With quick steps, against the snow, Xiu Zhao ran toward his roses, which—surprisingly—were intact.
The joy he had felt a moment before froze, just like the leaves around him.
Xiu Zhao sat in front of his roses, which danced with the rhythm of the cold air.
His eyes lingered on the flowers that didn't allow even a single snowflake to settle on their petals, which shimmered with an almost icy glow.
But the feeling didn't last long.
The voices he despised most corroded his mind:
"You are filthy, Xiu Zhao."
"Impure."
"Chen won't want something touched by others."
Chen doesn't deserve someone like you!
"Filthy! Filthy, filthy!"
"He will abandon you!"
"You don't deserve him!"
"You should have died!"
"Die! Die!"
"You are impure, Xiu Zhao. IMPURE!"
Xiu Zhao buried his head between his knees, hugging them as if there were no tomorrow.
And once again, his darkness devoured him alive.
In the endless abyss, hugging his knees, the voices continued—they sang and mocked Xiu Zhao, many of them laughing at him.
The very feeling he had ignored so many times seemed to float on the black lake: the pointed fingers, the sarcasm, the mockery, and even the profanities he had always tried to forget, now repeated by those voices.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up…"
Like a broken record, Xiu Zhao cried out, covering his ears.
In that deep darkness—where even the weakest light was swallowed like by a black hole—a strong radiance burst through.
Xiu Zhao raised his head.
Before him, a golden light flickered—alive, fierce—cutting through the darkness like a divine blade.
A familiar warmth spread through his frozen body.
The hope that had long been dying inside him rekindled—faint, but alive.
He stood up, staggering, and ran toward the light.
Outside the abyss, the warmth grew.
Xiu Zhao lifted his face, and his eyes met the glow that called him: his roses—vibrant, covered in dew and melted snow.
He wiped his tears and, for a moment, smiled.
"You're the reason for me to live…" he whispered, touching one of the delicate petals. "Thank you."
He stood, brushed the snow off his hair and cloak, and walked back toward the mansion.
Upon entering his room, he removed his cloak and clothes, letting them fall to the cold floor.
…
That night, Xiu Zhao appeared for dinner.
He sat in his usual seat, silent.
"Are you feeling better now?" Hua Xu asked, his voice filled with concern.
He only nodded, serving himself some tea and a few of his favorite dishes.
Ling Xu wanted to say something, but Hua Xu placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head quietly.
Xiu Zhao ate little and left the table early, returning to his room.
There, he lay down and fell asleep without dreams, leaving his family wrapped in silence and worry.
The next morning, he left his room with the same cold, distant look.
He went to the living room as usual.
"How are you?" asked Ling Xu, head lowered.
"Fine."
"About yesterday—"
"I don't want to talk about yesterday."
His expression was serene, but his tone was cutting.
"Forgive me, Xiu Zhao… I didn't know that—"
"I've already forgiven you. I just needed some time alone." He said, melancholic.
"Thank you." She smiled, relieved.
"Mhm."
Soon, Hua Xu entered the room, accompanied by the maids carrying the meal.
"Have you resolved your issue?" he asked, sitting down.
"Yes!" Ling Xu answered, smiling.
"Good. Then, let's eat."
The children served themselves, exchanging light smiles.
Xiu Zhao also smiled—but his eyes did not reflect the same brightness.
There was restlessness in his chest, an ancient pain that the smile merely concealed.
The darkness inside him still lived.
Everyone around him seemed radiant, genuine—and he, once again, reconstructed his mask.
The mask that once broke into tears now returned to his face, perfect and cold.
…
Later, in the library, Xiu Zhao was surrounded by piles of books and scrolls sent by the imperial court.
He read in silence, his fingers sliding over the old pages.
"I shouldn't have made that suggestion…" he murmured, ruffling his own hair.
"What are you reading?" a soft voice asked.
Xiu Zhao startled—almost dropping the book.
"How long have you been there?" he asked, heart still racing.
"Since you started reading those books." Ling Xu replied, pointing to the pile beside him.
"So you've been here a while."
She nodded, and he sighed.
"I think we should take a break."
They stood up together and left the library.
The corridor was long, lit by soft lanterns.
They walked side by side in silence until Ling Xu spoke:
"Xiu Zhao…"
"Hm?"
"When… when did your mother die?"
He stopped.
Her words echoed and faded in the corridor.
For a moment, only the distant sound of the wind filled the emptiness between them.
"Almost three years ago," he said, emotionless.
"How did—"
"She was murdered."
His tone was firm. Cold.
There was no pain, no anger—only an unfathomable emptiness.
Ling Xu lowered her head, regretting opening such old wounds.
