With all the fragments removed, the once adorable shape was now a shattered mess, inspiring sighs of regret and sorrow.
Bo Ranying only glanced at it for a moment before an uncontrollable wave of sadness washed over her again.
The ashtray had broken into several large pieces and a handful of smaller ones. Bo Ranying picked up two fragments and tentatively fitted them together. They aligned perfectly with the cracks, faintly revealing the item’s original intact form. But that central crack could never be mended, no matter what she tried.
Bo Ranying covered it with her finger and shifted the angle, successfully fooling her own eyes, if only for the moment.
But that was only temporary.
Bo Ranying zoned out for a bit, then hurriedly got up to search for something to glue it back together.
She rummaged through drawers and cabinets at home for what felt like forever before finally finding some tape and glue. Clutching them, she approached the task with the reverence of someone making a wish to a deity.
Eagerly returning to the table, she used these makeshift tools to painstakingly reassemble the fragments. During the process, the jagged, winding edges of the shards sliced into her tender fingertips, but she paid it no mind. She simply wiped away the bright red beads of blood and pressed on.
In her fervor, Bo Ranying lost all track of time.
She held the same awkward position until the wee hours of the morning and finally managed to stick every piece back together, restoring the complete shape of the Cinnamon Dog.
It should have been a moment of triumph.
Bo Ranying’s heart eased, and the tension drained from her body. But as she shifted her feet carelessly, a tidal wave of pins and needles surged through her limbs. Even the slightest movement triggered excruciating pain.
Her brows furrowed involuntarily. Yet when she looked at the finished product, her lips quivered, and fresh tears burst from her still-moist eyes.
It was just too ugly!
Bo Ranying ugly-cried—
She had indeed taped and glued the ashtray’s fragments back together, but the result was hideous beyond words.
What should have been a delicately cute, heart-melting little trinket had become a Frankenstein’s monster of mismatched pieces. Cracks marred the surface everywhere, glistening glue hardened in uneven patches, and loops of tape wrapped around it to hold everything in place so it could even be picked up.
No matter how she looked at it, this was a failure. No flowery language could hide its flaws.
After all her hard work, this was the outcome. Bo Ranying felt more heartbroken and defeated than ever.
She stared at the ashtray for a long while, unable to deceive herself any longer.
She could already picture handing this monstrosity back to Nan Qi. Nan Qi would stare at her with those beautiful eyes wide in disbelief, convinced she had lost her mind.
And the ashtray’s fate? It would end up tossed out by Nan Qi once more.
Bo Ranying didn’t dare imagine it further. Utterly dejected, she buried her head on the table and sobbed in total despair.
She was truly awful, messing things up like this.
She cried until she was spent, her body and mind exhausted to the extreme. She dragged herself through her bedtime routine, and by the time she returned to her room, the sky outside was lightening with the faint haze of dawn, outlines of objects becoming visible.
Bo Ranying still didn’t dare turn off the light.
The warm glow filled the room, warding off the fear in her heart.
She thought after such an absurd day, she would collapse into sleep the moment her head hit the pillow, drained of all energy.
But in reality, the instant she closed her eyes, that nauseating tactile sensation and horrifying experience replayed in her mind.
Darkness enveloped her vision, her body shivering uncontrollably. A chill climbed from her soles straight to the top of her head—some draft sneaking in from who knew where, leaving her skin icy.
She wore her soft, comfortable pajamas, perfectly fitted to her body. Yet it felt as if someone had brutally yanked them open; she could clearly hear the fabric ripping.
The scene shifted abruptly from pitch blackness to Qiao Xiuyu’s rage-twisted, hideous face, eerie and terrifying.
A pair of large hands lunged for her throat with ferocious momentum, swiftly clamping around her slender neck. The fingers tightened viciously, nails digging into her flesh.
Bo Ranying’s heart lurched. The voiceless agony in her throat tormented her, and in extreme terror, her body unleashed a burst of survival instinct. She flipped over and bolted upright in bed, breaking free from the nightmare. Her eyes snapped open.
The world before her returned to its bright, familiar state. Her eyes darted around in confusion, slowly processing the information as she gasped for air. She touched her forehead and found it slick with sweat.
Finally realizing she was back in reality—that what she’d just endured was all illusion—Bo Ranying let go of the lingering tension. She comforted herself: it was fake. The same thing wouldn’t happen twice.
Leaning against the headboard, she sat there calming her nerves before closing her eyes again in the same position.
From the moment her eyelids shut, she stayed on high alert, ready to snap them open if that scene reappeared.
This time, nothing happened. It was just ordinary darkness.
Bit by bit, Bo Ranying lowered her guard, testing whether the nightmare beast was lurking to strike or slumbering indifferently.
After probing for a long while, it proved to be the latter.
Bo Ranying allowed herself to drift off.
But good things never lasted. After an indeterminable stretch of time, she vaguely heard the click of a key turning in the lock, the door opening and closing. Someone changed shoes, then padded softly through the living room to her doorway. They lingered there for a moment, gazing at her sleeping face with tender eyes shimmering like moonlight.
After a brief pause, footsteps approached her bedside. A murmur: how does she sleep like this?
A long arm reached over from above, supporting her waist. With careful control, it guided her body from sitting to lying down, positioning her in the center of the bed. It pulled the covers over her, ensuring her limbs were all tucked snugly inside, before retreating in satisfaction.
The footsteps faded into silence.
Everything felt so familiar—something Bo Ranying had experienced countless times: Nan Qi’s care.
It often happened when Nan Qi was on a business trip or working late, or when Bo Ranying had gotten drunk. In the dead of night after Bo Ranying had fallen asleep, Nan Qi would come check on her, leaving only after confirming she was sleeping soundly.
Sometimes Bo Ranying slept too deeply to notice; other times, in light slumber, she sensed Nan Qi’s arrival immediately. Each time, she pretended to be asleep, letting it happen naturally without acknowledging it.
She knew Nan Qi’s scent and habits intimately.
Even without seeing her, Bo Ranying could tell exactly what Nan Qi was doing, what expression she wore, the look in her eyes.
It was almost mystical: when her sleep was shallow and Nan Qi arrived, she woke right up. But once Nan Qi finished checking and left, Bo Ranying would instantly fall into deep sleep, undisturbed until morning.
This time was no different.
Sensing Nan Qi’s presence woke her immediately. But today, with her body and mind so worn out, everything felt hazy and unreal. It took a moment to fully regain control of herself.
Just as Nan Qi was leaving the room.
Bo Ranying struggled to pry her eyes open. She wanted to throw her arms around Nan Qi, tell her how scared she was, and ask why she was working so late tonight—was it a tough case?
Her pupils stung from the sudden bright light, watering and forcing her eyes shut again for a moment.
When she opened them once more, Bo Ranying realized she was indeed lying in the center of the bed, no longer sitting up—but there were no covers on her.
She lay there dazed for a bit, puzzled, but had no time to dwell.
Right now, she desperately wanted to see Nan Qi.
She rolled out of bed, too impatient to hunt for slippers. Barefoot on the cold tile floor, she hurried out of the room in big strides, calling out, “Little Qi!”
The house was eerily silent, echoing only with her own voice.
Bo Ranying couldn’t find Nan Qi. Even the familiar presence she’d sensed had vanished like the wind.
