[Like a devout confession, or a perilous warning.]

The next morning, she was awakened by the sound of drizzling rain outside the window.

Rain is always somewhat bothersome—it brings overcast skies and dampness. Even spring rain isn’t much better, and the sound of raindrops tapping against the window can disturb one’s peaceful sleep, making it even more irritating.

Zhou Leqi was stirred awake, her mind still hazy as she slowly opened her eyes. Her consciousness wavered, as if she had just emerged from a long dream. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was, staring blankly at the unfamiliar surroundings.

It was a very tidy room.

Gray and black tones, minimalist furnishings—a tall bookshelf, a floor-to-ceiling cabinet, a desk suitable for work, and a bay window that wasn’t too large or too small, leading to a small balcony.

It bore no resemblance to any environment she was familiar with.

She froze, and as her blank mind began to reboot, scattered and fleeting memories resurfaced, reminding her of everything that had happened the night before.

…Hou Zihao.

She had seen him.

Memory can be a strange thing. It may not retain entire logical chains but might store seemingly trivial details. At this moment, Zhou Leqi could no longer clearly recall last night’s argument with Zeng Ruihong or the robbery on the street. However, she vividly remembered the shadow cast by the cold hospital lights beneath Hou Zihao’s brow bone, the dark coat he wore last night, and the slight coolness of his palm as she fell asleep.

But the resurgence of these memories filled her with panic again—because she realized he was gone.

The room was empty except for her. The spot where he had sat last night was vacant, leaving only the creases in the blanket as proof that he had indeed been there. Now, he was nowhere to be found.

A wave of panic and loss overwhelmed Zhou Leqi. Ignoring the splint on her left foot, she immediately grabbed the cabinet beside the bed and stood up, hopping out of the room on one leg to look for him.

Clueless and desperate.

“…Hou Zihao?”

Her voice echoed through the empty apartment, unanswered.

What she saw was an apartment of about 100 square meters, also gray and black, neat yet desolate, like the room she slept in last night. There was only one other room—a small guest room cluttered with miscellaneous items. The living room, dining area, and kitchen were all connected, and a quick glance confirmed no one was there. She checked the bathroom too—still no one.

…There was no trace of him anywhere.

Was he going to leave without saying goodbye again?

The shadow from seven years ago suddenly crawled out from the depths of her heart, once again overwhelming her with violent force. She didn’t know where to find him this time, especially since the pen that could have carried her emotions had been stolen. How could she possibly keep holding on?

Her body slid down the wall, the sharp pain in her left foot now dulled. Her eyes, which had cried last night, overflowed with tears again. Bewilderment and despair left her feeling lost and directionless.

Just then, a sound came from the entrance.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

The sound of entering a password.

Ding.

The door opened.

She turned her head and locked eyes with him.

He seemed surprised to see her out of bed, his expression momentarily stunned. When he noticed the tear streaks on her face, his bewilderment deepened, and the light in his eyes became more complex and shadowed.

In a few strides, he approached her, setting down a paper bag he was carrying. He gently lifted her with both hands, walking back into the room while asking in a low voice, “Why did you get out of bed?”

He didn’t ask why she was crying—did he already know the reason?

Zhou Leqi didn’t bother to guess. She simply clung tightly to his neck, burying her face in his chest, her warm tears soaking through his shirt.

His body stiffened again, silent as ever.

He carried her back to the bed, trying to lay her down under the covers, but she silently refused, still clutching him tightly like a drowning person clinging to a floating log.

He tried several times to make her let go, but to no avail. Finally, he gave up and leaned down to say to her, “…I went to buy breakfast.”

As if explaining himself.

The vibration of his chest as he spoke reached Zhou Leqi clearly, but the unease in her heart wouldn’t dissipate. She remained silent, still nestled in his arms.

He seemed somewhat at a loss too, unsure where to place his hands. After a few minutes, he lightly patted her shoulder and said, “…Let’s eat breakfast first.”

Perhaps attempting to break the deadlock.

In those few minutes, Zhou Leqi had gradually calmed down. She began to think, temporarily pulling herself out of the whirlpool of emotions.

Calmness is a good thing—it brings rationality—but it requires a good physical state to support it. Last night’s sleep had revived her, and she finally had the strength to address some issues that should have been dealt with last night.

For instance… they needed to talk.

“I don’t want breakfast.”

Her voice was soft as she lifted her face from his embrace to look at him. Her gaunt features appeared somewhat weary but were still more beautiful than in her youth.

