Incurable Chapter 8 Part 2

Rain fell again.

Wooden windows stood wide open. In the courtyard, bamboo and trees were thick and emerald, dripping with life. A pond of lotus bloomed beneath a pavilion and stone paths. Fine rain tapped the lotus leaves, collecting into beads, then slipping into the water with crisp little splashes.

Liu Qingyuan sat off to the side of the main hall, eyes lifted toward the man in the seat of honor.

Liu Qianxiu.

Detached. Coldly elegant. Liu Qianxiu sat with his profile turned toward the open window. The hall lights were off. In the dimness, his side profile looked like a sharp paper-cut shadow, exquisite in a way that didn’t feel human.

“Qianxiu,” Liu Qingyuan said gently, hopeful and careful. “Stay for dinner at home.”

Liu Qingyuan was only a few months older yet looked more mature, with handsome features, a straight posture, and immaculately styled hair. He carried that polished elite aura.

He and Liu Qianxiu didn’t look alike. Each had taken after their own mother. Liu Qianxiu was cool and aloof, calm as a lone orchid. Liu Qingyuan was mild and refined, ambition hidden behind warmth.

Even though Liu Qianxiu was younger, he was the head of the Liu family. Liu Qingyuan’s respect showed in every word.

Liu Qianxiu didn’t answer.

He blinked once.

Outside, a bead of water slid off a lotus leaf and fell, lonely, into the pond.

A deeper, heavier voice sounded from the other side of the hall, followed by two harsh coughs.

“You’re always busy at the hospital. What are you even doing there? If it weren’t for your grandfather’s memorial, would you even come home?”

Liu Fengmian.

He was already in his sixties, but looked much younger. Dressed in black, lean and upright, his fine wrinkles couldn’t hide that he’d once been strikingly handsome.

Even at his age, he still held presence, the kind of dignity that didn’t fade.

As his father finished speaking, Liu Qingyuan immediately stood, poured tea, and played peacemaker.

“Qianxiu has his own work. Besides, Uncle Cai is helping, isn’t he?”

Uncle Cai, Cai Qingliang, the Liu family’s chief secretary, the one who gathered reports from across the world and executed the family head’s decisions.

Liu Fengmian coughed again.

Liu Qianxiu’s gaze remained unchanged, his voice quiet and level.

“You’re ill?”

Liu Fengmian’s brow twitched. He glanced at Liu Qingyuan, sighed, and took a sip of tea.

“Just tired lately.”

“He insists on doing everything himself,” Liu Qingyuan said quickly. Then he turned to Liu Fengmian with dutiful concern. “You’re not as young as you used to be. Let me handle more.”

Liu Qianxiu finally drew his eyes back from the window.

“Bring Aunt Shen back,” he said calmly. “This house should have someone to take care of you.”

Father and son both stiffened for a fraction of a second.

Liu Qianxiu’s gaze swept over them, quiet and bottomless.

“If I wanted to harm her, hiding would be useless. Anywhere.”

Their faces recovered instantly, too fast, too practiced. Liu Qianxiu seemed not to notice. His phone vibrated. He glanced down at the message, the screen lighting his eyes, but revealing nothing.

He stood.

Today, he wore a black suit, collar neat and severe, his tall frame clean and imposing as he rose. Liu Fengmian and Liu Qingyuan both looked up at him.

Liu Qianxiu walked toward the door.

“You’re not staying for dinner?” Liu Qingyuan asked, trying once more.

The only answer was Liu Qianxiu’s back as he disappeared.

The moment he left, the main hall felt like it could breathe again. The two remaining men unconsciously relaxed.

Liu Qingyuan cursed under his breath, staring at the door, resentment and hatred flickering in his eyes.

“Do we really have to bring Mom back?” he asked.

Liu Fengmian sat back in the main seat, the old authority returning with the motion. He sipped his tea, the bitterness catching on his tongue.

“We bring her back,” he said. “Otherwise he’ll think we’re afraid of him.”

Mu Wan texted Liu Qianxiu.

He wasn’t home yet. He told Mu Wan to wait.

She reached his floor, knocked to confirm, then stood by the window at the end of the corridor, bouquet held in her arms, waiting.

Night had fully fallen.

The sky was a black sheet with no stars, but the city below was studded with lights, endless and glittering, like a spilled galaxy.

In a good neighborhood, even the night view was beautiful.

Mu Wan waited fifteen minutes.

The elevator chimed.

She turned.

Liu Qianxiu stepped out and saw her immediately, standing by the window with a bouquet almost too large for her arms. Her small, pale face, red lips, and bright eyes peeked out from the flowers like something cut from a magazine page and pasted onto the night.

Black night. Bright flowers. Soft woman.

The elevator doors closed silently behind him.

Liu Qianxiu’s lips pressed into a thin line. His throat moved once, as if he had to swallow something down, and his voice came low, dark as the corridor.

“Have you been waiting long?”

“No.” Mu Wan shook her head.

It was her first time seeing him in a suit. Somehow it made him even more striking, a different kind of sharpness. He looked like he’d just finished something serious and rushed back.

Mu Wan walked toward him, pretending it was nothing.

“Besides, I don’t have much to do anyway. I’m always alone.”

Alone.

He was alone, too.

When she came closer, Liu Qianxiu lowered his gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

Mu Wan blinked, caught off guard. Wind moved through the long corridor, tossing strands of hair against her cheek, making her itch. Following his eyes, she shifted the bouquet aside and looked down.

In the empty corridor, there were only the two of them. The overhead lights were bright, illuminating their faces without mercy. As she lowered her head, the bouquet rustled, petals trembling, fragrance spilling between them.

“I fell filming,” Mu Wan said, then lifted her head again and looked at him over the flowers.

His eyes were still deep, dark as a winter pond.

For some reason, it softened her from the inside out.

She bent her knee slightly, about to say it was nothing, when Liu Qianxiu asked quietly,

“Does it hurt?”

Mu Wan straightened.

She looked up at him, and the hollow place that had collapsed last night seemed to rebuild itself, just from those two words.

It filled fast, full, and warm, like a flower scent in a corridor.

Mu Wan smiled, her eyes shining.

“Mhm,” she said softly. “It hurts.”

Liu Qianxiu looked away, pressed his finger to the fingerprint lock, and the door clicked open.

He turned back, voice low and firm.

“Come in.”

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