Ruofei's POV:
Next Day - 4:17 AM
I wake in the dark, heart pounding, the bond pulling at me with an intensity that steals my breath.
For a moment, I'm disoriented—this isn't my room in Korea, the bed is different, the sounds outside the window are wrong—
Then I remember.
China.
Home.
The twins sleeping in the next room.
Qingyue somewhere in this city.
I check my phone. 4:17 AM. Too early to be awake, but sleep won't come back.
The bond is humming with awareness, content in a way it hasn't been in years simply because we're in the same city.
I slip out of bed and pad quietly to the twins' room.
They're sprawled across the large bed, limbs tangled together like they used to sleep as infants.
Liqin has somehow ended up completely sideways, one foot on Mingyu's face.
Mingyu is clutching his stuffed rabbit, drool pooling on the pillow.
They're perfect.
And their father doesn't know they exist.
I lean against the doorframe, watching them sleep, and make a decision.
I need to talk to Qingyue. Really talk. Not defensive walls and cruel deflection, but honest conversation about what happened, why it happened, and what comes next.
He deserves that much.
We both do.
Back in my room, I pick up my phone and pull up his contact.
It's still there—I never deleted it, even when I stopped looking at his messages.
My fingers hover over the keyboard.
What do I say? How do I reach out after six years of silence and yesterday's disaster?
Finally, I type something simple:
Ruofei: Today. 2pm. At the restaurant near the park.
I stare at the message for a long moment before pressing send.
The response comes within seconds.
Qingyue: I'll be there.
Then, a moment later:
Qingyue: Thank you.
I set down the phone and close my eyes, trying to calm my racing heart.
This is it. The conversation I've been both dreading and needing for six years.
Time to face the truth.
All of it.
The restaurant near the park is one we used to visit when we were younger—before the engagement, before everything got complicated.
It's quiet, private, the kind of place where we can talk without being overheard.
I arrive fifteen minutes early and claim a corner table.
The server brings tea, and I wrap my hands around the cup, trying to stop them from shaking.
What am I going to say? How do I explain six years of silence? How do I tell him about the twins without—
"Ruofei."
I look up to find Qingyue standing beside the table.
He's dressed simply—dark jeans, a grey sweater that makes his eyes look even more intense. He looks nervous, hopeful, terrified all at once.
"Hi," I manage. "Sit. Please."
He sits across from me, and for a moment we just look at each other.
Six years. Six years of separation, and here we are, sitting across a table like we used to.
"I'm sorry," I blurt out. "For yesterday. At the airport. I was cruel and defensive and you didn't deserve that."
"You don't need to apologize," Qingyue says quietly. "I understand. After everything I did, after six years of silence, you had every right to be angry."
"I wasn't angry. I was scared." The admission feels like pulling teeth. "I saw you and I just... I panicked. All my carefully planned speeches disappeared and all I could think was that I wasn't ready."
"And now?" His voice is so gentle, so careful.
"Now I'm still scared. But I'm ready to talk." I take a breath. "I owe you an apology for how I spoke to you. But more than that... I need to understand. I need you to explain what happened that night. Why you did what you did."
Qingyue nods slowly. "Can I tell you the whole story? From the beginning?"
"Please."
He takes a breath, and I see him gathering his thoughts, organizing six years of explanations into something coherent.
"I've loved you since we were children," he begins. "Since I was eight years old and carried you home after the tiger attack. You don't remember—you were in shock, barely conscious—but I do. I remember thinking you were the bravest person I'd ever met."
My breath catches. "You were the one who saved me."
"Yes." A small smile. "You never knew. I asked my parents not to tell your family it was me—I was young and shy and didn't want the attention. But from that day on, I loved you."
I have to set down my tea cup because my hands are shaking too badly to hold it.
"When our families arranged the engagement, I was terrified and thrilled in equal measure," he continues. "Terrified because I'd never told you how I felt, and thrilled because it meant I'd get to be near you, to build a life with you. I started planning our future. I bought a ring. I was going to propose properly, once you were comfortable with the arrangement."
"The shrine room," I whisper. "Qingxue told me about it."
He has the grace to look embarrassed. "It started as just a place to keep photos of us. Then it became... more. Too much, probably. I was obsessed with the idea of our future together."
"And that night?"
His expression grows pained. "That night, when Andy called me, when I saw what they'd done to you... I've never been so terrified in my life. You were in heat, desperate, in pain. And I knew—I knew—that if I let anyone else help you, I'd never forgive myself."
"So you helped me."
"Yes. But Ruofei..." He leans forward, voice urgent. "I thought—I genuinely believed—that the marking would make everything clear. That when you woke up, the bond would communicate what I'd been too afraid to say. That you'd just know how much I loved you."
"That's not how bonds work," I say quietly.
"I know that now. But in the moment, I was desperate and stupid and convinced that biology would do the work my words should have done." He runs his hands through his hair. "I should have waited. Should have talked to you first, explained my feelings when you were coherent and could make a real choice. Instead, I marked you and then left like a coward because I was too overwhelmed to face you."
"Why did you leave?"
