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As the surrounding travelers watched in confusion, trying to make sense of the sisters' tug-of-war, Mo Mo suddenly felt the resistance on her hand vanish. Just a moment ago, Nian Qing had been as stubborn as a team of wild oxen, but now she abruptly grasped Mo Mo's hand and, with unexpected swiftness and initiative, dashed toward the security checkpoint.

The sudden shift threw Mo Mo off balance, her hand loosening and her travel bag dropping to the ground. Startled, she was instantly aware of what was coming, and with a pained understanding, she closed her eyes. Sure enough, a moment later, the sound of measured footsteps approached, and the bag was picked up.

Nian Qing's face, clouded with worry a moment before, was now cleared of all gloom. Despite the joy she could not hide, she forced a haughty, distant expression and raised her brows, pulling at Mo Mo with a lilting voice: “Hurry, let’s get through security. Our flight is about to leave.”

Mo Mo did not move, deeply unwilling yet unable to resist opening her eyes. Xiang Zuo stood before them.

Once composed and dignified, the man now showed not a trace of resolve. Where had his former poise gone? He said nothing, only gazed at Mo Mo with eyes filled with desperate longing and despair. In his hand he held her travel bag—light and containing only a few of her belongings, yet weighing on him as if it were a thousand pounds, his fingers whitening from the strain. He couldn't let go, couldn't cast it aside; truly, he could not release his hold!

Slowly, Xiang Zuo turned his gaze away. Looking to Nian Qing, under her expectant and scrutinizing eyes, he drew out the divorce papers and, piece by piece, tore them into shreds. White paper, black ink, scattered lifelessly across the polished airport floor, each fragment lying prostrate, devoid of hope. His face was expressionless, but the confident light of days past had vanished. Mo Mo felt as if her heart, like those scraps, was now irreparably broken and scattered, never to be whole again.

“Xiang Zuo,” came a sudden calm and crisp voice by her ear, and Mo Mo could hardly believe it was Nian Qing speaking—standing upright, radiant as never before, a trace of a smile lingering, but her words sharper than steel needles: “What do you take me for? Someone to beckon or dismiss at your whim? Do you think that by tearing up a worthless piece of paper, I will once again become the obedient woman who yields to you? Ha…”

Her laughter was cold, almost exhilarated, yet its chill rooted Mo Mo to the spot; she stared at Nian Qing, a face so familiar and yet now so utterly strange.

The look on Xiang Zuo’s face grew even more desolate. He slowly reached into his pocket and produced a set of house keys, extending them toward Nian Qing. “You will always be the mistress of this home. Is that enough?” he said, seeming to glance at Mo Mo in passing before fixing his gaze on Nian Qing, his look not just pleading but as if negotiating for a reprieve.

What could be more painful than watching a man once so proud and unshakable display such humility and defeat? Mo Mo turned away; she could not bear to see it. She would rather be blind—or dead.

She snatched her bag from Xiang Zuo’s hand and pulled Nian Qing toward the security checkpoint. “We’re leaving the country—this was your idea! Let’s go now!”

Unexpectedly, the hand in her grasp broke free. “I’ve changed my mind,” Nian Qing announced, turning and accepting the house keys back from Xiang Zuo. What could be more natural than the return of something to its rightful owner?

“Nian Qing! What exactly do you want?” Mo Mo’s anguished cry shook her lips pale. “How far do you want to push him? We already owe him so much—why force him more? What has he done wrong?!”

What had Xiang Zuo done wrong? The only one at fault was herself! Talk of fairness, talk of guilt—this man had every right to pursue happiness, to begin anew, to find a better partner. Why must she drag him into the abyss, to bury his life alongside hers?

“Nian Qing, what do you mean by this?” Nian Qing, clutching the keys tightly, her expression darkening in disbelief that her own sister would now turn against her. “You don’t want me to go home? Or do you want to keep holding onto my house?”

Amid the world’s clamor, Mo Mo’s vision blurred. She pressed her lips together, refusing to let her grief show, but the pain surged, relentless. Nian Qing’s relentless questioning only deepened the shadows in Xiang Zuo’s eyes, his upright figure now barely holding its proud posture, and Mo Mo’s heart twisted with pain.

“Nian Qing, must you do this?” The two sisters stared at each other, emotionless and disappointed, anger threatening to erupt. Xiang Zuo remained, watching the agony on Mo Mo’s face; he shifted his feet instinctively, only to restrain himself at the last moment. He endured, clinging to the last shreds of reason, waiting. When Nian Qing flung off Mo Mo’s hand and snapped, “My business is none of yours,” at last, Xiang Zuo’s lips curved into a thoughtful, resigned smile.

