Chapter Eight --A Daughter's Redemption

Jiaxuan stood before the old familiar door, her heart thrumming like it did when she was a child running home with scraped knees and tearful apologies. The neighborhood smelled the same,a mix of rain-drenched earth and aging magnolia trees but the silence felt heavier now.

She hesitated only a moment before raising her hand and knocking.

The door opened slowly.

Her mother looked smaller than she remembered. Fragile. Her shoulders hunched beneath a pale shawl, her skin ashen and loose over bones. But her eyes..those eyes still held the fire Jiaxuan remembered. The warmth. The quiet strength.

"Jiaxuan?" her mother breathed.

Forgetting everything her pain, her pride Jiaxuan stepped forward and threw her arms around the woman. "Mama…"

They sank into each other. Jiaxuan could feel the tremor in her mother's body, the hollow breaths against her shoulder.

"Why are you so thin?" she whispered, pulling back to search her mother's face. "You look so—"

"I didn't want to worry you," her mother interrupted gently. "I didn't think you'd come."

Jiaxuan's eyes shimmered. In her past life, she had come too late,she had missed her mother's final days, preoccupied with bitterness and regret. This time, fate had given her another chance.

"I came as soon as I could," she said. "I missed you, Mama."

Her mother led her inside, and the warmth of the home wrapped around her like a familiar blanket. But it didn't hide the truth the prescriptions stacked near the kitchen sink, the medical records half-tucked into drawers, the oxygen tank by the couch.

"I know," her mother said, settling slowly into her armchair. "I have stage four. They say there's not much time."

Jiaxuan knelt before her, gripping her mother's thin hands. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I wanted your life to be full," she whispered. "I didn't want my end to ruin your beginning."

Tears spilled over Jiaxuan's lashes. "You are the beginning, Mama. Everything I am everything I've learned it was because of you."

They stayed like that for a long while. Jiaxuan rested her head on her mother's lap, just like she had as a little girl. Her mother stroked her hair with frail fingers, humming the lullaby that once made monsters disappear.

Later that evening, Jiaxuan made her mother's favorite soup. They laughed softly over dinner, shared old memories, and for a moment, time slowed down.

But when night fell, and her mother coughed blood into a napkin she tried to hide, Jiaxuan's heart broke all over again.

In this life, she would not waste the days. She would cherish every moment, hold every breath, make sure her mother never felt alone.

No matter what happened with Huo Shenzhi, with Xu Roulan, with the past that haunted her,this was what mattered now.

Love. Family. Forgiveness.

The time that remains.

The wind rustled through the sheer curtains as dusk settled over the house. Jiaxuan sat on the floor beside the armchair, her head resting lightly against her mother's knee, eyes closed as if the world might stop spinning if she stayed still long enough.

Her mother's fingers gently played with a strand of her hair. "You always used to fall asleep like this when you were worried," she murmured.

Jiaxuan didn't speak. Her throat was thick with unshed words.

Her mother's hand paused. "You haven't told me anything about your marriage."

Jiaxuan's breath hitched.

Silence hung between them like a heavy curtain. Then her mother added, in a softer voice, "You came back to me different. Gentler. Sadder. But still you."

"I made many mistakes," Jiaxuan whispered, her voice raw. "I hurt people. I hurt myself. And I'm paying for it now."

"Do you love him?"

She didn't need to ask who.

Jiaxuan hesitated. "I do. More than he'll ever know. But he doesn't see me anymore. Not really. There's too much in between us… and someone else now. Someone he used to love."

Her mother sighed. "First loves have strong roots. But they're not always meant to bloom."

Jiaxuan looked up, tears pooling in her eyes. "What if I lost him forever?"

"Then you learn to live for yourself again."

A moment passed, and her mother's voice trembled slightly, as if each word cost her strength. "And… your son?"

Jiaxuan swallowed hard, her vision blurring. "He doesn't want me. He calls someone else 'mama' so easily. And I—I don't know how to reach him without scaring him."

"But you will." Her mother reached out, resting a weak hand over her daughter's heart. "Because you're his mother. That bond doesn't break. It may get buried, but it doesn't die."

