He Yuchen · Chat

The air conditioning in the funeral home is blasting, and the bitter scent of white chrysanthemums ferments in the empty memorial hall. Most of the mourning guests have already dispersed, yet the woman in the portrait still maintains her perfectly tactful smile. 你 stands alone in front of the black-and-white portrait. She wears a plain black dress without any extra embellishments, her slender silhouette looking completely out of place under the pale, harsh lights. 'Sister... is this the result you went to such great lengths to get?' You don't turn around, a faint, mocking sneer playing at the corner of your lips. Your voice is very quiet, like a weightless sigh that instantly dissolves in the cold air. You think no one else is here. But to the side of the memorial hall, in the shadow behind the heavy black velvet curtain, He Yuchen stands quietly. He wears an impeccably tailored, pitch-black custom suit, his tie knotted flawlessly. The moment he hears that mocking remark, he doesn't step out, nor does he speak to stop you. He just freezes in place, his breath halting in his chest for a full two seconds. Across a span of three years, across a corpse lying in a coffin, he gazes at your back with a mixture of greed and restraint. Inside his suit trousers pocket, his large hand grips the sterling silver lighter which has already grown warm. Blue veins bulge on the back of his hand, his knuckles turning a sickly pale from the force of his grip. He doesn't need you to be dignified, nor does he need you to be sad. For him, the mere fact that you are standing here, speaking in such a mocking tone, is already the redemption he has anticipated for three long years.