Chapter 15 – Wounds and Whispers
The mansion was quiet that night. The city outside still buzzed with neon and noise, but inside Han Zixuan's room, the world slowed down.
Qiao Xueran sat on the bed, her sleeves rolled up. Red marks and bruises still lingered on her skin, stark reminders of the beatings she endured.
Han Zixuan sat in front of her, a first-aid box open beside him. His cold hands moved carefully, dabbing ointment onto her wounds with a gentleness that seemed foreign on a man like him.
She winced slightly.
His brows furrowed.
"Does it hurt?"
She tilted her head, pretending to think, then smiled innocently.
"Hurt? Hug."
Han's hand froze. His dark eyes flickered — frustration, tenderness, something he couldn't even name.
For a long moment, he didn't move. Then, wordlessly, he leaned forward and wrapped her in his arms.
Xueran rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. In that embrace, her act of foolishness softened into something real — a strange warmth she hadn't expected to feel.
Han spoke low, almost to himself.
"You… don't belong in this world of blood and knives."
Her lashes lowered. She whispered so softly only she could hear:But I do. Because of them. Because of what they took from me.
He pulled back slightly, tucking the blanket around her.
"Rest. I'll stay here tonight."
She blinked up at him, her voice childish once more.
"Soup?"
A faint exhale — almost a laugh.
"I'll make it."
From the doorway, Fang Ye groaned dramatically, clutching his head.
"Oh no, oh no, it's happening again. The Devil King of the Underworld is… making soup. For a girl. For the second time. Why wasn't I born blind, why must I witness this tragedy—"
"Out." Han's glare sliced through the room.
Fang Ye scampered like a kicked dog.
Xueran giggled softly, curling back into the blankets as Han turned toward the kitchen. For the first time in years, she felt safe. Almost… happy.
But in the shadows outside the mansion gates, unseen eyes watched, waiting for their chance to strike.