Chapter 129: Ch 129: Never Your Fault

As Han Jiho and the assistant director disappeared between the trees, the clearing settled into a quieter, heavier silence. A light breeze moved through the canopy, carrying the quiet scent of earth and greenery. Birds called lightly from the branches.

Everything about the setting suggested an ordinary, perfect afternoon—yet the weight held between the two people beneath the trees was anything but ordinary.

Su Wanyan buried her face in the crook of Mo Xingxue’s neck. "I’m sorry," she croaked, the words thick and broken. "I’m so sorry."

Mo Xingxue cried with her, pressing closer until her own tears soaked into Su Wanyan’s shoulder. The soft fabric between them grew damp with the shared weight of everything that had broken open. "Don’t be," she managed. "I’m the one who should be sorry. I’ve brought you into this me—"

Su Wanyan pulled back abruptly, cutting the apology short. The sudden space between them was small but deliberate.

"No."

Even with tears still streaking her face, her expression was steady and unyielding. The soft golden light through the leaves caught the edges of her features, but none of the earlier gentleness remained soft—it had hardened into something absolute. "It’s never your fault." The words landed with absolute firmness, leaving no space for argument. The quiet forest air carried them without dilution.

Mo Xingxue’s eyes filled again. Her lips trembled as older memories surged forward—memories she had tried for months to keep buried. The grass pressed under her as the past rose cold and heavy, uninvited and absolute.

She remembered the day she had finally forced the truth out, shame and humiliation burning in every word. She had gone to her parents hoping, desperately, for comfort. What she received instead was rejection and blame. The memory of that room—the cold light, the closed faces—still sat sharp behind her eyes.

"What were you wearing at the time?" her mother’s voice still shrieked through her nightmares. "It’s your fault this happened because of what you wore." The disappointment and open shame in those eyes had cut deeper than any physical wound. The words had settled into her bones like a second skin she had never managed to shed.

"Who will take you as a bride now?" her father had asked, voice cold and edged with disgust. "It’s your fault our company will take a hit because of this." The calculating look he had given her remained sharp in her mind even now. The concern had never been for her. It had been for the damage to the family’s image, the potential loss of value, the inconvenience of a daughter who had become inconvenient.

Mo Xingxue’s body began to shake harder. Her hands trembled uncontrollably. Her chest tightened until each breath came short and ragged. The soft forest light, the quiet rustle of leaves, the solid presence of Su Wanyan in front of her—all of it began to thin and slip away... The past was louder.

"Xuexue. Xuexue."

Su Wanyan’s voice was soft and careful. The sound tried to cut through the rising dark. When Mo Xingxue still did not respond, Su Wanyan gently cupped her face in both hands and brought it closer. The warmth of the contact was steady and deliberate, thumbs resting against the damp skin of her cheeks.

Mo Xingxue’s eyes were open but unfocused, clouded and distant. She was looking at Su Wanyan without truly seeing her; the rapid tremor in her gaze made it clear she was trapped somewhere else entirely. The soft, warm golden light through the leaves continued to shift across her face, but none of it reached the cold place she had gone.

"Xuexue," Su Wanyan called again, thumb stroking slowly across the smooth skin of her cheek. Still no return. Su Wanyan pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, the contact light and grounding, then pulled back just enough to keep speaking while her thumbs continued their steady, grounding motion. The soft snow-lotus scent mixed with the forest air between them as she held the contact.

"Xuexue."

The soft repetition and the warmth of the touch finally cut through. Mo Xingxue’s eyes cleared. Tears still swam in them and her body continued to shake, but the vacant look was gone. Consciousness had returned. The soft grass, the shifting light, the solid presence of the person holding her face—all of it settled back into place in uneven pieces.

Su Wanyan gave her a small, sad smile, already guessing where her mind had gone. The quiet understanding in her expression needed no explanation.

"It’s not your fault," she repeated. Her voice cracked, and something in her own chest cracked with it. "It’s not your fault."

Mo Xingxue blinked. After a long beat, fresh tears slipped free—different from the devastated ones of earlier. These carried pure, exhausted relief. She pulled Su Wanyan in tightly and broke into open, unrestrained crying.