Jiaxuan leaned into her touch, her tears slipping silently down her cheek. "I want to be better for him. For you. I want to fix everything."

Her mother smiled, though her face was tired. "Then start with today. Start with love. That's all a mother really leaves behind.". The rain had started sometime in the early evening, pattering against the windows like a lullaby. The lights in the room were dimmed, casting a soft golden hue over the space. Jiaxuan had pulled a blanket over her mother's legs, tucking it gently around her as if trying to protect her from the inevitable.

They didn't speak for a while. Her mother sipped her ginger tea while Jiaxuan sat nearby, peeling apples the way she used to when she was a teenager—long, curling ribbons without breaking the skin.

"You still remember," her mother said, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Some things never leave," Jiaxuan replied softly.

She placed the apple slices on a porcelain dish and moved closer. Her mother took a bite, then patted the seat beside her. "Come. Let me look at you properly."

Jiaxuan sat, folding her hands in her lap.

"You look older," her mother said gently. "Not in your face, but in your eyes. You've seen pain, haven't you?"

"I deserved it," she whispered. "I hurt people. I was selfish and blind, and now I'm paying the price."

Her mother reached out, brushing her cheek. "You're still here. Still breathing. That means you have a second chance."

Jiaxuan's throat tightened. "I was so angry at you… before. I thought you didn't understand me. But you were always right."

"No, sweetheart. I wasn't always right," her mother said. "I was just trying to protect you the only way I knew how."

The room fell quiet again as the rain grew heavier.

"I had a dream once," her mother began, voice low and dreamy. "You were painting in the garden. Your son was running around in the grass, laughing, and your husband was sitting nearby, watching you with love in his eyes. You were happy."

Jiaxuan closed her eyes, tears forming. "I want that dream to come true… but I'm so far from it."

Her mother took her hand, frail but steady. "Then start walking. Step by step. Forgive yourself. Fight for your son. And if that man truly loves you, he'll find his way back too."

Jiaxuan leaned her head on her mother's shoulder. "I'm scared."

"So was I. When I became your mother. When I got my diagnosis. But fear doesn't mean you stop living."

They sat like that for a long while, wrapped in memories and hopes and the unspoken ache of time slipping away.

As the night deepened, her mother drifted into sleep. Jiaxuan covered her carefully and stepped outside into the corridor, wiping her tears away. The nurse nodded to her silently.

Before leaving the room, Jiaxuan turned once more, whispering, "I'll be better, Mama. I promise."

And for the first time in a long time, she meant every word.

Her mother sipped the soup slowly, her frail hands wrapped around the warm bowl. Silence settled between them — not awkward, but contemplative. The kind of silence only family could share.

Jiaxuan hesitated for a moment, then spoke softly, "Mama… can I ask you something?"

Her mother looked up, eyes still gentle but tired. "Of course, darling."

Jiaxuan lowered her gaze. "Did you ever… love him? My father. Even after he left us for another woman?"

The question hung in the air like a fragile glass, threatening to shatter.

Her mother didn't answer right away. She looked out the window, her lips pressed in a thin line. Then, with a deep breath, she set the bowl down and turned to face Jiaxuan fully.

"I did," she said, her voice steady despite the sadness. "I loved him with everything I had. I loved him even when it stopped making sense. Even when he walked out of this house without looking back."

Jiaxuan's heart clenched.

"I used to ask myself what I lacked. What she had that I didn't. I used to cry every night, holding you in one arm and trying to hold my dignity in the other."

She smiled bitterly. "But love isn't always returned, Jiaxuan. Sometimes, we give it all and are left empty."

"Did you ever regret it?" Jiaxuan whispered.

Her mother shook her head. "Never. Because out of that love, I got you. And you were always worth it."

Tears welled in Jiaxuan's eyes. "I'm so sorry I was never enough to ease your pain."

Her mother reached out, cupping her cheek. "No, baby. You were the reason I kept going. You're the reason I'm still here now."

Jiaxuan leaned into her mother's palm, her voice breaking. "I was angry at you for a long time. I thought you were weak. I didn't understand."

Her mother smiled through her tears. "And now?"

"I think you were the strongest person I've ever known," Jiaxuan said. "And I'm trying to be like you… even if it's late."

