Jin Shuren directed their placement with the precision of a strategist, on walls that caught the light, at angles that would greet her gaze wherever she looked.
Each image told a fragment of her life, her beauty and strength preserved, reminders of the woman she was beneath the fractures.
Finally, Jin Shuren stepped back, surveying the room. The air was quiet, the space now a sanctuary of memory, scent, and subtle reassurance.
He allowed himself a rare moment to breathe, to imagine her waking and feeling a gentle familiarity, a tether to herself that required no explanations, no abrupt truths.
He went down the stairs, glanced toward the guest room door where Yueyao slept, wrapped in his coat, and a faint crease of concern crossed his brow.
