C4 Welcome back.

"Speak... why aren’t you speaking now?"

There was silence.

On the other end of the line, all he could hear was the shallow, ragged breathing of a woman—agonizing, strained, like someone who wanted to speak but couldn’t. Each breath was a scream without sound, pressing like a thorn into his chest.

His brows furrowed. His voice, still low, trembled with a frustration born of pain.

"Talk to me. Why won’t you say anything? Is that you?"

His hand clenched the phone tighter, as if gripping it could somehow pull the words out of her. But the silence continued, deafening. Unbearable.

Xia, standing nearby, couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. His face—so calm just moments ago—was now taut with emotion, his usually impassive eyes lit with a flicker of torment.

Who is this person who can unravel him like this?

She had never met such a woman, but the storm brewing inside her chest told her she didn’t need to. She already knew. There’s only one person who ever had that kind of power over him…

Her stomach knotted. Her nails dug into her palm, drawing faint crescents of pain, but on her face bloomed a sweet, practiced smile. She couldn’t show weakness. Not in front of him.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ziyan turned to her, voice calmer but eyes still distant.

“Ah, nothing!” she said quickly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear with a fake laugh. “I was just thinking about tomorrow’s event. Who was on the phone just now?”

She leaned into him, her arms wrapping around his like a vine seeking reassurance. But her heart raced, desperate for an answer. Say it wasn’t her. Anyone but her.

He exhaled slowly. “No one. The line disconnected. No one spoke.”

And that was the truth. The line had gone dead, but not before embedding a new splinter of unease into his heart. A soundless call, but one that shook him more than any conversation could.

Xia hugged him tighter, whispering,

“Welcome back, Ziyan.”

The party had celebrated his return, but Ziyan felt no joy. Not truly. His expression, though beautiful, held the cold hollowness of someone who lived on ice. No one could tell what he was feeling.

To him, this place was a graveyard of memories.

Here, he had everything—his parents, his childhood, his cousins who were more like brothers, and the dizzying heartbeat of first love. And here, he had lost it all. His father. His dreams. Himself.

After excusing himself from Xia and Mrs. Qing, Ziyan sank back into work. He always did. Work was the only place he could drown the memories. After his father’s death, he had thrown himself into the business world at the age of twenty. He built an empire from ruins, forged it with sleepless nights and silent sacrifices.

And yet, none of that mattered—not when she haunted him.

The same delicate face still lived rent-free in his mind, a ghost more vivid than reality. Just thinking of her made his jaw tighten, his fists curl. The shadows in his eyes deepened, the edges of his control frayed.

Seven years. Seven years of searching. Of nothing.

She had vanished from his life like a leaf in the wind. She was married now. A mother.

His heart twisted. How could she? How could she smile like that in another man’s world while I searched for her in every corner of mine?

A sneer tugged at his lips. The hurt morphed into fury.

You gave me pain—I'll give it back. Double.

"Ziyan, what if we go visit Grandma tomorrow?” Xia’s voice broke into his spiral. “She always asks about you whenever I see her.”

“I’ll go when I have time.”

His voice was flat, but Xia lit up like he had promised her the world. She threw her arms around him, beaming. “Really?! Promise me!”

He gave a slight nod. It was nothing to him. But to her, it was everything. Her grandmother had sworn she’d ask Ziyan for Xia’s hand the moment she saw him again. Mrs. Qing. Mistress of this house. The words had played in her fantasies for years.

“Max will drive you home, Xia. It’s getting late. You should rest.”

The gentle but firm dismissal hit her like a cold slap. She blinked the sting away, nodded sweetly, and left.

As she walked away, Mrs. Qing’s voice called from behind,

“Ziyan? Where’s Xia? I was looking for her!”

“She left. And you should rest too, Mom.” He hugged her gently and guided her up the stairs.

---

At dawn.

The world was quiet, painted in soft blue and ash. Ziyan stood before a tombstone, the picture on it unmistakably that of his father—Ryan Qing, the legend. Ziyan slowly knelt, the weight of years bearing down on his shoulders.

“Hey, Dad. Do you miss me?” His voice cracked slightly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner… I miss you too.”

He glanced at the name engraved in the marble.

“No one in this world holds more power than Qing now. I kept your dream alive. I made it real. But…”

His voice trailed off. The pain wasn’t in the empire he built. It was in the promise left unfinished.

“I remember my vow. Everyone from that day... I’ll never forget. And I’ll never let them go. I swear to you.”

He stood, brushing dust off his trousers, and turned.

Not far from his father’s tomb, two more gravestones stood. One belonged to a man. The other, to a girl no older than fifteen.

Ziyan’s breath caught.

She was beautiful—even in the picture, frozen in time. Just as he remembered her. Just as innocent. Just as lost.

His eyes locked on her smile, and the storm inside him threatened to rise again.