THE REAL PROTEGE

"Would you like to see her?" Ling Li asked, voice so even that it startled Mrs. Xu.

The question struck like lightning. Mrs. Xu's lips parted, but no words followed. She sat frozen, the possibility crashing against her guarded composure. Then, she realized her eyes were wet, not with a tear or two, but completely blurred.

"I don't know how she would feel… if we see each other," Mrs. Xu finally whispered. Her voice wavered, cracking on each syllable. "We only have Chu Yan and Nina. And Chu Yan has always been the silent and responsible child, while we spoiled Nina since she was a girl."

Her fingers trembled as she adjusted her scarf. The memory flooded her, vivid and raw.

"When Nina started high school, Chu Yan kept warning us. He said that if we kept spoiling her, she would end up miserable because of the troubles she constantly makes."

A soft sob escaped her throat. "We thought it was just a phase. Just rebellion. But…" Her voice dropped to a hush. "We never thought she could be so vicious."

And now, she couldn't stop crying. Her shoulders trembled as the guilt poured out like broken dam water. Her grief made the air heavier.

"I'm sorry I got carried away," she whispered, wiping her tears with haste but failing to hide the depth of her pain.

Ling Li gently placed her hand on her mother-in-law's shoulder, her touch providing a grounding presence.

"Mother-in-law, you don't have to say sorry," she said, steady and unwavering.

"I sent Nina to a private medical institution that I fund. She needs medical care. If you want to see her, you can anytime. Just let me know and I'll have it arranged."

Mrs. Xu's brows furrowed, her heart thundering.

"Is Nina sick?" she asked, voice hollow with fear.

Ling Li took a breath before answering. She did not rush. She knew every word needed to land with clarity.

"Nina is not sick. But her body… was deeply destroyed," Ling Li said. Her voice darkened with the weight of truth. "When the people who captured her tried to revive her repeatedly, it pushed her limits too far. Twice a week, she experiences excruciating pain that lasts two hours. The only relief comes from powerful medication. It's… relentless."

The silence on the veranda deepened, broken only by the faint chirping of cicadas and the twins' distant laughter, which threaded through the cool night air. The garden's soft glow barely masked the sudden weight that now draped over the space like a shroud of mourning silk.

Mrs. Xu gasped quietly, her fingers trembling as she instinctively set her teacup aside. She leaned forward, eyes wide but clouded — the shock made her forget to breathe, and when she finally did, it came in short, uneven bursts.

"Destroyed?" she echoed in a whisper, as though saying it aloud made it more unbearable. "Revived?"

Her voice cracked on the last syllable. Her hand flew to her chest again, grasping as if trying to calm a heart that had just been pierced.

Ling Li watched her closely, her expression composed but softened with empathy. She had not sugar-coated the truth — she knew it would hurt, but she also knew this pain had to be faced. Gently, she placed her hand on her mother-in-law's.

"She endured what no child should ever have to," Ling said quietly, her thumb grazing the back of Mrs. Xu's hand. "But she's receiving care now. A place where her body is tended to and where no one can hurt her again."

Tears streamed freely down Mrs. Xu's cheeks now, no longer hesitant. They felt like rain breaking after a long drought.

"I failed her," she murmured, almost inaudibly. "I thought discipline could wait. I thought she would grow out of it... But she grew into something broken instead."

The wind rustled through the peach blossoms behind them, a soft sound like nature quietly grieving beside her.

Ling Li reached for the kettle, refilled Mrs. Xu's cup wordlessly, and then spoke again, gentle but unwavering:

"She still has family. She still has a mother and a father. That bond hasn't broken, even if it's buried deep right now. If you wish to see her — not to explain, not to justify—but just to let her know you're still here… I'll make the arrangements. She has the right to feel your presence."

Mrs. Xu closed her eyes tightly and nodded slowly, each movement laced with decades of regret and love.

"Thank you," she said hoarsely, reaching out now to grip Ling Li's hand with firm intensity, needing that anchor.

Mrs. Xu sat completely still now, her hands clenched in her lap. Her breath came in short, gasping sobs as she processed the horror.

She tried to speak—once, then again—but no sound came. Her mind spiraled with guilt, fear, and helplessness.

And beside her, Ling Li sat, a quiet guardian of both daughters and truth. No judgment. No blame.

And for a few long moments, they sat there — two women bound by grief, responsibility, and fierce maternal love — listening to the twins laugh in the garden, an echo of hope against the backdrop of painful truths.

Just a stillness that said: You're not alone anymore.

Early the next day, the dining hall buzzed with quiet anticipation. Silverware clinked, chairs scraped gently across polished tiles, and the scent of morning jasmine tea lingered in the air. Just as Old Master Li gestured for everyone to sit, Ling Li's sharp gaze locked onto Pharsa — her posture stiffened like a taut string, eyes narrowing with something close to panic.

Without a word, she surged forward.

"Pharsa!" she barked, snatching Pharsa up from her seat with such force that her teacup spilled, splashing across the tablecloth. Gasps fluttered through the hall. Pharsa reeled, wide-eyed, one hand clutching her chest, the other fumbling to regain balance.

"What happened to you?" Ling Li demanded, each syllable like a strike. "Where did you go? What did you do? Who did you meet?"

Her voice — typically composed, even serene — now cracked with urgency and fury.

"Ling, what's wrong?" Old Master Li interjected, his brows furrowed deeply, voice low and tremulous. But Ling Li didn't flinch; her father's concern was swept aside.