The sound was raw and painful, yet threaded through with the unmistakable release of someone who had finally stopped holding everything inside. The soft fabric between them grew damper still as the weight of months—of silence, of blame, of carefully locked fear—finally found somewhere safe enough to fall.

Su Wanyan held her just as tightly. The arms around Mo Xingxue were firm and protective, leaving no space for the earlier cold to remain.

"I’m here," she whispered. "I’m finally here."

In that moment something settled into place inside Su Wanyan.

Until now she had acknowledged that she and the original owner of this body were the same person. Now the knowledge solidified into certainty. They were not two separate beings sharing a life. They were one and the same.

The memories, the protectiveness, the quiet, absolute refusal to let Mo Xingxue carry the blame alone—all of it belonged to the same continuous self.

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The two of them remained locked in a quiet embrace in the middle of the clearing. Overhead, the dense leaves filtered the sunlight into soft, scattered patches, shielding them from the direct glare.

Mo Xingxue’s earlier wails had quieted into uneven sobs. Her fingers still clutched the back of Su Wanyan’s shirt with desperate strength, as though the safe place she had finally found might vanish if she loosened her hold even slightly. The fabric bunched under her grip.

Su Wanyan only tightened her arms in answer and pressed occasional soft kisses to the crown of the omega’s head. The contact was light, steady, and wordless—an anchor rather than a demand.

Minutes passed. The soft rhythm of breathing between them slowly evened, though it never fully settled. Gradually Mo Xingxue’s grip on the fabric eased, though she continued to hold on tightly. Su Wanyan made no move to free herself.

Instead she shifted carefully, settling onto the soft grass and drawing Mo Xingxue more securely against her. One hand moved in slow, steady circles across the omega’s back—comforting, grounding, and patient. The motion required no response. It simply continued.

The forest around them stayed peaceful. Birds called lightly from the branches. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves. The dappled light shifted across their shoulders in quiet, indifferent patterns. The contrast between the calm surroundings and the storm still locked inside Mo Xingxue made the silence feel heavier rather than lighter.

Then Mo Xingxue spoke.

"I was raped."

The three words fell into the soft forest air with absolute finality. Su Wanyan’s hand paused for the briefest moment. She caught herself almost immediately and resumed the gentle motion without comment. The steady circles against Mo Xingxue’s back did not falter again. No sharp intake of breath, no sudden questions, no rush to fill the space. Only the same quiet, continuous presence.

"He took advantage of me while I was weakened," Mo Xingxue continued. Poison and anger threaded through her voice, yet underneath it Su Wanyan clearly heard the fear that still lived there. "Even with my refusals.. my cries.. everything I did to make him stop—he didn’t. He didn’t stop. He still had his way with me."

Her fingers reflexively tightened in Su Wanyan’s shirt as the memory surfaced. The soft fabric strained under the renewed grip. Her hands began to tremble again. Her whole body followed, shaking in small, uncontrollable waves. The soft grass, the shifting light, the quiet rustle of leaves—all of it continued around them as if the world itself had not just been forced to hold something so heavy.

Silence settled once more. Su Wanyan kept up the steady rhythm of her hand against Mo Xingxue’s back, offering no interruption, no hurried comfort—only the space to continue if she chose.

After a long beat Mo Xingxue drew a shaky breath. The sound was thin and uneven.

"I’m ashamed," she admitted, voice cracking. "As an omega.... I’m ashamed of what he did to me. Ashamed that my virginity was taken from me by force. Ashamed that he was able to do that."

The words carried months of carefully locked self-blame. They settled into the quiet space between them without softening. Su Wanyan pulled her closer. Still, she said nothing.

She sensed, correctly, that words of advice or open sympathy were not what Mo Xingxue needed in this moment. What she needed was someone who would simply listen—someone who would not place the blame on her for what had been done to her.

Someone who would not flinch, would not look away, and would not try to rearrange the truth into something more comfortable.

That was exactly what Su Wanyan gave her.

Under the shade of the old trees, the disclosure hung in the air without being taken back, and the arms around Mo Xingxue remained steady, patient, and completely without judgment. For the first time, the words had been spoken aloud to someone who simply listened.

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This might be boring for some peeps, but hey, it is what it is.