She didn’t say who, but Jiang Qihuai knew exactly whom she was asking about.

“Dead,” he said flatly, the corners of his lips lowered, his voice emotionless. “Gas explosion.”

Tao Zhi froze.

She didn’t ask further, and Jiang Qihuai didn’t go on either. He continued walking forward steadily with her on his back. By the time he pressed the elevator button, the cold sweat on Tao Zhi’s back had already soaked through her shirt.

She still remembered those news stories because, during her first-year college vacation, Fu Xiling had been working as an intern errand girl at a newspaper office. Every day, she’d follow her mentor around to cover stories, and when she came home in the evening, she’d tell Tao Zhi where she’d been and what incidents she’d encountered.

At that time, Tao Zhi had been completely absorbed in her newly bought camera lenses and only half-listened, never paying much attention.

But one of those gas-leak explosions had still left a faint impression on her. It was said that all the neighboring households above, below, and to the sides were coincidentally not at home that day — only the family where the accident occurred was, and both father and son had died.

Back then, Tao Zhi had never, in any way, connected that incident with Jiang Qihuai.

And that “accident”… perhaps it hadn’t been just an accident.

Her mind was in a haze, tangled and chaotic. Amid the confusion, she faintly heard someone calling her. Tao Zhi snapped back to herself, realizing they had already arrived at the door of her apartment. Jiang Qihuai stood before the lock, looking at her patiently. “Password.”

Tao Zhi bit her lip and recited a string of numbers.

Jiang Qihuai keyed them in, the lock clicked open, and he pushed the door inward. Fu Xiling was probably still working overtime that night — the apartment was dark, empty, silent.

Tao Zhi turned and shut the door behind them, her legs wobbling slightly.

Jiang Qihuai set her down, turned to the side, and flicked on the hallway light.

The lighting at the entryway was dim and soft. Tao Zhi leaned back against the door without stepping in. She tilted her head up, looking at him, her voice hoarse. “Was it Grandpa Jiang?”

Standing against the light, Jiang Qihuai lowered his head. His expression was unreadable. “Probably.”

Tao Zhi’s eyes grew hot. She took half a step forward, reached out, and wrapped her arms around him, burying her head in his chest.

One arm circled his waist, and with the other, she gently patted his back, again and again. “It’s all right now.”

Her hand was soft and warm; her voice was low and gentle, tender and soothing. “Grandpa was old and tired, so he could only protect A’Huai up to this point.”

She lifted her head, looking up at him in the dim light. Her dark eyes gleamed, bright and moist. “From now on, it’ll be Zhizhi’s turn to take over,” she said, drawing her hand back. Rising on tiptoe, she brushed her fingers through his dark short hair and whispered, “I’ll always, always stay by our A’Huai’s side.”

Jiang Qihuai looked at her, listening to her soft words, feeling the strength that passed through her fingertips into him.

When he was young, he had been full of restless pride — carrying a touch of a hero’s complex, believing that everything must be done perfectly, that he had to protect the whole world, to be the hero of the girl he loved.

Little did he know, there was no path in life that could ever be truly perfect.

The moment one made a choice, one was already facing the loss of something.

He also hadn’t understood that no one could ever completely become another person’s sky.

They both had to walk through the thorns together, supporting each other — to become each other’s heroes.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Tao Zhi had been busy the entire day. After drinking that night, crying and fussing, she must have been exhausted. By the time Jiang Qihuai finished making a cup of honey water in the kitchen, she had already fallen asleep on the bed.

Her clothes were still on, her makeup untouched, her bath unwashed.

The girl’s face was half-buried in the pillow, only a small part visible. Her brows were furrowed, her lips pursed — as though she were dreaming of something unhappy.

Jiang Qihuai set the honey water on the nightstand, then sat down on the carpet by the bed.

He lowered his eyes to look at her, then raised his hand. His fingertips brushed lightly along the creases between her brows, smoothing them out, slid down the bridge of her straight nose, and came to rest on her soft cheek.

What had happened with Jiang Qinghe had come so suddenly.

After Tao Zhi’s incident, Jiang Zhi had been arrested for intentional injury. Because he was a repeat offender, he was sentenced to several years.

By the time he was released, Jiang Qihuai was already in college.

The day Jiang Zhi was released, Jiang Qinghe, uncharacteristically, went to pick him up.

He brought Jiang Zhi home without telling Jiang Qihuai, cooked a large meal, bought him new clothes, took him to shower and get a haircut.

