On the eighth day, the door still had not opened.
Su Mu Chen sat behind the counter, with the letter he had just finished writing beside him.
The letter was very short, containing only one line.
“Confirmed. There are no marks or scars on his back.”
After writing it, he felt that it sounded too cold, like an icy medical examination report.
Xia Lan Shi had waited for so long and thought about it so much, going through all that trouble to entrust someone to deliver the letter, all for this one answer. If he only replied with this one line, it seemed too heartless.
So he added another sentence: “Take your medicine on time, stay up less, and do not sit for long periods.”
After finishing, he stared at those few lines for a moment. He still felt it was not enough. Just as he was about to add a few more instructions such as “If the coughing worsens, keep yourself warm” and “Cold hands and feet may be a circulation problem,” the copper bell on the door rang.
Xiao walked in, carrying a packet of new seed samples.
He placed the bag on the counter. His movements were unhurried, but his gaze swept across the edge of the drawer the instant Su Mu Chen withdrew his hand.
“Still waiting?”
Su Mu Chen gently pushed the drawer shut, his tone as flat as he could make it.
“No.”
Xiao did not expose him. He merely glanced at him before sitting down opposite him.
Outside the window, the sky gradually darkened. The streetlights of Changning Alley lit up one by one, their orange-yellow glow falling across the damp stone road like a quiet river. The light filtered through the old glass and entered the shop, casting a thin layer of warmth between the two of them.
Xiao did not speak immediately.
He pushed the packet of seeds aside and lightly tapped his fingers twice against the tabletop, as though he had deliberated for a long time before finally speaking.
“Mu An.”
“Hmm?”
“Have you ever thought about this? Suppose the door never opens, or something happens to His Highness over there and he can no longer come here. Then, how are you going to arrange the rest of your life?”
Su Mu Chen’s fingers stopped around the rim of his cup.
The question came too suddenly, like a stone thrown into calm water, sending ripples outward in circles.
He remained silent for a long time, so long that another streetlight outside came on, pushing the light and shadows inside the shop several inches farther away.
“I have.” he said.
Xiao did not press him. He simply waited quietly.
Su Mu Chen lowered his eyes and looked at the cup of coffee in front of him, which had long since gone cold.
Tiny beads of condensation clung to the side of the cup, slowly sliding down along its curve and leaving a faint trail of water on the table.
“The hospital job is already gone. Even if the Sheng Corporation hadn’t interfered, I couldn’t go back.” His tone was calm, as though he were stating something unrelated to himself. “As for Guichen House, even if I run it seriously, the income isn’t much. A business dealing in antiques and old goods depends on luck. Being able to sell a few pieces a month is already pretty good.”
He paused.
“The debts are still there. I’ve paid off part of them, but the rest… relying only on the shop’s income…”
He did not finish, but the meaning was already clear.
Xiao said nothing.
He looked at Su Mu Chen, as though waiting for him to finish speaking, or perhaps waiting for something else.
Su Mu Chen was silent for a long time. Then he said quietly, “I’ve thought about selling the gold Xiao Yuan left behind.”
Xiao’s eyes shifted slightly.
“That gold was given to you by Xiao Yuan. You kept it in the first place to pay your debts and buy supplies.”
“I know.” Su Mu Chen said. “But every time I think about touching that gold, I get this… indescribable feeling.”
He paused, as though searching for the right words.
“That gold was exchanged for his life. He brought it over from Da Sheng, passed through the door with it, and stacked box after box here. When he gave it to me, he never hesitated. He trusted me. He thought I was worth trusting. If I sell all of it just to pay off my debts and get myself out of this situation, then what’s the difference between me and those people in Da Sheng who were targeting him?”
When he reached this point, he himself froze for a moment.
He had not expected himself to say these things, much less expected them to expose the hesitation buried in his heart so directly.
Xiao looked at him without teasing him or offering comfort.
He simply listened quietly and patiently waited until Su Mu Chen finished speaking, then gently nodded.
“That gold indeed isn’t enough to pay off all your debts.”
Xiao calmly added a more realistic fact. There was no mockery in his voice, only a statement of fact.
Su Mu Chen gave a bitter smile.
“I know. That’s why I’ve calculated it over and over. No matter which way I go, it’s a dead end.”
“So you’ve still decided to wait?”
Su Mu Chen did not deny it.
“Mm.”
One word, as light as a leaf falling onto the surface of the water, trembling restlessly.
