Chapter 85: Thunder

Later, when Bai Jin arrived at the Lu Family.

Back when her mother was still alive, she would often dress Bai Jin up so prettily—in a little white dress, with braids woven into her hair—turning her into the picture of a doll.

After her mother passed away, Aunt Qin continued dressing her in the exact same style.

Their braiding techniques were remarkably similar.

Only after growing up did Bai Jin learn the truth: they had once braided each other’s hair in the very same way, which explained the identical methods.

On the day she arrived at the Lu Family, Bai Jin was dressed beautifully.

But reality turned out just as she had feared—

This older sister didn’t like her.

Perhaps she had liked her at first, only to change her mind later—or maybe she had never liked her at all. Bai Jin had no way of knowing.

Still, Bai Jin remembered her mother’s words: Be good to her, and she might come to like you.

Whenever Lu Huan took out her frustrations on Bai Jin, Bai Jin could sense her older sister’s mood easing considerably.

It was as if venting made her feel better.

That had to count as… being good to her, didn’t it?

Those feelings buried deep down never truly vanished. Instead, they twisted and grew in malformed ways.

“…”

Even after all these years, what Bai Jin craved remained forever out of reach.

And the one person she wanted most stood right before her. Yet she had ruined everything.

Inside the hotel room, the second hand on the clock ticked quietly onward, time slipping inexorably through their fingers.

As Bai Jin recounted her story, all the buried past came rushing back into the light, weaving itself into her words and lodging deep in Lu Huan’s mind.

Lu Huan looked at her. “So fourteen years ago, your father didn’t actually die, did he?”

Bai Jin nodded softly. “The car accident was staged—a fake death. He lived on under a new identity. Right when I started university, he handed me a fully operational company. Then he took his own life.”

“I see.” Lu Huan absorbed the revelation.

At last, she understood it all.

She knew now that her own mother had felt guilty toward Bai Jin’s mother, channeling those lingering emotions onto Bai Jin instead. She knew about Bai Jin’s childhood, and how she had later come to control Huanzhou.

In the end, the truths and old grudges about her mother had come to her from someone else’s lips. For some reason, Lu Huan found that profoundly sad.

She lowered her eyes and let out a cold, mirthless laugh.

Lifting her gaze to the clock on the wall, she said, “Time’s up.”

Lu Huan offered no reaction to the story Bai Jin had shared. Instead, she turned to her. “You need to leave.”

Bai Jin kept her eyes downcast. “Can I… stay?”

“What do you think?” Lu Huan’s voice was flat, devoid of inflection.

The answer was obvious: no.

Bai Jin stared into those eyes, cold as chips of ice, and slowly extended her hand to touch Lu Huan’s. She felt the reaction immediately.

Lu Huan was restraining herself, but Bai Jin could still sense the tremor.

She was shaking.

Her older sister still recoiled from her. It was a visceral, instinctive rejection.

Had Bai Jin’s hurts cut that deep after all? Bai Jin’s gaze dropped, her voice growing even softer and more fragile. “I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry…”

The same two phrases again: I’m sorry, and I was wrong.

Lu Huan didn’t reply.

The doorbell rang. Lu Huan pulled her hand away coolly and went to answer it. Bai Jin glanced down at her now-empty palm, schooled her expression, and brushed away the tears gathering at the corner of her eye.

Yi Ming stood outside. Lu Huan opened the door.

Yi Ming handed over a shopping bag. “Here—the clothes you asked for.”

Lu Huan reached for it, but Yi Ming hesitated, her hand freezing in place.

Through the open door, she caught sight of a figure in the room behind Lu Huan—someone in a bathrobe.

Focusing on the profile, it looked familiar.

It took her a beat to realize who it was: Bai Jin, belted into a bathrobe.

Yi Ming blinked. “You two…”

Lu Huan’s shirt, meanwhile, bore two wrinkles, robbing it of its usual crisp perfection and giving it a rumpled air.