“…I want to talk to you.”

At these words, his brows furrowed, his gaze flickering. He glanced at her briefly before slightly averting his face, allowing her to see only his handsome profile and slightly lowered eyelashes.

It was a defensive body language, appearing firm and distant.

But Zhou Leqi wasn’t afraid of him, nor intimidated. Despite the differences between this man and the one in her memory, she still deeply believed he wouldn’t truly reject her. So, she quickly reached out to touch his face, gently confronting him and forcing him to refocus his gaze on her.

She asked, “Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

Seven long years apart—surely… don’t you have anything to say to me?

Her gaze was direct, but beneath it lay sorrow, different from mere sadness. It carried a sense of reflection and沧桑 (weariness), something only those who have endured prolonged pain could understand.

That look seemed to pierce him, but her persistence left him unable to turn away. He could only lower his eyelids to avoid meeting her gaze, faintly smiling with a sadness similar to hers, replying, “…You should already know.”

Know?

Know what?

If he was referring to the upheaval in his family back then, yes, she had known for a long time.

Not only did she know, but the entire City A knew, and it had caused a national uproar seven years ago.

Fengyuan’s forced demolitions led to a fatal lawsuit. Yan Lin’s father had his leg amputated, his mother was driven to death, and another homeowner died of tetanus after being injured during the demolition.

How could a case involving human lives be easily resolved? Real estate was already controversial, and the government was cracking down hard at the time. This incident naturally drew severe investigation and judgment.

Amidst nationwide public outrage, Haoting was swiftly investigated by authorities. The prosecution system soon charged its chairman, Su Ruini, who confessed in court to bribing officials for forced demolitions, citing financial difficulties. Overnight, she became a notorious symbol of greedy capitalists.

The condemnation was overwhelming.

Su Ruini was sentenced to over ten years in prison, and Haoting’s market value plummeted. A seemingly mighty business empire collapsed in an instant, causing a massive uproar.

—How could Zhou Leqi not know?

But…

“But…” She looked at him, her eyes welling up again, “…why did you leave?”

I know you were hurt.

I know it was a disaster too heavy and terrifying for anyone to bear.

I know you must have been in immense pain and confusion back then.

But why did you choose to leave?

And even if you left… why did you choose to disappear without a word?

He fell silent again, plunging the enclosed room into dead quiet. The only sound was the raindrops falling on the glass outside.

A gift from the rainy gloom.

It seemed he had resolved to remain forever silent, like the most stubborn prisoner in court, neither confessing nor defending—a headache-inducing criminal.

But he wasn’t without weaknesses.

At least her tears were a cruel punishment sufficient to break him.

She cried, her tears spilling out of her eyes, landing with a “drip” on the back of his hand, leaving a burning sensation.

Finally, he couldn’t ignore her anymore. Unable to resist, he wiped her tears. The warmth of her tears contrasted sharply with the coldness of his fingers, causing both to shiver involuntarily.

“Don’t cry,” his voice dropped even lower, obscure and convoluted like a sigh. “It’s not worth it.”

His attempt to console her only made her feel sadder and more wronged. Perhaps because she had already faintly detected a self-loathing undertone in his words, which she couldn’t bear. She grabbed the wrist of the hand he used to wipe her tears, persisting, “I don’t want to hear anything else. Just give me one answer—tell me, why did you leave back then? Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you leave me a single word?”

“Don’t I deserve an explanation?”

She was interrogating him.

Yet forgiving him simultaneously.

She never sought compensation from him. From start to finish, she only wanted an explanation. And clearly, whatever he said now, she would accept it without scrutinizing whether it was worthy of forgiveness.

…She just wanted him to come back.

But he seemed oblivious to her intentions, even squandering her leniency. His aloof gaze was colder than Rome’s rainy spring day outside the window. He said to her, “I have nothing to explain.”

“I was powerless, so I ran away,” he looked at her, his gaze no longer evasive, as if wanting her to hear every word he said. “It was my fault. You should blame me.”

Word by word, like a devout confession, or a perilous warning.

After speaking, he gently removed her hand from around him, then stood up silently, turning them both into solitary individuals with no connection.

“Wait a moment. I’ll prepare breakfast,” he was already heading toward the door. “Five minutes.”

Click.

The door closed softly.

A small sound, yet it thoroughly sealed off certain connections and truths.

They no longer belonged to the same space.