The night was deep.
Only three people remained in the hospital room.
Ye Xiaoxiao lay quietly on the bed, her breathing thin and even.
Her mother slept on the sofa beside her, exhaustion pulling her into a heavy slumber.
Wayne walked over softly and gently pulled the blanket higher over Mrs. Ye, his movements careful, as if afraid of waking a wounded bird.
Only after that did he move to the window.
Cold city lights spread across the glass, distant and quiet, as if the world beyond had been muted.
Wayne leaned against the windowsill, hands in his pockets—so still, so unlike the dazzling, flamboyant figure everyone knew.
He was looking outside.
But what he truly saw was a version of himself from long ago.
Wayne's Inner Monologue
Even though he hadn't known Mrs. Ye and Xiaoxiao for long,
somewhere along the way, they had become something in his heart—
A home.
A place with warm soup.
A place where someone remembers what you like.
Where someone asks,
"Wayne, have you lost weight? Eat a little more."
"Why don't you stay and have dinner?"
Not politeness.
Real care.
It was everything he had lacked,
everything he had wanted,
everything he had envied,
his whole life.
Memory — Jiang Wei's Family
Jiang Wei was born into a wealthy family.
His parents were razor-sharp business elites—
negotiations, reports, strategies, investments, always competing for first place,
afraid of losing to other branches of the family,
afraid of becoming expendable in the race for assets.
After he was born, their attitude was simple:
"As long as you carry on the bloodline."
"As for the rest? Do whatever you want."
But that "whatever you want" was never freedom—
it was indifference, distance, a complete lack of warmth.
As a child, he often ate alone in the enormous mansion,
accompanied only by nannies, servants,
and the mechanical ticking of clocks.
Once, he cried and asked if his parents could spend more time with him.
They said,
"Mom and Dad have to work. We have to fight for the family. Be good."
As he grew older, he began doing outrageous things—
piercing his ears, dressing wildly—
just to make them react,
even if it was only to frown or scold him.
Anything was better than being invisible.
Once, he even said deliberately,
"I think I like men."
He thought they would panic.
Object.
Be shocked.
Instead, they said calmly,
"That's fine, as long as it doesn't harm the family."
"Technology is advanced now. You can have children through surrogacy."
In that moment, he realized—
even whether he passed on the family line
couldn't stir a single emotion in them.
That night, he smashed an entire set of designer perfume,
tore apart the family photo outfits they had prepared,
and screamed that he wanted to escape that cold house.
He went wild.
Reckless.
Flashy.
Louder and more flamboyant than anyone—
Not because that was who he was,
but because:
If you won't look at me, I'll force you to.
But his parents still didn't care.
So he finally gave up hoping.
Wayne's Rebellion
He refused to join the family business.
Refused to inherit anything.
He built everything himself.
The glitter.
The extravagant style.
The flamboyant attitude—
They were his armor.
And his provocation to the world:
"I don't need you. I can shine on my own."
He invested in film and television.
He built artists.
He built his own brand.
Not to show off—
but to prove:
"I am not a piece of my family's property."
Back to the Hospital Room
Wayne turned his gaze back to Xiaoxiao on the bed.
She wasn't beautiful.
Not dazzling.
Never in the spotlight.
But she was hardworking, kind, attentive, and resilient.
More importantly—
she had never approached him with any motive.
She organized his tools.
Handed him warm tea when he was strict.
Listened carefully when he spoke.
Smiled even when he complained, never once finding him annoying.
Her world was small—
just her mother, her work, her effort, her daily life.
But because it was small, it was real.
Wayne let out a quiet breath.
"Xiaoxiao…"
he murmured in his heart.
"You have to wake up.
Not everyone in this world gets to have someone as warm as you."
Night settled gently over the hospital room.
For the first time, the glittering Wayne
allowed a trace of vulnerability to surface in the dark.
He stood by the window, lashes trembling slightly.
And in that moment, he finally admitted—
He had already come to see Xiaoxiao's home
as his own.
That Same Night — Qin Mu
The night was deep.
Cold wind swept across the hospital grounds like thin paper being cut.
Qin Mu walked down the empty corridor, his steps uneven.
He wasn't walking—
He was running away.
The farther he went from the hospital room,
the tighter his chest became.
The automatic doors slid open with a hiss,
and icy air rushed in.
He took a breath—
it felt like inhaling broken glass.
Xiaoxiao was still alive, upstairs.
Yet inside him, something had cracked open.
He stood beneath a streetlamp outside the hospital,
fingers gripping the edge of his coat,
as if the world had fallen far away.
He didn't know when it had started.
When she was bullied on set, something inside him twisted.
When she was scolded, he was angrier than she was.
When he saw her eating cold boxed meals, he wanted to snatch it away.
When he heard she collapsed—
he dropped everything and ran.
Qin Mu lowered his head and let out a bitter laugh.
"What… am I doing?"
He never allowed himself to lose control.
Never let emotions pull him.
Never allowed weakness.
But Xiaoxiao—
that little assistant who nervously twisted her sleeves when she spoke to him—
softened every hard part of him, piece by piece.
He lifted his head and looked up at one corner of the hospital building.
A small room glowing with a night light.
Inside was a tiny sleeping figure.
The girl who stitched costumes for everyone.
The girl who always made sure everyone else ate first.
The girl who would be sad for three days if someone called her fat,
but still smiled and kept working.
He didn't know when he started noticing her.
And he didn't know when—
her absence had left a hole in his heart.
The wind brushed his face, painfully cold.
Qin Mu closed his eyes.
His fingers trembled.
He knew exactly what he was afraid of.
Moonlight slanted over his hand,
exposing his quiet, helpless state.
For the first time, he understood—
falling in love wasn't a single heartbeat.
It was the weakness you felt when you closed your eyes.
It was the pain of fearing you might lose someone.
At last, he whispered, barely audible:
"…Ye Xiaoxiao."
As if calling back someone who was drifting away.
"Please wake up."
He looked up at the faint hospital light.
"I… still have so many things I want to tell you."
The wind passed by.
The night was cold.
But his chest burned.
That night, Qin Mu finally understood—
He wasn't afraid of getting close.
He was afraid that
he had already fallen for her—
and she was no longer by his side.