Zhao Yan caught her in his arms with a force that nearly knocked the wind from both of them.
He held her—tight, unrelenting—like he was anchoring himself back to life.
And Hua Jing… Hua Jing clung to him as if letting go would shatter the world.
Her hands gripped his robe, her fingers digging into his back, her face buried against his chest. His scent. His warmth. His heartbeat. It was all real. Not a dream. Not a memory.
Real.
He was alive.
He was here.
Her tears soaked through the fabric between them.
Zhao Yan's hands tightened around her, one over her back, the other at the nape of her neck, trembling ever so slightly.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. They just held on.
Then, his voice broke through the silence.
Soft. Staggered.
"…What are you doing here?"
Hua Jing pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her own face streaked with tears, lips trembling with fury and love.