Xiao looked at him, his gaze several shades heavier than usual, as though there was something he wanted to say.
Yet after the words went around in his mind once, they ultimately never came out.
He pushed the packet of seeds back toward Su Mu Chen.
“Then at least deal with the seeds first.”
Su Mu Chen took them and looked down at the marking on the bag—Second Trial Planting Batch of the Hanchuan Military Farm, mixed planting of sweet potatoes and rye. In the remarks column were the words: “Personally signed by Qin Feng.”
He put the bag away beneath the counter, then raised his head.
“Xiao, did you ask me this because the door might not open for a long time?”
Xiao was silent for a moment.
His gaze shifted from Su Mu Chen’s face to the silent door in the back room, as though searching for an appropriate answer.
“I don’t know. I’ve never dared to say anything definite about the door, because the door is unpredictable. It has its own temper, its own reasons for choosing whether to open or not.”
He withdrew his gaze and looked at Su Mu Chen again.
Those eyes that usually concealed a lazy smile now appeared exceptionally clear.
He knew that although Su Mu Chen pretended nothing was wrong on the surface, during this period when the door had remained closed, there had not been a single day when he had not worried.
The dark circles beneath his eyes were becoming heavier and heavier, like a layer of fog that could not be wiped away. Not even coffee could disperse it.
Su Mu Chen was accustomed to carrying everything alone.
From the death of his grandfather, to Su Jian Cheng leaving, to taking over Guichen House, he had endured everything by himself.
So now, even though he was anxious, he silently endured it alone and waited alone, as if so long as he endured, everything would eventually pass. He had never even considered asking for help.
Xiao reached out and rubbed Su Mu Chen’s head. His movement was very gentle, like soothing a child who refused to admit he was tired.
In truth, the two of them were somewhat in the same boat.
Su Mu Chen had lost his mother and grandfather when he was young. Su Jian Cheng had ignored him. Now, because of the door, he had been forced to abandon his ideals and could only guard Guichen House; while he had been chosen by fate to become the Door Keeper, with no freedom and no life of his own, able only to guard the door.
Su Mu Chen was stunned for a moment, then waved his hand and pushed Xiao’s hand away.
“Don’t take advantage of me.” He frowned, his tone somewhat awkward. “I’m already twenty-four. I’m not a child anymore.”
Xiao smiled and withdrew his hand without taking offense.
“I’m only showing concern for my younger cousin.” His tone had regained some of its usual laziness, but his gaze remained serious. “Regardless of whether the door opens or not, whether His Highness can return or not, you still need to have an answer of your own.”
Su Mu Chen was quiet for a moment before saying softly, “My answer is—I will wait.”
Xiao’s eyes shifted slightly, but he did not interrupt.
“If the door really stops opening, or if Xiao Yuan really can’t come back—” Su Mu Chen’s voice was steadier than before, as though stating something he had already thought about many times. “Then I’ll use what I have left to keep Guichen House going. I’ll pay off the debts, run the shop properly, and continue waiting for him.”
He paused, as though allowing his words to sink another layer deeper.
“Even if it takes longer, even if it’s harder, at least it’s a road I chose for myself.”
Xiao looked at him for a long time before suddenly smiling.
The smile was faint, but it contained no teasing.
“Mm.”
That “mm” was very soft, yet it was like some kind of silent promise.
Regardless of whether the door opened or not, he would be here, together with him.
He glanced toward the back-room door and suddenly spoke.
“Mu An.”
Su Mu Chen raised his head and saw that Xiao’s expression was somewhat different from usual.
The laziness and casualness were gone, replaced by an earnestness so serious that it was almost unfamiliar.
“Do you know why you can’t open the door?”
Su Mu Chen froze.
“Is it because I’ve never truly thought about crossing over?”
He remembered the last time Xia Lan Shi had been poisoned and his life had hung by a thread. He had tried to cross that door then. At the time, he had been frantic, thinking that as long as he could go over there to save him, anything was fine. Yet the door had mercilessly bounced him back, like an invisible wall silently rejecting him.
“You do have the desire to cross over now. That much is true.”
Xiao’s tone was certain, as though he had been watching him all along.
All those little things Su Mu Chen did in private—secretly standing before the door in a daze, touching the door panel late at night to sense its temperature, pulling on the door ring—he had seen all of them.
He knew Su Mu Chen was anxious, but he had yet to find the right direction.
“What you’re lacking most right now should be resolve.”
Su Mu Chen frowned.
