Chapter 65: The Gift

In the office.

Lu Huan stood in front of the desk, her fingers pausing slightly as she pinched the corner of the notebook.

The notebook was filled with dense lines of writing in black ballpoint pen.

The early pages were mostly excerpts from books, the handwriting attractive but casual, with strokes blending together like idle doodles on paper.

A quick glance revealed a common thread among them.

More than half consisted of negative sentences.

Some discussed theories of life and death, others pondered the meaning of existence.

Linking these to Bai Jin made it all too clear. She had lost both her parents at a young age, denied the complete childhood most children enjoyed.

It was just like her cold exterior.

Flipping further, each sentence was marked with the source book’s title. The handwriting varied in depth across segments, suggesting she wrote sporadically, adding a few lines now and then over time.

Some pages bore dates from before Bai Jin had joined the company.

The most frequently cited book was titled Sunset Dawn.

“Ocean waters drag me downward, darkness guides my descent.”

“The waves recede, and I can no longer find that burning soul.”

Those were lines from it.

Lu Huan had never read such niche books. After her student days, she had mostly studied economics, management, and finance. Later on, she rarely touched books at all.

As she turned to the later pages, the negative sentences grew scarce.

Bai Jin began recording everyday matters.

“7.4: Very enthusiastic colleagues. Pretty good.”

“7.5: Hand got injured.”

The entries were not detailed, coming across as disjointed at first glance, but a little thought filled in the gaps easily.

Things changed after that.

“7.10: Milk candy.”

“7.12: Held hands with her.”

“7.13: Hugged.”

Milk candy, hand-holding, hugs—matching the dates, Lu Huan perfectly aligned them with her own memories. Tucked into one of those pages was a candy wrapper, its blue packaging smoothed flat and slipped inside.

The later entries were mostly about Lu Huan as well, including the hug on the anniversary of her mother’s death.

Her improving mood shone clearly through the words, and the excerpts she copied grew less bleak and pessimistic.

The final entry read:

“I’ll always stay by her side.”

Who did “her” refer to?

Lu Huan’s eyes darkened slightly.

Was it still her?

The candy wrapper, the increasingly steady handwriting, and the date in the bottom left corner all dated from the time Lu Huan had been kind to her.

Clearly, the “her” here could only mean Lu Huan.

So, had Lu Huan been the one to dispel all that previous gloom? A complex tangle of emotions welled up in Lu Huan from somewhere, weaving uncomfortably through her chest.

She didn’t know what to call the feeling—only that it left her uneasy.

The bag held one more item: a book.

The spine showed signs of use; it wasn’t brand new. It was the one mentioned most often in the notes, Sunset Dawn.

The title evoked light, and the cover showed a bright seaside sunrise.

But judging from the excerpts, the contents skewed toward a darker tone.

Lu Huan didn’t flip through it. The influx of information was overwhelming, and her breathing felt labored, so she packed everything away and set it aside.

She had spent the day rushing around on trivial errands, with a pile of work still undone. That night, she stayed late to catch up, not getting home until deep into the night.

For some reason, she felt especially exhausted today.

Once home, she had no energy for anything else. She set her troubles aside for the moment, took a shower, and collapsed into bed.

Much of her fatigue stemmed from work, but she couldn’t deny Bai Jin played a part too.

Lu Huan lay flat on her back, one wrist draped over her forehead, turning her head slightly to gaze at the paper bag on the bedside table.

“Meow~”

Momo leaped onto the bed and settled beside her stomach.

As if her belly wasn’t quite soft enough, its paw pads kneaded a few extra times before it curled up contentedly.

“Silly cat.”

Lu Huan glanced at Momo and chuckled helplessly, then laid her head back down. She left it undisturbed, her hand idly stroking its fur.

In the quiet, her weary body finally relaxed. Sleepiness washed over her, Lu Huan closed her eyes, and her consciousness faded.

…

Over ten years earlier.

In the dead of a summer midnight, the world lay shrouded in inky blackness. Cicadas shrieked relentlessly, their noise piercing the stillness and fraying already taut nerves.

Lu Huan hadn’t slept at all that night.

She was calculating where to spend her fourteenth birthday—and with whom.

No matter what, it wouldn’t be at home this year.

If it were, her birthday cake would be shared with the person she despised most. Her mother would even drag her over to make a wish alongside Lu Huan.

A birthday that belonged to Lu Huan shouldn’t have so many other shadows intruding.

Lu Huan sat on the balcony, knees drawn to her chest as she stared out the window.

At thirteen or fourteen, the girl still bore traces of childhood innocence, yet she already carried a wild, rebellious edge. In the full bloom of youth, nothing could hold back their reckless spirits.

Their worlds held only themselves—and the vast expanse beyond.

Lu Huan kept her head turned, gazing outward.

Her knees bore faint bruises from kneeling two days prior.

