In the courtyard.
The charcoal in the barbecue grill flickered between dim and bright.
Sang Lu glanced at the man beside her, whose aura remained cool even by the fire, and struck up a conversation:
"Feng Yi seems genuinely remorseful this time. He was very subdued earlier."
Feng Yan turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting hers.
He gave a faint nod, as if indifferent to the topic of Feng Yi.
Noticing Sang Lu wasn’t reaching for more skewers, he asked in a low voice,
"Done eating?"
Sang Lu nodded.
"Yeah, I’m full. Any more and it’ll be stuck in my throat."
At her words, a trace of confusion flickered in Feng Yan’s eyes.
He didn’t understand.
She’d been insisting she was starving, yet she’d barely eaten anything.
His gaze drifted from her face to her wrist, then her neck, and finally her slender waist.
Such a small portion, and she was already full.
No wonder her wrists were so delicate, her waist so narrow it looked like it could snap with a pinch.
The thought made his brow furrow slightly.
Sang Lu was puzzled.
What was the meaning behind Feng Yan’s silent scrutiny?
Just as she was about to ask, Uncle Yue approached them.
"Young Master, Madam, the master says it’s getting late and suggests you stay at the old residence tonight."
Feng Yan looked at Sang Lu, his well-defined brows lifting slightly in silent inquiry.
But Sang Lu’s mind was occupied by a single thought—Uncle Yue, you sound like you’ve stepped out of a historical drama…
Catching Feng Yan’s expectant gaze, she finally considered the suggestion.
It was indeed late.
Moreover, she’d noticed Feng Yan had been distracted during dinner, likely exhausted from rushing over after his meetings.
Driving back now would only add to the fatigue.
With that in mind, the ever-considerate arranged-marriage wife cast her cold husband an approving look.
Her voice was bright and cheerful:
"Sure~"
Feng Yan gave Uncle Yue a slight nod.
Uncle Yue smiled in response. "Very well, Young Master, Madam. I’ll have the rooms prepared. Please wait a moment."
Sang Lu: He’s sounding more and more like an ancient servant…
Before long, a maid came to inform them that the rooms were ready.
As they were led to another detached villa within the estate, Sang Lu couldn’t help but twitch her lips.
The Feng family’s ancestral home was massive—so many houses.
"I’m feeling resentful of the rich," she muttered under her breath to the silent man beside her.
Feng Yan turned to her, his expression questioning.
Sang Lu didn’t hold back.
"Hardly anyone lives here, yet there are so many villas. I’m officially jealous."
As soon as the words left her mouth, she noticed Feng Yan’s eyes darken, a fleeting shadow of melancholy crossing his usually impassive face.
After a pause, he replied quietly, "There used to be more people living here. It wasn’t this empty before."
Sang Lu froze.
Had she just touched on a sensitive topic?
When Feng Yan said "before," he must have meant when his parents were still alive.
Back then, the Feng estate would have been bustling with three generations under one roof.
Her lips pressed together in regret.
She hesitated, searching for the right words to smooth things over.
Then Feng Yan turned to face her fully, his gaze steady and calm.
"Take a walk with me?" he asked softly. "Let’s finish our conversation from last time."
Sang Lu looked up, momentarily stunned.
Then her expression turned serious as she nodded slowly.
Her heart tightened with a mix of nervousness and curiosity.
Finally…
She was about to hear the reason behind his years of silence.
...
The courtyard was deep and quiet, filled with the chirping of insects.
They strolled along the winding path, Feng Yan deliberately slowing his steps to match Sang Lu’s.
A breeze carried the scent of spring—a soothing fragrance.
But Sang Lu’s mind was anything but relaxed.
Her eyes stayed on Feng Yan. The moon hid behind clouds, and under the dim glow of the streetlights, his tall figure seemed solitary and distant.
"They died in a car accident. I was six… or maybe seven. I don’t remember clearly." His voice was low, the opening line devoid of any clear subject.
Sang Lu knew who "they" referred to.
A wave of shock washed over her.
So Feng Yan had lost his parents at such a young age.
Six or seven—barely old enough to understand the world.
How had he coped?
There were so many questions she wanted to ask.
But now wasn’t the time.
Feng Yan’s eyes were deep and unreadable, veiled behind an impenetrable mist.
She responded with a soft, gentle "Mm," signaling she was listening—truly listening.
His gaze drifted into the distance, unfocused, as he continued in that same detached tone:
"It was raining. They were arguing in the car, fighting over the steering wheel. They crashed, and before the fire… before the explosion, my mother threw me into a roadside pond. I survived. I kept screaming for help, but no one heard me through the water. After that day, I didn’t want to speak anymore."
He recounted the past with unsettling calm, compressing years of pain into a few spare sentences.
Sang Lu’s expression grew increasingly somber.
Feng Yan added, "Later, I found out my mother was ill. That’s why she lost control and grabbed the wheel."
Sang Lu’s eyes widened. "Ill?"
"Postpartum depression. Not long after Feng Bai was born."
The words were spoken lightly, but they sent a tremor through Sang Lu.
Postpartum depression—a psychological condition so often overlooked.
After childbirth, many women fall into a period of emotional turmoil, plagued by anxiety and fear.
In severe cases, it can lead to confusion, even delusions.
She’d read news articles about it before.
One comment in particular had stuck with her: "It’s just having a baby. Why so dramatic? ‘Emotional illness’—please. They’re just spoiled."
She’d reported that comment immediately.
Not everyone could empathize with suffering, but that didn’t mean they had the right to mock it.
Yet she never imagined Feng Yan’s mother had been a victim of that very illness—one impulsive act, fueled by untreated pain, costing two lives.
"All of this… I only learned later. If I’d known sooner…" Feng Yan’s shoulders slumped slightly, the sentence left unfinished.
Sang Lu watched him quietly. The faint glow of the streetlights cast shadows across his face, his tall frame nearly merging with the night.
For a moment, he seemed almost… fragile.
A stark contrast to the ruthless, untouchable image the world had of the Feng family’s heir.
Feng Yan was silent for a long while, lost in thought.
Then, finally, he lowered his gaze to meet Sang Lu’s.
When their eyes locked, Sang Lu offered him a small, warm smile.
"Feng Yan—"
She held his slightly dazed gaze, speaking his name with quiet conviction.
"—it’s all in the past now. You grew up safe and strong. You overcame your silence…"
She glanced up at the night sky.
The clouds shifted, unveiling the moon once more, its silver light spilling over them.
"Your parents… wherever they are, they must be so proud of you."
"Look, no matter how painful or difficult the past was, you’ve already overcome it. From now on, you’ll only get better—day by day."
Feng Yan’s gaze flickered slightly, but he remained silent, his eyes fixed on the woman before him—her smile gentle, her spirit bright and optimistic.
Sang Lu’s glance drifted downward, only then noticing his clenched fist. He must have been holding it tight ever since he began recalling the past, and now it was faintly flushed.
For a moment, Sang Lu stared at his hand, lost in thought.
Feng Yan followed her gaze and realized she was looking at his fist.
Just as he was about to loosen his grip, his hand was suddenly pulled forward.
Sang Lu slowly, carefully pried his fingers apart, then wrapped her own around them.
Her hand was smaller than his, her fingers curling around the tips of his.
She squeezed lightly.
As if transferring her strength to him.
Feng Yan’s eyelids tensed, his gaze sharpening as he abruptly lifted his eyes to her face.
There, he found Sang Lu meeting his stare head-on, her smile clear and luminous.