Without a word, he resumed walking. She followed.
They reached the garden and sat in the gazebo covered with dried flowers.
Silence stretched.
"And you… how did you end up here?" he asked.
"I ran away," she replied, trembling.
"Why?"
She hesitated, her fingers gripping the fabric of her skirt.
Finally, she took a deep breath.
"I lived in the demon realm with my family. We were poor. One day, my parents decided to sell me to a brothel… to repay our debts."
Her voice broke.
"My older brother… didn't allow it. He begged them many times not to sell me. He always protected me."
A small, fragile smile appeared.
"The day the buyer arrived, he told me to run. I didn't want to leave him, but he insisted… he hugged me and told me to run."
Tears began to fall.
"I ran. I went down the mountain to the village… and spent the night on the streets until Hua Xu found me."
Xiu Zhao listened silently to every word and gesture.
"And your brother?" he asked.
She looked away.
"I don't know… maybe he has a family now. Or maybe… he disappeared forever."
A painful silence settled.
Xiu Zhao understood.
More than anyone, he knew what it was to lose someone—and still continue breathing.
Then, a cheerful voice broke the melancholy:
"Good afternoon, folks!"
It was Tian Min.
Ling Xu wiped her face and smiled, running to hug him.
"Min!" she said, laughing through her tears.
They hugged for far too long—until Xiu Zhao coughed deliberately.
Embarrassed, Tian Min let go of her.
Xiu Zhao arched a brow.
"Are you two together?" he asked with a teasing smile.
Both flushed red.
"So that's a yes?" he smirked. "Why don't you get married already, then?"
"And you? Why don't you get married?" Ling Xu shot back.
"I will," he replied confidently.
"With whom?" she asked, suspicious.
Tian Min laughed. "With his 'friend,' perhaps?"
Xiu Zhao's face turned red instantly.
The couple froze—they had *never* seen him embarrassed.
"So it's a boy?" Ling Xu asked, laughing.
"I—I didn't say that!" he protested, looking away.
"But *you* were the one who said you were going to get married~" Tian Min teased.
"I—I… he…" he stuttered, red to his ears.
"It *is* a boy!" Ling Xu laughed, bending over with amusement.
Tian Min joined her, laughing loudly.
"I'm going back to the library," Xiu Zhao said coldly, standing up.
"You're just running away from the topic," Ling Xu muttered, crossing her arms.
"He's no fun at all," Tian Min sighed.
…
With quick steps, Xiu Zhao headed toward the library, the teasing still echoing in his mind.
His body collapsed, his breath grew heavy, and the memories he tried so hard to forget resurfaced.
The laughter meant to embarrass him became dark, judging.
The sensation of being judged made his whole body go cold; his heartbeat raced like a carriage pulled by wild horses.
Before his mind could sink into dark waters, a hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his river of thoughts.
Xiu Zhao looked up, and there stood Hua Xu, crouched beside him, a loving smile on lips soft as peaches.
"Everything will be all right, Xiu Zhao." His voice carried a tenderness that made Xiu Zhao's body relax.
"H-Hua Xu…" he called hesitantly. He took a deep breath and continued, "Is liking a man… wrong?"
His eyes were fixed on whatever reaction Hua Xu might have. His eyes shone with held-back tears.
Even without his sight, Hua Xu could feel the hope in his voice.
"That's not something you should ask me." His voice carried sadness, but his words hid a gentle tenderness.
"If you like that boy so much, you shouldn't ask people whether loving a man is wrong…
Xiu Zhao… if you ask someone that, they may tell you it's disgusting, that you're a monster, or that this kind of love is a plague…"
Hua Xu's voice grew quieter with each mention of what others might say—broken, vulnerable.
Tears he hadn't noticed wet the bandage covering his eyes, yet he continued:
"Even with comments like these, you should never give up on your love for your man. I never gave up, but after I ended up like this, I didn't want to become a burden to him.
I don't want you to regret not following your heart, Xiu Zhao. I don't want you to be alone later. I don't want you to end up like me."
Xiu Zhao listened to each word—each followed by sobs.
He stood and pulled Hua Xu into a tight embrace.
"You cannot give up, Hua Xu. Go after him and tell him how much you love him."
Hua Xu let out a soft laugh. "Of course he knows how much I love him."
"I only want him to love me again."
…
Hidden in the shadows of the library stood a man, his eyes fixed on the father and son, observing every moment—how Xiu Zhao stroked Hua Xu's hair, how he tried to encourage him, the same way he did when the walls collapsed over them.
"And still, I cannot stop loving you…
Even if you cannot lift your sword anymore, I will fight for both of us until the end."