Chapter 48 Gentle Boundary

——His existence is her best medicine.

Morning dew condensed on the rose petals, like unwiped diamond fragments. Professor Klein sat with Ruan Xingchen on a wicker chair in the garden. She placed a brand new data report in front of Ruan Xingchen.

"Your hippocampal activity has stabilized, and your hypervigilance has decreased by 40%." A faint smile played at the corners of her lips as she looked at Ruan Xingchen, who was sitting across from her. "Your progress is faster than expected."

"But we still need to consolidate this sense of security." Her fingertips rested on the gentle curve on the chart, her eyes gentle. "We can try to move on to the next stage, rebuilding social cognition."

Ruan Xingchen took the report and gently stroked the paper with her fingertips. She raised her eyes and said in a voice as light as a feather: "Social?"

"It doesn't mean going out and interacting with a lot of people." The professor pushed his glasses up on his nose. "It means helping you rebuild your trust in 'non-threatening social interactions' within a completely controllable range."

"According to previous treatment records, you can naturally appear in scenes with servants, and even had a few simple interactions with the housekeeper. This is good, but it's not enough." Her tone was firm. "You are always separated by a layer of glass—you see them watering the flowers and cleaning the windows, but you never give orders or commands as the master."

Ruan Xingchen's gaze passed over the professor's shoulder, landing on a nearby rose bush. Mo Xiaohan stood there, whispering something to the gardener beside him, his fingertips pointing at an overgrown white rose. The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the sturdy lines of his arms. Noticing her gaze, he looked up, his stern features softening in the sunlight.

Ruan Xingchen retracted her gaze, her heartbeat inexplicably quickening. She lowered her head and asked softly, "What should I do?"

"Next, we'll try to break that layer of glass." Klein's voice was gentle but firm. "You don't have to do anything deliberate. Maybe just see the gardener watering the flowers and casually mention, 'Water the hydrangeas on the east side more today,' or tell the maid when she's tidying the study, 'Don't move the books on the third shelf.'"

Ruan Xingchen clenched his fingertips and finally said "hmm" softly.

The wind brought the scent of roses, mixed with the occasional sound of pruning shears, which seemed to serve as background music for the response.

The kitchen in the west wing of the manor was always warm, the sweet aroma mixed with the scent of butter filling the air. Marlene, the head maid, stood at the counter, slowly sifting snow-white flour, the dust-fine powder dancing gently in the sunlight.

"Miss Ruan, would you like to try?" Malin handed over a smooth wooden spoon, a kindly frown at the corners of her eyes. She was Mo Xiaohan's personal choice, sixty years old, with a face etched with the patience and gentleness of three grandchildren.

As Ruan Xingchen took the wooden spoon, her fingertips accidentally touched the back of Malin's hand. It was a pair of warm, calloused hands, like the feeling of her grandmother holding hers. This time, she didn't tremble, didn't subconsciously flinch.

In the monitoring room, Professor Klein looked at the image on the screen and nodded slightly, with a barely perceptible sense of relief in his eyes.

"Add the flour in three batches," Marlene said softly as she demonstrated the stirring motion. "Just like this, gently. Don't make circles, or the batter will become glutenous..."

Ruan Xingchen followed her movements and stirred slowly. Suddenly, he asked softly, "How many years have you been making desserts?"

"Forty years." Marlene smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepening. "My eldest grandson loves the Madeleines I make. Every time he comes home, he pesters me for them, saying that the ones you buy outside aren't as delicious as grandma's..."

Their conversation flowed naturally, from dessert to her grandchildren, from the temperature of the oven to the new flowers in the garden. For more than seven minutes, Ruan Xingchen made no evasive moves, and her heart rate remained within normal range.

The professor recorded the data on her tablet, her lips curled up unconsciously. She added a line at the end of the evaluation report: "The patient's dependency is transforming into a healthy bond of trust."

At lunch time, Ruan Xingchen pushed a plate of freshly baked almond cookies in front of Mo Xiaohan. The edges of the cookies had a beautiful caramel color, a thin layer of powdered sugar sprinkled on the surface, and the aroma of the remaining warmth from the oven.

"Try it?" There was a hint of anticipation in her eyes, like a student waiting for a grade.

The man put down the documents in his hand, picked up a piece with his slender fingers, and took a light bite. The crispy biscuit broke between his teeth, and powdered sugar fell on the corners of his lips. His usually cold and hard features revealed a rare childishness.

"Too sweet." He said it concisely, but did not put down the remaining half piece in his hand.