“Resolve?”
He had thought that when Xia Lan Shi’s life had been hanging by a thread last time, he had already possessed the determination to cross over even if the door tore him apart.
Wasn’t that enough?
He did not argue and quietly waited for Xiao to finish.
“Yes, your resolve isn’t enough.”
Xiao’s gaze was calm, and his tone contained no reproach, only a statement of fact.
“Do you think Xiao Yuan being able to open the door was merely a coincidence? Obviously not.”
Xiao Yuan knew exactly what he wanted.
For the sake of staying alive, for the sake of protecting the people he wanted to protect, he could pay any price.
That kind of willpower was stronger than any bloodline.
Therefore, even in unstable locations or at excessively great distances, he could still open the door steadily.
Because he had already forced himself to a certain boundary.
But Su Mu Chen was different.
Even this time, when the door refused to open, the choice he made was simply to wait and guard it.
He had never tried to force the door open, never tried to push it open or crash through it. He merely waited for it to open on its own.
Perhaps he had never truly been forced into a desperate situation by fate.
Xiao’s tone was light, yet it was like a fine needle gently piercing Su Mu Chen’s heart.
“You don’t have that resolve of ‘I must tear open a path with my own hands.’ You’re only waiting, but merely waiting cannot change fate.”
Xiao spoke very calmly, yet his words made Su Mu Chen remember what Xiao Yuan looked like each time he stood before the door.
There was no hesitation, no probing, as though that door had originally been opened for him.
He wanted to argue, but discovered that he could not say anything.
Because what Xiao said was true.
Su Mu Chen was silent for a moment.
“Then what exactly would count as having resolve?”
Xiao smiled faintly, but that smile carried a faint chill.
He leaned forward slightly, his body moving toward Su Mu Chen, his voice lowering another degree, like the trace of coldness when a blade rests against the skin.
“The answer is very simple.”
He paused.
“As long as you dare to kill someone with your own hands.”
Su Mu Chen’s pupils trembled slightly.
But Xiao did not wait for his response. He moved back to his original position and returned to his usual lazy expression, as though that heavy sentence just now had been something he had casually said.
“Of course, that’s only a metaphor. What I mean is, when you’re willing to do even something like that to achieve your goal, then you’re not far from being able to open the door.”
He knew very well that Su Mu Chen was, at heart, a doctor who saved people, and an ordinary person besides. Asking him to kill someone was simply impossible.
Su Mu Chen remained silent, Xiao’s words still echoing in his ears.
Kill someone?
Impossible.
He could say it casually, but even seeing someone injured and bleeding made him feel awful.
Those wounds, that pain—he always thought about how much it must hurt.
Let alone asking him to do it himself.
Just imagining it made his stomach churn.
That bone-chilling feeling crawled up his back, densely wrapping around his limbs.
Holding a scalpel and cutting into a human body, and holding a sword and cutting into a human body—there was a fundamental difference between the two.
The former was saving a life; the latter was taking one.
The difference was so great that he could not place them within the same concept.
Could he do it?
For himself, for Xiao Yuan, or for Xia Lan Shi, could he kill someone?
He did not even need to think deeply. The answer was already in his heart.
He did not have that resolve.
Although Xiao had said it was only a metaphor, it still left his heart unbearably heavy.
He had actually always known.
Even for a civil official like Xia Lan Shi, his hands might not be clean.
And Xiao Yuan, for the sake of self-preservation and various purposes, had no idea how much blood he had stained his hands with.
As for Xiao… he did not know that much about him. But then he remembered what Xiao Yuan had once said: when Xia Lan Shi was kidnapped, by the time he arrived at the scene, the assassins had already been killed by an unknown person.
And that person should have been Xiao.
The smell of blood and cold plum fragrance he had caught on Xiao that day had not been an illusion.
He had simply never thought deeply about it.
Or perhaps, subconsciously, he had chosen not to think about it.
He was avoiding directly facing a question like this.
Xiao watched his increasingly pale complexion, and the smile on his face gradually faded.
“What I said was only a metaphor. Don’t think too much about it.”
He reached out and rubbed Su Mu Chen’s head again. This time, his touch was even gentler, as though soothing a frightened child.
Su Mu Chen did not push that hand away.
He sat there silently, his face pale, as if some invisible weight were pressing down on his shoulders.
After a long while, he finally said in a low voice,
“…I know.”
His voice was very soft, like snow falling onto old roof tiles.
