Wenhao stood in the entrance of the Liang mansion and felt like a stranger in his own home.
Four years. Four years of exile. Four years of being shipped off to a foreign country like a parcel no one wanted to open. And now he was back. But nothing felt the same.
The walls were the same. The floors were the same. The chandelier still hung in the foyer, casting its familiar golden glow. But something was off. Something was wrong. The air felt heavier. The silence felt louder. The house itself seemed to be holding its breath.
Then he saw Ruifen.
She was wearing black. Her face was pale and her eyes were red and swollen. When she saw Wenhao, she ran to him and threw her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder.
Wenhao stiffened for a moment. He had never hugged Ruifen before. Not once. Not in all the years he had known her.
But he hugged her back now.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight as she cried. His own eyes burned with tears he refused to let fall.
"It's okay," he whispered. "I'm here now. I'm back. It's okay."
Ruifen pulled back and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just... I missed you so much. And Dad... he's so sick. The doctors don't know what's wrong. They can't figure it out. He just keeps getting worse and worse and—"
"Shh." Wenhao put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm here now. We'll figure it out together."
Ruifen nodded and took a shaky breath.
Wenhao looked around the foyer again. The emptiness pressed in on him. "Where's Xinyi?"
Ruifen's face went pale. Her eyes dropped to the floor. "You need to rest first. You must be tired. Go to your room. Get some sleep. We still have to meet Father at the hospital tomorrow."
Wenhao hesitated. Something in Ruifen's voice made his stomach twist. But he was exhausted. Bone-tired. The kind of tired that seeped into his marrow and made everything feel heavy.
"Okay," he said quietly. "But we're going to talk. Tomorrow. Everything."
Ruifen nodded and watched him walk up the stairs.
Wenhao opened the door to his old room.
It was exactly as he had left it. The same bed. The same curtains. The same painting on the wall. A servant had already placed his things on the desk. His old phone. His old tablet. His old laptop.
His breath caught in his throat.
He walked to the desk and picked up his phone. His hands were shaking. His heart was pounding. He hadn't held this phone in four years. He hadn't seen Zhenlong's messages in four years.
He turned it on.
The screen lit up and messages flooded in. Dozens of them. From the first few days after he had been taken away. Zhenlong's voice, preserved in text.
Where are you? Are you okay? Please call me. I'm worried. I miss you. Please. Just let me know you're safe. I love you.
Wenhao's eyes filled with tears.
He scrolled through them. Each message was a small wound. Each word was a reminder of what he had lost.
And then, after three days, the messages stopped.
Wenhao chuckled bitterly. Of course. Of course Zhenlong had stopped. Why wouldn't he? Wenhao had disappeared without a word. No explanation. No goodbye. Just silence.
Zhenlong must have moved on. Must have gotten tired of waiting. Must have found someone else.
Wenhao threw the phone on the bed and collapsed beside it. He didn't take off his sweater. He didn't take off his shoes. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, his heart aching with a pain that four years had not dulled.
He closed his eyes and saw Zhenlong's face. His smile. His eyes. The way he had looked at Wenhao under the fireworks.
He fell asleep without realizing it.
The next morning, Wenhao went to the hospital.
His father was in a private room, surrounded by machines and monitors. His face was pale and thin, his skin stretched tight over bones that had once been strong. He was sleeping, his chest rising and falling in a shallow rhythm.
Wenhao sat beside the bed and waited.
Hours passed. Ruifen came and went. Nurses came and went. Doctors came and went.
But Xinyi never came.
Wenhao pulled Ruifen into the corner of the room. His voice was low and urgent. "Now tell me. Where's Xinyi?"
Ruifen's face crumpled. Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Three years ago, Father told her to marry his business partner's son. She didn't have a choice. She had to agree. But she loved someone else. And on her wedding day... she ran away."
Wenhao's blood went cold. "What?"
"With the person she loved. She disappeared. I tried to find her. I looked everywhere. But... I couldn't. I don't even know where she lives now."
Wenhao stared at her. His mind was a storm of disbelief and anger and grief. "You don't know where she is?"
Ruifen shook her head, sobbing. "I wish I did. I wish I knew. She didn't even say goodbye."
Wenhao pulled her into a hug. "It's okay. It's okay. We'll find her. I'll find her."
Ruifen cried into his shoulder and Wenhao held her and told her everything was going to be all right even though he wasn't sure he believed it.
He was tired. So tired. Tired of loss. Tired of separation. Tired of watching the people he loved slip through his fingers like water.
Ruifen pulled back and wiped her eyes. "You can go if you want. I'll take care of everything. I've been doing it for three years. I can keep doing it."
Wenhao shook his head. "No. I'm here now. I'll handle everything. You don't need to take care of anything anymore."
Ruifen nodded and left the room.
Wenhao walked back to his father's bedside. He sat down and took his father's hand.
And then Mr. Liang's eyes fluttered open.
He looked at Wenhao and his whole face lit up with joy. His hand squeezed weakly around Wenhao's fingers.
"I missed you so much, my son," Mr. Liang whispered. "Thank goodness you're back."
Wenhao's tears finally fell. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to his father's hand.
"I missed you too, Dad," he said. "I missed you so much."