At the Lui residence, Hao Jian stepped inside. His father was already seated, his posture rigid, a coldness that reached beyond his gaze. The years between them felt like an impenetrable wall, and Hao Jian felt its weight pressing down on his chest.
"Father?" Hao Jian's voice trembled, caught somewhere between an echo of longing and a surge of frustration.
His father didn't look up, simply motioned toward a chair with a flick of his hand. His voice, distant yet firm, cut through the silence: "Sit. We need to talk."
Hao Jian hesitated before sitting, his body tense, as if prepared for a blow he could not avoid. "When did you return?"
His father sighed deeply, the sound almost too quiet. "It's time for you to marry."
Hao Jian stood abruptly, the words hitting him like a physical blow. "No!" His voice broke, barely a whisper of defiance. "I won't—"
His father's interruption was cold, calculating. "She doesn't love you."
Hao Jian's hands clenched into fists, the sharp sting of his nails against his palms grounding him as he fought to remain calm. "I won't marry anyone else," he said, his voice trembling under the weight of emotions he had long buried.
"She's waiting for someone else," his father's words were clipped, deliberate. "You were never the one."
Hao Jian's chest constricted, a rush of anguish flooding through him. "She's waited for him for over four years. Maybe he's married… or maybe he's dead."
The words escaped him in a rush, a rawness he hadn't intended. His father's response was swift and brutal, his fist slamming onto the table. "Don't speak of him like that!" His voice was low, strained with an anger that seemed to come from some deeper place, a place Hao Jian could not understand. "What matters now is that she doesn't see you as worthy of her love."
Hao Jian's chest tightened with a desperate fury, and before he could stop himself, he was lunging forward, knocking over the table. His breath came in short gasps, the words tearing out of him, raw and desperate. "You were never there for me! If I hadn't been born, maybe she'd still be here, and you… you'd be a father who loved me!"
The silence after the outburst was thick, suffocating. His father's face twisted, but not with anger. No, it was something else—something Hao Jian had never seen in his father before. For the first time, he saw the tremble of something vulnerable beneath the surface, and it unnerved him. His father spoke, his words barely contained. "I never blamed you for your mother's death," he said, his voice breaking, but filled with a bitterness that Hao Jian had never understood. "I did everything I could… everything."
The air between them felt impossibly heavy, thick with unsaid things. His father exhaled, long and slow, his eyes steady and unreadable. "Let it go, Hao Jian," he said quietly. "Bitterness will consume you." The weight of those words felt like a sentence, the finality of them sinking into Hao Jian's bones, and he recoiled as though struck.
He turned away, a guttural cry escaping his throat as he slammed his fists against the door, the sound reverberating in the empty room. His body trembled, every nerve alight with a mix of frustration, grief, and the crushing weight of years of isolation. All he could do was scream into the void, the sound of it filling the silence with a longing that he knew would never be answered.
At the Lui residence, silence lingered even after Hao Jian had stormed out, his ragged breath still echoing in the corridors. His father remained unmoved, watching the door swing shut, his expression unreadable.
Beyond the estate, beneath the lantern-lit sky, the world carried on in stark contrast to the storm brewing in Hao Jian's heart. In a secluded courtyard, Xian Lian moved gracefully through her sword forms, each swing precise, her expression calm. But within, her thoughts strayed—drifting toward the man she had not seen in years.
As the last lantern ascended, she stilled, gazing upward. With quiet determination, she whispered, "Zhi Gege... I hope to see you soon. I can't wait any longer."
Not far beyond the town's gates, a lone rider lingered atop his horse, his silhouette blending into the darkness. The moonlight skimmed across his face, revealing only the ghost of an unreadable expression. His fingers tightened around the reins. A quiet breath escaped him, carried away by the wind.
"Xian Lian, wait for me," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, lost to the night. "There's still something I must finish."
Then, with a swift pull on the reins, he turned and vanished into the shadows.
Days passed, and with them, Hao Jian seemed to vanish from sight. Xian Lian took note, though not with sadness or regret—only quiet curiosity. Life continued in the town, yet in the murmurs of passing conversations, his name lingered.
As she wiped down the tables, snippets of gossip reached her ears. Hao Jian's defiance of his father had spread like ripples in a still pond, the whispers growing louder with each retelling.
"He even refused the beauty of the town?!"
"Aiyah! Such a foolish child!"
"Even the second powerful family's daughter?"
"Damn... For a respectable Lui to have a son like him is such a disappointment..."
"Who is expecting to marry him if he does this? Does he want a princess or something?"
Disapproval simmered in the marketplace, where gossip swirled like embers fanned into flames. Hao Jian's name was passed between merchants and passersby, each retelling growing in mockery and disbelief.
