On a river flowing through a small European town, a wooden boat rocked gently as it drifted forward.

Seated face-to-face at its center were a boy and a girl.

The girl had snow-white hair and ruby-red eyes. A closer look revealed a face of such flawless beauty it nearly stole one’s breath away. Dressed in a light purple dress, she sat with perfect poise, a serene smile gracing her lips. "Beautiful as an angel," people would say of her.

Opposite her, the black-haired boy lounged casually. Propped up by his hands behind him, he tilted his head back slightly, gazing at the riverside scenery. An air of utter nonchalance surrounded him—as if nothing in this world could ever rush him. At first glance, he seemed ordinary, but a second look revealed delicate, refined features that carried a quiet elegance.

The girl was Lin Zixuan. The boy was Lin Yichen. Sister and brother. This town marked the final stop of their European journey.

Medieval-era buildings still stood here, many renovated yet retaining the deep, timeless charm of centuries past. Sweet music drifted from the shore. Against a backdrop of pointed rooftops and colorful walls, happy couples strolled hand in hand.

Following Yichen’s gaze, Zixuan spotted the couples too. A faint blush warmed her cheeks. She turned to Yichen, her smile radiating pure bliss.

"Why are you staring at me?" Yichen asked, noticing her gaze.

Zixuan didn’t answer. She lowered her head slightly, as if lost in thought. Then, suddenly, she stood up. The boat rocked violently beneath her. Her body swayed unsteadily, teetering on the edge of falling into the water.

"Hey! What are you doing? The boat’s gonna capsize!" Yichen’s voice tightened with worry as he quickly grabbed her hand.

Zixuan smoothly settled down beside him.

"I just wanted to sit over here," she said, sticking out her tongue playfully before leaning gently against him.

Yichen pursed his lips. "It’s cramped."

"So what?"

"Hmph. Do what you want."

Ignoring his grumpy expression, Zixuan snuggled even closer.

The boatman at the prow glanced back at them, then shook his head with a quiet, wry smile before turning his eyes forward again.

At the dock, swept up by the romantic atmosphere, Yichen leapt ashore first. He placed his left hand behind his back and extended his right with exaggerated gallantry. Zixuan smiled warmly, placing her hand in his as she stepped onto land.

Walking along the riverside path, they drew admiring glances from passersby. Zixuan looped both arms through Yichen’s, leaning her body lightly against his.

"Hey, you’re too close. Everyone’s staring."

"So what? They’re all jealous of you."

"Hmph. Fine, whatever."

"Hehe." Zixuan’s triumphant grin widened.

With no fixed destination, they wandered the town—admiring medieval-style houses and streets, listening to street performers’ melodies, and sharing two locally-made ice creams.

"Hey, just one more bite?" Zixuan pleaded relentlessly.

Yichen simply handed her his entire cone. "Take it all."

"Mm! Then have mine."

Watching Zixuan happily lick the ice cream, a tender smile touched Yichen’s lips.

"Hm? Why are you looking at me?"

"Ah… nothing." He turned his face away, flustered.

"Don’t move."

Zixuan suddenly leaned close and flicked her tongue against the corner of his mouth.

Yichen’s face flushed crimson. "W-what was that for?!"

"I was just licking off the ice cream on your lip," she said innocently, then slowly traced her own glistening, sun-kissed lips with her tongue. Yichen felt his head spin.

By noon, they found a restaurant for lunch and rest. Zixuan ordered a pasta set; Yichen chose a steak set.

Starving, Yichen devoured his steak the moment it arrived, loud chewing sounds filling the air. In stark contrast, Zixuan twirled her pasta neatly onto her fork, eating silently and gracefully.

Yichen glanced up at her, then shamelessly continued his feast. He wasn’t usually this messy—just when truly hungry. Zixuan, however, remained poised and elegant no matter the circumstance.

Yichen had always wondered: living together all this time, why were their habits so different?

"Want some steak?"

"Ahh…"

Zixuan leaned forward slightly, opening her mouth like a fledgling waiting to be fed. Yichen cut a small piece and placed it on her tongue. After she swallowed, she playfully twirled some pasta on her fork and held it to his lips.

"Open up… ahh."

"Uh…"

Yichen suddenly felt intensely awkward. He snatched the fork, popped the pasta into his mouth, and handed it back.

