“Enough. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
Zhou Jiuyu exhaled slowly, then turned to Nan Mengling. “Break the lock. We’re going in.”
But Nan Mengling didn’t draw her sword. She simply grasped the doorknob and gave it a gentle pull.
*Snap!*
A sharp click echoed—and the door swung open.
Zhou Jiuyu: “???”
A chill ran down his spine. *If I’d actually tricked her… one squeeze of those delicate hands, and I’d be the one broken.*
Shaking it off, he stepped inside first. Dust coated every surface. Ignoring the living room, he headed straight for the two bedrooms. “Break every locked drawer and cabinet,” he instructed. Then he began searching.
It didn’t take long. A stack of photos. Several DVDs.
Labels marked the discs:
[*Husband*] [*Master*].
Zhou Jiuyu’s brow furrowed. Something felt off.
Then he saw the photos—and his expression tightened.
Every image was a composite. Even this pure-hearted warrior felt his resolve crack.
“Young Master… did you find something?” Nan Mengling entered softly, her voice low, her spirit dim.
Returning home stirred bittersweet memories. The sweeter the past, the sharper the present pain.
“Are you truly ready?” Zhou Jiuyu asked gently.
She fell silent for a long moment. Then nodded. “Mm.”
“Kidding. Just normal photos. Nothing.” He offered a light chuckle.
Nan Mengling fixed him with unwavering eyes. “Don’t treat me like a fool, Young Master. I want the truth. I won’t stay blind anymore.”
An invisible wall had isolated her. Built by those she once called family.
Father. Mother. Sword God.
She no longer cared what lay beyond—paradise or hell. She would tear the wall down.
“Come here,” Zhou Jiuyu sighed.
She stepped beside him. Her eyes landed on the photo—and froze.
Just as he said: a wedding portrait. Her mother stood on a raised cabinet, her father arm-in-arm with her, smiling warmly.
“See? No lie,” Zhou Jiuyu shrugged.
But Nan Mengling snatched the photo with a blank face.
Her hand trembled as she saw the full image.
Left: the joyful wedding shot.
Right: her mother crouched like a dog on the cabinet, the Sword God gripping the leash of the collar around her neck. Unequal. Master and pet.
Her long lashes quivered like cicada wings. Face pale. Lips shaking. She seized all the photos, flipping them wildly.
The light in her eyes faded like the setting sun—twilight to utter darkness.
Every photo. Left: happy family. Right: the Sword God leading her mother like a dog.
“Is this… the truth, Young Master?” Her voice was ice—hollow, toneless, trembling.
“This is the truth, girl. Your mother was the Sword God’s pet. Ten years ago… he didn’t save you. He killed her.”
Zhou Jiuyu spoke softly. For once, he didn’t call her stupid.
Silence. Her entire world shattered.
The Sword God had been her anchor. Her only trust. She’d obeyed every word, feared disapproval, stayed quiet—not from coldness, but terror of abandonment.
*Because she’d been abandoned from the start.*
The wall wasn’t protection. It was deception.
*Rustle…*
Photos scattered across the floor. Her hands stayed frozen mid-grip. Lost. Utterly lost. Like a marionette with severed strings, collapsing onto the stage.
“Pick them up.”
She stared blankly.
“What? My orders mean nothing now?”
Eyes red-rimmed, she gathered the photos and handed them over.
“One… two… seventeen… eighteen. Exactly eighteen!”
Zhou Jiuyu lit the stack. Crimson flames bloomed—the room’s only light. He stepped close, cradling the burning photos.
“Make a wish.”
“Huh?” Her voice wavered, eyes glassy.
“No ‘huh’! It’s your coming-of-age day—your birthday! Close your eyes. *Now*!”
“Eh…?”
“Too shabby? We’ll grab real food after. *Hurry*—it’s burning my hands!”
He gently covered her eyes.
She closed them. After a breath: “I made my wish, Young Master.”
“Good.” He wiped damp warmth from his palms.
She blew out the flame. Ash drifted down.
Zhou Jiuyu dusted his hands. “What’d you wish for, silly girl?”
“Wishes spoken aloud don’t come true, Young Master.”
Her whisper hung in the air. Outside, sunset glow painted the window. Reflected in her eyes: the fading light… and the boy’s silhouette.
She had wished—
To never be abandoned again.