Xiao did not ask any more questions. He simply sat across from him, quietly keeping him company.
Outside the window, the night had grown even darker. The streetlights of Changning Alley cast their glow over the damp stone road.
Inside Guichen House, only the faint electrical hum of the old light bulb remained, along with the silence of two people each carrying their own worries, neither speaking again.
◆◇◆◇◆
That night, Su Mu Chen slept very uneasily and dreamed of many things.
The dream began in a boundless darkness.
There was no sound, no wind, no light.
There was only him, standing in a pitch-black place with no visible end.
The ground beneath his feet was cold. He stood on a tiny patch of ground to stand on, with bottomless abysses surrounding him.
He sucked in a sharp breath, and a muffled sound came from deep within the darkness.
The patch of ground beneath his feet shattered.
His body fell downward uncontrollably.
As he fell, his surroundings gradually became a little clearer.
Something was burning in the distance.
The firelight spread from the horizon, tearing open a gash in the darkness.
The air was filled with the mixed smell of rust and dust, choking him until he could barely breathe.
Then he saw Xiao Yuan.
Xiao Yuan’s dark-colored armor was soaked through with blood.
So much blood.
Fresh blood continuously poured from Xiao Yuan’s waist and abdomen, spreading over his robes, flowing across the snow beneath his feet, and creeping toward him like fallen flowers.
Yet he was still standing, a broken sword in his hand. Fresh blood that had not yet dried remained along the jagged edge of the blade.
Su Mu Chen ran toward him.
One step. Two steps.
The distance was clearly not far, yet no matter what, he could not reach him.
The wind and snow grew stronger and stronger, obscuring his vision.
“Xiao Yuan!”
He shouted, but his voice caught in his throat and could not come out.
He reached out, but could not grasp anything.
He tried again, reaching and grabbing, but his arm passed through the air again and again.
Warm blood slid between his fingers.
It was seeping from the palm of his own hand.
He lowered his head and saw that, at some point, both his hands had become covered in sticky red.
“…Mu An.”
Two extremely soft words drifted over from the distant wind and snow, as if bidding farewell.
No!
Su Mu Chen abruptly stepped backward, staggering to his feet. He turned and tried to run.
Run toward Guichen House.
Run toward that door.
As long as there was a door, he could go over.
As long as there was a door, he could save him.
As long as there was a door—!
He rushed back to Guichen House and pushed open the door to the back room.
The door stood there.
But what seeped through the crack was not the usual cold white light.
It was a deep, dark red.
Like blood.
Like some kind of living light that was still pulsating.
At some point, the wood grain on the door had changed.
Those originally aged patterns twisted and writhed, like veins emerging from within the wood, intertwining and winding together until they gathered into countless half-bloomed flowers—
Flowers from the Other Shore.
Each petal slowly breathed, as though waiting for something.
Corpses were piled around the door.
They seemed to have grown out of the ground, one body pressing against another, stacked into a mountain, their faces indistinct.
Some wore ancient clothing. Some wore modern clothing. Others wore bizarre garments that he could not describe.
And his hands were covered in blood.
It dripped from his fingertips, flowed along the curve of the backs of his hands, and gathered into the dark-red pool beneath his feet.
Petals of Flowers from the Other Shore floated across the surface of the water, swaying gently with the ripples like countless hands waving beneath the water.
There were people screaming inside.
Some were crying.
Some were shouting something in languages he could not understand.
He wanted to run, but it was as if roots had grown from his feet.
He could not move.
He could only stand there.
Su Mu Chen reached out to push the door.
The door did not open.
Suddenly, all the Flowers from the Other Shore on the door bloomed.
From deep within the centers of the flowers, one eye after another opened.
Eyes of every size, densely packed together.
Some resembled human eyes.
Some had the pupils of animals.
Some were impossible to identify as belonging to any creature at all.
All of them turned toward him.
Staring at him.
As if judging him.
As if waiting.
As if mocking his helplessness.
One of the largest eyes faced him directly.
Those eyes merely watched him quietly.
There was no pity.
No malice.
The door shuddered.
The eyes collectively blinked once.
Then they slowly opened again, larger than before, colder than before.
And then the door cracked open.
A hand reached through the crack.
Pale.
Knuckles sharply defined.
Clean fingernails.
That hand grasped the doorframe, as though trying to crawl out from inside the door.
Su Mu Chen took a step backward.
He recognized that hand—
His hand.
