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Many people go through their entire lives only encountering stories of people jumping to their deaths in the news, TV dramas, or movies—it’s not something they witness in real life.

Faced with Chen Yang’s question, Le Ya shook her head. Of course, she had never seen such a thing, and she rarely even watched the news.

Chen Yang tightened his grip on her hand and said, “I saw it when I was eight.”

At eight years old, one is neither too young nor too old. As a child, he was already old enough to remember things clearly.

Le Ya paused, unsure how to respond, and finally said, “Was that person…?”

Chen Yang replied, “It was my mom.”

This statement was within Le Ya’s expectations. Everything now made sense: why Chen Yang held such disdain for his biological father and why their conflicts kept escalating.

It all connected back to what had happened outside the ward.

Chen Yang glanced at her expression and continued, “When I was little, I actually lived a pretty happy life—just like an ordinary family. A family of three, not wealthy but warm and simple.”

His fingers gently tapped against the back of her hand, almost in sync with the beating of his heart—one tap after another.

Le Ya felt a tingling sensation but didn’t pull her hand away.

“This facade didn’t last long. They started arguing, and it continued until I started elementary school.” Chen Yang’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion. “By the time I was seven, that man had cheated on her.”

“At first, he came home late at night. Later, he didn’t come home at all, staying out overnight.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I was the first to find out about his affair.”

He had been tipped off by a classmate after school.

Chen Yang still remembered the classmate’s words: “Isn’t that your dad? Your mom is so beautiful!”

But that woman wasn’t his mom.

Le Ya wanted to comfort him, but she truly didn’t know how. All she could manage was a dry, “It’s all in the past.”

Speaking of which, her own mother had also cheated.

Le Ya couldn’t understand why people chose infidelity over divorce when things weren’t working out. What was the point?

Chen Yang ran his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t have much attachment to him. After he cheated, my mom and him argued more and more. At first, they fought in their room, but later, they did it right in front of me.”

“At that time, I would sit there doing homework while their shouting filled my ears. They liked throwing things around, and after the house calmed down, it was always a mess.”

Then, as a child, Chen Yang would clean up.

He learned to remain silent during their arguments, to ignore them, thinking that by doing so, his family could still stay intact.

But reality proved him utterly wrong.

“They argued from when I was seven to eight—every single day for a whole year, at least once a day. The topics were always the same, going in endless circles.”

Chen Yang fixed his gaze on Le Ya’s hand resting on the blanket.

Pale and delicate, it felt impossibly soft to the touch.

He calmly said, “Sometimes it lasted from morning till night.”

Le Ya was astonished. “That frequency is insane.”

Exactly.

So, Chen Yang’s personality had already begun to shift subtly.

He gave a faint smile. “But by then, I had learned to ignore it. Every day, I went to school on my own and came back to do my homework.”

Chen Yang turned his face to look at her. “I thought life would continue like this forever.”

“Until one day, I came home and found my mom on the balcony.”

“My mom was a housewife. I think the reason she didn’t agree to the divorce was because she still silently prepared things for me every day.”

“I never understood what was going on inside her mind.”

Le Ya had a vague sense of where this was heading. As his voice grew softer, she instinctively knew what had happened next—a jump from the balcony.

She began to feel uneasy.

Chen Yang said, “She jumped off the balcony right in front of me.”

At the time, he was just an eight-year-old boy. Their issues had delayed him for a year—he was still in first grade while other kids his age were playing games. And yet, he had witnessed his biological mother leap off the balcony right before his eyes.

In the dead of night, Chen Yang had dreamed of that scene countless times.

“I never imagined it. I never thought about it, or maybe I simply refused to imagine the outcome of such a situation.”

Le Ya opened her mouth but couldn’t find the words.

She had expected to hear about it, but never imagined he had witnessed it firsthand.

The shock, the depth of the trauma—she could feel it even as just a listener.

Back then, Chen Yang had been utterly stunned.

Leaning over the windowsill, he could clearly see his mother lying below, her profile facing upward as if she were looking at him.

Below her was a pool of blood spreading outward.

Le Ya felt a chill run down her spine despite wearing her thick down jacket. The coldness seemed to creep upward relentlessly.

For a long time, she couldn’t speak.

The ward fell silent for a moment. Chen Yang looked at her and asked softly, “Did I scare you?”

Le Ya shook her head. “No.”

Her voice trembled slightly.

It wasn’t fear—it was the overwhelming shock that left her unable to calm down.

