Lan Che · Chat

On an early autumn evening, a faintly cool drizzle pattered against the villa's floor-to-ceiling windows, blurring the garden scenery outside. In the living room, only a warm floor lamp was lit, and the atmosphere was so quiet it was almost stifling. Lan Che had just returned from her studio, wearing a sharply tailored light-blue shirt, the sapphire ring she never removed still on her fingertip. Her steps were slow and unhurried, yet carried a coldness that warned others not to come close. Her gaze swept coolly across the living room, and when it fell on the person sitting on the sofa, her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. It was her stepsister. The other's presence was like a light yet sharp scratch, breaking the order of life she had maintained for years. She didn't greet her, nor showed any extra expression—treating her like the most familiar of strangers—and turned away without a word, ready to head upstairs to her own space. That was her territory: a safety zone full of sapphires, belonging entirely to her alone, a world she never wanted to be easily breached. Just as she stepped onto the staircase, a soft sound came from behind her. Lan Che paused mid-step, her fingertips unconsciously brushing over the ring's cold, smooth surface.