The drizzle clung to the bamboo leaves like tiny, crystalline pearls, each drop catching the faint, silvery light that filtered through the thickening clouds. Yao stood on the balcony, the damp wooden railing cool and smooth beneath her palms. The rain had intensified, no longer a gentle mist but a steady, whispering downpour that turned the world into a watercolor painting of blurred greens and grays. The air carried the rich, earthy scent of wet soil and the sweet fragrance of blooming night-blooming jasmine from the garden below, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood and ozone that had filled the dungeon.
She watched the water cascade from the red-tiled eaves, creating a shimmering curtain that separated her from the bamboo grove. The sound was a constant, soothing patter on the leaves, a rhythmic percussion against the deeper rush of a distant river. Then, a movement. A figure emerged from the veil of rain, a dark silhouette under a black umbrella. He paused at the edge of the path, his form indistinct at first, then sharpening as he stepped closer.
The umbrella tilted back, revealing Jiang Yousi's face, pale and etched with a fatigue that mirrored her own. Raindrops glistened on the shoulders of his dark coat. Their eyes met across the distance, and the world seemed to narrow to the space between them, the drumming rain fading into a muted backdrop. It was a scene from a forgotten memory: another bamboo grove, a different downpour, a sleek black car idling nearby, and a man with the same hesitant grace asking for a favor. The recognition was a cold, sharp needle piercing through the fog of her exhaustion. He found me.The thought was both a dread and a secret, shameful relief. If he acknowledged her, if they broke this silent standoff, she could ask the questions burning a hole in her soul. How did you get here? When? Do you know… about my family?But to speak was to risk everything. She saw the same war in his eyes—a desperate hope warring with a deep-seated caution.
Time stretched, measured only by the falling rain. Then, from the other end of the street, another figure materialized. Qin Liechuan, his official's uniform dark with moisture, carried a paper bag that steamed faintly in the cool air. He stopped, his gaze flickering between Yao on the balcony and Jiang Yousi standing like a sentinel in the rain. The moment shattered. Jiang Yousi's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. He gave a barely perceptible nod, a gesture of resignation and retreat, then turned and melted back into the dripping bamboo forest, his figure swallowed by the green shadows and the rain's incessant whisper. A profound sense of loss, sharp and unexpected, twisted in Yao's gut.
Qin Liechuan approached the shop front, his boots making soft, splashing sounds on the wet cobblestones. "Am I interrupting?" he called up, his voice calm but carrying an official's weight.
Yao schooled her features into the polite, professional mask of Physician Fu. "Not at all, Commissioner Qin. Is something the matter?" She descended to the shop floor, the scent of old wood and dried herbs a familiar comfort. He spoke of the Longgang Prison transfer, the need to vet medical personnel. His words were efficient, clipped, but his eyes, the color of a twilight sky, held a strange, unreadable softness as they briefly took in her damp, unbound hair.
"Physician Fu isn't going?" he asked.
"Most likely not," she replied, her voice even.
"That's just as well."
After the necessary information was exchanged, he prepared to leave. He gestured to the bag he'd placed on a counter. "Bought these on the way. As thanks." His gaze lingered on her for a heartbeat too long before he turned and disappeared into the rain-streaked street.
Alone again, Yao locked the door and leaned against it, the silence of the shop pressing in on her. The brief encounter had left her strangely unsettled. She picked up the bag. Inside were pastries, still warm, and a cup of milk tea, its sweetness a familiar, comforting scent. A wry, almost bitter smile touched her lips. Did I somehow inherit Qin Minfeng's luck with romance along with his fortune?The thought was absurd, yet the timing was undeniable.
As if in answer to her turmoil, a faint flutter came from the window. A small, iridescent bird, its feathers shimmering with magic, tapped gently on the glass. She opened it, and the bird dropped a tiny, tightly rolled scroll into her hand before vanishing into the gray afternoon. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of fear and desperate hope. With trembling fingers, she unrolled the delicate paper.
The message was brief, written in an elegant, precise script: Your family is safe. Your friend is taking good care of them.
The air rushed from Yao's lungs in a shuddering sigh. The tension that had coiled in her shoulders for months, a constant, aching weight, finally released. She slid down the door to sit on the floor, the cool wood against her back. Tears, hot and unbidden, welled in her eyes, not of sorrow, but of a profound, soul-deep relief. For the first time since arriving in this bewildering world, she allowed herself a genuine, unguarded smile, the kind that reached her eyes and lightened her very spirit. The rain outside continued its gentle cadence, but now it sounded like a promise, a cleansing wash for a new beginning.