Yet before Nian Qing could finish her harsh words, and before Mo Mo’s pain reached its limit, a man’s figure appeared in the corner of her eye, hurrying over at the most inopportune moment. Xiang Zuo frowned, glaring icily at Song Jiakai, whose face was all ease and satisfaction.

“Mo Mo, why didn’t you tell me you were leaving the country? If I hadn’t run into Dong Fei and heard about your flight, were you really planning to slip away without a word? No matter what, I’m still your boyfriend…” Song Jiakai was breathless from his rush, his mild reproach tinged with playful charm and a trace of aggrieved innocence.

Her heart, already aching from Nian Qing’s blows, now found itself unable to voice its pain in the face of Song Jiakai’s sudden, uninvited interference. Mo Mo wanted to ignore him, but embarrassment held her back; she wanted to continue arguing with Nian Qing, but could no longer speak. Torn between shame and frustration, she stamped her foot, eyes brimming with grievance, and shook off the man beside her, fleeing the lounge without a backward glance.

Nian Qing seemed to think of something, and hurried after Mo Mo’s stumbling, resolute figure, leaving the two men alone.

Xiang Zuo’s features were cold as ice. Song Jiakai, surprised at first, quickly regained his composure. Anyone familiar with this so-called “most daring young entrepreneur of the business world” knew his fierce, unyielding style; how could such a man possibly be brought to his knees by a woman? With this thought, Song Jiakai’s spirits lifted, and he flashed a triumphant smile at Xiang Zuo’s frosty face.

“Mr. Xiang, your acting’s not bad! But fooling that silly girl is one thing—you can’t fool me…” He raised his brows in smug delight. “By the way, I forgot to mention that I’m quite interested in becoming your brother-in-law.”

Xiang Zuo’s hand clenched into a fist, but his expression grew only more composed, his gaze as calm as water. “I’m afraid that’s not our fate.” With that, he strode toward the terminal exit.

Mo Mo did not return to her apartment. Somehow, she ended up at Fuya New Town. The residential complex, with its more than twenty years of history, had an air of age about everything growing in it. But old as it was, this was still her home. Her childhood, her youth, every day she once lived in happiness was etched into this place.

Since her parents’ passing, she had barely set foot here. She was afraid, she dared not, she did not want to… Four rooms, spacious yet desolate. Every space was draped in white—the wide, monotonous sheets covering every piece of furniture, muffling all the warmth and comfort that once filled these rooms.

Only on the living room cabinet, side by side, stood her parents’ portraits. Her fingers trembled as she gently traced her mother’s smiling lips, her father’s solemn face, inch by inch, reluctant to let go. The cold, square frames pressed painfully against her chest, her heart twisting in agony.

She longed to say “I’m sorry” to her mother, but her mother only smiled back at her. That gentle face, as always, seemed to say, “Mo Mo, if only you were half as obedient as your sister.” How she wished she could once again snuggle into her mother’s arms, acting spoiled and mischievous, asking over and over, “How am I disobedient? How am I disobedient?” until mother and daughter collapsed in laughter. How she wished for that, how desperately she wished! But mother, where have you gone? Why won't you answer?

She wanted to say “I’m sorry” to her father, but he, too, remained silent. His face, as always, was focused and grave, hiding every heavy burden. Her quiet, reticent father had never been good at expressing affection; the words he spoke to her most often were, “Mo Mo, you should learn from your sister.” She longed to shed tears before his stern gaze, waiting for his awkward silence, and then burst into laughter, only to be scolded again for being willful. How she wished, just once more, to be scolded for her mischief. But father, why don’t you speak anymore…

Dad, Mom, what should I do? Tell me, I’ve made another mistake—what should I do now? I never wanted to hurt Nian Qing, but in my foolishness I took her happiness away; I wanted to return it, but in my greater foolishness I dragged another man into the mire!

Why am I so stupid? Why do I always end up hurting those I care for most? Dad, Mom, where are you…

On this late autumn evening, even the setting sun was reluctant to share its warmth. Pale sunlight carelessly spilled into the cold house, illuminating only the solitary figure curled up on the floor, weeping alone. Tears would eventually run dry, but one could never return to the past. She was no longer the reckless girl who once made mistakes without a care, sheltered by the two great trees that had long since been uprooted from the world; the only branch left to share her burdens had lost its former shape, their once-connected roots now seemingly severed beyond repair.

She did not know how much time had passed, but when Mo Mo finally pulled herself up by the corner of the cabinet, dusk had begun to fall.

Carefully, she placed the two photo frames back where they belonged, side by side, close together as before. Yet when she tried to leave, her feet would not move. In the cabinet drawer lay her parents’ keepsakes, things she had never dared to look at since their passing. Now, she picked them up and put them down again, over and over, clinging to the faintest traces of them, even if there were none left at all.