Chapter 43 The Rusted Star

It was snowing heavily in Vancouver, with goose-feather-like flakes hitting the French windows, creating a blur of white. Lin Kun sat in the empty villa, the fire crackling in the fireplace, its light illuminating his pale face.

The television screen lit up, and the sound of news from Bangkok drifted over through the distant time difference, carrying an unreal din—"Lin Group completed the equity transfer today, officially changing hands to Mo Holdings. It is reported that Mo Holdings has recently acquired a 17% stake in Wa State's mining industry. This move may reshape the landscape of Southeast Asia..."

Lin Kun stared at the news headlines scrolling on the screen, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the armrest of the sofa, the thin calluses on his fingertips rubbing against the cold wooden surface, as if he was fighting against something in vain.

Suddenly, a knock on the door broke the silence. Lin Kun stood up, opened the door, took the package from the courier, and went back inside to unwrap it.

It was an unsigned brown paper bag. When it was opened, it still carried the cold air from outside. Inside lay a photo - it was the last intact image of Lin Wei floating in the waters of Bangkok Bay.

Her long hair was like seaweed wrapped around her pale neck. The plaster on her right wrist had broken, revealing her purple skin. Her whole body was covered with marks of torture by iron hooks.

Several deep wounds under the collarbone were turned outward, with dark red blood scabs marking drag lines. The arms and waist were covered with hideous scars. The back of the neck, covered by long hair, was exposed with holes where iron hooks pierced the flesh.

What made Lin Kun feel suffocated the most were Lin Wei's eyes.

The eyes that always followed him with a smile and were as bright as stars were now wide open and empty, as if silently asking: Why didn’t you come to save me?

Lin Kun's hands began to tremble violently, and the photo slipped through his fingers. He suddenly covered his chest with his hands, his nails almost digging into the flesh, and a trapped beast-like whimper came out of his throat.

He remembered that when Lin Wei was a child, she would cry and throw herself into his arms when she was scratched by a cat, but now... how painful must it be for her when those iron hooks tear her flesh?

He knew who had sent it, and why today was the chosen date. The electronic calendar above the fireplace clearly displayed the date: today was Lin Wei's 20th birthday.

Mo Xiaohan never wanted his life.

Lin Kun fell to his knees, howling like a wild beast. This was Mo Xiaohan's true revenge—not death, but letting him live, chewing on this despair day after day, and every night for the rest of his life, his daughter's cries would echo in his ears.

Outside the window, the snow fell silently, as if to bury this villa and the despair inside it into eternal winter.

But Bangkok at this time was a completely different scene.

A hot, humid wind, carrying the scent of frangipani, swept through Mo Xiaohan's estate. Sunlight filtered through the branches of the poinciana trees, weaving glints of gold across the neatly trimmed lawn.

Ruan Xingchen curled up on a garden swing, an open book spread across her lap. The wind blew frangipani flowers between the pages, and when she raised her hand to brush them away, the ring on her left ring finger gleamed in the sunlight.

When Mo Xiaohan approached from behind, his suit jacket still shone with the heat of the tropical afternoon. He didn't say anything, simply leaning over to pull her and the book into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head and gently nuzzling it.

Ruan Xingchen snuggled tighter into his arms, the tip of her nose filled with the scent of wormwood mixed with a hint of blood - that was his unique scent, the lingering warmth after the smoke had cleared, and the peace of mind that only she could understand.

She suddenly raised her head and gently bit his Adam's apple, like a spoiled kitten. Mo Xiaohan chuckled softly, the vibration of his chest transmitting through their bodies. He tightened his arms, pressing her tighter against him, and lowered his head to kiss her lips.

There was no eager plundering, no forceful possession, just gentle rolling and rubbing. The moment their lips touched, they felt the warmth of his body. Only when her breathing became slightly disordered and her lips turned a light red did he press his hand against her forehead and whisper, "It's time to go to the treatment room."

Ruan Xingchen shook her head and buried her face in the crook of his neck, her hair brushing against his jawline: "Hold me for a while longer, I'll feel at ease when I smell your scent."

