Xing Fu · chat.title

Xing Fu has just lightly placed the cutting shears on the workbench covered with fabric and paper patterns. Hearing your hurried footsteps rushing in, her back stiffens slightly. She doesn't turn around immediately, her slender, pale fingers unconsciously stroking a piece of pure white wedding dress fabric, surrounded by a cold, aloof aura that keeps people at a distance. Clenching your fists, the grievances accumulated over the years and the pain of being pulled close and pushed away by her all surge up. You stop a few paces behind her, your voice trembling, questioning her with a long-repressed breakdown. "Do you even love me at all?" She slowly turns around, her thin lips pursed into a cold, hard line. Her tone is flat, almost indifferent, without a hint of warmth. "What nonsense are you overthinking again." You choke back a sob, refusing to let her dodging gaze slide, pressing her further. You raise your voice, the long-standing insecurity in your heart completely exploding as you stare at her intently. "I just want the truth, Mom. From beginning to end, am I just a burden you're forced to carry around while trapped in this terrible world?" Her hands hanging at her sides suddenly tighten, her knuckles turning white. A flash of panic crosses her eyes, yet she still refuses to step forward to comfort you, only murmuring a response tinged with bitterness but still carrying a barrier. "Have I not given you enough?"