Cheng, my heart aches so much.

The faded image was tinged with a faint yellow hue. The boy in the photograph was about five years old—it was him, surely. The woman in the picture was graceful and radiant, holding him in her arms. The boy wore a sweet smile, his small hands wrapped tightly around her neck. Beside them stood a man, his imposing figure serving as a sturdy harbor, shielding the mother and child from the wind and rain.

Ling Lan gazed at the photo, her fingers trembling. Her eyes drifted toward the man in the room. His sharp, handsome features were desolate in the night wind, his damp eyelashes fluttering slightly. Cold as he was, calculating as he was, she had never seen Mo Zhicheng like this. Perhaps, once all the pretense and strength were stripped away, his heart was nothing but a mass of scars. Perhaps she had truly never stepped into his world at all.

Ling Lan gasped, an overwhelming sense of suffocation pressing down on her. She did not know why it hurt so much, yet hot tears welled up in her eyes. The brilliance of the fireworks illuminated their silhouettes. She reached out with trembling hands, pausing just before his furrowed brows.

The bells of midnight rang out in the distance.

Dong...

Dong...

The festive cheers of the New Year were lost; only the relentless bursts of fireworks streaking across the night sky, their deafening roars engulfing the world. With the wind, the waves, the bells, and the explosions all weaving together, her cold fingers finally touched his eyes.

The man shuddered instinctively. Her heart ached as if crushed by a heavy stone. Her slender fingertips gently wiped away the tear tracks beneath his eyes. The liquid was warm against his cold skin, and only then did she realize how long he had been sitting here, and how long he had been weeping.

The man slowly opened his eyes, the glistening tears still shimmering in their depths. The moment their gazes met, a tacit understanding passed between them; neither spoke, neither uttered a word. There was only silence.

Across the sparse light and shadows, Mo Zhicheng stared into that tear-streaked, delicate face. He saw the heavy, swirling snow outside, like glowing spirits dancing through the fluttering curtains, falling endlessly. She stood alone amidst it all, trembling.

"Why did you come here?" he asked coldly, his voice devoid of emotion. But the hidden grief within him could not deceive her. She knew he was heartbroken, knew he was in pain, but she could not understand why he insisted on locking himself in the darkness on New Year's Eve, unwilling to let anyone near, unwilling to let anyone read his heart.

Ling Lan ignored his coldness. Stubbornly, she reached out with her other hand, cupping his face. Her thumbs smoothed his furrowed brows—gently, slowly. The slight chill of her fingers made him daze. He stared at her in silence, hidden in the dim light.

The warmth in his eyes gathered into glistening beads once more. Try as he might to suppress them, they trembled in his lashes until they could no longer be contained.

Suddenly, Mo Zhicheng seized her wrists, his grip so tight that his knuckles cracked. "Who told you to enter this room?" His low, strained voice was like a sharp blade cutting through her thoughts.

He roared, "Who told you to come in..."

Ling Lan bit her lip, meeting his gaze with stubborn persistence.

"Leave! Get out!" As if his mask had been shattered, Mo Zhicheng was trembling all over, yet he could not stop the savage force in his hands. Her wrists felt as though they were being crushed, but she murmured, "I won't leave!"

"Leave! Get out..." The veins on his body seemed ready to burst, and the cords on his forehead stood out in stark relief. Like a beast that had lost its sanity, he violently shoved her away. Off-balance, Ling Lan staggered back toward the open window, her body swaying precariously.

Mo Zhicheng’s eyes widened. He lunged forward to grab her arm, the photos in his lap scattering in a chaotic mess as he yanked her back into his embrace. At that very moment, she had been on the verge of falling from the window to her destruction, on the verge of making him suffer the pain of loss once again. And in that same moment, he realized he could not let go; he could not disregard her safety.

Ling Lan’s vision went black. The violent impact knocked the breath from her lungs; she couldn't catch her air, feeling only the pain. In her memories, his embrace had always been so warm, but tonight, his body felt as cold as midwinter ice.

"Tell me, why do you lock yourself away? Why?" She choked on her words, her mind in complete turmoil, pressed tightly against his chest. She knew she had stepped into his forbidden territory, but she only wanted to be closer to him. Ling Lan trembled as she reached out to wrap her arms around him.