Her mother never struck her, only lecturing or making her kneel until she admitted fault. Lu Huan had long grown used to it.

In her mother’s eyes, only Bai Jin was the good girl.

Everything Lu Huan did was wrong.

A sudden crash of shattering porcelain rent the quiet night.

Lu Huan jolted upright, instinctively turning toward her bedroom door.

In the kitchen downstairs, the unexpected clamor and shouts roused the entire household. Everyone hurried over in a panic.

“Miss Bai, what are you doing? Put down the knife!”

Aunt Luo kept her distance, arms outstretched in an attempt to stop her, her voice laced with alarm.

The kitchen lights were off, the space dim. On the floor gleamed a dark pool of liquid. The metallic tang in the air made its nature obvious.

Huddled in the corner, the slender figure had disheveled hair falling over her forehead, blood smeared on her cheeks that heightened her sickly, frenzied pallor.

Yet the eyes beneath that hair remained as cool and detached as ever.

As if the wounds weren’t on her body, as if the blood wasn’t flowing from her veins.

At Aunt Luo’s frantic pleas, Bai Jin merely lowered her gaze and said calmly, “Stay back.”

“Alright, alright, Aunt Luo won’t come closer. Miss Bai, just put down the knife first, okay? You’re bleeding so much—Aunt Luo will bandage it for you, alright?”

Aunt Luo had never faced anything like this, never seen a child just over ten do something so horrifying. Her voice trembled.

But Bai Jin paid no heed. The knife’s sharp tip pressed against her wrist.

That wrist and palm were already a mangled mess of flesh, yet she dug the blade in deeper, teasing out more blood as if to make it flow freer.

Tears streamed from Aunt Luo’s eyes, but she didn’t dare approach.

Qin Dian and Father Lu soon rushed down from upstairs.

“Jinjin!”

Qin Dian still wore a thin silk camisole nightgown, her straight hair tousled over her chest, eyes wide with terror.

“What happened?!”

Aunt Luo forced composure into her voice. “I heard noises from the kitchen tonight and came to check. Who would have thought…”

Who could have imagined stumbling upon such a horrifying sight.

Blood everywhere, and that figure still viciously carving into herself with the knife.

Whenever Aunt Luo edged closer, the figure shrank away, knocking over a vase on the counter.

She couldn’t fathom what torment could drive a ten-year-old to this.

No one dared act rashly.

Qin Dian extended a hand and inched forward, eyes fixed on Bai Jin to help steady her.

“Jinjin, don’t do anything rash…”

Bai Jin looked up at Qin Dian’s face and tilted her head slightly. Her voice came out faint and weak. “Auntie, I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

“I miss my mother.”

Qin Dian kept advancing. “Jinjin, put the knife down first. Then we’ll talk about the rest together, okay?”

Bai Jin kept the blade pressed to her wrist. “Will you promise me?”

“Yes, Auntie promises.”

Qin Dian agreed for the moment, whatever it took.

Just then, Lu Huan hurried down as well, stunned by the scene.

She flipped on the kitchen light switch.

Harsh white light flooded the shadows, revealing the carnage. Red blood stained the white tiles, its metallic stench thick in the air. Bai Jin crouched wretchedly in the corner, her clothes soaked crimson—a shocking, heart-wrenching sight.

Their eyes met across the space.

Seeing Bai Jin immersed in her own blood, Lu Huan’s lips parted slightly, her eyes wide in shock, her mind slow to process.

Only upon spotting Lu Huan did Bai Jin’s expression soften with a trace of warmth.

Sister, this is your birthday gift.

Do you like it?

The silent words echoed in her mind. Bai Jin’s lips curved faintly as she closed her eyes.

As Qin Dian drew nearer step by step, her face drained of color. She collapsed first, consciousness slipping away.

The knife slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor.

Its razor edge gleamed wet with blood.

The fiasco ended only when Bai Jin fainted from blood loss.

She was rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment. When she awoke two days later, her wounds were properly bandaged, an IV dripping from her other arm.

From beyond the door came the faint sound of Qin Dian on the phone, apparently arranging for a psychologist.

Bai Jin stared at the ceiling, her thoughts calm.

Of course… Only a madman would pull something like this.

Clear-headed, she yanked out the IV needle and slid from the bed on unsteady legs, ignoring the pain that ripped through her.

When she reached the doorway, Qin Dian spotted the fresh blood seeping from the back of her hand and forgot the call entirely.

“Jinjin!”

“Auntie, you promised me.” Bai Jin gazed at her steadily, her voice even.

Clad in a hospital gown with bloodless lips, those eyes held a quiet desolation.

It was like a mirror, reflecting Qin Dian’s current reaction. The mirror held no warmth, hard and impenetrable, staring at her every move and leaving no room for rebuttal.

