The clamor of the banquet gradually settled into the sounds of departing guests’ vehicles and the orderly tidying within the estate. The lingering scents of perfume, alcohol, and faint traces of gunpowder mingled in the air, much like the night itself—opulent yet complex and ineffable.
Ruan Chaoxi had changed out of her evening gown and now wore soft, comfortable loungewear, her bare feet resting on the cool marble surface of the main building’s living room terrace. The evening breeze, carrying moisture from the Chao Phraya River, gently stirred her loose, flowing hair.
Soft footsteps approached from behind, and she didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Samia walked up beside her, holding a pair of slippers. Just like in the morning, he knelt on one knee before her, his warm palm gently clasping her slightly cool ankle.
“How many times have I told you not to go barefoot? Be careful not to catch a cold.” His voice, lower than usual, sank into the night, tinged with an air of helpless indulgence.
This time, his movements seemed slower, carefully slipping the slippers onto her feet. Only after making sure she was firmly standing in them did he release his hold and rise.
“I know, Miya gege,” Ruan Chaoxi said, looking up at him. “You worry as much as Mom does.”
Moonlight and the sparse lights in the distance outlined the deep contours of his profile. Those eyes, usually filled with sharp intensity, softened when looking at her, like a calm sea in the dead of night.
A warmth and sense of dependence welled up in her heart. Since childhood, he had always noticed the smallest details, appearing silently when she needed him, taking care of everything for her.
Samia didn’t respond, instead leaning against the railing beside her, his gaze fixed on the distance. In the darkness, the scattered lights of the slums were faintly visible, starkly contrasting with the estate’s brilliance, a glaring divide.
After a moment of silence, he spoke slowly, his voice low and heavy. “Xixi, the ‘ordinary’ world you yearn for has no fairy tales.”
Ruan Chaoxi was slightly taken aback.
“Do you know that in villages along the Golden Triangle border, many girls are sold off at twelve or thirteen?” he continued, his tone steady. “Not as maids to the wealthy, but into those kinds of places. They might never leave that street, passed around like commodities until they die of illness or torment. A corpse is worth about five hundred baht in cleanup fees.”
Samia wasn’t trying to scare her; he was merely stating a fact. Ruan Chaoxi pursed her lips, sensing the gravity in his words.
“Do you know why every household in northern Myanmar’s mountainous regions grows poppies?” His tone remained even, but each word carried weight. “Because corn doesn’t sell for much, and rice can’t feed a family. Only that crop—the warlords will buy it, the drug dealers will trade it. Fathers plant it, sons harvest it, grandsons continue the cycle. They have no choice: starve or be shot dead.”
He paused, as if carefully choosing his words, his expression growing more serious. “In the corners untouched by sunlight, there are people who will do anything to survive, and filth hidden beneath the veneer of order. In Southeast Asia, even in Europe where we can exert influence, you have the privilege to be willful. What you dislike can vanish; what you wish to protect can remain safe. Because you have the Mo Family empire backing you, and you can set the rules.”
He turned to look at her, his eyes, always gentle toward her, now reflecting a darkness like an abyss. “But in China, it’s different.”“China has strict laws and a well-ordered society, a place where even we must act with caution. There, Mr. Mo cannot mobilize troops at will, nor does your brother have the influence to clear an entire street with a single word. More importantly…” His voice lowered further, almost dissolving into the wind, “I won’t be there.”
No constant protection from me, no subtle clearing of obstacles in your path, no one appearing the moment you need help.
“This means you will face real setbacks—perhaps in your studies, in your relationships, or from the malice of the lower society, something you may not even understand.” He looked at her, his words heavy with deep concern. “Often, you’ll have to face things alone, endure, and even… inevitably get hurt.”
Ruan Chaoxi listened quietly, the evening breeze stirring the stray hairs by her cheeks. The ease on her face gradually faded, replaced by a clarity beyond her years.
“I know, Miya,” she finally spoke, her voice soft yet clear. “I know how difficult the ordinary world can be. I know… some of our family’s wealth is stained with blood and tears. I know that when Dad and my brother discuss business, a few casual words can decide life, death, or bankruptcy for many. And I also know that the medals and authority on your shoulders are built upon the fear and bones of countless people.”
She turned to face him, moonlight spilling over her features, illuminating her strikingly bright eyes. There was no innocence, no fear—only clarity.
“I’m not a fool living in an ivory tower. I am a daughter of the Mo Family. The blood flowing in my veins is half affection, half perhaps original sin. I’m not going to China to play the role of an ignorant, innocent flower.”
She stepped closer, tilting her face upward until they were near enough to feel each other’s breath.
“I just want to see who I am in a place not overshadowed by the names ‘Mo Family’ or ‘Samia.’ I want to experience what it’s like to live a life where I have to queue, reason with others, and abide by rules set by someone else.” A faint, self-mocking smile touched her lips. “It might be stifling, maybe even boring, but… it could be another kind of reality.”
A long silence followed.
Only the wind swept across the terrace, carrying the distant, faint tolling of temple bells.
Samia suddenly reached out as if to touch her cheek, but his fingers paused mid-air. Instead, he gently brushed aside the wind-tousled strands of her hair, tucking them behind her ear with an impossibly tender motion.
“Three months,” he repeated Mo Xiaohan’s words. “Video call every night. If anything happens, if you encounter anyone who seems off, contact me immediately. Don’t trust superficial kindness from anyone, especially in matters between men and women.”
He spoke the words “matters between men and women” slowly and clearly, a turbulent undercurrent swirling deep in his eyes.
“Remember, Xixi.”
He leaned down, drawing so close their breaths nearly mingled. His gaze locked onto hers, each word spoken like a brand: “You may go and see the world, but your world must have me in it.”
This was not a discussion or a request—it was a declaration.
It was the wall he had built around his heart over more than a decade, a gentle shackle she could never break free from, no matter how far she wandered.Ruan Chaoxi gazed into his deep eyes, so close at hand, where too many complex and indistinguishable emotions swirled—worry, reluctance, a possessive intensity, and something she had yet to fully understand.
Her heart skipped a beat, an unfamiliar flutter passing through her chest.
“Mm, I remember,” she nodded softly.
Three months.
The countdown, from this moment, quietly began.