Red-haired girl
—Victor Lin, before he spoke for the first time, saw a black snow.
4:20 a.m., west wing of the manor.
The fireplace was turned down to its lowest setting, and the pine wood crackled like an old man coughing.
Yu Chen was allowed to stay alone, the door ajar—this was the trust that Vicky had never given to any outsider, and it was also the first time she had truly stepped into the heart of her enemy's territory.
Arlin sat in the center of the carpet, his back to the fireplace, facing a "snow house" made entirely of playing cards.
It had no color, only white with its back facing up, like bones that had been stripped of flesh and blood.
His fingers were long and slender, but his knuckles were pale, and he was pressing the last card against the roof.
The moment he finished, he looked up at Yu Chen's dyed black hair, his gaze seemingly piercing through a layer of non-existent snow.
Yu Chen crouched down, keeping his eye on him, and lowered her voice to a whisper:
"Your Highness, may I ask a few questions?"
She spoke in Chinese, without a Parisian accent, as if afraid of disturbing the skeleton of the igloo.
Alin didn't answer, but simply tilted his head slightly, his brown pupils reflecting the fireplace firelight like two diluted honeys.
His gaze fell on the tip of her hair—there, a very faint red streak, concealed by black dye, yet revealed in the firelight.
He blinked, as if to make sure the igloo wouldn't collapse, before nodding very slightly.
"ask."
"What time does your father usually get up?"
"Six o'clock, without fail."
What do you do after you get up?
"Coffee, two spoonfuls of sugar, then watch the casino's security footage from the previous night."
What is he most afraid of?
Ah Lin's fingertip paused on the edge of the playing card, and after a long while, he uttered two words:
"lose."
What was lost? Yu Chen didn't ask, afraid of disturbing the snow house.
She changed the question:
"Is there a safe in his study?"
Ah Lin looked up, his gaze falling once more on her dyed black hair, his voice so low it was almost inaudible:
"Yes, the password is..."
He paused, as if recalling something, or perhaps confirming it:
"Your birthday, in reverse order."
I made the changes.
Yu Chen's knuckles tightened silently, but his face remained expressionless. He simply uttered a soft "Oh," as if it were the first time he had heard of it.
Alin suddenly leaned forward, his brown pupils less than ten centimeters from hers, his voice as soft as falling snow:
"Have you... been here before?"
Yu Chen's heart skipped a beat, but she smiled and spoke in a low, steady voice:
"This is my first time here."
Alin lowered his eyes and touched the tip of her hair with his fingertips—there, a very faint red flashed in the firelight, like the only color in the snow house.
His voice was even lower, as if he were talking to himself:
“When I was a child, there was a red-haired girl who also built a cardboard sign here.”
He paused, his amber pupils reflecting the fireplace firelight like two drops of diluted honey:
"She told me that if the snow house collapsed, I had to run."
Yu Chen's fingertips trembled slightly, but she smiled and spoke in a low, steady voice:
"Your Highness remembers it very clearly."
Suddenly, Alin reached out and touched her knuckles with his fingertips—there were thin calluses and old scars there, like cracks in another snow house.
His voice was as soft as falling snow:
"Are you... her?"
Yu Chen didn't answer, but simply reached out and gently pulled out the card from the very top of the snow house—
The entire white building collapsed instantly, and the playing cards scattered all over the ground like an avalanche.
Her voice was low and steady, like the final stroke of a brush on a snow house:
"The snow house has collapsed; Your Highness should run."
Ah Lin remained seated, his amber pupils reflecting the white bones scattered on the ground, his voice as soft as falling snow:
"I won't run."
He looked up, his gaze passing through her dyed black hair, as if passing through a layer of non-existent snow:
"I will wait for the sun to return."
The fireplace fire dimmed, the igloo collapsed, and the playing cards scattered on the floor resembled bones stripped of their flesh and blood.
Yu Chen stood up, his back to the fireplace, his voice low and steady:
Good night, Your Highness.
She turned and walked towards the door, her shadow stretched long by the firelight, like an unfinished axis of symmetry.
Alin sat there, his brown pupils reflecting the white bones scattered on the ground, his voice as soft as falling snow:
Goodnight, redhead.
The snow, unknown to anyone, continues to fall.
The snow is like the red hair from my childhood memories, the running from the collapsed snow house, the birthday in reverse chronological order, and the softest yet most deadly blow behind the muzzle of a gun.
The snow hasn't melted, the sun hasn't returned, the snow house has collapsed, yet some people sit in the same spot, waiting for the sun to come back.
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