But within the stone walls of the Lui estate, his father sat unmoved. The noise of the town was but a distant hum, insignificant in the face of duty. He observed his son with quiet scrutiny, not as a father burdened by disappointment, but as a man who understood the weight of lineage.
With solemn resolve, he pressed forward in his search for a bride of virtue. The path of honor, he believed, could still be restored. And so, with both hope and sorrow settling in his chest, he approached Hao Jian once more.
"Father, please. Let me go. I don't need to inherit the title... I just want to stay with her..." Hao Jian begged. His father groaned in disappointment.
"A man does not live for himself alone, Hao Jian. The family name is greater than anyone desires. The arrangements are set, and in two days, your bride will arrive. A harmonious home is built on duty, not fleeting emotions. You must understand this," Hao Jian's father explained.
Hao Jian's once-bright dream of marrying the woman he loved lay in ruins, scattered like glass across the floor, each shard a painful reminder of a love he could never claim. Panic gripped him as he thought of a way to resolve his desire to be with Xian Lian.
"Father... If I can choose, may I ask for her hand in marriage? If she refuses, I will marry the woman you have chosen for me," Hao Jian surrendered.
His father, momentarily struck by the sight of Hao Jian's broken state—once strong and proud, now fragile and diminished—sighed quietly. A burdened heart ached within him, but he knew that true compassion required him to guide his son back to the path of honor, no matter the difficulty.
"If she refuses, you will return at once, for fate does not bend to stubborn hearts. But if she accepts, then bring her here, and we shall welcome her properly. In all things, one must follow the order of heaven," Hao Jian's father stated, his voice firm yet compassionate. Then, he turned and walked away.
Panic clawed at Hao Jian's chest. His fingers fumbled over the buttons of his robe, trembling as he fastened them. His father's words—She was never yours to begin with—rang in his ears, a relentless echo.
He barely registered the startled yelp of a servant as he shoved past, his feet moving before his thoughts could settle. He only knew one thing: If there was even a sliver of hope, he had to reach her. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, each step an urgent drumbeat propelling him forward.
Xian Lian was wiping down a table when the last customers left. Hao Jian entered and smiled at her. He walked up to her and cleared his throat.
"Xian Lian..." he called softly, his voice as gentle as he could manage. Xian Lian turned around and bowed.
"Sir Lui. What brings you here?" she asked politely. Hao Jian smiled shyly.
"Xian Lian, I know you were waiting for someone, but he hasn't appeared for more than four years now..."
"Sir Lui, it matters not how long I have waited for him. I place my trust in him, for I believe that, in time, he will come, as his heart is steadfast and true," Xian Lian replied firmly.
At that moment, Hao Jian's father appeared from behind, watching the scene unfold. Hao Jian began to feel uneasy.
"Why not accompany me? I know it may not be your wish, but I ask, for I seek your approval, even if it may not align with your heart's desire," Hao Jian said.
Xian Lian clenched the cloth in her hands before carefully setting it down. She bowed, but her mind raced. She had long prepared for this moment, yet facing it made her stomach twist.
"Sir Lui, my heart belongs elsewhere. I can offer you only friendship. I have chosen to wait—for the man who promised to return," Xian Lian said firmly.
A shiver ran through Hao Jian, his fingers twitching before curling into fists. His breath became shallow, her words cutting through him like a wave, raw and desperate.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He had expected hesitation—not certainty.
His lips parted, but nothing came. What could he offer against a love already chosen?
Doubt crept in, unraveling his confidence. His chest tightened as he grasped for words—anything—to sway her. But the truth loomed, cold and unshakable: She had already made her choice. And it wasn't him.
"I..." he began, but was cut off by his father's commanding voice.
"Hao Jian, it is time to return. Come, let us go now."
Hao Jian turned slowly, his face flushed with a mix of shame and indignation, yet he held his composure as best he could. He nodded and said goodbye to Xian Lian.
Time did not wait for grief to settle. Within days, the arrangements were finalized. Hao Jian married as his father wished, his body present, but his heart absent.
Yet, even on the night of his wedding, his thoughts were elsewhere—trapped in the past, chasing the woman who had never been his.
However, on the night of the wedding, instead of seeking the company of his new wife, Hao Jian called for Xian Lian. His wife, enraged by this, confronted Xian Lian, accusing her of seducing Hao Jian. But Xian Lian, calm as ever, denied any such intentions, making it clear that she held no interest in him.
When Hao Jian learned that his wife had troubled Xian Lian, he confronted her in a fit of rage, dismissing her as his wife and showing no respect. Furious at this display, his father berated Hao Jian, demanding that he act honorably and show proper respect toward his wife. But Hao Jian, undeterred, retorted that his wife had no right to harass Xian Lian as she had done.
