“Would you like to take a walk together?” Xu Ming asked Zhu Cici.
Zhu Cici was momentarily stunned—she hadn’t expected him to invite her.
After a brief hesitation, she nodded. “T-Then… let’s walk together.”
“Please.” Xu Ming extended his hand in a polite gesture.
Zhu Cici stepped down from the porch and fell into step beside him.
Moonlight bathed the Dragon Palace in a silvery glow. Looking up, a full moon could be seen hanging in the sky, even from beneath the sea.
They wandered along the outer pathways of the Dragon Palace without any particular destination, merely strolling aimlessly.
But in Zhu Cici’s heart, her pulse quickened. Every so often, she found her gaze unconsciously drifting toward Xu Ming.
“How is it that the deep sea has day and night just like the surface?” Xu Ming mused aloud, picking a random topic to break any awkwardness. “There’s even a sun during the day and a moon at night. Don’t tell me the Dragon Palace created them?”
“And not all of the deep sea is . Only underwater cities have this distinct cycle of day and night. Legend has it that ten thousand years ago, the Dragon Empress created this grand formation because she wanted her beloved to experience life under the sea just as if he were on land.”
“Back then, the formation was incredibly expensive to maintain, consuming countless rare materials. But it was highly effective, significantly improving the sea tribes’ daily rhythms. It even helped them adapt better when traveling to land.”
“Over thousands of years, the formation was refined, its costs lowered, and now it’s widely used. Whether in the Eastern Sea, Western Sea, or Southern Sea, every underwater city has implemented it.”
“I see. That’s impressive.” Xu Ming nodded thoughtfully. “The Dragon Empress really spared no effort. Everything she did was for that one person.”
Zhu Cici gazed at Xu Ming’s profile and softly said, “That’s what it means to love someone—you don’t count the cost.”
Hearing her words, Xu Ming turned to look at her, but Zhu Cici quickly averted her gaze.
Xu Ming studied her delicate side profile, momentarily at a loss for words.
It felt as if Zhu Cici wasn’t just talking about the Dragon Empress.
They continued walking. Zhu Cici walked beside Xu Ming, the silence settling between them once again.
As she glanced at the man beside her, she suddenly realized—he had grown so much.
The first time she met Xu Ming, she had marveled at how that little boy had grown up. But now, standing beside him, the feeling was even more tangible.
“I once heard a story,” Xu Ming said, breaking the silence.
Zhu Cici looked up at him. “What story?”
Xu Ming continued, “There was once a little girl who had a difficult childhood. One day, her mother took her to the market, and she saw a beautiful flower hairpin that she really wanted.”
“But it was expensive, and her mother couldn’t afford it.”
“From then on, the little girl couldn’t stop thinking about that hairpin. She longed for it, dreamed of it.”
“Years passed, and she grew up. When she finally had enough money, she happily went out and bought the exact same hairpin she had once desired so much.”
“But when she held it in her hands at last, she realized… it was just a hairpin. Nothing more.”
“After that, she placed it in a drawer and never took it out again.”
Hearing Xu Ming finish the story, Zhu Cici lowered her head.
She didn’t know whether Xu Ming had actually heard this story somewhere or if he had simply made it up on the spot, but that didn’t matter.
Zhu Cici was a clever girl—more than that, Xu Ming had spoken so plainly that there was no way she wouldn’t understand what he truly meant.
“I don’t think that’s true.” Zhu Cici spoke softly, her small hands clenched tightly.
“Hmm?” Xu Ming looked at her.
There was a deep determination in her eyes.
Zhu Cici continued, “Perhaps the reason the girl never wore the hairpin wasn’t that she didn’t cherish it, but rather because it was too precious to her, so she wanted to keep it safe.”
“Maybe, in moments no one knew about, the girl—now grown—would take the hairpin out and look at it carefully.”
“And no matter how many exquisite ornaments she might acquire in the future, that single hairpin would always be the most important one in her heart.”
“Cici…” Xu Ming sighed. “Even if that’s the case, people and objects aren’t the same. An object remains unchanged no matter how much time passes, but people… people change.”
“Then have you changed, Xu Ming?” Zhu Cici suddenly stopped walking.
Xu Ming also slowly turned, meeting her gaze directly.
“I think I have.” He thought for a moment before answering. “I’m grateful that you still remember me, Cici. It’s my honor. But… perhaps the feelings you have for me aren’t really for who I am now. Maybe they’re just memories of that little boy from your childhood, of those beautiful times, rather than of the person standing in front of you today.”
Xu Ming didn’t intend to beat around the bush. Some things were better said clearly—dragging them out would only make things more complicated.
“When you saw me again, you weren’t really seeing me, but the past version of me projected onto who I am now.”
“The more you get to know me as I am today, the more you’ll realize how different I’ve become. And one day, you might even think—’So this is who he is now… he’s nothing like he used to be.'”
Zhu Cici gazed at him, her voice carrying a hint of grievance. “So this is why you keep your distance from me?”
Xu Ming hesitated for a moment before answering, “You could say that.”
Zhu Cici pressed her lips together tightly, her small fists clenching at her sides.
After three breaths of silence, she took a step forward, standing directly in front of Xu Ming. Tilting her head up to look at him, she asked:
“Is it really just that? Are you keeping your distance because you don’t want to ruin my childhood memories?”
“Or is it because your heart already belongs to someone else… and there’s no longer any place left for me?”