The wolf could no longer catch up with his fox.
The corridor was too quiet, as if all sounds were sealed inside the door. The coldness of the metal door lock still lingered on her fingertips. She turned to push the door open, but he grabbed her forearm in the next second.
The force wasn't strong, but it felt like a tight string choking her, making it hard to breathe. She turned around and met those eyes—the wolfish nature, hardened for many years, was forced naked, filled with cracked light.
Mu Tianlang took a step forward, his forehead touching hers, his breath ragged and hot. His low, hoarse, almost unnatural voice broke softly between them: "Stay, please..."
Her throat felt constricted, and after a long pause, she managed to squeeze out, "You know I can't."
He moved an inch closer, his knuckles tightening unconsciously on her arm, as if trying to press her back into his chest. In that instant, she almost surrendered—if only he had pressed a little harder, if only he had said, "I'll take you away."
But he didn't. Even wolves have attachments, attachments deeper than their teeth.
His voice trailed off even softer, yet more frantic: "I beg you..."
Her eyes instantly reddened. This man never begged anyone. She raised her hand, her fingertips trembling, tracing his cheekbone to the end of his eyebrow, as if wiping away a rain that would never fall: "You know best, I can't."
The air was stretched taut like a bowstring. She heard him give a very soft "hmm," as if he were forced to admit it, as if he had bitten himself until he bled.
"Stop talking," she whispered, her voice trembling. "If you keep talking, I won't be able to leave."
He closed his eyes briefly, his eyelashes trembling violently. His palm slid from her arm to her hand, their fingers intertwining, a grip that was almost cruel. His lips pressed against her forehead, lingering for a long time, as if making a final stop before an ending.
"If I let go," he said, almost inaudibly, "would you come back?"
"Whether you let me go or not, I have to leave." Her voice sounded as if it had been cut, but she tried her best to make each word clear. "You have responsibilities to bear, and I also have to move forward."
He suddenly smiled, a smile as thin as shattered ice: "So you've learned to be as tough as me."
She smiled, but tears finally rolled down her cheeks: "No, I just want to make sure I can keep going."
He pulled her into his arms, the force so strong it hurt her chest. She pressed herself against his chest, hearing her heart, which he had always kept under his thumb, now pounding erratically against her ribs. Each pounding felt like it was trying to break free.
She didn't say "I love you." At this point, saying anything would be like stamping a mark on a wound.
She slowly backed away, prying his hands off her waist. With each finger she pried open, her hands trembled. When the last finger was released, it felt as if she were being pulled out of him—the pain almost made her kneel.
She stepped back to the door, the back of her hand touching the cold metal. The doorknob felt stiff in her palm. She glanced at him, her eyes like a final look back at the forest.
"Tianlang," she called his name softly.
He held his head high, like a wounded wolf still struggling, his eyes red-rimmed, refusing to let the tears fall. He didn't speak, only nodded forcefully.
She took a breath and pulled the door back—
"No." He finally broke his voice, and his hand stretched forward.
She immediately closed the door a few more inches, almost giving up: "Please don't do this..."
Separated by a crack in the door, their breaths met in the same beam of cold light. His knuckles rested against the doorframe, gleaming white; her fingertips pressed against the same grain of wood, separated by millimeters of air, as if by a lifetime.
"You should leave," he finally said, his voice lowered as if he were being choked, "otherwise I'll do something wrong."
She closed her eyes and nodded, like a person split in two, forcing herself to keep only the half that could walk.
The moment the door opened, the light from the corridor cut in like a knife. She stepped out and turned to look at him.
He stood in the shadows, his back straight, like a flag torn by the wind but not falling. He used all his strength to swallow back the words "stay".
"I'm sorry," he finally uttered in a hoarse voice.
She wanted to reply, "It's not your fault," but found only shards of glass stuck in her throat. All she could do was mouth: Don't wait for me.
The door slowly closed in her hands. With a "click," the world was cut in two.
Outside the door, he slid down against the door panel, covering his face with his hands, his shoulders trembling, but not letting any sound escape; inside the door, she also sat down against the door panel, her knuckles gripping her knees tightly, biting her lip to swallow back her sobs.
Their breathing, on either side of the door, was strangely synchronized. Like a heart split in two, yet stubbornly in sync.
"I'm sorry," he said silently from outside the door.
"I know," she replied silently from inside the door.
He didn't know how much time had passed when the elevator's arrival time chimed at the end of the corridor, "Ding!" He wiped his face, propped himself up on his knees, and stood up. The person inside the door also slowly straightened up, holding onto the edge of the door.
He didn't knock on the door again. Nor did she open it.
