He hovered over her, a rare, playful smile on his lips. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her sides, eliciting soundless giggles from her.
The sight of her joyous, silent laughter was a balm to his hardened heart. Here, away from the judging eyes...
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Shuren stood in the pavilion, his posture rigid, hands clasped behind his back as he observed his wife in the garden below.
Her delicate form bent over a rose bush, inspecting a broken stem with tender care.
A sneer twisted across his lips, and his voice dripped with mockery as he muttered, “What was old man Liang even thinking, marrying his precious daughter to a man like me? Careless, sending such a fragile flower to wither in a place like this.”
The butler, who had just arrived with a glass of liquor, quietly set it down on the table beside him. “Perhaps, Young Master,” he responded in a measured tone, “he saw strength in the rose that others could not. It takes a certain resilience to thrive in unexpected places.”
Shuren’s smirk deepened as he took the glass, downing the drink in a single, swift motion.
Strength in this delicate beauty? The sharp burn of the liquor was fleeting, but he relished the sensation, feeling it warm him from within.
So vulnerable, like a lamb waiting for the slaughter.
He descended from the pavilion, his gaze fixed on Meilin. She had moved to a crouch, her slender fingers untying the ribbon around her loose braid, allowing the dark strands to cascade over her shoulders.
With an almost reverent tenderness, she tended to the rose, cradling the damaged stem with motherly care.
For a moment, Shuren simply watched her, the difference between her gentle nature and his own hardened demeanor piquing his curiosity.
They say you get what you deserve, so why not him?
With deliberate steps, he approached her, the crunch of gravel under his boots the only sound betraying his presence.
Shuren crouched beside Meilin, his smirk softening into something almost like a smile as he wordlessly began helping her steady the fragile stem.
His large hands, usually so rough and commanding, moved with uncharacteristic gentleness. As he held the stem in place, he murmured, “It’s ruined now. Why waste your time on something that won’t survive?”
Meilin glanced at him, her eyes briefly revealing a vulnerability she rarely let surface.
She remained silent, her lips parting in a faint breath as she focused on her task. With calm determination, she tied the ribbon around the drooping stem, securing it as best she could.
Her actions seemed to convey to him that it may be ruined now, but even the broken deserve a chance to stand.
Shuren shook his head, a mocking sigh escaping his lips. Without warning, he did something unexpected—he reached out and plucked the very rose she had been so carefully tending.
The delicate flower, which might have recovered with her care, was now severed from its stem, its chance of revival gone.
He held the rose up, examining it with cold indifference. “Some things,” he muttered, his tone laced with cruel amusement, “are better left to wither.”