Whether Jiang Zhi had changed or not, Jiang Qihuai didn’t know — he only learned later that Jiang Qinghe had let him stay at home for a week.

A week later, one afternoon, Jiang Qihuai received a call from Jiang Qinghe.

The old man’s voice sounded normal — still calm and unhurried, smiling as always, that tone that made you picture the curve of his eyes behind his glasses as he spoke with a chuckle.

At the time, Jiang Qihuai was spending his vacation out of town, working on a research project with a senior from his department. There was too much to learn, and every day was full. Jiang Qinghe only exchanged a few words with him before, just as he was about to hang up, suddenly asked, “A’Huai, that WeChat account you set up for me last time — how do I make a video call?”

He spoke slowly, “Grandpa wants to see you.”

Jiang Qihuai replied, “Okay, I’ll teach you tonight when I get back to the hotel.”

Grandpa Jiang kept saying “okay,” then after a pause, suddenly murmured, “Forget it… never mind. It’s fine if I don’t see you.”

His voice dropped to a low murmur. “Grandpa wants to help you one last time. If I see you, I’ll be reluctant to go.”

At that time, Jiang Qihuai hadn’t had time to think carefully about what those words meant.

That evening, when he returned to his hotel, he called Jiang Qinghe and even sent him a video request — but the old man never answered.

The next day, he received calls from both the hospital and the police station.

Jiang Qinghe had died on the spot. When the firefighters arrived, Jiang Zhi still had a breath left; he was sent to the hospital for emergency treatment, but within a few hours, he too was gone.

The police said that at the time, Jiang Zhi had been shielded beneath Jiang Qinghe’s body — probably the instinctive reflex of a parent protecting their child in the face of danger.

Standing under the pale hospital lights, Jiang Qihuai stared blankly at the death certificate handed to him by the doctor, still not understanding what had really happened.

Just the day before, they had talked on the phone. The old man had been cheerful, telling him that Old Zhao from the next building had just gotten a new granddaughter — chubby and adorable — and had happily asked him to teach him how to make a WeChat video call.

How could everything be different after just one night?

In the following days, he received several phone calls from the neighbors.

The day of the accident had been a workday — there were few people who would have stayed home — and long before that day, Jiang Qinghe had already, using various excuses, sent away all the neighbors who might have remained at home.

Jiang Qihuai recalled the old man’s final murmured words to him.

He had said, “If I see you, Grandpa won’t be able to let go.”

Jiang Qihuai didn’t know whether, if he had really seen him, Jiang Qinghe would have been unable to let go.

He only knew that, in the end, Grandpa had let go.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Tao Zhi did not sleep soundly that night.

At first, she dreamed a jumble of confusing, fragmented scenes. Then, it all turned into one image — a dog constantly licking her face, from her eyebrows to her eyes, then down her nose bridge, until its damp nose pressed against her cheek.

Tao Zhi opened her eyes and saw Jiang Qihuai sitting on the floor beside the bed. His fingers rested lightly on her face. His lips were taut, his lashes lowered. His pale eyes were shadowed, deep and unfathomable, as though there were no end to them.

When she moved, he seemed startled awake. He turned his head, dazed and unfocused, his gaze wandering blankly for several seconds before it finally settled on her.

“Awake?” His voice was hoarse.

Tao Zhi blinked at him. “How long did I sleep?”

Jiang Qihuai glanced at his watch. “Not long.” He picked up the honey water from the nightstand and handed it to her. The room was warm from the heating; the water was still comfortably warm. “Drink some water first, then take a shower and sleep again.”

Tao Zhi didn’t move. She lay on her side, watching him.

Jiang Qihuai didn’t urge her, simply waited patiently for her to gather herself.

Propping her elbow on the pillow and resting her chin on her hand, Tao Zhi lifted her head slightly. Suddenly, she looked at him and said, “Your Highness.”

The title had been buried away for so long. Jiang Qihuai paused. “Mm?”

“Nothing,” Tao Zhi said. “I just think—”

Her black eyes curved, the slightly lifted corners still hazy with sleep. She looked at him and sighed softly, her voice full of quiet contentment and attachment. “Even after all these years, you’re still Zhizhi’s Jiang Qihuai. That feels… really good.”

Jiang Qihuai froze for a moment.

Then he lowered his eyes slightly and let out a small laugh. His sharp, cool features softened under the dim night light, appearing gentle and subdued.

“I’ll always be Zhizhi’s Jiang Qihuai.”