Ruan Xingchen curled her lips slightly, a little unconvinced: "Marin said the amount of sugar is just right."

Mo Xiaohan raised his eyes to look at her, his eyes seemed to be filled with stars, and he smiled faintly: "Then bake another plate."

Ruan Xingchen was stunned for a moment, looking at the genuine warmth in his eyes, then she smiled gently, the light in her eyes brighter than the sunlight outside the window.

"good."

The afternoon sun was especially gentle, casting a warm line across the corridor floor as it passed through the glass. Ruan Xingchen passed by with a cup of water and saw Mo Xiaohan standing at the door of the study. A hint of coldness still lingered between his brows, but when he caught sight of her, that coldness melted away.

"Come in." He reached out and naturally took the water cup from her hand. With his other hand, he gently put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the study. The warmth of his palm mixed with the sunlight fell on her waist.

Ruan Xingchen curled up in a soft chair, a collection of poems with a worn cover spread on her knees. The sunlight fell on the ends of her hair, giving it a soft golden edge.

Mo Xiaohan sat on the single sofa opposite her, with an unsigned document in his hand, the pen twirling between his fingers, but his eyes would occasionally pass over the paper and fall on her quiet profile.

"What are you looking at?" He finally spoke, breaking the silence in the room.

“Neruda.” She looked up at him, her fingertips lightly touching a line of poetry, and whispered, “‘I like you to be silent, as if you have disappeared.’”

Mo Xiaohan put down his pen, stood up, and walked over to sit beside her. The soft chair was spacious, and when he sat down, the distance between them instantly closed, and the clear scent of absinthe on his body lingered on the tip of his nose.

"Next sentence." His voice was deeper than usual.

Ruan Xingchen's fingertips gently brushed across the yellowed pages as he read, "'You hear me from afar, but my voice cannot reach you.'"

As soon as he finished speaking, his warm palm came over and gently placed it on the back of her hand. His palm had thin calluses from years of holding guns, but the temperature was unexpectedly warm.

“I don’t like that,” he said.

Ruan Xingchen looked up into his deep eyes, where her shadow was clearly reflected, and tiny pieces of light danced in them. She asked softly, "Which one do you like?"

Mo Xiaohan was silent for a moment, looking at her intently, and whispered, "'You are like my soul, like the flame in my dreams.'"

Ruan Xingchen's heart suddenly skipped a beat, as if it had been gently bumped by something, and a numbing feeling spread from his heart to every part of his body.

The sunlight filtered through the window, casting their long shadows on the carpet, overlapping closely, like a silent oath that required no words.

The light in the audio-visual room was dim at night, and only the dancing light and shadow on the screen illuminated Ruan Xingchen's profile. She was curled up on the large sofa, covered with a soft cashmere blanket.

"Amelie" was playing on the screen - this was the "emotional regulation film" designated by Professor Klein, who said that the warm kindness in the film could slowly heal her tense nerves.

When the camera cuts to the heroine secretly helping her lonely neighbor restore a photo of him from his youth, Ruan Xingchen suddenly speaks, her voice remarkably clear in the quiet room: "Today, Marlene taught me how to make cookies."

Mo Xiaohan was looking down at his phone, his fingertips sliding quickly across the screen, as if replying to an urgent email. Hearing this, he looked up at her and replied, "Mm, it's delicious."

"She asked me... if I wanted to learn how to make soufflé." Her voice was lower, her eyes still on the screen, as if she was talking to the people in the movie.

Mo Xiaohan paused tapping the screen. He was silent for a few seconds and asked, "Want to learn?"

Ruan Xingchen stared at the excited figure of the heroine on the screen, hummed softly, and added, "I'm a little scared."

It wasn't that I was afraid of Marlene, or that I wouldn't be able to make soufflé. Rather, I was afraid of the sudden longing to be closer to normal life—like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing there was nothing beneath you, yet still wanting to open your arms and embrace the seemingly warm breeze.

The sofa beside him sank slightly, and Mo Xiaohan moved over. His aura enveloped him, bringing a reassuring power.

"I'll go with you tomorrow," he said.

It was not a dissuasive “Don’t go”, nor a worried “It’s dangerous”, but a simple and direct “I’ll go with you”.

Ruan Xingchen turned her head and, with the help of the light from the curtain, she could clearly see the calm, almost stubborn tenderness in his eyes.

That gentleness was like the deep sea, embracing all her anxieties and fears.

——If you want to try, I will accompany you.

——No matter how many times, no matter how difficult it is.

She suddenly felt that those hidden fears didn't seem so scary anymore.