THE REAL PROTEGE

"You should bring him to the infirmary instead." Ling Li nonchalantly said.

"I did. He's fine. Or... healed enough to walk," Shi Min replied carefully. "And he walked with me. But the moment we reached the gates, he got out of the car and dropped to his knees. Said he would stay there. Said he'd wait until you were ready to forgive him."

Silence. Tangible. Suffocating.

Ling Li drew a long breath through her nose, then finally turned.

Her expression was unreadable — but her eyes... they were tired. Older than yesterday. Older than battle.

"That man," she whispered bitterly, "who promised me forever… couldn't even hold my hand through a moment."

"He didn't let go because of her," Shi Min said. "He let go because he was trying to find the truth. He's not proud of it. But he's not lying."

Ling Li's stare flicked to her son. Measured. Controlled. And then softened — only slightly.

"I'm not leaving to punish him," she said after a long beat. "I'm leaving because if I stay, I won't be able to separate what's real and what I imagined. Right now… I need to remember who I was before him."

"You've never forgotten, Mom."

Ling Li looked away. Her hands returned to the suitcase.

"Do you want to speak to him?" Shi Min asked.

"No," she said, closing the bag with a firm zip. "If he wants to speak to me... he can get up off his knees and face me."

She shouldered the bag and walked past Shi Min, pausing at the door.

But then—

She turned, just for a moment.

"If he's still out there by dawn," she said softly, "offer him tea."

Then she left the room, her footsteps fading down the hall with quiet finality.

The wind pulled at the sheer curtains of the corridor's arched windows, casting shifting shadows on the marble floor as Ling Li moved down the hall like a woman possessed — not by fury, but by the need to move, to act, to escape the weight behind her ribs that refused to uncoil.

She didn't hear the sound of padded footsteps at first.

But then—

"Mom, please wait."

Shi Min's voice — firm, urgent — echoed through the silence like a blade slicing through fog.

Ling Li stopped—but she didn't turn.

She stood at the threshold to her study, her fingers gripping the polished brass door handle tightly. Her shoulders rose and fell with quiet restraint, her back a fortress.

"You misunderstood him," Shi Min said, pacing forward but careful not to rush her. "Paps… he knew the woman was an impostor."

Ling Li's fingers twitched.

"He wasn't paralyzed by grief. He wasn't drawn to that woman. He was trying to find out who she really was by reading her mind."

At that, Ling Li slowly turned, her eyes narrowed in restrained disbelief.

"You're saying... he let go of me to listen to her?"

"No," Shi Min clarified, stepping closer. "He let go because he could only hear you."

A pause.

Ling Li blinked, but her expression didn't soften.

Shi Min pressed forward, a note of pleading entering his voice now. "Paps gained a new ability after his breakthrough. At first, he could only hear thoughts when touching someone, but recently, he said he can hear clearly even at a glance."

Ling Li's brows furrowed, skepticism trembling behind her composed exterior. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"He was going to." Shi Min's tone dropped lower, his hand balling into a fist at his side. "But he didn't want to burden you until he understood it better himself. He was waiting for the right moment."

Her arms folded slowly across her chest, as if holding herself together. "So instead, he chose our wedding day — the one moment I needed him — to let go and listen to someone else?"

"I saw him afterward," Shi Min pushed on, voice cracking with emotion. "He was destroyed. Not by what happened, but by what you thought happened. And I brought him here so he could tell you himself."

The hallway stilled.

Ling Li looked at her son for several heartbeats, her gaze still shadowed with the ache of betrayal, but her breaths had lost their edge.

Shi Min stepped closer, no longer the son or the strategist, but the only soul brave enough to bridge the fracture between two hearts.

"You know me best, Mom. I would never let anyone hurt you," he said, his voice heavy now. "I've seen how Paps looks at you when he thinks no one's watching. I've seen how you soften when he walks into a room, even if you don't say a word. He cares for you like you're the last light in a broken world."

Ling Li's jaw clenched.

"I know you love him too," Shi Min added, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Don't let this misunderstanding turn into regret."

Ling Li blinked slowly, her hands loosening around her arms.

Then, finally, she said nothing but took a step toward the window.

The wind danced through her hair. And outside, just barely visible beyond the courtyard trees, she could see Four Eyes — kneeling before the gate, unmoving, unwavering, the weight of his remorse heavier than the cold stone beneath him.

Her heart shifted.

Not forgiven.

Not yet.

But moved.

As Ling Li turned down the corridor, her bag slid off her shoulder with a muffled thud against the marble floor.

She didn't break stride.

"Mom, where are you going?" Shi Min called, the urgency in his voice rippling down the long hallway as he chased after her, worry etched into every line of his face.

Ling Li's footsteps didn't falter. Her voice was calm but cold, as though spoken from a place far away.

"I'm going to consult the Heavens. I want to be alone."

Shi Min halted.

The words struck him like a stone thrown into deep water. They reverberated. Final. Absolute.

Shi Min watched as his mother turned down a corridor flanked by twin gilded lion statues. This path led to her private chamber of invocation.

No one followed her there.

No one dared.

Behind that obsidian-laced door with no handle was a sanctuary reserved for moments when mortal reason failed — and only divine insight would suffice.

Inside, the room radiated a still, golden energy. The air itself seemed to hum, heavy with unseen forces.