Even for someone nearing adulthood like herself, this was a terrifying story. How much worse must it have been for Chen Yang, who was only eight at the time?

Le Ya gently curled her fingers around his and said softly, “This wasn’t your fault. You don’t need to blame yourself.”

Chen Yang lowered his gaze. From her angle, it looked as though he had closed his eyes.

“At the time, I was standing right in front of her. If I had just taken one more step forward and reached out, I could have touched her body. She told me not to come closer, so I stopped.”

“She asked if I wanted to go with her.”

“I shook my head.”

“Then, after I refused, she jumped.”

The evening sky was painted orange-red, stretching all the way to the balcony, draping the woman in a soft, gentle glow.

Until she let go.

In that moment, even the sunset seemed blinding.

Outside, the sky had completely darkened, and Le Ya turned on the light.

Though the ward’s light was bright, it wasn’t harsh.

Chen Yang had been taken away by the nurse to speak with the doctor, leaving Le Ya alone for now.

“Hey, is Yang-ge not here?” Liang Qian suddenly pushed the door open.

Le Ya turned around. “He went to see the doctor.”

Liang Qian placed some snacks on the cabinet and scratched his head. “I came to say I’m heading home. My mom’s been strict about me staying out lately.”

Perhaps he’d been too much of a playboy for too long, and she’d grown dissatisfied.

Le Ya smiled faintly. “Then go ahead. For now, I’ll stay here.”

“Are you going home tonight?” Liang Qian couldn’t help but ask. “It’s already late. You going home alone at night...”

Le Ya reassured him. “Don’t worry. I can have my family pick me up.”

Thinking of her wealthy background, Liang Qian relaxed and nodded. “Alright then. I won’t say goodbye to Yang-ge.”

After he left, Xie Qingyu called.

Le Ya turned back toward the window, gazing at the grass bathed in white light outside, and answered: “Hello?”

“You’re not still out, are you?” Xie Qingyu began, then added, “Uncle Luo just called me.”

Le Ya asked anxiously, “Did Dad suspect anything?”

Xie Qingyu replied, “I don’t think so. I just used the excuse that you were taking a shower, and it sounded like he believed it.”

Le Ya exhaled in relief but still felt a bit tense.

“When are you coming home tonight?” Xie Qingyu asked, closing her bedroom door as she spoke. “Or should my brother and I come pick you up and you can stay over at my place? We’re not going back anyway, so it’ll save Uncle Luo from asking questions.”

After all, they’d slept over countless times before.

Le Ya thought for a moment and nodded. “Alright. I’ll tell you everything when I get back tonight. I’m at the hospital now—Chen Yang has something to take care of.”

Xie Qingyu said, “Okay. Call me when you’re done.”

Le Ya felt grateful to have such a friend—someone who didn’t pry but instead focused on whether she was safe and happy.

It gave her a sense of happiness.

“What are you spacing out about?”

Chen Yang’s voice came from behind her.

Le Ya held her phone and turned around to see him standing there, tall and elegant despite wearing hospital clothes that made him look frail.

Still, there was a noticeable difference from his usual self.

Le Ya felt a strange maternal instinct welling up inside her.

She couldn’t help but smile. “I wasn’t spacing out. Qingyu just called, and we just finished talking.”

Chen Yang nodded slightly and asked, “Are you leaving?”

He reached out to smooth her hair, which had been disheveled while resting. His cool fingertips brushed against her warm earlobe, then touched the mechanical hearing aid, pausing.

Le Ya froze in place.

She could feel her heartbeat pounding rapidly.

“Does wearing this bother you?” Chen Yang, unaware of her reaction, asked softly. “Is it uncomfortable?”

Le Ya shook her head. “It’s fine.”

To be precise, she was used to it. The first time she wore a hearing aid was probably ten years ago—it felt like only yesterday. Ten years had passed in the blink of an eye.

Chen Yang silently withdrew his hand, his gaze fixed intently on her.

Just as Le Ya was about to speak, Chen Yang suddenly looked up toward the outside and smiled. “Look outside.”

What was happening outside?

Le Ya turned to look.

The hospital windows were closed, but the glass was clean, offering a clear view of the outside.

Le Ya murmured, “It’s snowing outside.”

The first snow, which should have arrived at Christmas, had finally come today—and it wasn’t light either. A thin layer quickly accumulated on the windowsill.

Chen Yang reached out and opened the window.

The snowflakes, finding their target, floated in along with the cold air, almost instantly melting upon contact.

