"And so, Li Huaijin died. The stubborn ox buried him and then escorted Li Furong back to the Li Mansion."
Ninth held the girl in his arms as they sat on the couch. The window was beside them, and with a single stretch of his hand, he could touch the desolate moonlight.
The night was cold. Chu'he huddled under the same blanket with him, nearly curled entirely into his embrace. After hearing that not-so-long story, her heart was filled with melancholy.
"When we were children, because our fathers were close, Shuangshuang and I often played together. Her brother was frail, so I didn’t see him much, but I could tell—she cared deeply for him."
Whenever Li Furong quarreled with Chu'he, she would boast about having the best brother in the world, as if that gave her the upper hand.
In Chu'he’s memories, the young Li Huaijin was nothing like the rowdy, unruly boys everyone found annoying. He was gentle, courteous, and learned—but alas, he had been bedridden since birth.
"Miaomiao, when I grow up, I’ll definitely find a way to cure my brother," seven-year-old Li Furong declared, hands on her hips. "And then I’ll be his bride."
At the time, Chu'he had glanced at her and said, "He’s your brother. You can’t be his bride."
Li Furong frowned. "Why not?"
Chu'he found it tiresome to explain to someone so dense and simply replied, "You’ll understand when you’re older."
Later, when Chu'he and Li Furong fell from a tree, Li Huaijin—for reasons unknown—chose to catch Chu'he instead. Li Furong was heartbroken for a long time after that.
She locked herself in her room, so upset she even broke out in pimples. It wasn’t until Chu'he came to coax her out that she finally emerged.
But then, by unfortunate coincidence, Li Furong and Chu'he overheard a conversation between their fathers.
Master Li spoke carefully, "Brother Chu, Huaijin and Miaomiao are close in age, and Miaomiao gets along so well with Shuangshuang. Why don’t we arrange a betrothal between them?"
Chu Sheng’s hand, holding the teacup, paused. "Brother, you must be joking."
Master Li knew his proposal sounded absurd to others, but for his son’s sake, he forced a strained smile and pressed on. "I visited a temple recently and had a divination done. Miaomiao’s fate is extraordinary—if Huaijin marries her, his illness can be cured."
"What charlatan fed you such nonsense?" Chu Sheng’s expression darkened. "I know Huaijin is a good boy, and I pity his suffering, but every physician has already given their verdict. How could a marriage possibly change that?"
His tone turned sharp. "What difference is there between this and using my daughter as a sacrificial bride?"
No matter how much Master Li praised his son or promised lavish dowries, Chu Sheng remained resolute in his refusal.
Eventually, the two friends of many years tore into each other, their words growing uglier by the minute.
In the end, Chu Sheng smashed his cup and stormed out, taking Chu'he by the hand as he left the Li Mansion. From then on, the two families severed ties, becoming as hostile as fire and water.
Remembering those childhood scenes, Chu'he twisted a strand of Ninth’s white hair between her fingers and murmured, "Li Huaijin erased all of Shuangshuang’s memories of him. Was that really for her own good?"
The young man’s eyes curved as he held her under the pale moonlight, pressing his cheek to hers. "Who knows?"
He smiled. "Don’t waste your thoughts on others, A'he. Think of me a little more, won’t you?"
That suffocating clinginess returned.
Meeting his gaze, Chu'he felt as if her very soul might be greedily devoured by him. A strange sensation rose within her.
In the boy’s heart was an empty bottle. She had once filled it, making it heavy and full—but now, it seemed there was a hole. He needed more, much more, to fill it again.
Chu'he wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. He lowered his head, kissing the crown of her hair.
Listening to his heartbeat, she couldn’t shake a growing unease.
Fang Songhe carried the unconscious Li Furong on his back, conflicted over how to explain tonight’s events to the Li family.
The night wind grew louder, and the girl suddenly shivered, sneezing from the cold.
Fang Songhe halted. "Miss Li, you’re awake?"
Li Furong recognized the man carrying her. Her throat felt dry. "Why am I with you?"