Feeling that both his father and wife were united in opposition to Xian Lian's presence, Hao Jian, overwhelmed by frustration and a sense of isolation, fled from the residence in search of solace with her. But things did not unfold as he expected. Hao Jian had come seeking solace, but her rejection hit like a blade to the gut. His breath turned shallow, his vision blurred at the edges. "Why?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. He reached for her wrist, not yet forceful, but trembling with desperation. "Just... give me a chance." His emotions surged violently, his sanity teetering on the edge as he looked at her.
"Sir Lui," Xian Lian called out. A muscle in Hao Jian's jaw ticked. His lips curled into a smile, but it was fragile, unsteady, like cracked porcelain barely holding together. Beneath it, something wild and desperate lurked in his eyes.
"Xian Lian... Perhaps... Perhaps we should leave this place and journey together, exploring the world as it unfolds. If it is your wish, I shall follow, for your heart's desire is what I seek to honor," Hao Jian expressed as best as he could.
Xian Lian felt the weight of urgency in his words, as though his very soul cried out in desperate need. She sighed deeply.
"Sir... You are now wed, and with this, you bear the duty of a husband. It is your responsibility to fulfill the role entrusted to you with honor and integrity," Xian Lian adamantly refused once again.
Rejection struck deeper than any blade. Hao Jian's breaths came uneven, his mind unraveling at the edges.
Then, before he even realized it, his hand shot out, fingers closing around her wrist. His grip was tight—too tight.
"Let go!" Xian Lian's voice cut through the moment like a knife.
But Hao Jian's world was collapsing, and in his desperation, he held on.
"You will follow me whether you consent or not!" Hao Jian furiously declared, his words sharp and commanding. Xian Lian stood in shock, stunned by the sudden, drastic change in him.
The crowd buzzed with confusion as Hao Jian forcibly dragged her away, despite her struggles. Ruqi attempted to intervene, but Hao Jian swiftly kicked her down, leaving her clutching her stomach in pain.
Despite the chaos, Xian Lian struggled with all her might to break free, determined not to harm anyone, especially Hao Jian, a noble.
"Let go of me!" Xian Lian cried, straining to break free. But Hao Jian refused, his grip tightening as he continued to drag her away.
A hush fell over the street.
It started as a distant rumble, the rhythmic pounding of hooves against stone. Then, the murmurs stopped. The crowd parted instinctively.
A lone rider approached, his cloak catching in the wind, his presence like a shadow cutting through the night. The rhythmic pounding of hooves against stone filled the hushed street, an unspoken warning before he even arrived.
Hao Jian stiffened, his grip tightening on Xian Lian's wrist as he turned toward the intruder. Who would dare interrupt him now? His pulse quickened, a sliver of unease worming its way into his chest.
Xian Lian's breath caught. Recognition struck her like lightning, shattering the fear that had gripped her moments ago. He had come. She had waited, prayed for this, and now—he was here.
Without hesitation, she wrenched free from Hao Jian's grasp and reached toward the rider, her heart leaping ahead of her.
"Xian Lian!" Hao Jian's voice cracked, raw with disbelief as she slipped from his hold.
Before he could react, the rider seized her hand, his grip firm yet steady, and pulled her onto the horse. His movements were precise, instinctual, as though he had always known he would have to do this. With a swift tug of the reins, he brought the horse to a sharp stop, his body shifting as he turned to face Hao Jian.
The rider's gaze bore into him, unreadable at first—then cold, disapproving.
Hao Jian faltered. Something about this man's presence was suffocating, not in its rage or aggression, but in its sheer certainty.
The rider did not speak, did not posture or demand. He simply looked at him, as if already understanding everything he needed to know.
Hao Jian clenched his fists. Who was he? Some nameless fool playing hero? Or—
"Zhi Gege," Xian Lian whispered, her voice filled with warmth and quiet relief. "You finally came."
The rider's shoulders eased slightly at her words, but his grip on the reins remained taut. Beneath his steady exterior, his blood simmered. He had spent years in the shadows, moving like a ghost between duty and survival, his heart tethered to a promise. Yet, in his absence, another man had dared to stake a claim on her—as if she were something to be taken.
His breath slowed. Controlled. But if he had arrived just a moment later—No. He would not allow his thoughts to wander there.
Hao Jian met his gaze again, and this time, the truth slammed into him with the force of a blade.
This was no stranger. This was the man he had tried to erase in his mind, the one whose absence he had counted on.
Zhiyong.
There was no anger in his posture, no need for threats. There was only quiet certainty—the weight of a man who had already won before he had even arrived.
And in that moment, for the first time, Hao Jian understood.
This was never his fight to win.
The fury in his chest burned like dying embers, struggling against the inevitable. His mind clouded with the urge to strike, to reclaim something that had never truly belonged to him. But as Zhiyong sat above him, unmoving, impassive, Hao Jian felt something deeper than rage creep in—defeat.
A quiet, hollow kind of defeat.
And that, perhaps, was the cruelest wound of all.