Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound crept in first—mechanical, steady, sterile. Qi Ming Yue's eyelids fluttered, registering the scent of antiseptic and the faint hum of monitors.
Her body was sore, wrapped in bandages, a cast strapped along her arm like fragile armor. If not for the rhythm of the heart monitor, she might have thought she'd died again.
Diamond Heart Hospital's VIP suite shimmered with elegance: alabaster walls traced with golden filigree; ceiling carved with constellation maps. It felt like a palace misplaced inside a clinic. But none of it touched her—not yet.
In the corner, Wang Li stood silently, his gaze locked on a digital tablet.
Beside him, Young Master Yan leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, expression unreadable.
A nurse entered quietly, holding out the blood analysis.
"It's confirmed," she whispered.
Wang Li's hands trembled. His eyes misted.
"We found her…" he said hoarsely. "Little moon."
Yan said nothing—but his eyes lingered on Ming Yue's face too long for a stranger.
Then: quiet.
Time folded.
Her awakening came not with fear, but softness.
The sterile scent was gone. Replaced by sandalwood and lavender.
She blinked again.
No longer a hospital ceiling. A glass dome above her now, carved with drifting clouds and feather motifs. The bed beneath her was impossibly warm—silk sheets layered over cloud-soft pillows and velvet throws. Her body sank into it like a long sigh.
She was no longer in the country of Meiyuan. No longer drifting.
It felt like home she had long forgotten.
The Qi estate wrapped around her like a dream she had forgotten.
Outside her chamber door, she heard the faint mingling of voices—maids giggling over shared gossip, trays clinking softly as breakfast was prepared. The tone was light. Familiar. Unafraid.
She turned her head slowly.
A maid stood by the windows, wringing a warm cloth over rosewater. Her eyes met Ming Yue's, and the cloth dropped with a splash.
"She's awake!" the girl cried, then turned and sprinted through the corridor, laughter trailing behind.
Ming Yue blinked, overwhelmed. The softness of the bed, the fragrance, the careless joy outside her room—all of it felt foreign and sacred. She clenched the bedsheet, grounding herself.
She remembered soot on her skin. Blood under her nails. Cold wind biting through ragged clothes.
And now—
Lavender.
Warmth.
A soft pillow that didn't scratch.
A place where people cared if she woke up.
She shut her eyes for a moment, lips trembling. A sob escaped—not from pain, but from unfamiliar joy.
She didn't know who these people were yet. She didn't even know what day it was.
But somewhere deep in her heart, something whispered.
You belong.
She curled deeper into the bedding, letting sleep take her again.
But this time—it wasn't escape.
It was peace.
And beneath silken sheets, the flame rested—not extinguished, but cradled.