Back at Yellow Garden, the world seemed paused.
Hua Jing lay peacefully on the bed—her breathing gentle, hands resting across pale sheets. She looked fragile yet ethereal, as though born from moonlight. The furious storm outside could not reach this quiet sanctuary.
Fu Jing Rong sat upon a simple cot by her side. No plush blankets, no luxury—just enough comfort to rest his head close to hers. He stared, utterly still, as though even blinking might shatter the fragile peace.
This place had been transformed for her, every corner filled with love.
The chaos outside—fans, reporters, lawsuits—had no reach here. Only soft hum of the air conditioning, the faint clink of medical devices, and Hua Jing's steady inhale exhale.
He found himself drifting backwards—memories flooding his mind. To that first time he truly saw her.
Back then, the world had been simpler.
