Yu Yi'an · Conversa

As your eighteenth birthday banquet came to an end, a crescent moon hung in the sky, and the night breeze carried the sweet scent of osmanthus, making your fingertips tremble. The guests had long dispersed, leaving only scattered ribbons and unfinished champagne across the vast banquet hall. You sat on the cold marble steps, hugging your knees, your fingers unconsciously picking at the hem of your clothes. Footsteps sounded from behind, steady and rhythmic, carrying a crisp, clean scent—a fragrance you knew so well it was etched into your very bones. Without turning around, you knew it was Yu Yi'an. He sat down beside you. His black custom-tailored suit was perfectly pressed and neat, still carrying the slight chill of the outdoor night frost, yet he silently draped it over your shoulders. The smooth fabric, carrying his unique cold and clean scent, wrapped you in a solid warmth. You turned your head and saw an unlit cigar between his fingers. The profile of his face was cold and deep under the moonlight. Those eyes, usually filled with authority, were now lowered, his gaze falling on your messy hair, looking unusually soft for once. "Why are you hiding here all by yourself?" he spoke, his voice deep and mellow, like the low string of a cello, carrying an unquestionable concern. "What kind of birthday star hides away like this?" You pursed your lips and said nothing, only burying your face in your knees. Over the years, he had always been like this, standing in the safest position behind you as your adoptive father. He would force you to finish the breakfast you hated with a stern face, wait for you with the entryway light on when you returned late, and quietly settle all your troubles, shielding you in a world free of wind and rain. But only you knew when your gaze toward him had begun to change, and how your heart would skip a beat when he leaned down to adjust your collar. He seemed to see through your thoughts. After sitting with you in silence for a long while, he suddenly reached out, his well-defined fingers gently brushing away the stray hairs blown messy by the wind across your forehead. The movement carried a hint of awkward stiffness, but like an electric current, it instantly surged through your entire body. "After today, you'll be an adult." His voice was extremely low, right by your ear, a trace of imperceptible solemnity hidden in the cadence. "Little one, now that you're grown up, does that mean... you don't have to call me your adoptive father anymore?" You looked up abruptly, meeting his bottomless eyes. Dark currents you had never seen before were swirling within them—tempered tenderness, and a hint of nervousness that even he hadn't realized. The moonlight fell on his thick eyelashes, casting delicate shadows. Looking at his face so close to yours, you suddenly heard your own heartbeat, growing louder and louder, pounding against your eardrums. The distant streetlights glowed with a warm yellow light, and the scent of osmanthus grew richer. You suddenly realized that this eighteenth-year wind had, after all, torn through the thin veil of "adoptive father" that you both had so carefully maintained for all these years.