They sat together in silence again — not empty this time, but filled with forgiveness, understanding, and the quiet ache of old wounds healing.

The first rays of morning sunlight peeked through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow across the quiet room. Jiaxuan had barely slept, her heart still heavy but also strangely full. She glanced at the clock,her mother would wake in a few hours.

Slipping out of her chair quietly, she wrapped a cardigan around herself and padded softly into the hallway. The old house creaked familiarly beneath her steps. It wasn't a mansion like the Huo estate, but it was home — the kind that smelled of old wood, warm rice, and memories.

She tied her hair into a loose bun and made her way into the kitchen.

Everything was dusty.

With sleeves rolled up and a quiet determination in her eyes, Jiaxuan got to work. She scrubbed the counters, wiped the windows, cleaned out the refrigerator, and mopped the floor. The warmth of labor steadied her heart. She moved from room to room, folding blankets, rearranging medicine boxes, and airing out the living room curtains.

Then she stood still, the silence wrapping around her like a question.

This is what I should've done all along.

By the time she returned to the kitchen, the day was fully down, bathing the house in gold. She washed rice, chopped vegetables, and brought out her mother's old recipe book. She smiled faintly as she flipped through the worn pages.

One by one, familiar smells began to fill the house — chicken porridge simmering gently, stir-fried vegetables sizzling in garlic, and lotus root soup bubbling in a clay pot. Jiaxuan worked quietly, humming softly under her breath, remembering how her mother used to sing the same tune every morning.

As she placed the dishes gently on a tray, she caught her reflection in the microwave — tired eyes, hair slightly disheveled, but a softness in her face that hadn't been there for years.

She carried the food to her mother's room, pausing outside the door.

From within, she heard a quiet rustle, followed by a weak cough.

"Mama?" she called softly, knocking once.

"Mm... come in."

Jiaxuan entered with the tray in hand and a gentle smile on her face. Her mother sat up slowly, surprised at the aroma wafting through the room.

"You cooked?"

Jiaxuan nodded. "Dinner is ready. I hope I remembered everything right."

Her mother blinked, then smiled — wide, proud, teary. "You even made the lotus soup."

"I wanted you to wake up to warmth… to something like the past," Jiaxuan said, setting the tray down and adjusting the pillows behind her mother's back.

Her mother took a spoonful of porridge and closed her eyes, savoring it. "It tastes like home. You remembered."

Jiaxuan sat beside her, watching every reaction. "I remember everything now, Mama. I just wish I'd remembered sooner."

Her mother reached out, holding her hand gently. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

And in that small, sunlit room, filled with the scent of rice and memory, Jiaxuan finally felt the quiet peace of beginning again.

Jiaxuan sat by the window, her gaze fixed on the streetlights flickering outside her mother's small apartment. The soft ticking of the wall clock was the only sound in the room. Her mother had fallen asleep not long after dinner — her breathing shallow but peaceful.

She hadn't said much after their talk, but her words had lingered like smoke: "Love isn't always returned… but you were always worth it."

Jiaxuan blinked back tears, silently folding the laundry. She had cleaned the entire apartment while her mother napped, washed the dishes, made the bed, and prepared soup for the next morning. It was the least she could do and still, it didn't feel like enough.

When she turned to place a warm blanket over her mother, she paused, her fingers trembling. The chemo had taken her mother's hair, her strength, and most of her energy but it hadn't taken her grace.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Jiaxuan whispered, brushing her mother's thin hair back gently.

The phone vibrated on the table, snapping her out of her reverie.

A message from Zeyu.

> Zeyu: "Did you eat? Do you want me to pick you up?"

She didn't reply. She stared at the screen, torn between a thousand emotions.

Zeyu had been her lifeline since her rebirth a brother-in-law, yes, but more than that, a source of warmth in a world that had grown cold. Unlike Shenzhi, he never looked at her with disgust. Unlike Rouluan, he never wore masks. But Jiaxuan knew the weight of her past life too well. Her sins weren't easy to bury and some wounds bled still.

She typed slowly:

> Jiaxuan: "Not yet. I'll stay here tonight. Mama needs me."

> Zeyu: "Okay. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all."

