The other figure was a young man, tall and quiet, with an aura that commanded attention even in his silence.
His long black hair flowed past his shoulders, contrasting sharply with his pale skin.
His eyes, a deep crimson, seed to glow with an inner fire, yet his expression was distant, almost detached.
He ate thodically, his movents precise and controlled, as though lost in a world of his own.
It was Wang Xiao!
Despite the unusual scene, Wang Xueying, after a mont of hesitation, shook her head and hurried back upstairs, the rhythmic tapping of heels against the stairs echoing through the house.
Xinyue Zhilan's expression hardened. "Xueying, co back here!" she called out, but her voice fell on deaf ears.
"Sigh.." With a heavy sigh, she turned her gaze towards Wang i, still seated at the table. "...i, could you help your brother pack?"
Wang i, who had been quietly observing the exchange, nodded without hesitation, her long hair flowing softly as she moved. "Okay." She paused, her voice softening as she asked, "...Will Father be coming as well?"
Xinyue Zhilan stiffened, her eyes narrowing like a blade.
"Why would he? It's my niece's wedding, not his business. What right does he have to co?" she replied, her tone sharp, laced with a hint of bitterness.
"I just thought... he might cause trouble," Wang i murmured, her eyes lowering slightly, though her expression remained composed, revealing only the faintest trace of sorrow.
What Wang Jiahao did two years ago had spiraled into a catastrophe, costing him not only his children and wife but also the majority of his wealth and property.
It had been more than a year since the divorce, yet Xinyue Zhilan's hatred had not dimd.
Wang i remained silent on the matter, feeling that her father deserved the consequences of his 'actions'.
Nevertheless, he was still her father, and this left her with a tangle of complicated emotions.
"I'm done." At that mont, a distinct clink resonated through the room as Wang Xiao, the youth who had mysteriously returned to them, placed his plate down and stood up, his movents cold and distant.
Xinyue Zhilan glanced at his plate, still half-full, and asked hesitantly, "Xiao Wang, was the food not to your liking?"
"No, it was delicious," the young man replied, his tone flat and emotionless, before he turned and left the room, leaving Xinyue Zhilan frowning.
Wang i watched his retreating figure, then shifted her gaze to her mother's increasingly despondent expression.
She lowered her eyes, not daring to say a word.
"What's wrong with his attitude?" ca a voice from the stairs.
Wang Xueying had returned, her face darkening as she noticed Wang Xiao brushing past her without acknowledgnt, his shoulder grazing hers as if she were rely an obstacle in his path.
She frowned at his lack of care, her irritation growing.
"Xueying, leave him be... The doctor said we should wait for three months," Xinyue Zhilan turned around and advised, her voice tinged with concern.
Wang Xueying narrowed her eyes but nodded nonetheless, though a sigh of frustration escaped her lips.
It had been two months since the day a youth, who bore an uncanny resemblance to an older version of Wang Xiao, had suddenly appeared at their doorstep, startling everyone.
He claid to rember that this was his ho, but little else.
Xinyue Zhilan had imdiately taken him to the hospital, and after extensive tests confird that he was indeed Wang Xiao, he was diagnosed with amnesia.
The doctors had advised that no major treatnts could be perford on his brain for at least three months, hoping that familiar surroundings might trigger a natural recovery.
As for what had happened during the seven years of his disappearance, only he could have revealed the truth—if only he could rember.
This uncertainty filled Xinyue Zhilan's concerns, leaving her deeply depressed.
For a fleeting mont, she had entertained the unsettling thought that this might not be her son at all.
Yet, as she gazed at him standing right in front of her, with every fact confirming his identity, she forced herself to accept it.
Her daughters, however, had not co to terms so easily.
Initially excited at his return, they were now growing increasingly frustrated with his distant and cold attitude.
Despite Xinyue Zhilan's stern warnings to be patient, the tension within the household continued to rise, with no resolution in sight.
_________
Frostgard, the capital of Icevale, glead under a pale sky on the 22nd of August, 2031.
Ti seed to have frozen for Wang Xiao since the day he vanished again, leaving a void filled only by lingering mories.
The preparations for the marriage ceremony progressed at an astounding pace.
In the bustling heart of Icevale, a new floor was leased within one of the towering buildings, the plans ticulously laid out, and every detail reviewed by Yue.
Although these arrangents deviated from her initial vision, the pressing tiline forced her to adapt.
It was a significant event, after all. Upon receiving the consent of both the bride and groom that the core rituals would be preserved, Yue felt empowered to weave elents of Icevale's local customs into the ceremony.
To her surprise, her research into the Qing Dynasty's cultural practices revealed a rigidity she hadn't anticipated.
However, she soon realized that much of what she read had been greatly exaggerated.
Chinese culture traditionally held its customs and elder respect in high regard. Yet, the situation had evolved distinctly; a significant portion of the population had ventured abroad, seeking cultural exchange and opportunities, altering the social fabric.
Many had returned after China's transformation into a new dynasty, ushering in an era of change that continued to shape the societal norms.
Over the past five years, the world had transford so rapidly that even the vast expanse of the internet struggled to docunt these changes accurately.
Yue, unfamiliar with navigating the digital world, found it challenging to sift through the overstated narratives online.
"Why isn't Dad here when I need him the most?" she sighed, her frustration evident as she tossed her phone aside and tapped her fingers against the cool glass, her gaze lost in the wintry landscape.
The car moved smoothly over the icy roads, insulated from the harsh environnt outside.
The interior of the vehicle boasted the luxurious trappings of a Rolls Royce, enveloping her in comfort.
Yet, the car had an almost magical quality, floating slightly above the snowy terrain, powered by a blend of ethereal crystals—a rare technology that set it apart in a world still adapting to such advancents.
People from outside, curious about the rare sight, peered eagerly as the car passed.
Other vehicles, their tires chained for better traction against the snow, turned to watch the ethereal machine glide by effortlessly.
Despite the widespread applications of ether, its full integration into everyday life remained limited, making any display of its use a spectacle that drew eyes and sparked conversations about the societal divisions that such technologies reinforced.
Only those in the highest echelons of society enjoyed the luxury and exclusivity of ether-powered innovations.
Though it was a technological marvel beyond doubt, the girl inside cared little for such wonders.
She gazed out the window at the highway, observing the city blanketed in snow—a rare sight in the middle of the year.
Since Frostholm was enveloped in radiation, its aftereffects were manifest, including a rapid cooling of the earth.
The skyscrapers, covered in mist and flanked by snow, cast an enchanting silhouette against the modern city.
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