But the man stiffened. Hearing her soft question, he seemed to wake from a dream. He pushed her away and turned his back, refusing to look at her. "Who told you to come back tonight?"

Before he could finish, Ling Lan hugged him from behind. The man froze, but she held him tightly. His deep eyes reddened, his Adam's apple bobbing with bitterness. The mutual shock lingered in the endless silence.

She asked in a hoarse, stubborn voice, "Why do you lock yourself away? Why?" She whispered it over and over, only to have him force her fingers apart. She wouldn't let go, the mist in her eyes spilling over uncontrollably.

"Tell me why you lock yourself away, why you seal off your heart! Tell me! Tell me!" She wept and pleaded. "You said I had never truly looked at you, never truly understood, never truly walked into your life. But you have always been wearing a mask, never letting me know how much suffering you carry inside. You spoke of your past with such indifference, yet you kept this study sealed. Sister Zhang said she had never stepped foot in here—this is your taboo, your deepest wound, something no one dares touch. I am no exception, but I know you have never let go of that past. Why not open your heart and tell me you are hurting? You are suppressing your pain, and you are hurting so much that you are going insane, yet you still pretend."

"Do you know that even though I knew of your past, even though I lamented how unpredictable life is and how cruel the world can be, I have never felt such heartache for you as I do tonight? Do you know that seeing you like this breaks my heart?"

She roared, her voice cracking with hoarseness. "Cheng, feel my heart. It hurts. It really hurts." Her angry voice finally faded into a whisper.

Each word, each repetition, shattered the logic they both clung to. The hand Mo Zhicheng used to grip her wrist throbbed with bulging veins, but she did not let go, pressing herself tightly against his broad shoulders. Even such a resolute figure had moments of fragility and exhaustion.

Amidst the flickering light of the fireworks, his slightly hunched silhouette was revealed. Finally, his grip slackened, and his long arms slowly hung by his sides. Mo Zhicheng stared into the pitch-black void.

The wind whistled, the snow swirled, and the scattered photographs on the floor were tossed about by the drafts—one after another, they fluttered with sorrow, as if all the lingering thoughts and melancholy were taking flight in the biting cold. The ticking of his wristwatch was the only sound, persistent and weary.

Silence reigned for a long, long time.

Mo Zhicheng’s brows remained tightly knit, all his suppressed emotions transforming into a tremor. "I'm sorry." The three words barely escaped his lips.

She froze. "Why are you apologizing?" Ling Lan felt his emotions gradually calming. She looked up, slowly releasing her arms, watching his exhausted back.

Mo Zhicheng turned around. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

Ling Lan cupped his face with trembling hands, as if afraid he might shatter. "Why are you apologizing?"

"Today... it is the anniversary of my father's death."

She was struck as if by lightning. Mo Zhicheng walked toward her, weak and unsteady, and opened his arms to pull her into an embrace.

"Cheng..." she wept, whispering his name in a soft, broken voice.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, holding her tight. It turned out that this delicate body was his only harbor of safety.

"That night was New Year's Eve. My mother was personally preparing his favorite meal. I still remember the fragrance of the food, and I remember us waiting for him all evening, waiting for him to come home for a reunion. But his phone wouldn't go through; it was always busy. I was small then, and I didn't know why she was so anxious, so restless. I only saw her pacing back and forth in the room. Later, she received a call from the company. Loan sharks had been threatening us; he had wasted the entire Mo family fortune on drugs, and there was nowhere left to turn."

Ling Lan felt a chill against her neck; the man's scarred, bitter tears were seeping into her very soul. "I didn't know what would happen, what it all meant. When I followed her to the Mo building, I only saw a dark shadow falling straight down from the twentieth floor. With a thud, it smashed right at my feet. Can you imagine that image? I was helpless, staring at the mangled flesh and blood, the brains splattered everywhere, the body almost deformed by the impact. I was terrified... I just cried."

The blood-drenched memory stained his soul. The man trembled, his voice choked with sobs, unable to speak another word.

She reached out to gently soothe his back, but she could not stop the violent shaking of his frame.