Ashes. A promise beyond death

Chapter 5: Wounds that whisper

The apartment was quiet.

Only the low hum of the refrigerator and the hush of wind brushing the windows filled the silence. No music played. No clock ticked loudly. Even time seemed hesitant to pass.

Xian Chen sat on the floor beside the couch — close enough to feel her presence, far enough not to intrude. His back rested against the wall, legs bent, hands folded in his lap. Above him, Yu Bin sat upright, unmoving, like a porcelain figure left too long in the cold.

She hadn't looked at him since she woke. She hadn't spoken.

Not until now.

> "No. I don't love you.

I hate you.

You killed my beloved master."

The words cut through the air with a finality that didn't leave room for breath.

Sharp. Precise.

But beneath that blade… was something else. Something raw. Fractured. Bleeding.

Grief.

The kind that doesn't scream — it simmers. The kind that doesn't ask for comfort — it burns everything near.

Xian Chen didn't respond. He didn't even flinch.

His gaze dropped to the floor, and for a long time, that's where it stayed.

He knew this pain. It had become a quiet tenant in his chest. A hollow ache that never quite left. He didn't argue. Didn't try to fix it.

Because how could he?

How do you fix a wound you're accused of making?

> "I'm sorry," he murmured.

No excuses. No defenses. Just that same, tired sorrow.

Yu Bin turned toward him slowly. Her eyes were storm clouds — furious, yes, but unsettled. Searching for something that no longer had a name.

> "I hate you."

She said it again, but this time it fell with less venom. The words landed heavy, like ash instead of fire.

And still, he said nothing.

She stared at him — at the man who had once made her laugh so easily. Who had once held her beneath starlit skies and promised forever with nothing but a touch. The man who haunted her dreams… and her nightmares.

> "I love you," he said softly.

It wasn't an answer. It wasn't even a contradiction. It was simply the truth. Spoken like a confession to a ghost.

Yu Bin's breath caught.

> How?

How could he still say that?

> "I hate you, Xian Chen," she said again.

But her voice cracked — and in that crack, the truth trembled.

He didn't hesitate. His arms wrapped around her slowly, carefully — not like a man claiming what he'd lost, but like someone trying to hold together the shards of someone else.

She didn't pull away.

Maybe she should've.

Maybe she meant to.

But she didn't.

> "I love you," he whispered into her hair.

"My princess. My Yu Bin. My life."

And then… she broke.

The sobs came in waves — not the loud, dramatic kind. But the quiet ones. The ones that steal breath. The ones that come from places too deep for words.

She clung to him, not to hurt, not to fight, but to survive.

> "I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

> "I hate you…"

> "I know."

> "I'll never forgive you."

> "You don't have to."

His voice was steady — not cold, not distant. But steady like a mountain waiting out the storm.

He reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek. His own tears ran unchecked.

> "But I'll keep trying. For as long as I'm breathing."

There was no response. Just more tears. More silence.

Eventually, her rage unraveled into exhaustion. Her body sagged against his, her fists still curled in his shirt like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go.

Time passed — neither of them noticed.

And then, her voice, small and almost afraid of itself:

> "Xian Chen…"

> "Mm?"

> "I love you."

He froze.

The words hadn't been planned. They tumbled out like truth escaping through a wound.

They hurt.

More than her hate ever could.

One tear traced the line of his cheek. He kissed her hair.

> "I love you too."

Yu Bin blinked slowly, the haze of emotion clinging to her lashes. And then, like the echo of a memory she couldn't silence, she whispered again:

> "I hate you."

Xian Chen smiled softly.

> "I know," he said.

And that was all.

He never denied it.

Never tried to make her feel wrong.

And somehow… that was worse.

> Why doesn't he fight back?

But he never did.

And that mystery wrapped tighter than any lie.

They stayed like that — caught between war and warmth.

Between a past neither of them could rewrite… and a present neither of them knew how to survive.

Eventually, Yu Bin's breathing slowed. Her body gave way to sleep. Heavy. Trusting. Vulnerable.

Xian Chen didn't move.

He held her like something sacred — not because he was forgiven, but because he wasn't.

---

Later that night, he carried her to bed.

She barely stirred as he laid her down, brushing stray hair from her cheek. The moonlight filtered through the curtains in soft waves, silvering the room like it belonged to another world.

He lingered at her bedside, watching her sleep.

She only ever looked peaceful like this.

And even then, only briefly.

Her lips moved faintly, almost imperceptibly.

> "Master… wait… don't go…"

His chest tightened.

He knew that dream. It haunted her like he once had.

She was always chasing ghosts in her sleep — just like him.

Xian Chen turned away. He sat on the floor beside her bed, back straight, gaze on the floor, like a sentry guarding a battlefield long after the war had ended.

His eyes burned, but he didn't cry.

He didn't whisper to her.

Didn't try to reach into her dream.

Instead, he murmured into the silence — words meant for no one but the shadows.

> "If I could trade every breath I have left… just to rewrite that night…"

He swallowed hard.

> "I would."

But it wouldn't matter.

Because the past could not be rewritten.

And forgiveness, like love, had to be given freely.

He would wait.

For as long as it took.

Even if she never said those words again.

Even if her dreams never stopped bleeding.

He would stay.

Just like this.

Until she no longer whispered in her sleep… for the ones who left.