Sharing a hotel room with Bai Jin in their current states—it was the sort of scene that invited all sorts of assumptions.

Yi Ming’s stunned stare made Lu Huan react, and Bai Jin glanced over from inside the room.

Caught between their unwavering gazes, Yi Ming smoothed away her surprise and feigned casualness. “Anyway, I’ll head out.”

Lu Huan paused in silence. “Thanks.”

The door shut, plunging the room back into quiet.

Yi Ming had obviously gotten the wrong idea, but Lu Huan had no interest in clarifying or dwelling on it. She turned and passed the clothes to Bai Jin.

“Change, then leave.”

Bai Jin took them without protest or choice. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she reached for the bathrobe’s tie.

“You—” Lu Huan started, but bit back the rest, turning her back instead.

Lu Huan sat on the bed’s edge, facing away as she stared at her phone screen—though she registered none of it. Try as she might, her mind conjured vivid images from the sounds beside her.

The crinkle of the bag, no doubt as Bai Jin pulled out the clothes. Then the rustle of dressing.

When Bai Jin fastened her bra, she noticed the size was a perfect fit. She paused for a moment before slipping into the rest of the outfit.

Lu Huan sensed the hush and glanced up to find Bai Jin standing right in front of her.

She wore a light, soft autumn sweater in a clean pale shade, her curly hair tumbling over her shoulders. The usual icy detachment had softened, thanks to her reddened eyes. That obsessive, feral madness laid bare over the past three days had vanished without a trace.

Bai Jin parted her lips to speak, but Lu Huan cut her off with icy words:

“Are you going or not?”

Bai Jin froze. She knew nothing she said would help.

Trembling, she lifted a hand toward her, but Lu Huan evaded it.

The rejection stung like a fresh wound. Bai Jin dropped her gaze, gathered her things in silence, and left without another word.

Only when the door clicked shut did Lu Huan’s rigid posture ease.

Stifling her inner turmoil, she turned her palm over to stare at the quivering flesh.

As expected…

She still couldn’t shake those memories.

“…”

The night brought no peace. Lu Huan lay sleepless until late, her mind tangled in knots—perhaps from Bai Jin’s presence, or perhaps from the story she’d heard that day.

In her dreams, a little girl stood alone and motionless, no adults anywhere nearby. Abandoned by the world, she simply stood there in silence, her stillness more heartrending than any sob.

Lu Huan watched that frozen scene for what felt like ages until the alarm jolted her awake the next morning.

She rose, washed up, and dressed. A restless night had left faint dark circles under her eyes.

Lu Huan refused to let personal troubles disrupt her work schedule, so she headed out as planned.

On the drive, Yi Ming recapped the previous day’s talks. Lu Huan listened attentively, nodding along. Once the topic wrapped up, Yi Ming added, “President Yan Ning will be there today.”

Which meant Bai Jin.

They would meet again.

Lu Huan drew in a slow breath, gazing out the window. “I know.”

Just three words, simple on the surface. Yi Ming sensed deeper currents at play but held her tongue, since Lu Huan hadn’t confided in her.

When they arrived at Huanzhou, Lu Huan banished all trace of emotion, slipping into her professional veneer for business dealings.

Unlike yesterday—when the woman before her had crumpled to the floor, gasping through sobs as she clutched at Lu Huan’s clothes—she had returned to her usual self today.

Cool. Indifferent. Distant.

Yet when their eyes locked, the frost she showed the world thawed in her depths, simmering with restrained feeling.

Their gazes met once more, and Lu Huan offered a faint, measured smile. “President Yan.”

No flaw marred her composed expression or steady tone.

In public, Lu Huan could project an impeccable, polished front—feigning ignorance of their history, pretending all was serene, deceiving everyone around them.

Bai Jin hesitated only a moment before returning the polite greeting, equally seamless.