Qin Dian stared at those eyes, stunned.

“……”

In the end, Qin Dian gave in.

On the psychologist’s advice, she arranged a house outside for Bai Jin, hired a dedicated nanny to tend to her daily needs, and transferred her to another school to keep the two of them apart.

Bai Jin thus left the Lu Family.

During the time Bai Jin spent in the hospital, Lu Huan resisted the urge to visit her and remained utterly indifferent. Lu Huan truly couldn’t fathom what this woman was playing at.

On the day Bai Jin moved out, Lu Huan didn’t appear. She holed up in her room on purpose, refusing to watch her go, and only ventured out to Bai Jin’s now-empty room after she had left.

An indescribable feeling stirred in her heart.

But whatever the case, Lu Huan no longer had to see this person every day, and that undoubtedly made her happy. She pushed all other thoughts aside.

Afterward, she marked her fourteenth birthday at home.

Just as she had wished, with no sign of Bai Jin.

“……”

The dream’s imagery shifted endlessly.

At that fourteenth birthday party, Lu Huan had invited friends and classmates over to celebrate, and her mother had helped cut the cake.

All eyes were on her—including her mother’s.

For a fleeting moment, Lu Huan felt like she was a child again, back when she was the Lu Family’s only daughter.

The lights dimmed, plunging the living room into shadow, save for the glow of the candles atop the massive birthday cake. Everyone cheered as she made her wish.

Lu Huan pressed her hands together, murmured her wish silently, and blew out the candles in one breath.

With the candles snuffed, everything vanished.

In the next instant, Lu Huan appeared as her adult self.

The birthday gathering was gone, replaced by a sunset over the sea and sand beneath her feet.

In the golden light, everything blurred into chaos—except for the face of the woman standing nearby, sharp and real.

It was… Bai Jin.

Twenty-two-year-old Bai Jin.

Lu Huan froze in place.

Bai Jin’s hands were clasped behind her back, her hair dancing in the wind.

A faint smile graced her face, brimming with gentle happiness. Sunlight kissed her cheeks, making her seem to glow from within.

“I’ll always be with you, sister,” she said to Lu Huan.

This version of her was worlds apart from the old one.

The Bai Jin of before had mutilated herself in the dead of night, lost to madness and shadow. Now, sunlight cradled her anew, filling her with hope.

The look in her eyes, fixed on Lu Huan, seemed to await a reply.

Lu Huan opened her mouth to speak, but the scenery warped once more.

Light twisted and yielded to darkness. The scene dissolved into a stormy, sodden night.

Lu Huan stood in the rain with an umbrella, gazing at the huddled shadow beneath a distant streetlamp—just like that fateful evening.

Rain drenched the wretched form, the feeble yellow light amplifying her desolation.

Only a second earlier, she had broken free of the gloom, bathed in radiance.

Now reality hurled her back into the abyss.

Heaven mocked her with a torrential downpour, declaring it all an illusion.

And Lu Huan was the architect of it all.

She had first bestowed upon Bai Jin the warmth, the emotions, the love every person deserved—only to rip it away savagely, proclaiming it all for naught.

Lu Huan knew this full well, which was why she had forced herself to turn a blind eye. She had weighed the consequences when she made her choice.

She had never claimed to be a good person. Villains did such things, and so could she—after all, that’s what she was.

Yet in that moment, her heart throbbed with an inexplicable ache.

It felt suffocating.

In the dream, Lu Huan stepped forward and tilted her umbrella to shield Bai Jin from the rain.

Those reddened eyes met hers again, tightening Lu Huan’s throat. For once, no harsh words escaped her lips.

They simply stared at each other.

Until Bai Jin rose slowly to her feet. A blade gleamed suddenly in her hand. Lu Huan’s pupils shrank; she recoiled, bracing for vengeance.

But the knife did not turn toward Lu Huan.

It plunged into Bai Jin herself.

Blood welled from her abdomen.

“What are you doing?!” Lu Huan flung the umbrella aside and lunged to support her.

Bai Jin slumped weakly into Lu Huan’s arms, bodies pressed tight, one arm looping around her neck. Her voice trembled with raw grievance.

“Sister, why did you abandon me?”

“Why did you abandon me?”

“How could you treat me this way…”

Lu Huan barely registered the accusations. Her mind raced with the wound, fumbling for her phone to call emergency services.

But in the next breath, Bai Jin yanked the knife free and drove it into Lu Huan’s own body.

Lu Huan felt no pain in her stupor, only the vivid crimson staining her palms.

“Bai Jin, you—”

Bai Jin’s smile bloomed, radiant and wild, rain tracing paths down her cheeks. She rose on tiptoe, lips brushing Lu Huan’s ear, her breath warm and damp. “This way…”

“We can be together forever.”

“Okay, sister?”

“Forever and ever…”

“Let me belong to you… forever.”