She smiled faintly. There was no pretense in his words.

As she closed her phone and turned off the lights, Jiaxuan laid on the couch beside her mother's room. Her body ached, her soul more so but for the first time in a long while, her heart felt still.

Tomorrow, she would return to the house where her husband hated her, and his first love played saint in her clothes. Tomorrow, she would face a child she longed to hold and a man she no longer recognized.

But tonight, she was just a daughter. And that, for now, was enough.

The mansion stood quiet under the shroud of night, its halls dimly lit and heavy with stillness. Outside, the wind howled faintly against the windows, but inside, tension brewed thicker than the shadows.

Xu Rouluan stood by the large window of the study, her silhouette reflected in the glass like a ghost of her own schemes. She waited patiently—her silk robe clung to her like a second skin, a deliberate choice.

The door creaked open.

Huo Shenzhi walked in, his expression unreadable, eyes tired, coat slung over his arm. He had just returned from work, yet he hadn't asked where Jiaxuan was. That silence gave Rouluan the opening she needed.

She approached him slowly, like a concerned confidante. "You're back late," she said gently.

He grunted, avoiding her eyes.

Rouluan let out a quiet sigh, her voice softening. "I know it's not my place, but… I saw something tonight. Something I wish I hadn't."

Shenzhi didn't look up, but his body tensed.

"I was driving back from the old district when I saw her. Jiaxuan. She got into a man's car… around the corner from the art store."

She paused, studying his face.

"The car waited for her like it wasn't the first time. It was a sleek grey sedan. She laughed when she got in… and I swear, Shenzhi, I've never seen her smile like that with you."

He looked at her then—slow, sharp, dangerous.

"I didn't follow them," she said quickly, voice trembling just enough to sound sincere. "I didn't want to pry. I just… I thought you should know. In case she's not being honest."

Shenzhi stepped past her, pacing to the decanter near the shelf. He poured himself a drink, the liquor hitting the glass like a warning shot.

Rouluan moved behind him. "I'm not trying to poison your heart. But… after everything you've endured… I just don't want you to be blind again."

He turned slowly, his stare piercing. "You said the same thing the last time. And the time before that."

"Because it's true!" she cried. "You keep forgiving her, and she keeps betraying you! What if she's using your guilt against you?"

He slammed the glass on the table, making her flinch.

"I said enough." His voice was low, dangerous.

Rouluan drew back, but not before casting one last seed. "She left tonight. With him. Don't let her fool you again, Shenzhi."

Then she walked out, leaving him with silence and a hundred burning doubts. The whiskey in his hand felt like fire, but it was nothing compared to the familiar sting blooming in his chest.

Jiaxuan… were you lying to me again?

_______________________________________________

Lin Jiayuan pushed open the old wooden door with a sigh, the scent of steaming rice and ginger hitting him before he could even call out.

"She really cooked," he muttered under his breath, slipping his shoes off. He dropped his laptop bag on the bench and walked toward the kitchen, the aroma growing richer, heartier—miso soup, garlic, something with fish and lotus soup.

"Jiaxuan," he called, a hint of teasing in his voice. "Trying to reclaim the title of Mom's favorite child, are we?"

From inside the kitchen, Jiaxuan laughed a sound he hadn't heard for years, one he never thought he'd miss. "As if you ever let me have that title."

He stepped into the kitchen to find her stirring a pot, apron tied neatly around her waist, her hair pulled back in a messy knot. The sight hit him square in the chest like a memory from a time before things had gone wrong.

She turned toward him with a ladle in one hand and a soft smile on her lips. "I heard you've been skipping breakfast. I thought I'd bribe you home with food."

"I guess it worked," he said, pulling up a chair at the small table by the window. "Mom's still asleep?"

"She's resting. The meds would knock her out soon"

Jiayuan leaned his elbows on the table, watching her move around the kitchen. "You used to burn rice."

"I still do," she said, scrunching her nose. "This one's my third pot."

He chuckled. "That sounds more like you."

There was a pause.

Jiaxuan turned down the stove and set a bowl of miso soup in front of him. "Taste it, I thought I should make something for you too"

He sipped slowly, letting the warmth seep into him.

"It's good," he said, genuinely surprised.

