Chapter 172: Still Learning

Runze’s POV

Time does something strange.

It doesn’t stop. It simply slows down until every second feels stretched out and thin.

For one heartbeat, the room disappears. The maids, Mrs. Wen, the tea service on the table... all of it fades away. Even the pressure of Bael’s arm around my waist feels distant.

There is only her.

She looks exactly as I remember.

Elegant, collected, and beautiful in that quiet, effortless way that always belonged to her. Her long hair is pinned loosely over one shoulder, and a pair of small pearl earrings catch the light every time she moves her head. The cream-colored dress she wears isn’t extravagant, just refined and neat. Perfectly Feifei. She has always looked like someone who belongs exactly where she stands.

My chest tightens, a familiar ache pressing behind my ribs. It has only been a few months, but somehow, it feels like a mountain of distance wrapped into a few steps.

Our eyes meet across the space.

Neither of us smiles. Neither of us speaks.

She studies me, taking her time. She isn’t looking at my clothes or the expensive furniture. She is looking at me.

Her gaze travels slowly across my face, pausing on the faint scar near my temple. She notices the weight I’ve lost, the slight hollows in my cheeks, and the way I am unconsciously leaning my weight into Bael’s side. Her eyes drop slightly to my lap, where the soft blanket fails to fully hide the slight, rounded curve of my stomach.

When her eyes return to mine, they soften. It only lasts for the briefest second, a flash of something familiar before she blinks it away.

Then she begins to walk.

The room is so quiet I can hear the faint click of her heels against the floor. Every step feels loud. Halfway across the room, her eyes catch the mantlepiece and the side table.

She slows down. It is barely noticeable, just a tiny hitch in her stride, but I see it.

She looks at the family portrait first, Grandmother seated proudly in the center, Bael and me standing right behind her. Then her gaze shifts to the smaller frame. Just the two of us, Bael looking down at me instead of the camera, my fingers laced through his.

She looks at it for no more than two seconds, then she continues walking toward us without a word.

I don’t know why, but seeing her look at those photographs makes something inside me bruise. It’s the physical proof of the life I’ve built without her, born from the mess that broke us apart.

She reaches the sofa opposite ours. Mrs. Wen gestures gently toward the cushions. "Miss Li."

"Thank you," Feifei says. Her voice is smooth, professional, and entirely controlled.

She sits down, placing her handbag neatly beside her thigh. She folds her hands together in her lap, her posture perfect.

Silence follows.

An awkward, unfamiliar silence settles over all of us. Once, a silence like this would never have happened between us. Once, she would have already been teasing me about my messy hair, or asking whether I’d eaten a real meal, or complaining that I’d become even more antisocial since she last saw me.

Now, we sit facing one another like distant relatives at a formal gathering, neither of us quite sure whose turn it is to speak. The distance hurts far more than I expected.

Bael doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t say a word to fill the gap or force the conversation, he simply remains steady beside me, his hand resting securely around my waist beneath the small blanket, letting me know he is there. Waiting.

Feifei is the first to break. She looks at my face again, her lips thinning.

"...You look terrible."

I blink, the bluntness catching me off guard. "...Hello to you too."

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, the old, defensive reflex kicking in.

For the first time since she entered the room, something changes in her face. It isn’t panic, but a slight flicker of regret. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

"That’s not what I meant."

She lets out a sigh, so quiet it’s almost inaudible.

"You used to have more cheeks," she says, her tone dropping some of its stiff formality. "You look small."

Without thinking, I lift my left hand and touch my own face, my fingers pressing against my cheekbone. "...I did?"

"Yes."

Another silence drops over us. Neither of us knows what to do with the observation, or how to bridge the gap between how I look now and how she remembers me.

Then she looks down at my torso. "Which side?"

I frown, confused by the sudden shift. "...What?"

"Your stomach," she says. Her voice is quiet, matter-of-fact, like she’s asking about an everyday chore. "I heard you got hit there..."

"The left," I answer, my voice dropping. I rest my palm lightly against the place that still aches sometimes.

Feifei nods once. She leans forward just an inch, her eyes tracking the movement of my hand. She doesn’t reach out to touch me, but she is checking.

"Does it still hurt?"

The question catches me completely off guard. Not because it’s unusual, but because of how it sounds.

It sounds exactly like the Feifei I grew up with.

"Sometimes," I admit quietly, looking down at my lap. "When I laugh too hard, or if the weather changes."

A tiny, sharp crease appears between her brows, her professional mask slipping a little further.

"Then you’re still laughing too hard."

The sentence is so absurdly familiar that the tension in my shoulders finally begins to give way. I don’t laugh, but I can’t help the small smile that touches my lips.

She notices it immediately. The corner of her own mouth twitches instinctively, a ghost of her old smile appearing, before she remembers where we are and what lies between us.

The smile disappears almost as quickly as it came, her lips flattening back into a neutral line.

The comfort we used to share is still missing, the easy warmth isn’t there yet.

But the love hasn’t gone anywhere.

The silence settles again, softer than before. Feifei looks up. Not at me, but at Bael.

It isn’t hostile. It’s the look of someone taking a proper measure of the person standing guard over my life. Bael meets her gaze evenly, giving a single, quiet nod of acknowledgment.

"Has he been sleeping?" she asks.

"Better," Bael responds.

"Eating?"

"More."

She nods slowly, absorbing this, her eyes remaining on his face for a beat longer.

She isn’t asking out of politeness. She’s asking the person who’s been there for every difficult day I couldn’t tell her about.

Feifei exhales, the residual stiffness in her shoulders releasing slightly. "Good."

She looks back at me.

"I’m glad you’re still laughing too hard."

Not a joke, not quite. The way she says it is too careful for that, too deliberate. What she means is underneath it — *I’m glad you’re happy enough to. I’m glad you’re still the kind of person who laughs until his ribs hurt. I’m glad that part of you made it through.*

My throat closes. I don’t trust myself to answer, so I just look at her. For a moment, the painful distance between us doesn’t feel quite so vast.

She doesn’t stay much longer after that. This was never going to be a long visit, and we both understood that before she even sat down.

There is still too much history between us for a long conversation. What we managed today is smaller than a full resolution, but it is far larger than nothing.

When she stands, I begin to rise too. Bael’s grip around my waist tightens slightly, firmly supporting my weight so the strain doesn’t pull at my side.

Feifei watches his hand, then looks up at my face. The tight lines of her expression loosen a fraction more, and she picks up her bag.

We stand facing each other across the small distance.

"Runze," she says quietly. The tone of her voice today is different from the gala. It lands the way it used to, free of cold formality. "Take care of yourself."

"...I’m glad you came," I say.

The corner of her mouth moves, turning into a small, real smile. Then she turns toward the door.

I watch her go. She walks past the mantlepiece, her pace slowing just for a brief second as she passes the side table with our photos. Then she passes through the open double doors, her heels clicking quietly down the corridor until the sound fades away.

The sitting room settles.

I sit back down slowly, leaning back into Bael’s side. He adjusts the blanket over my lap, his hand finding mine and squeezing it gently.

Outside, the faint sound of her car moving down the driveway carries through the window.

I reach up, my fingers brushing the pendant at my throat.

It isn’t just the fact that she showed up today that makes the tight knot in my chest loosen. It is the way she looked at me, the questions she asked Bael, and the real effort she made to bridge the gap.

She is trying. In her own quiet way, she is forgiving me, and we are finally beginning to find our way back to each other.

For today, that is more than enough.