The faint scent of roasted sweet potatoes lingered in the air.

Le Ya remembered seeing an old lady earlier near the hospital entrance, pushing a cart with steaming drawers filled with roasted sweet potatoes.

She sniffed lightly.

“Lost your mind?” Chen Yang chuckled, reading her thoughts. “How about you kiss me, and I’ll take you downstairs to buy something to eat?”

Le Ya retorted, “Stop being a pervert.”

Chen Yang gently tapped her forehead and leaned down. “Let’s go. My head’s injured, not my legs—I can walk.”

But Le Ya ignored him, walking past him deliberately.

Chen Yang followed, passing through the empty corridor until they reached the elevator. He reached out to hold her hand.

When their fingers brushed, Le Ya’s heart skipped a beat.

She tried to ignore his hand, but it gripped hers firmly. Unlike its earlier coldness, his palm was now scorching hot.

The heat transferred clearly to her skin.

For over a decade, Le Ya had been the perfect, obedient girl. The most rebellious thing she’d ever done was declare she never wanted to see that woman again, prompting Luo Yijian to send her to a mental hospital.

Since then, her life had been like calm water, free of ripples—until Chen Yang appeared, stirring wave after wave.

Most of her blushes seemed reserved for him.

Aside from Luo Yijian, no other man had ever held her hand.

They exited the elevator together, passing through the dimly lit lobby and stepping outside, neither saying a word.

The snow continued to fall.

Le Ya, led by Chen Yang, stepped outside and walked to the edge of the flowerbed near a patch of grass where a bench stood.

Confused, she asked, “Aren’t we going to buy something to eat?”

This path didn’t lead out.

Chen Yang curved his lips slightly. “Look up.”

Le Ya thought he might have done something extraordinary, but when she looked up, she saw nothing. Just as she was about to ask, Chen Yang turned her head in another direction, pointing it toward the pitch-black sky.

There was no full moon tonight, only a crescent hanging in the sky.

Snow was common in the south, but most people still got excited about the first snowfall. Back in the classroom, classmates would usually rush outside to play.

This snowfall was quite heavy.

Snowflakes slipped into her collar, the chill making her shrink her neck. Before she could raise her head, the hood of her jacket was pulled over her head.

The hood of her down jacket was large, almost covering her entire face.

Le Ya felt Chen Yang’s hands on the edges of the hood, then cupping her face as he whispered, “Le Ya, I really like you so much.”

Her mind went blank. All she could see within her line of sight were Chen Yang’s brows and eyes, framed by his slender fingers.

She could feel her body temperature rising, accompanied by her racing heartbeat, as though it might burst out of her chest at any moment.

Le Ya pressed her lips together, unmoving.

Chen Yang’s face drew closer, covering the hood from the outside. In the darkness, he moved closer, their breaths intertwining.

Le Ya could feel his hands trembling.

With difficulty, she managed to speak. “Chen Yang, let go first.”

After a moment, Chen Yang released her, straightening up. From his height, he could only look down at her, his eyes lowered.

He was afraid of what he might hear.

Snowflakes landed on his hair, whitening it in an instant. Even so, the boy in front of her remained exquisite and dazzling.

As their eyes met, Chen Yang slightly averted his gaze.

Her eyes were pure, focusing solely on the person in front of her—a fact Chen Yang had known for a long time.

He wanted her to see only his reflection forever.

Just like a long, long time ago, when he first saw her—those same eyes, then a crisp voice saying, “I want him.”

That’s right. She had chosen him.

Chen Yang’s heartbeat raced uncontrollably, a surge of impatience threatening to spill over. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

In the silence, Le Ya heard his hoarse voice: “Le Ya, do you like me even a little?”

Even a little?

Le Ya was asking herself the same question. Her mind was a jumble, everything tangled together, pressing on her heart and clouding her vision.

The two stood facing each other, unmoving.

Suddenly, Le Ya reached out, her pale fingers emerging from the cuffs of her down jacket, grabbing the collar of his clothes.

Chen Yang hadn’t fully processed what was happening.

Then he was tugged downward slightly. The girl in front of him seemed to tiptoe, her small face drawing near. “Lower yourself a bit more.”

Her voice was soft and sweet, almost like a plea.

Fine.

Chen Yang bent down, lowering his gaze to look at her. He saw her long lashes trembling, then felt the softness of her lips against his.

A perfectly sweet tenderness dissolved all restlessness and anxiety.