Fang Songhe hesitated. "The Li Mansion was robbed. The thieves wanted to ransom you for money. You were drugged—perhaps that’s why your memory is hazy."
Her mind was indeed a fog. "Did you save me?"
Fang Songhe paused briefly. "Before I found you, a kind gentleman had already rescued you."
"Where is he now?"
"He had urgent business and left the city."
An inexplicable sadness tugged at her. "I see."
"Fang Songhe!"
Cang Yan descended from above with Sang Duo in his arms. The moment they landed, Sang Duo rushed over. "You found her and didn’t even tell us!"
Fang Songhe flushed. "Sorry, I forgot."
Earlier, Fang Songhe and Sang Duo had split up to search for Li Furong. Sang Duo had given him a bell containing a messenger insect—if he found her, he was supposed to shake it so the other bell would signal them.
Li Furong slid down from Fang Songhe’s back. She looked at Cang Yan, and he, too, was watching her.
After a long silence, she whispered, "Brother."
Sang Duo blinked in surprise. "Well, well. I thought you only acknowledged the young master of the Li family. Didn’t expect you’d call Cang Yan 'brother.'"
Li Furong looked lost. "Father—I mean, Master Li, who adopted me—he has no other children. What young master are you talking about?"
Fang Songhe coughed lightly. "Sang Duo misspoke. Don’t dwell on it, Miss Li."
At the same time, Sang Duo caught Fang Songhe’s meaningful glance. Her brows furrowed as she studied Li Furong’s odd demeanor—then realization struck.
She had lost a portion of her memories.
Sang Duo guessed that Li Huaijin must have met a tragic end and fell silent.
Fang Songhe escorted Li Furong back to the Li Mansion but needed to speak privately with Master Li. Left alone in the courtyard, Li Furong sat in the cold wind, her heart hollow.
Before long, she thought she heard faint sobbing from inside the house.
She moved to enter, but the guards at the door stopped her.
Inside, Fang Songhe said, "Master Li, my condolences."
Master Li slumped in his chair, as if aged a decade in moments. It took him a long time to gather the strength to speak.
"I never imagined Huaijin would be involved with evil spirits, nearly bringing ruin to the entire city. This is my negligence."
"Though I never wished for him to leave this world before me, I always knew this day would come. He suffered day after day—perhaps this is his release."
"Shuangshuang was brought home by him. After all these years, she is no different from my own daughter."
"Before Shuangshuang left, the last person he wanted to protect was her. As their father, I will spend the rest of my life ensuring Shuangshuang’s safety. Under my care, she will not suffer the slightest grievance."
Fang Songhe bowed sincerely and said, "Master Li, your righteousness is unparalleled."
In just a short time, the entire Li Mansion received the order—no one was to mention the young master who had passed away too soon.
"Miss, the bed has been prepared. It’s late, and you’re still unwell. You should rest early."
A cold breeze swept in, and the maid hurried to close the window.
"Has Fang Songhe left already?"
Hearing this, the maid replied, "Fang Songhe has already departed."
When she turned back, she saw Li Furong leaning over the table, staring intently at a small white flower in a pot. The maid, Xue, felt inexplicably tense.
Li Furong murmured, "I can’t remember when I started keeping this flower. Xue, do you recall?"
This little white blossom was one Li Furong had once ventured into the mountains alone to find, hoping it could cure Li Huaijin. Yet in the end, it had all been in vain.
Xue’s expression flickered with unease. "You bought it casually while strolling through the streets some time ago, Miss. It wasn’t anything important, so it’s natural you don’t remember. Let me take it away."
"No, leave it here."
Seeing Li Furong’s insistence, Xue said no more. She retreated from the room, closing the door behind her, her eyes reddening.
"Why must someone as kind as the young master meet such an end?"
Inside the room, silence lingered.
Li Furong seemed entranced by the purity of the flower. She reached out, her fingertips brushing the petals, making the delicate bloom tremble.
Suddenly, a teardrop fell, landing on the green leaves like morning dew.
Li Furong blinked, wiping the dampness from her cheek. Staring at the moisture on her finger, she felt only a growing emptiness in her heart.
How strange.
Why was she crying?