"Honestly! I fed you, but you won’t feed me?" Zixuan puffed out her cheeks in mock anger. Yichen deliberately turned to look out the window.

After lunch, they rested briefly before setting off again, route confirmed. Their afternoon destination—and the final stop of their trip—was a museum in the town center, suggested by Zixuan.

Zixuan knew the museum existed but not the way there. So Yichen unfolded a map and took the lead.

Trying to take a shortcut, he guided Zixuan into narrow alleyways. The winding lanes twisted endlessly. Even with the map, Yichen kept taking wrong turns.

Zixuan followed patiently behind him, climbing steps and circling back without complaint.

After what felt like forever, Yichen finally gave up.

"Jiejie, let’s take the main road. These alleys are impossible."

"Mm, let’s go out then."

As they headed toward the nearest main street, Yichen paused after two steps.

"Are you tired, Jiejie? Should we rest?"

"Not at all. If Yichen’s tired, we can rest."

Seeing Zixuan still smiling brightly, her breathing steady and face unflushed, Yichen wondered silently: *How does she have such stamina? She’s a girl!* He controlled his own slightly quickened breath, hiding it from her.

"I-I’m not tired. Let’s go."

Five minutes later, they emerged onto the main road. Yichen studied the map again. The longer route was safer.

Then he spotted an elderly woman on a nearby staircase. Leaning heavily on a cane, she trembled with each step, pausing frequently to rest. Her frail figure seemed on the verge of collapse.

Yichen rushed over.

"Grandma, let me help you." He gently took her arm.

The old woman blinked in surprise, then her wrinkled face crinkled into a warm smile.

"Oh, thank you, young man. May the Lord bless you."

After helping her up the stairs, Yichen returned to Zixuan. He found her lips slightly pursed, a hint of displeasure in her eyes.

"Jiejie? What’s wrong?"

"You were so thoughtful helping that grandma just now."

Yichen stared at her for a long moment.

"W-why are you staring?"

"Jiejie… are you jealous?"

Zixuan’s face instantly flushed scarlet.

"I-I’m not! You helped her today, but tomorrow when she needs to climb stairs again, you can’t possibly rush over every time. So it was pointless effort."

Yichen laughed.

"Don’t be jealous, Jiejie. When you’re an old lady, I’ll help you too."

"Ridiculous! I won’t become an old lady! I won’t grow old!" She turned away, pouting.

After a short silence, Zixuan glanced back at Yichen, who hadn’t spoken.

"Pointless effort…?"

"Yichen? What are you saying? Let’s go."

Yichen snapped back to attention.

"Ah, right. Let’s go."

They walked on. After a while, Yichen consulted the map again.

"Jiejie, why isn’t the town center museum marked on this map? Are you sure about the location?"

"I’m sure."

"Oh… is it a small museum? How did you even hear about it? A friend’s recommendation?"

"…Mm. A friend told me." Her reply was distant.

"What’s displayed there? Anything special?"

"…"

"Jiejie?"

Yichen sensed her sudden silence. He turned to find her smile gone, replaced by an inexplicable gloom shadowing her features. She forced a weak smile.

"Ah, Yichen… sorry… I just zoned out for a moment. It’s nothing really… just wanted to see it… If you don’t want to go, we can skip it."

"I never said I didn’t want to go. Just asking."

Yichen waved it off casually, pretending not to notice her shift. They continued walking. Though Zixuan’s expression smoothed over, Yichen felt her every movement weighed down by hidden thoughts.

He walked silently, a knot of helplessness tightening in his chest. He didn’t know what she was thinking.

They’d lived together for so long, yet sometimes Zixuan would retreat like this—into a world of her own. Each time, she felt distant, like a stranger. Yichen had long known she was hiding something. No matter how he asked, she never told him. So in these moments, he could only stay by her side, silently hoping to understand the shadows in her heart.

After about thirty minutes, they stood before a building.

Two spires pierced the sky, marking it as a Christian structure. Its uneven stone walls, etched with deep scratches, spoke of ancient history. Its somber tones made it unassuming, yet a profound weight of time radiated from it.

Yichen looked up. Zixuan had quietly released his arm.

"Let’s go, Yichen."

A deep calm emanated from her. Yichen watched her slender back in silence, then followed.

"So deserted… Is this really a museum?" Yichen murmured as they entered.

Outside bustled with life; inside, absolute stillness reigned. The museum felt like a forgotten corner, frozen in time.

