firmly this time.
No matter what it took… he would make her agree. He straightened slightly, his gaze steady as it met hers.
"You don't understand," he continued. "Your daughter is married. She has her own life. And your son…" He paused briefly, then added with quiet confidence, "is doing well in school."
There was no arrogance in his tone—only a statement of fact, carefully chosen to reassure.
"Taking care of us," he went on, "only holds you back."
The words lingered, deliberate and pointed.
"I don't want you to let go of your dreams," he said, softer now, but no less resolute.
His mother's expression shifted. It was subtle—but layered.
Confusion.
Hesitation.
And beneath it all… guilt. It was enough.
He pressed forward.
"Ma," he said, his voice lowering slightly, carrying a sincerity that could not be easily dismissed, "you are not useless."
Her breath caught.
"You've already done more than enough for us," he continued. "You gave up everything—your dreams, your time, your happiness—just to meet his demands."
A faint bitterness slipped into his tone at the mention of his father, but he did not dwell on it.
"It wasn't easy," he added. "And on top of that… you had to deal with me."
A small, self-aware smile appeared briefly, though it carried more weight than humor.
"All my tantrums. All my stubbornness."
His gaze softened, just slightly.
"Ma… you deserve better."
The words were simple.
But they carried years of unspoken truth.
"Remember," he said quietly, "you are the best. Without you… we wouldn't even be here."
That was not an exaggeration. Not to him.
Not anymore. His mother's eyes glistened faintly, emotion surfacing despite her attempts to contain it. Her lips trembled, as though she wanted to speak—but didn't know how.
And for a moment, neither of them moved.
Lian Yu knew what he was doing. He knew his words were persuasive—carefully chosen, strategically delivered.
But they were not lies. That was the difference. This was something he had wanted to say for a long time. Something his pride had never allowed him to express.
Now… he used the moment to finally let it out.
"But…" she tried again, her voice softer now, weaker. He didn't let her finish.
"Ma," he said gently, but firmly, "you can stay at your brother's house."
His tone left little room for argument.
"Signing divorce papers… isn't the priority right now," he continued. "I'll come back for you. Okay?"
"But—"
"Ma," he interrupted again, more softly this time, though the insistence remained, "just agree."
He held her gaze, unwavering.
"I'll take care of Cici for us," he said. Not try.
Not figure something out. Take care of her.
"Just focus on yourself," he added. "I promise I'll set things right."
The room grew quiet once more.
Outside, the day had fully awakened—the sounds of life continuing as usual, indifferent to the storm brewing within these walls.
His mother looked at him for a long time.
And in that gaze, something shifted.
The hesitation… eased.
The doubt… softened.
What remained was something quieter.
Acceptance. My child has grown up now.
The thought settled in her heart, heavy with both relief and sorrow.
"Okay," she said at last.
But even then, she held onto one final condition.
"But promise me," she added, her voice steady despite the emotion beneath it, "that you won't leave me out of anything."
Her eyes searched his, not with suspicion—but with trust. "I'm your mother," she said softly. "I should at least know what's happening to you."
For a brief moment, time seemed to slow.
Then Lian Yu nodded.
"Mn," he replied. "I promise."
The answer came easily. Too easily.
Because even as the words left his mouth… he knew they were not entirely true.
He could not guarantee that promise. He could not afford to. Not when the truth itself was dangerous. Not when knowing too much could put her directly in harm's way.
His gaze shifted slightly, masking the quiet conflict beneath his calm exterior.
There was only one thing he was certain of.
His mother's safety came first.
Above honesty. Above promises. Above everything else. And if protecting her meant carrying the burden alone…
Then so be it.
____
That evening, as the city eased into dusk, the house grew quieter than it had ever been.
The fading light of the sun stretched through the windows in long, slanted beams, painting the walls in soft shades of amber and gold. Outside, the distant hum of Shanghai continued—cars flowing endlessly along crowded streets, voices blending into the restless rhythm of the city—but within those walls, there was a strange stillness, as though time itself had slowed to watch what was about to unfold.