To outsiders, they were nothing more than business associates.

They took their seats opposite one another, tea poured all around.

Throughout the discussion, Bai Jin’s eyes strayed repeatedly to Lu Huan. Lu Huan met them for no more than two seconds before deliberately looking away with cool detachment.

Yi Ming observed the subtle tension in silence.

Time wore on, and the dim sky outside deepened further.

Sumen’s weather was like that more often than not. With autumn settling in, rains poured endlessly, thunder and lightning crashing frequently. Yesterday’s puddles still lingered on the ground, soon to be joined by today’s deluge.

The manager across the table called to an aide. “Close the windows; rain’s coming. Xiao Li, shut them tight.”

“Got it.”

The windows sealed shut, muffling the wind outside.

Faint rumbles of thunder persisted, however.

The sounds set Lu Huan’s expression flickering oddly, though she fielded the opposite side’s queries with outward poise.

“This was already addressed earlier…”

A thunderclap detonated without warning. Lu Huan’s hand jerked, sending scalding tea splashing across the back of it. Her words died abruptly.

Everyone stiffened, jolted by the deafening roar. Then their eyes went to the angry red welt blooming on Lu Huan’s hand.

“President Lu, your hand!”

Lu Huan’s gaze drifted blankly, pain apparently distant. Only their prompts brought her back. She rose swiftly. “It’s nothing. I’ll rinse it with cold water.”

“This…”

The others shifted uncomfortably. Guessing Lu Huan wanted an out, Yi Ming interjected first. “She’s fine. There’s a first-aid kit in my car.”

She tossed Lu Huan the car keys.

Lu Huan caught them and departed without another word.

“…”

Settling into the car, Lu Huan hadn’t the strength for anything more.

Thunder crashed relentlessly in her ears. A turbulent emotion boiled inside, clawing for release.

Only alone could she drop the mask, naked fear gleaming in her eyes.

She was still terrified of thunder.

Still so very afraid.

Clutching her ears changed nothing; the sound pierced through.

The burns on the back of her hand and between her thumb and forefinger throbbed with fiery pain.

In her solitude, control shattered. Her eyes burned red, quiet sobs rising unbidden.

“…”

After a long while with no sign of Lu Huan, Bai Jin could no longer sit still. She bid farewell to the others and left the conference room ahead of them, making her way straight to the parking lot.

She searched through the rows of cars and finally spotted Lu Huan inside a silver sedan.

Lu Huan was slumped over the steering wheel, her shoulders trembling. Bai Jin approached and pulled open the car door.

“Lu Huan.”

The instant the door swung open, Lu Huan looked up on reflex. Bai Jin froze at the sight.

Her eyes were bloodshot, red in a way that didn’t suit her at all. Beneath the tough facade she’d worn like armor lay only raw vulnerability.

“What are you doing here?”

“I…” Bai Jin faltered. “Your injury.”

She had come to check on the wound.

But Lu Huan wasn’t having it. “Why did you come looking for me? Haven’t I paid you back enough already? Or you could tie me up again—whatever it takes to make us square.”

“Everything before was my fault. I never should have manipulated your feelings to get what I wanted. I’m making it up to you now. I’m sorry.”

Bai Jin rushed to explain. “No, that’s not—”

She tried to speak, but Lu Huan whipped her head around, cutting her off. “Then why won’t you just call it even?”

“Every time you show up, it’s like you’re dragging me back through everything that happened these past few days. You’re raking over the coals of those memories I hate most. I don’t need your apologies. I don’t need your pity.”

“I—”

Lu Huan seemed to realize how fiercely her emotions had spiked. She forced herself to calm down and turned her face away.

“Stop coming to see me like this, all pathetic and broken. And don’t you dare pity me. I don’t need pity from anyone. This is all on me—I own it.”

The agitation in her voice ebbed into something steadier, laced with quiet desperation.

“Let me go. Please, I’m begging you.”