CHAPTER 123: CHAPTER 123; WHY WAS SHE CRYING

"Every day," Jin Shuren answered without hesitation.

Yueqin gave a small, satisfied nod, the movement rubbing her cheek against her mother’s shoulder. "Then I think I like her," she said simply, as only a child could.

A faint curl of warmth stirred in Jin Shuren’s chest at the words, though his stride remained steady.

He adjusted his hold on Yueyao just enough to shield both mother and daughter with the breadth of his frame, carrying them forward without once looking back.

Halfway down the stairs, Yueqin lifted one small hand from her mother’s robe and reached up, her fingers brushing lightly against Yueyao’s cheek.

The skin was warm, damp with the faint trace of tears that hadn’t yet dried.

"Father," she whispered, glancing over at him with wide eyes, "why was she crying?"

Jin Shuren’s steps didn’t falter, but his gaze dipped briefly to the little girl. "Because she missed you," he said simply. The little girl was too young to digest the complexity of the entire matter.

Yueqin’s lips pursed, her eyes lingering on the faint shimmer left on her mother’s face. "I missed her too... I didn’t know I had a mother.." she whispered.

"You know now," Jin Shuren replied.

She nodded, then leaned forward, pressing her small forehead gently against Yueyao’s. "Don’t cry anymore, Mother," she whispered into the quiet. "I’m here now."

The words were soft, almost lost in the sound of boots on stone, but Jin Shuren heard every syllable.

His hand shifted slightly at Yueyao’s back, not to wake her, but as if silently vowing to keep that tiny promise safe.

Outside, the night was damp and heavy, the air thick with the metallic tang of rain yet to fall.

The black sedan idled at the curb, its engine’s low rumble swallowed by the surrounding silence. Two armed guards flanked the open rear door, their eyes sweeping the shadows like wolves on the hunt.

Jin Shuren emerged cradling both Yueyao and Yueqin in his arms, one an unmoving, fragile weight, the other small and alert, clinging to her mother with tiny fingers curled in white-knuckled trust. The girl’s gaze flitted between the men in black, her brow furrowed in a child’s quiet wariness.

One of the guards took a half-step forward, hands lifting as if to relieve him of the burden. But Jin Shuren’s head tilted, the glint of his jade mask catching the streetlight, a silent warning. The man froze, then stepped back without a word.

He lowered himself into the car without breaking his hold on either of them, his frame folding with precise control to shield them from the chill and the rain’s first stray drops. The door closed with a muted, final thud, cutting off the night.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of leather and gun oil. Yueqin shifted slightly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Are we going home?" she asked, her voice small but steady.

"Yes, sweetie..." Jin Shuren answered, his tone low, not for comfort, but for certainty.

Rain tapped against the roof in an irregular rhythm, each drop, a faint percussion in the stillness.

Yueyao lay limp in his arms, her breathing shallow but steady, her head resting against his shoulder.

Yueqin sat curled close against him, small hands clutching at his coat, eyes flicking from her mother’s pale face to his unreadable profile. They covered the two of them with huge heavy shawls to keep them warm.

The engine idled quietly, a low, constant hum beneath them, heat coiling from the vents to push back the damp chill seeping in from outside. Jin Shuren sat unmoving, gaze fixed beyond the windshield, his hold on both of them unyielding.

Somewhere beyond the rain and glass, the faintest echoes of violence drifted from the building, Jin Zhou’s work, methodical and unhurried. They would not leave until it was done.

For now, the car remained a sealed world, suspended in the dark, waiting for the final piece to fall into place.

— — — — —

The heavy door slammed shut, muffling the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall.

The silence that followed wasn’t peace, it was the kind that pressed on the eardrums, the kind that came before bones cracked.

Shen Xiao knelt on the floor where they had forced him down, wrists bound behind him, his breath steady but edged with steel.

Across from him, Bai Zhi sat slumped against the leg of the table, her gown torn at the shoulder, her hair falling in tangled strands that clung to her damp skin.

The air was heavy with the copper tang of blood, undercut by the acrid bite of scorched metal.

On a tray nearby, a row of tools gleamed under the pale overhead light, pliers, scalpels, a small blowtorch. None of them belonged in a place meant for healing.

The man in black who had stayed behind with them, Jin Zhou, and the scar-faced stepped forward, his boots echoing against the stone floor.

His smile was slow, deliberate, a predator’s curl of lips that didn’t reach his eyes, "Orders are very clear," he murmured, flexing his gloved fingers. "You walk out of here broken... and she..." His gaze slid toward Bai Zhi, lingering on her face. "...won’t walk out looking like herself at all."

Bai Zhi’s breath hitched, her body shrinking back instinctively, her wide eyes darting toward Shen Xiao as if he could stop what was coming.

Shen Xiao’s voice was low, lethal. "Touch her, and you won’t live to see tomorrow."

Jin Zhou laughed, not loud, but sharp enough to slice through the room. "You are not in a position to bargain."

He knelt down, drawing a short, wicked blade from his belt, the steel catching the light. "Let’s start with her."

The first scream ripped from Bai Zhi before the blade had even made its full arc. Jin Zhou’s hand was unhurried, almost clinical, slicing along the fine skin at her jaw. Blood welled instantly, bright against her pale cheek, then trickled downward, soaking into the torn silk at her shoulder.