Chapter 117: Ch 117: Childhood Echoes and Warm Arms

While PD Xu Cui and the children ate peacefully somewhere in the village, the two adults remained seated beneath the trees, each left alone with their own thoughts. The afternoon light had softened into a deeper gold, filtering through the canopy in shifting, luminous patches.

A gentle breeze stirred the leaves overhead, carrying the faint scent of earth, sun-warmed bark, and distant wildflowers. The quiet rustle of the forest mixed with the occasional distant birdcall, creating a soft, almost dreamlike stillness around them.

Su Wanyan gazed at the greenery surrounding them, carefully taking in every detail of the quiet forest. The way the light filtered through the leaves, the soft sway of the branches, the distant calls of birds—everything felt almost unreal in its beauty. The cool shade beneath the trees wrapped around her like a gentle blanket, so different from the sterile white walls and fluorescent lights she had known for so long.

How beautiful, she thought.

She wasn’t sure how many times she had already said those words since arriving in the countryside, yet she couldn’t stop herself from thinking them again and again. Each time the thought rose, it carried a quiet sense of wonder, as if her heart still hadn’t fully accepted that such a peaceful place could exist for her.

In her past life she had never been able to enjoy something like this. Her days had been spent almost entirely inside the family clinic.

She worked constantly—just to put food on the table, to pay the bills, to keep the clinic running, and to support an alcoholic father and a mother who had become addicted to gambling. The memory of those years sat heavy in her chest, familiar and worn from how often she had carried it.

She still didn’t fully understand how their family had fallen so far. As far as she could remember, they hadn’t always been that dysfunctional. Her father had once been the head doctor of the clinic, respected and steady. Her mother had worked as his assistant, efficient and warm.

The family had even been relatively well-off. Back then her only real worry had been studying hard enough to earn her medical license and eventually take over the clinic. Those days had felt simple, almost bright.

Then one day everything collapsed. Debt buried them, and patients stopped coming. The clinic that had once been filled with quiet voices and the soft scent of antiseptic grew silent and strained.

Fortunately Su Wanyan managed to obtain her license, succeed her father, and slowly pay off what they owed. The process had been long and exhausting, each payment a small victory against a mountain of pressure.

The cost, however, had been her entire life. Every day became the same exhausting cycle: work, eat, work, work, work, work, eat, then start all over again the next morning. The only real grace in that life had been watching her little patients recover and receiving their clumsy drawings and handfuls of candy as thanks. Those small, bright moments had been the only color in an otherwise gray routine.

The memory made her chuckle softly. She could still picture her office desk buried under piles of colorful drawings and sweets from the children she had treated. Stick-figure families, uneven hearts, and the occasional unidentifiable animal had covered every available surface.

A quiet nostalgia settled in her eyes as she lingered in those recollections, the soft forest light around her blurring slightly with the remembered glow of those small gifts.

Then a new thought surfaced.

Come to think of it....

Her mind suddenly cleared, as though a thick mist had been lifted. The shift was sharp and unexpected, like stepping from fog into open air.

Didn’t I have parents in this world too?

She remembered their faces, their likes and dislikes, the shared memories she had of them—all of it appeared with startling clarity. The sharpness of those recollections felt suspicious.

It was as if something, or someone, had been deliberately trying to make her forget them until now. The details that had been soft and distant only moments ago now stood clear and solid in her mind: the sound of their voices, the way they moved, the quiet habits that had once been ordinary.

Su Wanyan’s thoughts paused. Isn’t this the same thing that happened with Shen Guoxing?

When she had first received the urgent call about Shen Guoxing’s cardiac arrest, the moment the child’s name was spoken her mind had cleared in exactly the same way, as though a fog had suddenly lifted. The child’s face, the history, the quiet bond—everything had rushed back into focus with unnatural sharpness.

Now the same phenomenon was occurring with her parents in this world. She knew they existed and that they were still alive, yet only when she consciously forced herself to recall them did the memories become sharp and complete.

A frown creased her brow. Those three people are important to me... Are there any more people I’m forgetting?

Her hands clenched tightly in her lap as tension built inside her chest, searching for some way to be released. The soft forest around her suddenly felt less peaceful. The shifting light through the leaves, the quiet rustle of branches, the distant birdcalls—all of it continued as before, but the quiet beauty no longer fully reached her. Something was wrong. Something had been carefully, deliberately hidden.

Just as Su Wanyan was about to spiral deeper into her uneasy thoughts, she heard a small cough beside her. The soft sound cut through the quiet forest air like a gentle reminder. She turned at once and leaned closer, the dappled sunlight shifting across her shoulders as she moved.

"Are you alright, Xuexue?" she asked, worry clear in her voice. The cool breeze that had been stirring the leaves now felt sharper against her skin.

Mo Xingxue looked at her and gave a soft shake of her head. "Sorry. It’s a bit cold with all these breezes." She rubbed her arms with her palms, trying to warm herself. The soft fabric of her sleeves shifted under her hands, and a faint shiver still lingered in her posture.

Su Wanyan glanced down at her own long-sleeved shirt and frowned. I can’t exactly give her this.. she thought, looking at the slightly pitiful figure of Mo Xingxue. The omega’s shoulders were drawn in, and the soft light filtering through the leaves made her look smaller than usual.

Then a sudden idea struck her. "Ah!"