Lian Yu was not home.
Classes had long begun, and with him gone, the house felt emptier than it should have. Not just physically, but emotionally—as though his presence had been holding something together that was now quietly coming undone.
His mother stood in the center of her room, unmoving for a long moment. The suitcase lay open on the bed.
It was not large. Not grand. Just enough to carry the essentials of a life she had spent years building, enduring, and sacrificing for. A few sets of clothes were already folded inside, placed neatly with the kind of care that came from habit rather than necessity.
Her hands hovered over the suitcase, uncertain.
This was not the first time she had thought of leaving. But it was the first time she was actually doing it. A faint breeze slipped through the slightly open window, stirring the curtains gently. It brushed against her face, cool and quiet, as if urging her forward—yet her feet remained rooted in place.
Her gaze drifted slowly around the room.
Every corner held something familiar.
The dresser where she used to prepare for long days that never seemed to end. The small table where she had once sketched designs in stolen moments of quiet, only to abandon them when responsibilities called her back. The bed where she had lain awake through countless nights, listening to silence that was never truly peaceful.
This house… had never really been a home.
And yet, leaving it felt heavier than she expected. Her fingers tightened slightly as she reached for a folded piece of clothing, placing it into the suitcase with careful precision.
She knew this was not the best decision.
A mother leaving her home, trusting her children to handle things that should never have been theirs to carry—it went against everything she believed in. Every instinct told her to stay, to endure, to fix what could not be fixed.
But today… something had changed.
Lian Yu's voice echoed faintly in her mind.
"Ma… you deserve better." Her movements slowed.
A quiet ache settled in her chest—not painful, but deep. The kind that came from realizing something long ignored. For years, she had told herself that sacrifice was love.
That enduring was strength.
That letting go of her dreams was simply part of being a mother, a wife. But when her son had looked at her that morning—so steady, so certain—it had shaken something within her.
He had not looked at her with pity.
He had looked at her… with understanding.
And that frightened her more than anything else. Because it meant he had seen too much.
Carried too much.
Her lips pressed together as she closed the suitcase gently. For once… she would trust them. Not because she was certain everything would be fine. But because she wanted to believe—if only this once—that there was still goodwill left in this family.
That things could change.
That her children… could find a way forward, even if she stepped back. She lifted the suitcase from the bed, the weight of it pulling slightly at her arm. It was not heavy, yet it felt significant—like carrying a piece of her past as she walked toward something uncertain.
The house was quiet as she moved toward the door.
Each step echoed faintly against the floor, the sound lingering just long enough to remind her that she was leaving something behind.
At the entrance, she paused.
Her hand rested on the doorknob, fingers curling around it slowly. For a moment, she did not move. Her gaze drifted back one last time. The living room, dimly lit by the fading daylight. The dining table, still carrying the memory of that morning's conversation.
The silence… that now felt different.
Not oppressive.
Just… empty.
"I will be back," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
The words were not spoken to anyone in particular. And yet, they carried a quiet promise.
"I promise."
Then, without allowing herself another moment of hesitation, she opened the door.
Cool evening air greeted her immediately, brushing past her as she stepped outside. The sky had deepened into shades of violet and blue, the last traces of sunlight disappearing behind the distant skyline.
Streetlights flickered on one by one, casting pools of soft light along the pavement.
She did not look back again.
The gate closed behind her with a soft, final click. The journey ahead would be long.
Her brother's house was far—hours away from Shanghai, separated by distance that felt both physical and emotional. It was not just a change of location, but a step away from everything she had known for years.
Yet as she walked forward, suitcase in hand, there was a quiet resolve in her steps.
Uncertain. Fragile. But real.
And behind her, the house remained still—holding within its walls the echoes of what had been, and the quiet anticipation of what was yet to come.