"Because I was terrified." The admission seems to cost him. "I stood outside your hotel room for an hour, trying to work up the courage to go in. To be there when you woke up. But I kept thinking—what if you regretted it? What if you hated me for marking you without explicit permission? What if I'd ruined everything?"
"So you ran."
"So I ran. And by the time I came back the next day, ready to grovel and apologize and explain everything... you were gone."
Silence falls between us.
"I spent the next six years trying to make up for it," Qingyue continues. "I eliminated every threat to your safety. I practiced apologies—847 different versions, trying to find the right words. I made plans for every possible scenario of your return. I talked to my parents, to therapists, to anyone who would listen, trying to understand what I did wrong and how to be better."
He pulls out his phone and shows me something—a document, pages and pages of scenarios and responses.
Scenario A: He comes back angry...
Scenario B: He comes back willing to talk...
Scenario C: He comes back ready to try again...
There are dozens of them. Each one carefully thought out, each response crafted with love and desperation.
"I wanted to be ready," he says softly. "Wanted to be the person you deserved when you came back. If you came back."
I stare at the document, throat tight.
"I need to tell you something," I say finally. "Before I left China, I believed you violated me. I woke up marked with no memory of giving consent, and you weren't there to explain. So I convinced myself that you'd taken advantage of me, that the bonding was something you did to me rather than with me."
Qingyue flinches like I've struck him, but I continue.
"I lived with that belief for months. Maybe a year. It colored everything—every memory, every feeling, every thought about you." I take a shaky breath. "But then my memories started coming back. Fragments at first, then more complete scenes. And I realized two things."
"What things?" His voice is barely audible.
"First, that if you were really after power or control or anything else, you wouldn't have cared about hurting me. You would have hunted me down, dragged me back, used the bond to force my compliance. But you didn't. You sent messages asking if I was okay. You eliminated threats to make me safer. You waited."
I meet his eyes.
"That's not what someone does when they want to control. That's what someone does when they love."
He's staring at me like I've given him the sun.
"And second," I continue, "I realized that deep down, I wanted it too. Wanted you. Wanted the bond. Maybe not consciously in that moment—the drug made everything hazy—but the feelings were real. I loved you, Qingyue. I've loved you for years. And I think... I think part of me was relieved to have an excuse to finally act on it."
"Ruofei—"
"Let me finish." I hold up a hand. "After my memories came back, after I understood what really happened... I forgave you. It took time, and it wasn't easy, but I forgave the marking, the absence, all of it."
"You... you forgave me?" He sounds stunned.
"Yes. Years ago, actually. But I still needed to know why. Needed to hear it from you, understand your reasoning." I smile slightly. "Now that I know—now that I understand you were a lovesick idiot who thought biology would do your talking for you—I don't regret that forgiveness."
"Does this mean..." He seems afraid to hope. "Does this mean you'll give me another chance?"
The question hangs between us.
This is it. The moment everything changes.
I could say no. Could tell him that forgiveness doesn't mean reconciliation, that too much time has passed, that the twins deserve better than parents figuring out their relationship.
But I don't want to say no.
I want to say yes. Want to let him back in. Want to build the family we should have had six years ago.
So I smile.
Not the polite, diplomatic smile I use for business.
Not the tired smile I give when I'm exhausted.
But my real smile—the one I reserve for the twins, for moments of genuine joy.
The one I've never given Qingyue before.
"Yes," I say simply. "I'm giving you another chance."
For a moment, he just stares at me.
Then he's moving—around the table, pulling me up, wrapping his arms around me in a hug that feels like coming home.
"Thank you," he breathes against my hair. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
I let myself sink into the embrace, breathing in his scent, feeling the bond sing with satisfaction.
"I promise," Qingyue says urgently, pulling back just enough to look at me. "I promise I'll never do anything without your permission again. I'll ask before touching you, before kissing you, before anything. I'll earn your trust back, I swear."
"I know you will." I reach up and cup his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. "I believe you."
It's the first time I've touched him in six years—really touched him, with intention and care.
He closes his eyes and leans into my palm like a man dying of thirst finding water.
"I've missed you," he whispers. "Every second of every day, I've missed you."
"I've missed you too." The admission feels like freedom. "So much."
We stand there, holding each other, and something occurs to me.
This is the first time Qingyue has seen my real smile.
In all the years we've known each other—childhood, engagement, the night we bonded—
I've never given him this.
And I don't regret it.
This moment deserves my real smile. Deserves the truth of my joy.
Because despite everything—despite the pain and separation and mistakes—we're here.
Together. Ready to try again.
"Qingyue," I say softly.
"Hmm?"
"There's something else I need to tell you. Something important."
He pulls back slightly, searching my face.
"What is it?"
I take a breath, gathering courage.
This is it. Time to tell him about the twins.
But before I can speak, my phone buzzes.
I glance at it—my mother.
Mum: The twins are asking for you. When will you be back?
Qingyue's eyes catch the message before I can pull the phone away.
I watch as his expression shifts—confusion, then shock, then something that might be hope.
"Twins?" he says carefully. "Ruofei... do you have children?"
I meet his eyes, heart pounding.
"Yes," I say quietly. "We do."