Xia Jingxuan didn't ask Mo Yichen to leave again. He was allowed to stay outside her room, though he remained under the watchful eyes of the guards. By afternoon, Elder Mo arrived, accompanied by his youngest grandson, Mo Yize. By now, the Mo family fully understood the Xia family's cold attitude, and they couldn't blame them.
Marie had already left earlier that morning. Upon insistence, she finally told them that Xia Ruyan had been found, but injured. Elder Mo had wanted to come right away, but his frail body couldn't endure the stress or travel. At his grandson's urging, he had taken a few hours to rest. But one thing he did not delay, he ordered his unfilial daughter-in-law to leave. It wasn't a permanent exile, but she would spend a month in seclusion to reflect on right and wrong. That was non-negotiable.
In the hospital corridor, they found Mo Yichen pacing restlessly. Security around the ward was tight. Lee Jian had already left to tend to office matters.
"Brother," Mo Yize greeted softly.
Mo Yichen looked up. His brow was furrowed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Seeing his family, he pocketed his phone and walked over. His grandfather gave him a cold glance and walked right past him.
"How's sister-in-law?" Mo Yize asked.
"She's stable," Mo Yichen replied briefly.
"I brought you a fresh set of clothes. You should shower and change," Yize said, handing over a bag.
Mo Yichen accepted it with a nod of gratitude. He hadn't changed since the day before; grime clung to him like the guilt he couldn't shake. Excusing himself, he went to freshen up. After all, it was a high-end private ward.
Meanwhile, Elder Mo knocked on the door to Xia Ruyan's room. Mrs. Xia opened it. At the sight of Elder Mo, her gentle face turned cold and grave. Mo Yize, who was seeing her for the first time, stood stunned. The Xia family really has strong genes, he thought to himself, forgetting momentarily that the woman before him had married into the Xia family and wasn't a Xia by blood.
They were let in. The room smelled faintly of roses. Soft lighting gave the space a calm, almost homely ambiance, it didn't feel like a hospital room at all. Mr. Xia was gently feeding soup to Xia Ruyan. When he heard the footsteps, he turned and saw the visitors. Shame flickered in Elder Mo's eyes, but Mr. Xia ignored him and went on feeding his daughter.
"How are you, child?" Elder Mo asked gently, masking his remorse behind the deep lines of age.
Xia Ruyan nodded faintly in response.
"Her throat is injured," Mrs. Xia explained. Elder Mo nodded in quiet understanding. An awkward silence fell over the room like a thick curtain.
Mo Yize coughed softly to break the tension. He stepped forward, offered Xia Ruyan a warm smile, and handed her a small bouquet of yellow dandelions.
"In floriography," he said with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, "dandelions symbolize resilience, strength, and the ability to overcome adversity. I thought you might like them."
Xia Ruyan looked into his eyes. Something in his sincere gaze softened her expression. She reached out and accepted the bouquet. The fluffy yellow blossoms looked oddly fitting in her pale hands.
Just then, Mo Yichen re-entered the room and saw the exchange. That odd, unfamiliar tightness returned to his chest. His brows drew together again, thick, shadowed with thoughts he couldn't name.
Xia Ruyan quietly observed the dynamics unfolding in the room. She could sense the tension, the unspoken accusations. Her parents were directing their grief at the Mo family, not out of logic, but out of desperation. They needed someone to blame. Since they couldn't catch the real culprit, they turned their pain toward the only visible outlet.
She sighed inwardly.
Elder Mo stood up, his expression solemn. "As an elder, I failed to teach my grandson the basic etiquette of relationships. That is my fault. No matter what I say, it won't undo what happened, but I must apolo—"
"Don't."
The words, hoarse and frail, cut through the room. It startled everyone. Elder Mo paused mid-sentence. All eyes turned to Xia Ruyan, whose voice had come out raw and brittle, like the dying flicker of a candle's flame. She looked at her parents, then Elder Mo, and finally, Mo Yichen, who stood at the door, right in front of her bed.
"A Yan, don't speak," her mother scolded gently, recalling the doctor's strict orders.
But Xia Ruyan pressed her mother's hand and persisted, "Don't apologize. It's not your fault." The room fell into a pin-drop silence. Her voice was fragile, like that of a newborn learning to speak.
"Baba…" she called, and her father rushed to her side.
"It's nobody's fault. It was going to happen one way or another. Even if I had people with me… they were prepared." Her words came with effort, each breath heavier than the last.
Her mother gently held a warm drink to her lips. "Okay, okay. No more talking," she urged, dabbing her daughter's face with a damp cloth. "We'll talk about this when you're better."
Ruyan gave a small nod, the weight in her eyes speaking volumes. Elder Mo sighed quietly and took a seat on the nearby sofa, his heart a mix of guilt and gratitude.
Mo Yichen hesitated, then finally moved toward her bedside. His voice was low, laced with hesitation, as he asked, "You okay?"
Those two words carried everything: guilt, shame, concern, regret. So many emotions flickered in his onyx eyes. She met his gaze and nodded gently. Then, without speaking, she picked up her phone and began typing.
Mo Yichen continued watching her. Just moments ago, when he had gone to shower, he had stood under the hot stream of water, letting it wash away the grime from his skin. He had hoped, foolishly, that it might also rinse away the guilt clinging to him.
She was fine now, yes, injured, but alive. Yet something inside him felt shattered. Why did it matter so much? They had no real feelings between them. He had said he hated her, though now, even he wasn't sure if that was true. And she had married him out of duty, out of sacrifice. Not love. Not even an attraction. Affection was a distant dream. So why did her well-being shake him like this?
It wasn't just guilt. It was worry. It was care.
He had stared at his reflection in the mirror, and he didn't recognize the man staring back. He looked like someone who had lost his world… maybe even his soul. His eyes had searched that reflection hard, clinging to something within.
Mo Yichen is not that easy to break, he had whispered to himself. It was less of a statement and more of a reminder, a lifeline.
His trance broke when Xia Ruyan passed him the phone. He took it, tentative and unsure. On the screen, her message read:
"President Mo, you don't need to blame yourself. Even if you had been there, you wouldn't have been able to stop it. It was a planned abduction."
Her tone was formal, distantly polite, her indifference still wrapped neatly in courtesy. He nodded slowly, accepting the message. But he didn't agree with it. And she could probably tell.
"A Yan must rest," Mrs. Xia said firmly, clearly a polite signal for the visitors to leave. Though reluctant, they complied.
"I'll come visit you tomorrow, sister-in-law," Mo Yize said with a bright smile. For a moment, Xia Ruyan wondered how that grin even fit his face, it was too wide, too full of life, as if untouched by the heaviness that hung in the room.
"Shall I bring you some good books to read?" he offered cheerfully. He had often seen her reading in quiet corners of the Mo Mansion, always absorbed in her own little world. She hesitated, then gave a small nod.
Mo Yize's grin somehow grew wider, something she thought impossible. "Which one? Any preference?"
"I'll get her the books," Mo Yichen interjected, his voice low.
Something sharp twisted in his chest. How could his younger brother speak to her so easily? And yet he, couldn't find the right words when it mattered most.
"Do you think I can't bring my daughter a few books?" Xia Jingxuan snapped, his voice steely.
Behind him, Mrs. Xia sighed quietly. Why does something as simple as a book feel like it's starting a war?
Before the tension could rise further, the door creaked open again, bringing with it a fresh wave of chaos