Its interior resembled a medieval cathedral—massive stone pillars supporting a soaring vaulted ceiling, stained-glass windows casting dim, colored light.

Yichen wandered the hall. Exhibits included yellowed leather armor, worn boots, fragmented papers covered in strange script, and broken quills. He guessed they were relics from some bygone era. Nothing seemed extraordinary. He couldn’t fathom why Zixuan wanted to come here.

He turned toward her.

Zixuan moved slowly, her gaze fixed on each display. She smiled softly at one, her expression clouding with sorrow at another. Her fingers gently traced the glass cases covering the artifacts, as if caressing treasures.

"Oh my, we have two guests today—quite a rare sight. Are you two interested in these artifacts?"

An aged yet powerful voice suddenly echoed from the depths of the museum. From the corner emerged an elderly man with snow-white hair.

Clad in white Christian robes, a silver cross pendant resting against his chest, he stood tall and straight. His weathered face beamed with warm laughter, though the sternness in his brows hinted at a hardened past.

"Are you the curator here?" Zixuan asked.

The old man didn’t answer. He simply stared at her, transfixed.

"What’s wrong?"

Her puzzled voice snapped him back to reality. He offered an apologetic smile.

"My apologies, lovely miss. My old eyes played tricks on me—I mistook you for an old friend. Yes, I am the curator."

Yichen watched the curator coldly. *This lecher’s clearly smitten with my sister.*

"Few have hair as white as yours. Inherited from your mother?" the curator inquired.

Zixuan shook her head. "No. Probably just a genetic mutation. This is my brother—we came together."

The curator’s gaze shifted to Yichen. He froze again, suspicion flickering across his face before he masked it with another smile.

"Ah! Welcome. Our exhibits are relics from two thousand years ago. Not many, but they offer glimpses into lives long past."

"These... are preserved remarkably well," Zixuan murmured, gently running her fingers over the glass casing of a displayed shirt.

Yichen stepped closer. The shirt was deeply yellowed with age, its original color lost—but it looked merely old, not ancient.

"Really two thousand years? Could be fake," he blurted.

The curator chuckled softly. Yichen noticed the glass was sealed.

"Is this airtight?"

"Heh, sharp eyes, young man. Yes—it’s filled with nitrogen. That’s why it won’t decay further. That’s how it’s survived so long."

Yichen frowned. *Nitrogen for some old shirt? Overkill.*

Zixuan drifted deeper into the exhibit hall, Yichen and the curator trailing behind. He felt a pang of loneliness as she focused solely on the displays. Sensing his mood, Zixuan smiled faintly and slipped her arm through his.

"Oh ho! Such a sweet pair," the curator teased. Both siblings flushed crimson.

They stopped before a massive black curtain concealing what seemed like a hidden room.

"What’s behind this?" Zixuan asked.

"A painting we don’t display. Rare to have guests today—care to see it?"

*(How deserted is this museum?)* Yichen thought dryly.

After Zixuan nodded, the curator pulled back the curtain, revealing a thick wooden door. Inside, darkness swallowed them until the curator flicked on a light.

A grand room unfolded: crimson carpet, medieval-patterned walls, and an antique silver piano adorned with clover motifs. Dominating the largest wall hung an enormous oil painting.

Its backdrop showed a grassy plain and a wooden cabin. At the center sat a rectangular stone table. At its end rested a young man with wheat-blond hair. Behind him stood two angels with pure white wings—one with honey-blonde hair smiling warmly ahead, the other with long white hair gazing down at the youth. Though her smile was soft, it radiated profound happiness. Around the table sat six others: a fiery red-haired girl with a curvaceous figure; a burly middle-aged man; a refined young scholar; a playful twin-tailed girl; a shy black-haired maiden; and a dignified princess-like figure. All wore genuine, vivid smiles.

Yichen felt their joy seep into his bones.

"Who painted this?" he asked, certain it was a master’s work.

"Just an unknown artist," the curator replied.

Yichen’s eyes lingered on the white-haired angel. Her ethereal beauty felt hauntingly familiar—like his sister. He glanced at Zixuan. She stood motionless, head tilted up, utterly absorbed in the painting. Her face was unreadable, lost in thought.

"Young man," the curator said softly, "have you heard the tale of *The Holy Son’s Salvation*?"

"Of course. What’s it got to do with this painting?"

