Xiao Yuhuang stood under the corridor. The teacup she had been holding had long since slipped from her hand and shattered on the ground. Brown tea stains spread at her feet, like the lake of her heart, now completely thrown into chaos.
She had originally come on the pretext of discussing affairs, finding an excuse simply to come over—to look at him from afar, quietly, to confirm whether he was well after the banquet. She had never, ever expected to stumble upon such a scene.
She stood there, stunned, unable to move.
The figure dancing alone in the dim chaos within the window was utterly different from the pale, quiet, gentle Su Yuzhi she knew. And yet, unmistakably, it was the same person.
She watched as his jet-black hair scattered like a waterfall in mid-spin, watched as sweat soaked through his thin inner garment, clinging tightly to a slender body that nevertheless concealed astonishing resilience. She watched the line of his lifted neck, stretched into a fragile yet beautiful arc, the Adam's apple rolling faintly beneath pale skin. She watched his bare feet stepping upon the floor, slender ankles bearing a force that seemed capable of crushing everything.
Within that dance was a beauty she had never seen in any man—no, in anyone—before, a beauty bordering on the tragic. Broken, yet brimming with vitality; despairing, yet burning with an inextinguishable flame. Every movement seemed to tear something apart, and at the same time to call out for something.
Her breathing stopped without her realizing it.
Her heart hammered heavily in her chest, one beat after another, faster and louder, nearly drowning out the rolling thunder outside the window.
This was not appreciation. Not amazement.
It was shock.
It was the soul being violently struck, forcibly dragged into his world, struggling and burning alongside him.
The calm boy who saved lives by the icy lake, the composed young gentleman at the banquet, and the caged bird before her, dancing a heart-stopping dance in the darkness before the storm— which of them was the real him?
Perhaps all of them were. And that truth, so complex and contradictory, was like a poison-tipped arrow wrapped in honey, catching her utterly unprepared, piercing through every defense of reason and striking straight into the deepest part of her soul.
An unprecedented, scorching torrent burst forth from that pierced breach, instantly engulfing her. It was not merely infatuation—it was something fiercer, more domineering, more irresistible. It was desire, recognition, love growing madly unchecked, and with it, an almost devouring, terrifying possessiveness.
He had to be hers.
The thought detonated in her mind like a curse, taking root instantly, unquestionable.
So beautiful. So unique. So… never to be seen by anyone else!
Except her.
The dance inside the window gradually reached its end. With a rotation that seemed like a sigh, drained of all strength, that figure staggered, bracing himself with one hand against the window frame, panting violently. Sweat-soaked hair clung to his face, his whole being radiating, in the dim light, a breathtaking, ember-like beauty after burning.
At that moment, he seemed to sense something. He suddenly turned his head and looked toward the doorway.
Their eyes met.
Xiao Yuhuang saw the panic in his eyes, the disarray, and the flash of shame and anger at having his secret laid bare.
And in her own eyes, there remained only undisguised, overwhelming shock, along with a scorching obsession and possessiveness that were nearly tangible.
Time seemed to freeze. The sound of rain and thunder outside became distant background noise.
Until faint footsteps and voices drifted from the direction of the front hall—it seemed the discussion was ending, and Mother and Father were seeing guests out.
That sound jolted Xiao Yuhuang awake. The raging waves in her eyes were forcibly suppressed, swiftly covered by a layer of icy restraint. Yet beneath that ice, flames now burned that could never again be extinguished.
She stepped forward, crushing shards of porcelain beneath her foot, utterly indifferent. Her gaze never left him, that stare burning and focused, carrying a chilling, obsessive intensity, like a declaration of ownership.
"Put your shoes on," her voice was hoarse, yet carried an irresistible authority. "Be careful not to catch a chill."
Then she looked at him—deeply, deeply—one last time.
That look was no longer the distance between sovereign and subject, no longer the scrutiny of a royal daughter toward a minister's son. It was one soul capturing another, a hunter marking prey already chosen, singular and irreplaceable.
No words were needed. That gaze said everything—
You are mine.
She turned away decisively, her figure merging into the misty rain beyond the corridor, vanishing from sight.
I leaned back against the icy door panel and slowly slid down to the floor. My heart was racing wildly, yet my limbs were so weak I had not a shred of strength left.
The undisguised obsession and possessiveness in her eyes were like red-hot branding irons, searing themselves into my soul.