Those hands of his that were always holding pens, medicine, and coffee cups were now slowly crawling out through the crack in the door.
Then came the arm.
Then the shoulder.
Then the face.
It was another him.
His face was deathly pale, his eyes pitch-black, and the corners of his lips held the faintest trace of a smile, as though he were an existence condensed from the shadows themselves.
He reached a hand toward Su Mu Chen, his lips moving silently.
“…Why are you only waiting?”
Su Mu Chen abruptly backed away and collided with something.
He turned around.
His grandfather was lying on a hospital bed.
That face was frighteningly paler than he remembered.
Countless tubes wrapped around his withered arms, body, and face. The electrocardiogram wires hung all over the floor.
His grandfather’s eyes were half-closed, his lips trembling slightly.
“Mu Chen… the day the door opens…”
His voice grew softer and more distant, as though something were sucking it away.
Su Mu Chen wanted to hold his hand, but his grandfather’s hand slipped away first, dangling over the edge of the bed.
It never moved again.
The electrocardiogram emitted a long, piercing tone.
He stood there.
He neither cried nor shouted.
He simply watched his grandfather close his eyes.
A woman’s name was carved into a gray-white stone.
There were no flowers beside it.
The weeds had grown very tall, as though no one had ever come here.
A child stood beside the gravestone, quietly, without crying.
His father’s silhouette stretched very long.
That man walked forward without looking back, holding another child by the hand, with his stepmother following beside him.
Su Mu Chen stood where he was, watching them disappear into the distance.
He did not chase them.
He did not call out.
He simply watched.
Scene after scene, like an old film replayed countless times.
…Gone.
…Everyone was gone.
…Everyone had left.
Only he remained, standing alone in an empty expanse.
From far away came the sound of a door opening.
Very loud.
Like a heavy stone gate being slowly pushed open, the sound dragging across the ground and drawing closer and closer.
He raised his head and looked over.
The door was open.
Someone stood behind it.
That person’s body was covered in strange black patterns, as though entangled by the aura of death.
He opened his mouth and said something, but Su Mu Chen could not hear a single word.
The next moment, a strange wind blew over.
The other person’s body gradually scattered like dust, as though he had never existed.
Su Mu Chen suddenly jolted awake.
He gasped for breath, his chest heaving violently, as though he had just struggled up from deep water.
His forehead was covered in cold sweat, clinging damply to his hairline.
The clothes on his back were soaked through, the fabric clinging tightly to his skin, cold and damp.
His fingertips were still trembling slightly. He clenched his fists, barely suppressing the fine tremors.
The room was very dark.
Outside the window, the night was still heavy and deep. There was not the slightest sign of dawn on the horizon.
The streetlights of Changning Alley seeped through the gap in the old curtains, drawing a thin strip of light across the floor.
Very narrow.
Like a thin blade, cutting the darkness in half.
He sat dazed in the darkness, his breathing gradually settling.
Yet the emptiness in his chest refused to dissipate.
As though someone had hollowed out a hole in his heart, and wind was pouring through it, so cold that even his fingertips felt chilled.
It was as though something important was moving farther and farther away from him, while he could not catch up.
Su Mu Chen lowered his eyes and thought of the dream he had just had.
He knew where that feeling of emptiness came from.
From childhood until now, he had repeatedly faced being the one left behind.
His mother had left him.
His father had left him.
His grandfather had left him.
He had even forgotten how to cry.
Every time, he stood where he was, watching those people’s backs grow farther and farther away.
And now, it seemed that he was about to be left behind again.
Only this time, that person’s name was Xiao Yuan.
Su Mu Chen lowered his head, the hair before his forehead falling between his brows.
On the surface, he pretended not to care.
He was accustomed to treating everyone well and doing many things for them, yet never asking for anything in return.
Because he had learned long ago.
—Don’t expect anything, and you won’t be disappointed.
—Don’t get close, and you won’t be abandoned.
In reality, he had never dared to give his true heart to anyone.
He was afraid of facing that moment when he would be left behind.
So he kept himself at a safe distance, gentle toward everyone, yet never truly opening himself to anyone.
He thought that by doing this, he could protect himself.
He thought that by doing this, it would not hurt again.
Perhaps Xiao was right.
He had always only been waiting.
Waiting for others to return.
Waiting for things to get better.
Waiting for the door to open by itself.
Like someone accustomed to standing in the same place, who did not even have the courage to reach out a hand.
What if one day, there was no one left to wait for?