She took two steps, then suddenly stopped and looked back at the door. A very thin ray of light shone through the crack in the door, like the last star in the night.
She whispered in her heart: My wolf.
He stood outside the door, his forehead pressed against the door panel, murmuring her name over and over again until his voice broke in his throat.
Airport announcements blared incessantly, the cold, electronic voices sounding like repeated urgings. Hu Li sat by the window in the waiting area, a silent painting tube and simple luggage beside him.
She didn't turn on her phone, but she knew that all the media outlets were currently broadcasting news about the arranged marriage in which she had been excluded. Like a bystander forcibly removed from the scene, she could only wait quietly here.
The gate indicator light came on. She picked up her paint tube and stood up. Her steps were steady, yet felt like walking on shattered glass, each step carrying a silent, stinging pain. Someone dragged a suitcase past; the sound of the zipper scraping against the ground felt like a scratch on her heart.
Standing at the security checkpoint, she looked back at the entire terminal building, a sea of people, but there was no familiar face. Her throat tightened, but she could only silently say in her heart: Goodbye, my wolf.
As the plane taxied, the runway lights outside the window flashed by one by one. Her forehead rested against the glass, her eyes vacant for a moment, before she finally murmured softly, "It's time to go."
The venue for the marriage press conference was brightly lit, and the spotlights shone like countless swords, striking him repeatedly. Mu Tianlang, dressed in a black suit, stood in the center of the spotlight, his expression as cold and stern as iron, his lips tightly pressed together.
A reporter asked, "Mr. Mu, was this marriage based on your personal wishes?"
His tone was icy: "Everything will be in accordance with the company's strategic arrangements."
A few short words, cold as a cutting line. Standing beside him, Jiang Rouyin's smile was just right, her posture elegant, like an impeccable declaration of cooperation.
The flashbulbs went off, but his knuckles clenched tightly at his sides, veins bulging, as if he were suppressing something. He didn't look at anyone in the audience anymore, only casting his gaze into the farthest corner, creating a icy barrier between himself and reality.
The news anchor's voice came through the live screen: "The Mu family and the Jiang family have reached a comprehensive strategic cooperation agreement, and the wedding date will be announced today."
He stood ramrod straight, his eyes empty, like a lone wolf hidden in the urban jungle, calm and shrewd, burying all his emotions deep within.
He didn't let anyone see—at that moment, his heart was actually bleeding.
Six months later, in Provence, France.
Hu Li's first overseas solo exhibition was held in a European-style manor museum. On the opening night, the lights and voices mingled. The hall was full of art critics and collectors, and the bubbles of champagne rose slowly in the glasses, like a silent countdown.
She wore a cream-colored long dress, her hair simply styled in a bun, her expression serene yet her eyes shone brightly. Emma, standing beside her, greeted the guests, while she paused before each painting, patiently answering reporters' questions.
"Fox's Running Man series has amazing colors."
"Yes, the art style is completely different from before, as if a new power has burst forth."
The reporter asked, "What was the inspiration for this creation?"
Hu Li looked at the fox with its head held high on the wall, a slight smile playing on his lips: "From my love."
As soon as the five words were uttered, the entire audience fell silent for half a second, followed by gasps of amazement and the clicking of camera shutters.
In the shadows of the second-floor observation deck, a tall figure stood silently. Mu Tianlang, dressed in a dark gray suit, did not enter the crowd, but watched the woman who had uttered "love" from behind a pane of glass.
Those words weren't spoken to anyone, yet they seemed to travel through the air and land in his chest—silent, yet heavier than a thousand words.
His hand was clutching something tightly in his pocket, his knuckles white—a pendant with a wolf and a fox intertwined. A glint flashed in his eyes, but he forcefully suppressed it.
After the party, the air in the garden was filled with the scent of tuberose. Hu Li walked alone along the stone path, her fingertips lightly touching the pendant around her neck, a faint smile playing on her lips. Unbeknownst to her, in the shadows of the rose bushes in the distance, Mu Tianlang stood quietly, his gaze fixed on her.
He didn't approach, but whispered in his heart: Fox.
His throat trembled slightly, and the light in his eyes flickered, as if he wanted to say something, but ultimately swallowed it silently.
He turned and left, his steps silent, as if he had never existed. But just before he turned away, his gaze lingered on her, a flicker of restrained light flashing for a moment, like the final gaze of a wolf trapped in the night, silent yet unforgettable.
In the shadows at the end of the corridor, he clutched the pendant tightly in his palm, his knuckles white. His throat bobbed, but no sound came out.
"If I take another half a step closer, I won't let you leave."
He said it to himself, knowing that she would never hear it again.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
