Snow fell gently from the gray skies over Hangzhou, a thick blanket covering the estate grounds. Inside the Xuan household, the grand dining hall was filled with the clinking of fine porcelain, the quiet chatter of voices, and the muffled crackling of the fireplace. A grand chandelier hung overhead, casting a golden glow that contrasted with the chilly atmosphere outside.
The Xuan family, gathered for breakfast, sat around an elegant table adorned with an assortment of lavish dishes. Xuan Rong, the patriarch, sat at the head. His sharp, hawk-like features and graying hair betrayed years of rigid discipline, a man used to controlling not just his family- minus Xuan Jing, but the power that came with the Xuan name. His current wife, Xuan Mei, sat to his right, dressed in an elegant maroon silk gown with gold embroidery, her long black hair pulled into an elaborate bun. She was beautiful but cold, her eyes always calculating, always judging.
On the other side of her sat her two sons, Xuan Jian and Xuan Long. Xuan Jian, the elder, was broad-shouldered and thickset, his face marred with the overconfidence of a man who believed his presence alone commanded respect. Xuan Long, the younger, was slimmer, sharp-eyed, with a permanent smirk etched into his features as if every conversation was a joke meant only for him. Both brothers had always been pests to Xuan Jing, two leeches clinging to the Xuan family's influence.
Wei Lin, quiet as ever, stood by the doorway, a silent shadow, waiting for Xuan Jing. He always made sure Xuan Jing was dressed appropriately, especially today with the sudden snowfall. Xuan Jing didn't mind the snow, though. In fact, the chill in the air was something he welcomed. It felt like home to him—cold, quiet, and unyielding.
As was his custom, Xuan Jing was the last to enter the dining hall. He moved with a calm, deliberate grace, his black robes, embroidered with hints of teal, swaying softly with his steps. His long hair, as always, flowed loosely down his back, untouched by the pretentious trends that others followed. The rest of the family had already begun eating, but all eyes turned to him the moment he stepped in. As the last to arrive, he held their attention without effort, and he knew it.
Xuan Mei's lips curled into a thin smile, though her eyes remained as frigid as the snow outside. "Ah, Jing'er," she cooed, the false sweetness in her tone irritatingly obvious. "You've decided to join us after all. I was beginning to think you had more... pressing matters."
Xuan Jing didn't bother to respond immediately. He took his time, gliding to his seat without acknowledging her, his expression unreadable. He had long since learned that responding to her bait was beneath him. As he sat down at the far end of the table, furthest from his father, he calmly poured himself tea, his movements controlled, precise.
"I see you're as aloof as ever," Xuan Jian said with a chuckle, breaking the silence. His tone was casual, but there was a jab hidden in there, as always. "Tell me, do you enjoy the snow because it matches your icy demeanor? Or is it just because it hides the fact you can't warm up to anyone?"
Xuan Long snickered beside him, eyes glinting with amusement as he leaned forward. "He's always been the odd one out, hasn't he? I mean, living in his own little world while the rest of us actually
contribute to the family's standing."
Xuan Jing's fingers twitched slightly around his teacup, but his face remained impassive, his eyes focused on the steam rising from his drink. The usual hollow emptiness was there in his chest, the same numbness he greeted every morning with. Why was he even still alive? The question echoed softly in his mind, just as it always did. But then, Wei Lin, standing at his side like a silent sentinel, was the only anchor he had left, the only reason he bothered to crawl out of bed.
"You seem awfully concerned with what I do or don't contribute," Xuan Jing finally said, his voice quiet but cutting through the air like a blade. He didn't look at Xuan Jian or Xuan Long, but the weight of his words made them shift uncomfortably. "I wonder, though... are you so interested because you're trying to compensate for your own lack of purpose?"
Xuan Mei's smile faltered slightly, and Xuan Rong's brow twitched, though he remained silent, watching the exchange with calculating eyes.
Xuan Long, always quick to speak without thinking, snorted. "Lack of purpose? That's rich coming from someone who spends more time locked away than actually doing anything worthwhile."
Xuan Jing's eyes slowly lifted to meet his. "And yet, I'm still more valuable than you'll ever be," he said, his tone cool, devoid of emotion. "Must be difficult, living in the shadow of someone you consider worthless."
Xuan Long's face darkened, but before he could retort, Xuan Mei stepped in, her voice honeyed but sharp. "That's enough, Jing'er. There's no need for hostility at the breakfast table. After all, we're family, aren't we?"
The word family sounded foreign, bitter in Xuan Jing's ears. He glanced at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Is that what you call this?" His gaze swept over the table, landing briefly on his father, who hadn't spoken a word, before returning to his tea. "I must've missed the memo."
"Family is a responsibility, Jing'er," Xuan Mei said, her tone now laced with condescension. "Something you seem to struggle with."
The mention of responsibility made Xuan Jing's fingers tighten around his teacup. His mind flashed back to the voice from yesterday—the scent, the wind, the irritating words. Responsibility...
A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it wasn't a kind one. "Responsibility," he echoed softly, as if testing the word on his tongue. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he looked directly at Xuan Mei. "I'm sure you're very familiar with the concept of responsibility. After all, you did manage to inherit a husband, a house, and two useless sons. That's quite a feat."
The room went silent.
Xuan Mei's expression froze, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Xuan Jian's jaw clenched, and Xuan Long looked like he was about to jump out of his seat, but Xuan Jing remained calm, sipping his tea as if he hadn't just verbally dismantled them all.
Xuan Rong finally spoke, his voice heavy with authority. "That's enough."
Xuan Jing didn't react, but the faint smile lingered on his lips. He could feel their anger simmering, but it didn't matter. None of them mattered. Not to him. He stood up, placing his teacup down gently, the soft clink the only sound in the tense air.
"Excuse me," he said softly, his voice devoid of emotion once more. "I have no desire to waste my morning with trivial matters."
And with that, he turned and left, his black robes sweeping behind him, Lian Wei following silently. As the doors to the dining hall closed behind him, Xuan Jing breathed in the cold air, his mind already drifting back to more important things.
Family. What a joke.