Su Mu Chen closed his eyes.
The answer had already surfaced in his heart.
He would still wait.
Perhaps… his own cowardice had long since been seen through by the door.
That was why he could not open it, and could not pass through it.
Because the door knew that he was still not truly prepared to face everything on the other side.
“Xiao Yuan… Jing Yuan…”
He murmured the names, his voice so low that it seemed he was speaking to the darkness.
Xiao Yuan had said again and again, “Wait for me.”
He had also said, “I’ll come back.”
Those words were like anchors, cast into his heart time and time again, sinking heavily there and becoming a certain kind of reliance that he did not dare admit.
Only now did he realize that he had actually believed him long ago.
Believed that Xiao Yuan would come back.
Believed that this person would not lie to him.
Believed every single “Wait for me” he had ever said.
Precisely because he believed him, he was afraid now.
Afraid that he would not come back.
Afraid that the door would never open again.
Afraid that he would once again become that person standing in the same place, watching someone else’s back disappear into the distance.
At that moment, a faint sound came from downstairs.
Very soft.
But in this excessively quiet night, the sound was exceptionally clear.
Su Mu Chen abruptly came back to himself, his thoughts instantly breaking free from those tangled emotions.
He hurriedly threw on a coat. He did not even have time to fasten the buttons before heading downstairs.
When he reached the final step, he saw Xiao standing before the door to the back room.
Xiao had his back to him, his right hand resting against the door panel.
His long black hair fell over his shoulders, with a disheveled strand covering the outline of the side of his face.
Su Mu Chen could not see his expression clearly. He could only see that his head was slightly lowered, as though he were confirming something.
“What happened? Is something wrong?”
Su Mu Chen asked worriedly.
Xiao turned his head.
At that instant, Su Mu Chen’s footsteps stopped.
Xiao’s gaze was cold and unfamiliar, like a thin layer of frost.
Those eyes that usually carried a lazy smile now held not the slightest trace of warmth, dark and lifeless.
Like facing an abyss, a single glance enough to make someone feel as though they had fallen into an ice cellar ten thousand miles deep.
Su Mu Chen’s heartbeat skipped.
That gaze did not belong to the Xiao he knew.
It belonged to a stranger.
Someone alone in the night, facing some indescribable existence.
Yet it lasted only for that brief instant.
The next second, Xiao blinked.
His expression immediately returned to its usual lazy, relaxed smile, as though everything just now had merely been an illusion.
“It’s nothing.” His tone was flat, as though speaking of something insignificant. “It’s still early. Go back to sleep.”
Su Mu Chen stood where he was and did not answer immediately.
His gaze fell on Xiao, then swept over the door.
There was no change in the door at all. It was exactly the same as usual.
Yet he always felt that there was some indescribable eeriness in the air.
The temperature seemed to have quietly dropped by half a degree.
Xiao’s gaze fell on him. It appeared casual, yet carried an almost imperceptible urging.
“Mm… then I’ll go back upstairs.”
Su Mu Chen answered aloud. He was just about to turn and step onto the stairs when he suddenly stopped after taking one step.
There was an extremely faint scent in the air, drifting around the tip of his nose, almost imperceptible.
Clean and cold.
Like the scent released from the freshly broken end of a plum branch in winter.
And there was also the fragrance of wood after it had been burned.
The scent was too distinctive.
He could not mistake it.
A lingering sense of loneliness, like a cemetery just after snowfall.
The last time he had smelled this fragrance was when Xia Lan Shi had been kidnapped.
Afterward, besides the smell of blood, this fragrance had also lingered on Xiao.
His foot stopped.
His heart suddenly pounded.
He remembered Xiao’s gaze just now.
Su Mu Chen stood at the foot of the stairs, one foot on the first step and one hand gripping the railing.
He did not turn around, but his fingers tightened slightly.
In the end, he asked nothing.
He lifted his other foot and continued upstairs, returning to his room.
After returning to his room, he stood by the window in a daze for a while.
The night wind seeped through the crack in the window, and the coolness made him somewhat more clear-headed.
The streetlights of Changning Alley were still lit, illuminating the patterns of the stone road with perfect clarity.
The car at the mouth of the alley was still there too, silently parked in place like a beast that had never closed its eyes.
He looked out the window, but suddenly felt that Guichen House was exceptionally quiet tonight.
Quiet to the point of being somewhat eerie.
He did not go back to sleep.
He simply sat by the window, waiting for dawn.