A Mistake Named Mo Yichen

The gunshot echoed louder than the chaos, louder than the screams. It silenced everything. Blood splattered, painting the dead concrete red.

The spluttering blood echoed horribly in the silence, its wet sound mingling with the damp scent of oil and metal.

But it wasn't hers.

The bullet had only grazed her arm.

The next second, the man's weapon flew from his grasp. Xia Jingxuan's bullet had struck true, straight through the left shoulder. The kidnapper winced hard. The shot was precise, not meant to kill, but to capture. He should have known better; he was dealing with Xia Jingxuan himself.

"You'll regret touching her," Jingxuan growled, walking through the smoke like it bowed to him. The dead, dark room was dimly lit, revealing three shadows: one of Xia Ruyan, still tied; one of the kidnappers; and one of Xia Jingxuan.

The moment the gunshot rang out, Xia Jingxuan was already in motion.

He didn't waste a breath to hesitate or to shout.

He crossed the room in four steps, silent as a shadow. The masked man, armed and mere inches from Ruyan, turned just in time to raise his pistol again.

Jingxuan slapped the barrel aside with the side of his forearm. The gun fired into the ceiling. Dust rained down. Then,

Crack.

His elbow drove into the man's face once, then again. The second blow shattered the nose. Blood spurted. The masked figure staggered but lifted a knee toward Jingxuan's ribs. Jingxuan was ready. He absorbed the hit with a pivot, caught the leg mid-air, and twisted.

A grunt of pain. The man lost his balance. Jingxuan didn't let him fall. He threw him, a clean, brutal sweep, flipped the man, and slammed him onto the cold floorboards.

But the bas**** was trained. He rolled, lunged with a hidden blade. Jingxuan tilted his head just enough to dodge. The blade nicked his cheek. Blood trickled. He barely flinched.

Then he struck.

Palm to the chest, sharp, downward. The man's breath caught. Another hit, this time to the wrist. The knife clattered to the floor.

The attacker punched. Jingxuan blocked, caught the wrist mid-air, and jammed his fingers into the nerve under the bicep. The arm went limp. He flipped the man again, this time driving his knee into his spine, pinning him down.

"Who sent you?" His voice was like a stone cracking. The man didn't answer. He only hissed, and then, from his belt, a flash grenade clattered free.

Jingxuan saw it too late. White light and ringing ears. And when the haze lifted, the floor was empty.

Xia Jingxuan cursed under his breath. "Report the situation," he ordered into the intercom.

"In control, sir," came the instant reply.

He rushed to his daughter, tied and bloodied. Her wide eyes locked on him. She could barely see him through the darkness, but she could feel his presence, his fury.

Yu Heng entered the room. The lights came on, dim enough not to hurt Ruyan's eyes after so long in darkness. Her father kneeled in front of her, gently, oh so gently. He looked at her, but couldn't hold the gaze. How could he, when she was like this?

"Sir, may I?" Yu Heng asked, stepping forward to untie her.

Xia Jingxuan shook his head.

Carefully, he cut the thin ropes digging into her flesh. A tear slid down his cheek. He knew, damn it, he knew, he should be strong right now. Secure her, lead, command. But what could he do? How could he look at her like this?

Her wide, amber-gold eyes looked faded, dull.

He removed the gag from her mouth. She tried to speak, "Baba," but it came out only as a slurp. Xia Jingxuan felt something inside him break. His daughter, even in this state, lifted her injured hands to wipe his tears.

And he cried.

Right there, in front of Yu Heng, his most trusted man.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry," he whispered. Because how could she be the one comforting him? After everything she had endured, how could she still reach for him? She should blame him for coming too late, for trusting the wrong man.

"Sir, we must leave…" Yu Heng said quietly. He was used to blood and battle, but not this. His bond with the Xia family made this personal.

Xia Jingxuan nodded. With utmost care, as if holding the most fragile treasure, he picked his daughter up. She gripped his collar tightly, her head resting on his shoulder.

"Sleep, sweetheart. Let's go home. Your Ma is waiting," he whispered.

She nodded faintly. He could feel her trembling. He knew it would take a long time to heal. Wounds of the body fade. But the wounds on the heart, those carved into the soul, and when you try to pull them out, they bleed again.

He walked with small, steady strides toward the exit. His men closed in, forming a protective circle around them, alert for any hidden threats. As they stepped outside the building, several cars screeched to a halt. Mo Yichen leapt out, breathless, wild-eyed, ready to fight.

He froze.

There she was, in her father's arms, draped in his coat, her white dress stained. The girl who hated to be touched, now clinging to her father like life itself. He moved forward, perhaps to check on her, to hold her, but he was stopped.

The Xia guards blocked him. He was stunned.

Mr. Xia passed by him without a glance. He didn't look like the man Mo Yichen had once known, the poet, the scholar, the gentle warmth.

No.

This man was ice, centuries-old glaciers carved into human form. And in that moment, Mo Yichen understood where Xia Ruyan had inherited her coldness.

"Mr. Xia…" he tried again.

Yu Heng stepped between them like a wall. "Mr. Mo, you should go back," he said, flat and unyielding.

"Get lost!" Mo Yichen shouted. "She's my wife!" he shouted, not knowing why he was so desperate, clinging to titles and ties.

Mr. Xia finally stopped. But he didn't look back. His voice was cold, final.

"You were a mistake, Mo Yichen. Just a mistake."