CHAPTER 115 — A Home That Finally Breathes
The Mu residence was unusually quiet that morning.
Not the heavy silence of fear, nor the strained stillness that had clouded their days after Rui's kidnapping. This silence was different.
Soft.
Warm.
Healing.
Sunlight spilled into the living room through tall glass windows, casting golden patches across the floor where three tiny figures lay sprawled on their stomachs.
Shi Yichen.
Shi Qing'er.
Mu Rui.
The triplets were coloring—though "coloring" might have been too generous a word. Rui's page had a heroic-looking dragon with six heads. Qing'er's drawing had more glitter than actual lines. Yichen had drawn the Mu residence with surprising accuracy… except he had added laser cannons "to protect Mommy," which none of the adults had the heart to correct.
Shi Yunxi stood by the doorway, quietly watching her children, her heart swelling with something she hadn't felt in years:
Peace.
Real, unshakable peace.
Three months had passed since Roulan's arrest. The Shi family's empire had crumbled. Shi Zhenai was awaiting sentencing. Roulan had lost her mind under the weight of her crimes. And the entire city—once filled with rumors and cruelty—now embraced Yunxi and her children with open arms.
But today wasn't about any of that.
Today was simply… normal.
And normal felt miraculous.
Lingchen stepped behind Yunxi, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and lowering his chin onto her shoulder. His embrace was warm, steady—so steady she almost leaned back completely, but she caught herself.
"My queen has been standing very still for five minutes," he murmured softly. "Should I worry?"
She snorted, elbowing him gently. "I'm admiring my children. Don't spoil it."
"I'm admiring mine, too," he replied, voice warm. "All four."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not one of the triplets."
"You're the biggest one."
She tried not to smile—and failed.
He kissed her cheek, lingering there. Yunxi inhaled slowly, letting the scent of him—clean, faintly woody—calm the last remnants of the storm inside her.
There had been many nights where she woke trembling, heart racing, unable to shake the memory of Rui dangling from the destroyed cliff. Lingchen had always been there—every night—holding her, grounding her, whispering, "We're safe now."
Today was the first day she felt it was finally true.
"Mommy!" Yichen suddenly looked up, eyes bright. "Come see! I drew an upgraded Mu Fortress with double security cannons!"
Lingchen blinked. "Double?"
Yichen nodded seriously. "Now bad people can't get in even if they fly!"
Lingchen coughed lightly. "Good thinking."
Yunxi grinned. "He gets it from me, you know."
He slid her a look. "I know."
She nudged him again, cheeks warming.
Qing'er waved her glitter-coated hands. "Mommyyyy! Look! I made a princess! She's you!"
Yunxi gasped. "Oh—she's beautiful! So much glitter—my goodness—did you use the entire jar?"
"No," Qing'er said proudly. "I used two!"
Lingchen's face twitched. The cleaning staff would cry later.
And then Rui crawled toward Yunxi and tugged her pants leg.
"Mommy… hug."
Yunxi knelt immediately, scooping him up into her arms. Rui pressed his little cheek to her neck and sighed—a small, content breath that melted her heart.
Ever since the kidnapping, Rui clung to her a little more, held her a little tighter, whispered "Mommy?" a little too often. But today, there was joy in his voice—not fear.
"You okay, baby?" she whispered, stroking his hair.
He nodded. "Mommy safe. Rui safe."
Her throat tightened.
Lingchen knelt beside them and ruffled Rui's hair. "And Daddy, too. Safe with Mommy always."
Rui smiled at him—a soft, trusting smile.
For a child who had feared the dark, feared strangers, feared losing his mother… he was healing. Slowly. Fully. Supported not just by Yunxi, but by a father who finally understood what love required:
Showing up.
Every day.
Every hour.
Every breath.
Rui leaned forward and kissed Lingchen's cheek. "Daddy."
Lingchen's eyes widened.
That single word—tiny, innocent—hit him harder than any strike he had endured in his entire life.
Daddy.
The word he longed for.
The word he feared he didn't deserve.
The word Rui had finally given him, not from gratitude or fear, but genuine love.
Lingchen swallowed hard, voice thick.
"Thank you, Rui."
The little boy beamed.
Yunxi watched them, her heart softening in ways she had resisted for so many years.
Lingchen had changed.
Not gradually.
Not dramatically.
But completely.
He no longer raised his voice out of pride or impatience. He no longer buried himself in work while ignoring the people who needed him. He listened—truly listened—when she spoke.
He held their children like something precious.
He held her like something sacred.
He never pressured her for an answer about their relationship; he simply stayed by her side and waited for her heart to settle.
And it had.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Beautifully.
"Mommy," Qing'er said suddenly, "can we make cookies today?"
Yunxi perked up. "Cookies?"
"With chocolate!" Yichen added.
"And tiny little dragons!" Rui squeaked.
Lingchen stiffened. "You mean… baking?"
Yunxi raised a brow. "You're scared of the kitchen?"
"I'm not scared," he said quickly. "I just have… reasonable concerns."
"Like what?"
"Like you might burn the house."
She stared at him.
The triplets gasped in outrage.
"Mommy wouldn't burn the house!" Yichen declared.
"Mommy is a genius!" Qing'er huffed.
"Daddy is silly," Rui decided.
Lingchen held up his hands in surrender as Yunxi smirked triumphantly.
"Fine, fine," he conceded. "We'll all bake together."
Yichen pumped his fist.
Qing'er spun in circles.
Rui clapped happily.
Yunxi beamed.
Lingchen looked at her with quiet awe.
"You're glowing," he murmured.
She blinked. "Huh?"
"You," he said softly. "You're happy."
Yunxi looked at her children—laughing, bright, whole again—and nodded.
"I am."
Lingchen gently brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"And we'll keep it that way," he whispered.
She didn't say anything.
She simply took his hand.
Held it.
Kept holding it.
And Lingchen understood the meaning behind her silence:
I trust you.
I choose this.
I choose us.
For the first time in years, the air in Yunxi's lungs was light.
The worst storms of her life had passed.
Her scars would never disappear—but they no longer bled.
Her family was safe.
Her children were healing.
Her heart… was opening.
This was the beginning of something new.
A life she built on her own terms.
A love she chose freely.
A future that no longer frightened her.
A home that finally breathed.