The curator nodded slowly. "God created humanity, granting wisdom. But without guidance, war and suffering spread. Moved by compassion, God sent the Holy Son and two angels to lead mankind. The Holy Son gathered loyal companions, forming the Order of the Holy Temple. They overthrew tyrants, aided the poor, and brought peace. Under their watch, wars ceased, and people thrived. To many, they were saviors."

He paused. Yichen continued:

"But then the Holy Son fell ill and died. The Order crumbled, hunted down by nations until it vanished."

"Could a divine being truly die of illness?" The curator’s smile turned wry.

"Then... how did he disappear?"

"His deeds earned Heaven’s favor—he was to be crowned God’s next steward. But one angel rebelled. She captured the Holy Son and raised a banner of defiance. Though defeated, the Holy Son was lost forever."

Yichen followed the curator’s gaze to the white-haired angel. Hatred darkened the old man’s eyes.

"Her?"

"Her."

"Impossible." Yichen rejected it instinctively.

The curator gave a bitter chuckle. "Just a story. Pay it no mind."

Yet Yichen couldn’t look away. The painted youth had no striking features, yet an indescribable aura drew others to him. *That’s the Holy Son.* He found himself yearning for that presence.

"Heh. Dreaming of becoming like him?" the curator teased.

Yichen’s cheeks burned. He nodded.

He turned to Zixuan, ready to ask about leaving—but she remained entranced by the painting. A faint smile touched her lips, yet her eyes held deep sorrow.

"May I use that piano?" she suddenly asked.

The curator blinked, then nodded.

Zixuan approached the instrument, tracing the clover patterns on its lid.

"You’ve kept it well."

At those words, the curator’s eyes widened wildly. His hands trembled.

Zixuan lifted the lid, sat gracefully, and placed her fingers on the keys. A melody filled the room—gentle yet endless, like a mountain stream. It swelled with joy, dipped into melancholy, weaving threads of nostalgia, longing, and quiet grief.

Yichen watched, stunned. *Since when could Jie play piano?* They’d lived together their whole lives—he’d never known.

The music swirled. Yichen noticed the curator’s change: veins bulging on his forehead, fists clenched tight. Yichen tensed, ready to protect Zixuan.

Slowly, the curator’s shoulders relaxed. His expression softened into a weary, sorrowful smile. His face seemed etched with centuries of regret.

As the final note faded, Zixuan closed the lid and rose.

"So... that’s how it was. And this young man?" the curator asked, voice thick with resignation.

Zixuan met his gaze but said nothing. Yet understanding passed between them.

"What are your plans now?" he asked gently.

"Just... living," she replied.

"I see..." His voice grew distant. "If you have time, visit this old man again sometime."

Zixuan nodded.

Yichen stood silently, biting his lip. *When did I become the outsider?*

*(What are you thinking, Jie...?)*

Outside the museum, Yichen trailed behind Zixuan. He burned to ask about the piano, the painting—but knew she’d never explain. She was his closest kin, his only family, yet utterly unknowable.

Zixuan turned, flashing that sweet, familiar smile. She stopped, waiting for him to catch up, then looped her arm through his and leaned against him.

"Tell me," she murmured, "is the traitor angel unforgivable?"

Yichen paused, recalling the painting.

"It depends on who you ask."

"Who?" She tilted her head, curious.

"Anyone else? No. But the Holy Son..." He scratched his neck, flustered. "I think he’d forgive her. She must have loved him deeply..."

"And?" Zixuan pressed, eyes wide.

"If I were him... I’d forgive her no matter what she did." He laughed nervously. "Silly, right? Guess I’m just arrogant."

Zixuan stepped in front of him. They halted.

"Is love alone enough for forgiveness?"

"Huh?"

Golden sunset light spilled between them. Yichen saw tears glistening in Zixuan’s eyes—but her smile was dazzling, heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Thank you, Miya..."

Dazed, Yichen missed the name after "thank you." Before he could react, Zixuan rose on her toes and kissed him.

Their lips met. Softness flooded his senses, painting his mind cherry-pink. It lasted only a heartbeat.

Yichen’s heart hammered against his ribs.

"J-Jie! W-What was that?! You scared me!"

"Giggle~ Hurry up! We’ve got a flight to catch!" Zixuan darted behind him, hiding her flushed face as she pushed him forward.

"Uh, stop pushing! One more shove and I'll fall over!"