Everything stopped.
Every worker paused mid-motion, as if a commanding officer had just entered the battlefield.
Yifan walked forward, calm and composed, his eyes scanning the scene until they landed on the girl in front of the building. But just as he took another step, Li Lian stormed up to him, fury burning in her tear-filled eyes.
He looked down at her small, trembling frame. His brow arched slightly—amused, perhaps—but not a flicker of emotion touched his face.
"Isn't what you've taken from my family already enough, Yifan?" she shouted, voice cracking with pain. "How much more do you want?"
There was a silent plea in her eyes, a buried echo of their childhood—of shared moments long lost.
But Zhao Yifan remained unmoved. Cold.
He glanced at her briefly, then spoke flatly, "Your family's teashop sits on prime land. Compensation has already been sent."
As he moved forward again, Lian instinctively stepped in front of him. Without hesitation, he shoved her aside. Hard.
She stumbled backward with a yelp, but he didn't look back.
"Continue," he ordered.
And with that one word, the machines roared back to life.
Li Lian dropped to her knees, helpless, crawling forward as her shaking hands clutched at the hem of his trousers.
"Yifan... please," her voice broke. "Please don't do this."
Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, raw and desperate—but her words fell like whispers against stone.
He glanced down at her, expression unreadable. And then, without a single word, he looked away—his gaze fixed straight ahead.
Behind them, the deafening crash of metal against brick echoed through the street.
The Lianghe Teashop, once a humble place built with love, laughter, and years of sacrifice crumbled into dust before her eyes.
Yifan yanked his leg from her grasp, the motion harsh, deliberate. She fell back slightly, but he didn't look twice. He walked past her—slow, steady steps—and gave her one final glance.
His eyes lingered, just for a second.
A sharp breath left his lips, bitter and heavy, like he could taste the weight of his own cruelty. But he said nothing. Not a word. And with that, he turned and walked straight to the car.
The ride back was thick with silence.
He sat rigidly, eyes on the documents in front of him, the pen in his hand moving with an almost violent urgency as he scribbled notes across paper. Occasionally, he removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose, rubbing his eyes as if to erase what he'd just seen—what he'd just done.
But the image of her trembling form, clutching his leg, those broken words...They clung to him like smoke.
Meanwhile.
Li Lian rubbed her face with the back of her hand, wiping away the dirt and tears—her breath shaky. Then, out of nowhere, she broke into a laugh. Not light or joyful, but sharp and hollow.
"Ahh… what was I expecting?" she said through a breathless chuckle. "Of course it ended like this."
She laughed again, bitterly, before turning to her stunned parents. Her eyes were red, but she smiled anyway. "Let's go home. It'll be alright. He said the compensation is on its way, right? I want to eat a lot today, Mom. Let's cook something good."
Her voice was too calm, too composed.
Li Chenghai and Wen Yuxia exchanged a look deep concern pooling in their eyes. But neither said anything. They simply followed their daughter, hearts heavy, as the ashes of their memories smoldered behind them.
Night.
The Li household had grown unbearably quiet after the incident. No one spoke during lunch—only the dull clinks of chopsticks against ceramic broke the silence, accompanied by the occasional weary sigh.
Afterward, Li Lian quietly slipped away to her room. Moments later, Wen Yuxia found her kneeling by her bed, stuffing clothes into a worn-out duffel bag.
"Lian?" her mother's voice trembled. "What are you doing?"
Lian didn't pause. "I can't keep waiting for Brother Wenbo. It's time I moved to the city. I need to find a job—I have to do something."
Wen Yuxia stepped forward, alarmed. "But, Lian, the city is expensive. We don't know anyone there except your brother… what if you end up with nowhere to stay? Do you want to sleep on the streets?"
"I won't," Lian replied softly, zipping up the bag. "I don't have a choice, Mom. I can't keep pretending we're okay. I'll find something. I have to."
Just as Lian zipped her bag shut, the door creaked open and Li Chenghai stepped in, his expression weary.
"I know you have to go," he said, voice tight with emotion. "And you will. Just… give me a week. One week, and I'll prepare everything you need to move to Beijing."
His voice cracked, the weight of guilt finally breaking through. "I'm sorry, Lian. For being such a bad father."
Lian froze. Her eyes welled up again, and in a heartbeat, she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.
"That's not true," she sobbed. "You're not a bad father."
Beijing, Zhaoyue pavilion.
Zhao Yifan sank into the cushion, the soft light of his study doing little to ease the tightness in his chest. He leaned forward, fingers massaging his temples.
Work lay untouched before him, files, documents, digital reports. None of it held his focus.
His mind kept circling back to Gulangyu.
To her.
To the weight of her eyes when she screamed his name.
To the way her fingers clutched at him, trembling.
He inhaled deeply, but the air felt heavy, tainted by the bitterness of his own decisions.
He picked up his phone, typed a short message.
I'm back in Beijing. then hit send and tossed the phone aside, sinking lazily into the chair. His head tilted back, eyes closed, the soft hum of the city outside barely reaching his ears.
Minutes passed.
Then—BANG.
The door flew open with such force it echoed down the marble halls. Zhao Yifan didn't even flinch. He already knew who it was.
"You bastard!"
Yufan's voice rang sharp and furious as he burst through the door.
Yifan lazily opened one eye, turning slightly toward the commotion. His childhood bestfriend stood there, seething like a storm about to break.
"What?" Yifan asked flatly, reaching for his glass of water.
"Don't 'what' me," Yufan snapped, marching forward to sit across from him. "You've been in Beijing for three days, and this is when you decide to tell me?"
He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.
Silence settled between them for a moment.
Then Yufan spoke again, voice calmer, but heavier.
"…Regretting it now, aren't you?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You think I don't know what happened at Gulangyu Island?".
Yifan swallowed hard, then signaled for the maid.
"Bring the wine. A strong one."
Moments later, the maid arrived with a bottle of aged liquor. Without a word, Yifan poured into both glasses. Yufan took a slow sip, eyes never leaving his best friend. Yifan, on the other hand, drank as if the burn didn't register—one glass after another, as if trying to drown something deeper than regret.
Yufan said nothing at first, only watched.
After the fourth glass, he reached forward and took the bottle away. "Enough."
Yifan looked up, eyes slightly glassy, cheeks already tinged with red.
"You're not someone who drinks like this unless you're haunted," Yufan muttered, setting the bottle aside. "So tell me—what the hell happened back there?"
"...I loved her". He whispered.