Chapter 33: A Flood of Memories
——When all the broken truths emerge at the same time, she must make a choice at the intersection of light and darkness.
On the third night after the assassination, heavy rain poured down.
Ruan Xingchen returned to the past in his dream.
Next to the garbage dump in the Golden Triangle slums, the five-year-old girl clutched a piece of animal biscuit and looked at the boy covered in wounds.
The boy huddled in the tire, his body covered in wounds, blood mixed with mud forming hard lumps. The most striking thing was his left eye, with festering flesh stuck to his dirty face, but his right eye was surprisingly bright.
"Eat it," the dream self placed the biscuit in his palm. "My name is Ruan Xingchen, Xing for star, Chen for morning."
She hid outside the medical tent, her small hand gently holding his wrist, and guided him to write "Mo, Xiao, Han" stroke by stroke.
He gently held her finger and placed the ring engraved with "Eternal Daylight" on her left ring finger. She hooked her finger around his: "I will never forget Brother Xiaohan! When you grow up, you must come find me!"
Ruan Xingchen suddenly opened his eyes, his chest heaving violently, as if he had just struggled to surface from deep water.
Thunder roared outside the window, and heavy rain lashed against the glass. She was covered in cold sweat and clutched the sheets tightly with both hands.
The fragmented dreams that had plagued me since the car accident had never been so clearer. Those vague outlines, the crackling sounds, the warm touch, now all took on definite shapes.
She raised her hand and touched her left ring finger. The "Eternal Day" ring emitted a faint light in the darkness.
——She remembered.
Memories flooded through the dam built by PTSD, and those fragments that were cut off by the car accident and distorted by fear finally returned to their original appearance:
– Ten-year-old Mo Xiaohan had never been her protector.
– She was the one who reached out to him first.
And now, the boy has become a dark emperor entrenched in Southeast Asia, with blood on his hands, but he gave all his remaining tenderness to her.
Ruan Xingchen curled up his knees and buried his face deeply in the soft pillow. The faint scent of absinthe on the pillowcase was the trace he left last night.
She should be afraid.
She should scream, run, and resist this murderous man.
But why, why does my heart hurt like it's being torn in two?
"Crack—"
The moment the thunder exploded, the door was pushed open. A familiar scent drifted in with the cold wind. The crispness of absinthe, mixed with a faint smell of blood, was particularly clear in the humid air.
Mo Xiaohan stood at the door, his black nightgown was soaked in the dampness of the rainy night and felt cold. The bandage on his left arm was still oozing with blood. It was obvious that he had rushed over immediately after hearing the noise.
"Having a nightmare?" His voice was much hoarse than usual, and his eyes were filled with anxiety.
Ruan Xingchen raised her head from the pillow. In the dim light, she could clearly see his furrowed brows and trembling eyelashes. She suddenly realized that the tension in his eyes was exactly the same as that of the boy who caught the biscuits that year.
"I remember." She heard her own voice, as light as falling raindrops.
Mo Xiaohan's breathing obviously stopped for a second, his Adam's apple rolled for a moment, and then he spoke with difficulty: "Including..."
"Including who you are." She interrupted him, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the ring.
The sound of rain suddenly became louder, filling the silence between the two.
Mo Xiaohan stood there motionless, as if waiting for her to make a judgment. This tyrant who controlled the entire Southeast Asian underworld seemed so... helpless at this moment.
Ruan Xingchen suddenly lifted the quilt and stepped barefoot on the cold floor. Before he could react, she had walked in front of him and raised her hand to gently stroke his injured left arm.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
Mo Xiaohan's pupils suddenly contracted.
He saw the pain in her eyes and the trembling of her fingertips. This was not fear, nor was it a question. It was her taking the initiative to reach out to him again after seventeen years.
"Why did you block the knife for me?" she asked, her fingertips touching the warm skin under the bandage, "You are clearly..."
"Because you are the only light in my dark world." Mo Xiaohan suddenly grabbed her hand and pressed it against his heart, "And I... am willing to be your prisoner."
The heartbeat can be felt through the palm of my hand, hot and vivid.
Ruan Xingchen couldn't hold it back any longer, tears welling up in her eyes. The trembling she'd felt trapped in the auction house, the grievance suppressed by PTSD, the longing severed by amnesia, and the unease shrouded in darkness all poured out at that moment.
Mo Xiaohan wiped away her tears with his thumb, his voice so soft as if he was afraid to shatter a dream: "You can be afraid of anyone in this world, but you don't have to be afraid of me."
He slowly lowered his head and held her face. The scar on his left eye looked particularly gentle in the moonlight. "Because in front of you, I will always be just that boy...waiting for you to give me cookies."
Outside the window, the heavy rain gradually subsided.
When the first ray of morning light penetrated the clouds, Ruan Xingchen nodded gently in his arms.
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