“Look, such a pretty little face. If you cry until it’s all blotchy, it won’t look good anymore.”
The boy smiled gently, elegantly, calmly—so calm it seemed as though he had already transcended the carefree, spoiled age he should have been enjoying.
“Then if I stop crying and become pretty again, will Big Brother like me?” Compared to whether she cried or whether she looked pretty, the girl seemed to care far more about whether her brother liked her. Her fair little face was flushed pink, whether from sobbing too hard or from shyness, making her look irresistibly adorable. Those shimmering watery eyes made her resemble a doll waiting to be cherished and loved.
The boy smiled faintly. The hand holding the handkerchief lightly touched the girl’s tear-streaked face, gently wiping it clean. His smile remained warm and composed, yet the black depths of his eyes seemed impossible to fully fathom. Without saying anything more, he gave the faintest nod. That alone made the girl ecstatic.
Suddenly, she flung away the boy’s hand and straightened herself directly before him. Ignoring the fleeting trace of surprise that flashed beneath his gentle expression, she cupped his face in both hands as though summoning all her courage. Then, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she planted a loud kiss on his cheek.
The moment it was done, her face instantly turned bright red. Scrambling upright with hands and feet alike, she stumbled away in panic, running farther and farther until her flustered figure disappeared completely from sight. Only then did the boy slowly stand and brush the dirt from the hem of his robe.
The warm, composed smile vanished. The curve at his lips remained, neither quite a smile nor quite not. Though only eight years old, the gaze in those eyes was already impossible to read.
Looking down at his now-empty hand, the boy merely smiled faintly and turned around—only to walk directly into someone standing behind him. He looked up. The boy only reached the man’s chin.
“Young Master,” the boy said respectfully, immediately lowering his smile and bowing properly.
The youth addressed as Young Master did not respond. Nor did he tell the boy to rise. He merely stood there staring at him in silence.
After a long while, he finally let out a cold laugh, flicked his sleeve, and left without another glance.
The boy likewise did not linger. Lowering his head, he quietly walked away on his own.
The three figures came and went in haste. The innocent laughter of childhood flowed past like water through fleeting years, as though it still echoed faintly within the garden. Yet now it all felt strangely unreal, difficult to believe. The flowers remained. The blazing sun remained. Yet the people were long gone.
“…This is called a bamboo dragonfly… do you like it?… I’ll give it to you…”
“…This is called hibiscus cake… is it good?… You can have all of it, eat slowly…”
“…This flower is called white hibiscus… is it pretty?… I’ll give it to you…”
“…This is Su embroidery magnolia… do you want it?…”
So many things. Things never heard of, never seen before. Delicate things. Luxurious things. Rare things. Strange things. Yet none of them belonged to him.
“…Power is your only path forward… Status was originally something that belonged to you… A beauty capable of toppling cities, a peerless appearance—you were born to soar above the nine heavens and look down upon the world. Yet heaven’s will defies human plans. What rests within one’s grasp may still slip through the fingers. Whether to stay or leave depends entirely upon fate…”
“…Child, you need not force yourself so hard. You do not need to gamble everything for these meaningless things. I already came to understand that… though too late. If only I had understood sooner… If you know what you want, if there is something you absolutely must obtain no matter what, then go pursue it. I will always stand behind you. Only… do not force yourself too much. Do not become like me…”
Do not become like who? Why not? And who… are you? What had you understood? Why was it already too late? And who… am I?
Before his eyes bloomed endless crimson hibiscus flowers, red enough to make the heart pound in fear. Their beauty was enchanting, their fragrance intoxicating, yet they seemed wrapped in an indescribable heaviness that refused to disperse.
He did not understand what any of it meant. He did not know why he was seeing these things. Yet instinctively, he felt this place was where he belonged. As though countless mysteries—known yet unknown—had been buried here.
His vision remained narrow and confined. One half showed a rough, icy jade gate. The other showed a hibiscus pond as red as blood.
Deep within, there always sat a blurred, indistinct figure. For a very, very long time, that person sat there alone beside the pond without moving. It was impossible to tell whether he was looking at something or merely staring blankly ahead. Impossible to tell whether he was waiting for someone or simply sitting there day after day in silence.
He did not know when he first discovered this place. Only that the moment he found it, he had also discovered that distant, blurred figure. Lonely. Desolate.
The flower language of hibiscus was holiness, purity, everlasting joy, and pure love. But why, in this courtyard that felt both strange and familiar, was there only suffocating oppression and pain?
No…
He hated this atmosphere. This crushing suffocation…
No…
He did not want to see that lonely, desolate back. So sorrowful. So helpless.
Power… Status… Freedom… Carefreeness…
What was it he truly wanted? And what should he abandon?
Warm lips. A faint smile. The figure’s gender was impossible to distinguish, yet merely seeing that smile filled him with warmth and comfort. Several strands of black hair hung loose by the figure’s lips, but the face above the mouth remained obscured beneath a faint veil.
He opened his mouth, wanting to call the person’s name. Yet something suppressed seemed caught in his throat, unable to emerge, leaving him unbearably stifled.
A warm hand touched him. The instant it did, he shuddered violently, instinctively trying to avoid it as though burned. But it was already too late.
Closer. Closer still.
The figure felt strangely familiar, yet the face remained impossible to see clearly. Warm breath brushed against his cheek. For some reason, tears suddenly welled in his eyes.
“Who… are you…” he asked shakily.
Yet the smile on the figure’s lips only deepened further.
The lips moved slowly. No sound came out. He tried reading them, vaguely understanding yet not fully comprehending.
“Who… who exactly are you?…”
The smile widened brighter and brighter, though beneath it lingered the faintest trace of mockery.
Closer. Closer still.
He could feel the shadow looming over him. Could feel their breaths mingling together.
“No!!”
Struggling with all his strength, he suddenly shoved the dark figure pressing toward him away. The suffocating pressure vanished instantly.
Ning Xuan gasped desperately for air, chest heaving violently. His dark eyes remained clouded with the lingering haze of the dream, pupils unfocused as he stared blankly upward at the layered canopy overhead.
Plain-colored gauze curtains woven with gold thread hung above him. The faint patterns overlapped eerily with those from the dream—large flower petals pure and spotless. Someone had once told him they were white hibiscus flowers, among the earliest blooms of all flowers.
A strange warm tingling lingered in his palm, making Ning Xuan frown. Unhappy, he turned his head—
Only to meet a pair of black eyes deep as an abyss. The smile at those lips was neither quite a smile nor not. Long black hair spilled loosely over the shoulders without restraint. One hand supported his head lazily.
And the other…
Rested around…
Someone’s…
Waist—
“AAAAAHHHHH!!!”
At the hour of Yin—around 3 to 5 a.m.—after a night of silence, Prince Rong Manor welcomed the start of a new day beneath a scream that sounded exactly like a pig being slaughtered.
Futile Devices Scans 
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