Mo Xuan and Shen Bingyao’s first meeting happened on a rainy day.

Back then, Mo Xuan had just started high school. Full of youthful bravado, he remained cheerful despite his family’s bankruptcy and breakup—living carefree, as if nothing could weigh him down.

A warm bag of roasted sweet potatoes could make him happy for hours. But halfway home, heavy rain suddenly poured. Luckily, he had an umbrella. Clutching the sweet potatoes under one arm and holding the umbrella aloft, he hurried onward.

Passing the park staircase, he spotted a young girl lying flat on the ground.

That someone would linger outside in this weather was strange enough—but lying facedown like that, struggling to crawl? At first, Mo Xuan thought she might be unstable. *Better not get involved*, he thought. But a closer look revealed her legs wouldn’t move. She dragged herself forward with her arms, straining.

Nearby, an overturned wheelchair confirmed the severity.

Mo Xuan couldn’t ignore it. Without hesitation, he rushed over, held the umbrella above her, and called anxiously, “Hey! Are you okay?”

Hearing him, the girl froze mid-crawl. After a long moment, she slowly lifted her head.

Thick, tangled black hair veiled her forehead and most of her face. Still, Mo Xuan glimpsed a delicate chin, a refined nose. Her eyes, hidden behind damp strands, held a faint glimmer.

Her lips moved silently. The rain drowned out her words.

He couldn’t know what she’d endured, but her dust-streaked clothes spoke volumes. The downpour soaked her off-white knee-length dress—thin as cicada wings—clinging to her frame. Slender, pale calves lay utterly still.

No time to hesitate. Mo Xuan dropped the umbrella and sweet potatoes, murmured an apology, gently turned her onto her back, scooped her up, and dashed into the nearby pavilion.

He bolted back out, righted the wheelchair, tossed the umbrella onto it, clamped the sweet potato bag in his teeth, and huffed his way back—drenched and breathless.

The girl stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned.

“Great. Just showered at noon… guess I’m showering again,” Mo Xuan grumbled, wiping rain from his face. His soaked hair stood stiff; droplets slid down his sharp chin onto damp trousers.

Noticing her gaze, he turned abruptly.

The girl quickly looked down, cheeks flushed crimson, heart pounding.

Mo Xuan didn’t notice. After a cautious glance, he asked softly, “You alright?”

Summer heat meant her dress was light—a sheer off-white gown. Rain plastered the fabric to her skin, tracing youthful curves. Creamy skin peeked through; delicate straps were visible. Her straight black hair coiled like seaweed around her neck. *Hair this long could cover her whole face*, he mused. *Walk out at night like this? She’d pass for Sadako.*

She stayed silent, fingers nervously tracing the bench. Her eyes flicked toward the wheelchair—longing, helpless.

“You want to get in?”

She looked up instantly. Hope. Fear. Plea.

Mo Xuan chuckled gently. “No problem. I’ll help.”

He’d already guessed: her legs were numb. The wheelchair was her lifeline. *Why was she alone? No caregiver? No family?* A pang of sympathy stirred. He’d see her home.

Earlier, urgency excused the carry. Now, caution mattered. First meeting—too much contact might unsettle her.

He tried rolling the chair closer. She strained, couldn’t shift an inch. Her eyes pleaded, wounded.

“Don’t worry,” Mo Xuan said before touching her. “I won’t overstep.” He felt her tense, breath hitch. He almost smiled.

She stayed quiet, flustered—but slowly relaxed.

He placed hands carefully on neutral spots, lifted her swiftly into the chair, and held the umbrella over her.

The rain showed no sign of stopping. She’d sneezed several times—frail, shivering.

*See it through*, he thought. Ignoring her soft protests, he escorted her home.

That day, he learned her name: Shen Bingyao. Her younger sister, Shen Bingjing—the two relied on each other completely. Both were freshmen at Qingyuan High, though Shen Bingyao studied at home due to her condition.

…

“I remember your sister was quiet. Every time I visited, she’d sit nearby, listening without a word,” Mo Xuan said, the memory leaving his chest hollow. He forced a smile.

“After losing our parents, being tossed between relatives like a burden… how could she be cheerful?” Shen Bingjing sipped cold coffee, tears glistening. “You barely noticed my sister, did you?”

“Hm?”

“If you’d paid attention daily, you’d have seen her feelings. Instead, you only knew after she confessed.”

“…You’re right.”

Shen Bingjing set down her empty cup. A bitter, self-mocking smile curved her lips. “My sister was foolish. Always loving from the shadows—too scared to speak up, terrified rejection would cost even friendship. No wonder she died so alone.”

Mo Xuan’s brow twitched faintly. *Coffee-drunk?* He disliked her tone.

“Even after learning my secret… she stayed the same.”

“Your secret?”

“Nothing important. It’s over.” Shen Bingjing leaned sharply across the table, eyes blazing. “All this time—I had to ask: after my sister’s accident, why never visit? Not even once? *Why?*”

Her face twisted, raw with grief—as if ready to lunge and tear into the man who shattered her family.

Mo Xuan simply turned his gaze to the spider plant by the window. Softly: “I worried I’d upset her.”

“*Hah?*” Shen Bingjing let out a hollow laugh. “So you were *helping* her?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Weariness crashed over him—a deep, nameless ache. He wanted to run. Far. “At first… I wanted to go. Yun Jiumo stopped me.”

At the name, Shen Bingjing’s eyes ignited.

Unseeing, Mo Xuan continued: “She said my visit would distress Bingyao. That… Bingyao nearly killed me that day. My safety mattered too.”

His fingers brushed his neck—phantom steel, cold and sharp.

Shen Bingjing fell silent. She stared at him, tears choking her voice. “Mo Xuan… do you truly believe my sister would hurt you?”

He met her eyes, smile strained. “Didn’t you see it that day?”

Silence swallowed her reply.

Outside, rain blurred the dusk-like gloom. Streetlamps cast hazy halos.

Inside the café, chatter swirled—laughter, clinking cups.

But their corner? Dead quiet.

Mo Xuan lifted his half-finished white coffee. Trembling. Brought it to his lips. Couldn’t drink.

A sudden chill seized him. Heart skipped. Breath caught.

The café’s noise faded into eerie stillness.

The door swung open. A gust of wet wind whooshed in.

*Click-clack. Click-clack.* Sharp heels shattered the quiet. All eyes turned.

Color drained from Shen Bingjing’s face. She tried to rise—something invisible pinned her down.

Mo Xuan faced away. But in the glass reflection, in Shen Bingjing’s terrified eyes—he knew.

Unease. Regret.

Too long together. He’d recognize her scent blindfolded. *Her.* Always hungry to mold him into her shape.

His wife.

Yun Jiumo had found him.