Without hesitation she moved closer, positioning herself beside the omega. With both arms she carefully gathered Mo Xingxue into a hug, guiding her head to rest against her chest and adjusting their positions until she was certain Mo Xingxue was comfortable.

The warmth of her body wrapped around the omega like a living blanket, steady and protective. The soft scent of snow lotus mixed with the faint forest air, and the quiet rhythm of their breathing slowly synced.

"Is this comfortable enough?" Su Wanyan asked, still making small adjustments, her hands careful and attentive.

Mo Xingxue listened to the steady, grounding rhythm of Su Wanyan’s heartbeat and smiled, snuggling closer. The solid warmth against her cheek and the quiet strength of the arms around her melted the lingering chill. "Yeah. This is good," she murmured, letting herself be fully wrapped in the alpha’s arms.

Su Wanyan smiled at the quiet reply. "That’s good." She began gently running her fingers through Mo Xingxue’s hair, combing the soft locks with slow, careful strokes. The strands slid between her fingers like silk, and the simple motion felt as natural as breathing.

For a while the two of them simply sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the quiet presence of one another. The leaves whispered overhead. Distant birds called. The soft golden light continued to shift across the grass around them. Then Su Wanyan heard a soft giggle from the woman in her arms. She looked down with a smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

"What are you laughing at, Xuexue?" she asked, her right hand slipping to Mo Xingxue’s side to deliver a light tickle. The touch was playful and familiar.

Mo Xingxue laughed and caught the mischievous hand, her fingers wrapping around Su Wanyan’s wrist. "I was just reminiscing about our childhood," she said, placing Su Wanyan’s hand back into a proper hug. The warmth of the contact lingered.

Su Wanyan let out a long, understanding "Ahh." The sound carried quiet nostalgia.

Mo Xingxue laughed again and tilted her face up. The soft light caught the edges of her features. "Do you still remember it?" she asked, hope soft in her voice.

Su Wanyan smiled and nodded. "Of course!" Her eyes brightened as the old memories rose clearly, vivid and warm.

Back then the trees had looked like towering giants, their branches stretching so high that the sky became little more than scattered patches of blue between the leaves.

Every winding trail seemed to lead somewhere mysterious, and every patch of sunlight felt like an invitation to run through it. The indoor forest of the Mo family estate had been their kingdom—cool, green, and endless in the eyes of two children.

The two of them used to race around that indoor forest until their legs burned and their laughter echoed off the high glass ceiling. Even with only the two of them, games of tag had been endless fun simply because they had each other.

They would often run along the edge of the pond as well, dipping their feet or whole bodies into the cool water whenever no adults were watching. The splash of water, the slick feel of wet stone under their feet, the way they would shush each other while still giggling—those moments still lived in vivid color.

They had been inseparable, almost always holding hands wherever they went. The only times they separated were when one of them needed the bathroom or when Su Wanyan finally had to go home.

Once they met in the morning, they rarely left each other’s side until evening. The simple weight of a small hand in hers had felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Su Wanyan was pulled from the memories when Mo Xingxue laughed again. The sound was bright and teasing. "Do you remember when you wanted to show off and climbed a tree... And then couldn’t get down?"

Su Wanyan’s face immediately turned red. The memory of small hands gripping rough bark and the sudden, panicked realization that the ground looked much farther away than it should have rushed back. "Hey, that was a one-time thing!" she protested, shaking her head while Mo Xingxue burst into fresh laughter. The sound vibrated lightly against Su Wanyan’s chest.

Su Wanyan pouted and buried her face against the top of Mo Xingxue’s head, inhaling the familiar snow-lotus scent that always clung to her. The soft fragrance mixed with the forest air, grounding her in both past and present.

Feeling the reaction, Mo Xingxue laughed with quiet satisfaction, pleased that she had won yet another round. The victory was small and sweet.

Silence settled between them once more until Mo Xingxue spoke again. "Do you remember our little drawing and writing sessions?" she asked, laughter still coloring the last words. The soft rustle of leaves filled the brief pause.

Su Wanyan straightened and nodded. "How could I not?" She smiled and gently patted Mo Xingxue’s head. "That’s the best part of my childhood." The words carried quiet sincerity.

Mo Xingxue smiled in return and nodded. "It feels like it just happened yesterday, doesn’t it?" She absently played with Su Wanyan’s forearm, her fingers tracing light patterns against the skin.

Su Wanyan nodded. "Yeah. I still remember you telling me my drawings sucked," she said in a tone of mock annoyance. The memory of small, critical eyes examining a crooked stick-figure and declaring it "not good enough" still carried a faint sting of childhood pride.

Mo Xingxue laughed and raised an eyebrow. "You were the one who told me my poems sucked!" she retaliated, pulling slightly away from the hug so she could pinch Su Wanyan’s cheek. The touch was light and playful, the exact echo of countless childhood arguments.

Their eyes met. In the next moment they began listing every childhood crime the other had committed—failed drawings, terrible poems, daring dares, and silly arguments—laughing harder with each new recollection.

The soft forest around them seemed to lean in and listen, the golden light shifting across their faces as the old memories rose bright and alive once more.

Under the shade of the old trees, the past and present blended into something warm and unbroken. And for a little while, the quiet weight of forgotten things and fogged memories faded beneath the simple, familiar sound of shared laughter.

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I’m so sorry if there’s so many mistakes y’all... I’m sleepy af TvT.