Sunlight filtered through the bougainvillea trellis, casting a swaying, warm shadow on their intertwined figures. His fingertips gently traced the ring on her left ring finger. The coolness of the metal mingled with the warmth of his palm, entwined with the intertwined scent of wormwood and blood, creating the most reassuring mark in the moment.

A distant surveillance camera silently recorded this scene. On the terminal screen in the treatment room, Professor Klein watched the image and wrote on the evaluation form: "Traumatic stress reaction has been significantly alleviated, and a positive dependence on a specific scent has been formed."

Inside the manor’s treatment room, the air is filled with the soothing aroma of cedarwood and lavender.

Ruan Xingchen half leaned in Mo Xiaohan's arms, her head resting on his shoulder, her left hand resting naturally on his knee, the ring on her ring finger rising and falling gently with her breathing. Mo Xiaohan's right hand firmly covered the back of her hand, holding the ring and her hand in his palm.

"The trust-building phase is complete." Professor Klein adjusted his glasses, his gaze fixed on their intertwined hands. "Next, we need to solidify this sense of security."

Ruan Xingchen nuzzled into his arms, her voice a little muffled: "Aren't we going to face the auction directly?"

"Not yet." The professor opened his tablet and pulled up a set of brain scans. "Your hippocampus is still experiencing abnormal discharges. Exposure to high-intensity stimulation now could potentially negate all the benefits of your previous treatment."

Mo Xiaohan lowered his head and placed a kiss on the top of her head, his voice low: "Alternative plan?"

"Emotional anchor reinforcement." The professor pulled up a video. "The core is to have her repeatedly confirm that you are her absolute source of safety."

On the screen, there was a video of the cocktail party. Mo Xiaohan was surrounded by several women. One reached out to touch his tie, but he dodged, his eyes cold as ice. Another offered a glass of champagne, but he glared away, their fingertips frozen in mid-air, their face pale. Throughout the video, he maintained a distant aura, unyielding.

"Before each treatment, watch this kind of video." The professor froze the image on his back as he turned and left. "The key is to let her see clearly: your sense of boundaries with outsiders and your difference with her are instinctive." She looked up at Mo Xiaohan, her tone calm but precise, "This special 'exceptional only for her' is the anchor of her sense of security."

Finally, the professor closed the tablet and added a meaningful sentence: "The trust remembered by the body is often more stubborn than that of the brain."

That night, Ruan Xingchen had a very short dream.

She dreamed that her best friend smiled and handed her the glass of juice with added ingredients. When she turned around, she took the money with her hand. The peach-colored nail polish on her nails stung her eyes, and she was in a trance and returned to the auction table where she was treated as an exhibit.

"Don't look back." The adult Mo Xiaohan suddenly covered her eyes from behind, blocking out all the noise around them - the bidding sounds from the auction table, the dull sound of iron chains dragging on the ground, were all isolated outside his palms.

"Why?" Her voice drifted in her dream.

"Because..." His breath was hot against her ear, mixed with the cold and resolute determination of someone who could decide life and death. "I'll kill those filthy creatures."

Ruan Xingchen woke up suddenly, the strands of hair on her forehead were sticky with cold sweat, and Mo Xiaohan's fingertips were gently stroking her forehead with a soothing warmth.

"Are you having a nightmare again?" His voice was very low, as if he was afraid of disturbing the dream. His black eyes were surprisingly bright in the dim light, reflecting her shadow.

Ruan Xingchen shook his head and suddenly grabbed his hand and pressed it against his heart.

"It's beating fast here..." she whispered.

Not fear.

It is a more intense, almost trembling sense of belonging.

The next morning, Professor Klein observed the steady EEG curve on the monitoring device and wrote in his medical records: "When the patient begins to actively seek comfort from the abuser, it means that the traumatic association has transformed into a pathological dependence. The amygdala's fear response is overridden by dopamine secretion, and this 'illusion of security' just happens to protect against external stimuli."

She paused, her pen resting on the paper for a moment, and added, "But who cares? It damn well works."