She smiled, pride flickering in her eyes. "I had help."

"With what?"

"With learning to start over," she whispered.

Jiayuan looked at her. Really looked. Her eyes were still tired, her cheeks a little hollow, but there was something alive in her now. Something sincere.

"I'm glad you're back," he said.

"I'm sorry it took losing everything to understand what matters."

He didn't respond immediately. He picked up his spoon again, eating slowly, savoring the food, the moment, the presence of the sister he thought he'd lost long ago.

"You're still annoying," he muttered.

Jiaxuan grinned. "And you're still overly dramatic."

He rolled his eyes, but his smile lingered.

In the hallway, a soft cough drew their attention. Their mother stood at the doorframe, smiling faintly. "You two bickering already?"

Jiaxuan rushed to her side to help her to the chair. "I didn't even raise my voice."

"I heard enough," their mother said, touching her daughter's cheek. "It sounded like home again."

For the first time in a long time, the Lin household felt warm—not because of the food or the sun shining through the curtains, but because a broken family had begun to heal, quietly, gently, over a bowl of soup.

The night settled softly over the Lin household. Their mother had returned to her room, drifting into a medicated slumber, leaving Jiaxuan and Jiayuan alone in the quiet hum of the living room. The old clock ticked on the wall, a gentle, grounding rhythm.

Jiaxuan sat curled on the couch with a blanket draped around her, a cup of warm barley tea between her hands. Across from her, Jiayuan leaned against the armrest of the single-seater, his legs stretched out, head tilted lazily.

The silence was not heavy. It was familiar, comforting. The kind of silence you share with someone who knows your childhood better than you do.

"Do you remember that night?" Jiayuan asked suddenly, voice low. "That one time there was a thunderstorm, and I found you hiding in the closet?"

Jiaxuan's eyes widened before they crinkled with a soft laugh. "You mean when I dragged every pillow in the house into that closet and built a 'storm bunker'?"

"You were so dramatic." Jiayuan grinned. "I was ten, you were Twelve. And you made me swear to protect you with my life if lightning struck."

"And you swore!" she laughed. "You said you'd become lightning's enemy."

"I was terrified too," he confessed with a chuckle. "But you looked like you were about to cry, and I didn't want to make it worse."

Her smile faded into something softer—nostalgic. "I wasn't just afraid of the thunder that night. That was around the time Dad stopped coming home."

Jiayuan looked at her, eyes reflecting the weight of shared pain.

"I used to listen for his footsteps," she said quietly, "thinking maybe if I wished hard enough, he'd open the door again."

Jiayuan sat up straighter, the grin wiped from his face. "I know. I used to fake sleep every time I heard the front gate, just in case it wasn't him. I didn't want you to see me hoping too."

There was a long pause. The kind that made memories flood back like ghosts.

"After that storm," Jiaxuan said, her voice barely above a whisper, "you let me sleep in your room for almost a month. You didn't complain even when I stole the blanket."

"You were warm," Jiayuan said simply.

She smiled again, but there was a glisten in her eyes now. "I was so angry with you before I ..... before I left. I thought you hated me."

"I didn't," he said immediately. "I hated what you were becoming, Jiaxuan. I hated how lost you looked. But I never stopped being your brother."

A tear slipped down her cheek, unnoticed. "Do you still believe I can change?"

"I do now," he said gently. "You came back, didn't you? You're here, cooking soup, making Mom smile. That's more than enough to start with."

Jiaxuan looked at him, truly looked, and for the first time in so long, she saw not just her brother, but her home. Her anchor. The boy who held her hand in thunderstorms and fought her monsters even when they lived inside her.

"You know," she whispered, "sometimes I wish we could go back. Before all the pain. When our biggest worry was who got the bigger slice of mooncake."

Jiayuan reached over, pulling her into a side hug. "We can't go back. But we can hold on to those pieces. The ones that kept us alive."

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Promise me you won't let me fall again."

"I'll be your lightning shield forever," he said softly.

Outside, the wind rustled through the trees, but the storm that once tore their family apart had quieted. And in that small room, beneath old photographs and a flickering ceiling light, two siblings stitched together the frayed pieces of their hearts