CHAPTER 80 — Night Whispers and New Promises
The Mu estate grew quiet as the night deepened, the hum of the city fading into a distant whisper. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows like silver water, painting soft patterns across the marble floors and casting a serene glow over the long hallways.
Shi Yunxi stood at the balcony outside the guest wing, arms wrapped around herself as she gazed at the garden below. The cool night wind brushed her cheeks and lifted strands of her hair, carrying the faint scent of jasmine blooming somewhere in the shadows.
It felt strangely surreal.
Three years ago, she had left this city with nothing but her pride and her unborn children — children she fiercely protected from danger, from betrayal, from the Shi family's madness.
Now she was back.
And the man she once thought would forever stay beyond her reach had become the only place she felt… safe.
That terrified her.
Her quiet thoughts were interrupted by soft footsteps. She didn't need to turn to know who it was; his presence wrapped around her like it always did — steady, calm, unwavering.
"Can't sleep?" Mu Lingchen asked.
Yunxi didn't answer immediately. She kept her eyes on the moonlit garden. "Too much on my mind."
Lingchen approached and stopped beside her, keeping a respectable distance. He didn't touch her. He didn't force closeness. He simply stood silently at her side, waiting.
The gentleness of it made her chest tighten.
After a moment, Yunxi sighed. "The children… they're happy here."
"They should be," he said softly. "This is their home too."
She hesitated. "Don't say that so easily."
"It's the truth."
His calm, steady tone sent ripples through her heart.
"This place," Yunxi whispered, "is too big. Too quiet. Too… much."
"It was." He paused. "Until you all came."
She turned sharply, meeting his eyes.
The sincerity in them was almost overwhelming.
He went on, voice low, "I've lived in silent halls for years, Yunxi. Rooms that echoed. Tables set for one. Days full of work, nights full of nothing." A faint, rueful smile touched his lips. "But tonight, for the first time… I heard laughter again."
It was the way he said laughter — soft, reverent, hungry — that made her heart throb with something dangerously close to longing.
"I'm not used to this," she admitted. "To relying on someone. To letting anyone close."
Lingchen didn't look away. "You don't have to rely on me. But I want to be someone you don't have to fear."
The wind carried his words like a soft promise.
A promise she desperately wanted to believe.
"But what if things go wrong?" Yunxi whispered. "What if… all of this becomes another reason for the Shi family to come after us?"
His jaw tightened, a storm of protectiveness flickering through his eyes.
"I won't let them touch you. Or the children." A beat of silence. "Not again."
She stared at him, stunned by the quiet intensity of his vow.
"You don't understand," Yunxi murmured. "The Shi family never forgets. Never forgives. They will try everything. Lies. Rumors. Threats. They—"
"Then let them come." His voice was steady, unshakeable. "This time, you're not standing alone."
Something inside her trembled.
Something she had locked away.
She looked down at her hands. "I don't know how to live here again."
"Then let's learn together," he answered instantly.
Her breath caught.
Lingchen stepped closer this time — not enough to overwhelm her, but enough that she could feel the warmth of him beside her.
"You don't have to decide everything tonight," he said quietly. "You don't owe me answers. You don't owe me your trust all at once."
He paused.
"But I'm willing to earn it."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
He wasn't asking for forgiveness.
He wasn't demanding love.
He wasn't chasing or forcing or negotiating.
He was offering himself — openly, patiently, vulnerably.
Yunxi hadn't realized how starved she was for sincerity until now.
"Lingchen…" she whispered, voice trembling.
He exhaled slowly, almost carefully. "Yunxi."
Their eyes met under the moonlight, the world narrowing to the space between them — a space thick with something tender, fragile, and unbearably real.
Before she could form a response, soft footsteps approached from the hallway.
A small voice whispered, "Mommy?"
They both turned to see Shi Qing'er rubbing her eyes sleepily, holding a plush rabbit by one ear.
"Sweetheart?" Yunxi crouched down. "Why are you awake?"
Qing'er pouted, a tiny storm cloud. "I had a dream."
Yunxi's expression softened. "A bad dream?"
The little girl nodded. "I dreamed mommy was gone again."
Yunxi's heart cracked open.
She scooped Qing'er into her arms, holding her tightly. "I'm here, baby. I'm not going anywhere."
Lingchen's gaze darkened with a quiet ache as he watched the scene. His hand twitched slightly, as if he wanted to reach out but didn't know if he had the right.
Qing'er blinked at him sleepily. "Daddy… can you carry me back to bed?"
Lingchen froze.
It was the first time she had asked him that.
"Of course," he said, voice rougher than usual.
Yunxi carefully passed Qing'er into his arms. Lingchen held the little girl like she was something sacred, fragile, precious.
Qing'er instantly snuggled against his chest.
"Daddy smells nice," she mumbled.
Lingchen stiffened.
Yunxi nearly choked on a laugh. "She says whatever she wants."
"I noticed," he murmured, barely suppressing a smile.
As he carried Qing'er back to the room, Yunxi followed behind. When they entered, the boys were still asleep — Rui curled on the edge of the bed, Yichen sprawled like a starfish.
Lingchen gently laid Qing'er beside her brothers and pulled the blanket over the three small bodies.
Yunxi stood beside him, watching their children breathe softly in unison. A beautiful, chaotic, miraculous trio.
Triplets.
Three small souls tied to her heart.
And to his.
Lingchen straightened and looked at her. "If you want… you can stay in the guest room next to theirs."
She hesitated.
He waited.
Not pushing.
Not assuming.
Just offering.
Finally, Yunxi nodded. "All right."
A quiet smile curved his lips — small, but full of warmth.
"Goodnight, Yunxi."
She swallowed. "Goodnight."
As she stepped into the guest room and closed the door behind her, she leaned against it, heart pounding wildly.
This house didn't feel cold anymore.
It didn't feel dangerous.
It didn't feel like a cage.
It felt…
Like the beginning of something she had never dared hope for.
Something fragile.
Something gentle.
Something real.
A home.