The Canary in the Abyss

Ji Sihan had returned home. For Shu Wan—his clandestine lover, kept carefully out of the light—his arrival was never a matter of choice, but of summons. The moment word reached her, she was collected and brought straight to No. 8 Mansion, that immaculate residence whose very silence felt like an unspoken command. The agreement was explicit. Before she was permitted to appear before him, she must be washed clean—scrubbed of every trace of the outside world. Not a whisper of perfume. Not the faintest residue of powder or lipstick. No lingering sweetness on the skin that did not belong to him. Shu Wan complied as she always did, with the dutiful precision of someone who had long since learned that obedience was safer than explanation. She bathed until her skin was nearly tender from the heat and water, until every scent was erased. Then she slipped into an ice-silk nightdress, thin as mist and cool against her body, and made her way upstairs to the second-floor bedroom. The door opened on a room that felt less like a place meant for rest than a private kingdom of order and control. Ji Sihan sat before a computer, absorbed in his work, the glow of the screen catching on the hard lines of his face. When she entered, he lifted his eyes only briefly, and the glance he gave her was as flat and indifferent as winter light. “Come here.” His voice held no warmth, no inflection, no invitation—only instruction. It fell upon Shu Wan’s heart with the familiar weight of stone, heavy and suffocating. Ji Sihan was a man of sparse temperament, his emotions as elusive as the wind, and yet his moods could turn without warning. Shu Wan feared his displeasure more than she cared to admit, and so she did not hesitate. She crossed the room quickly, keeping her steps soft, her posture careful. She had not even fully steadied herself before him when his arm hooked around her waist and pulled her into his lap with effortless force. A long, elegant hand rose, and his fingers closed around her chin, tilting her face up as though he were examining an object—something he owned, something he could judge. He looked like a man carved for restraint: noble, aloof, the kind of beauty that suggested purity rather than hunger. Yet in these matters he had never possessed even a trace of gentleness. His desire did not arrive as affection; it arrived as conquest—domineering, ruthless, and exacting. He had been abroad on business for three months. Three months without touching a woman, three months of austere distance and accumulated pressure. Shu Wan knew, before the night had truly begun, that he would not be lenient with her. And as she had anticipated, Ji Sihan was more unbridled than usual—almost feral in the way he demanded, the way he took, as though he meant to devour time itself. The hours blurred into an ache that swallowed thought. By the end, she could no longer keep her eyes open. Darkness folded over her, and she sank into unconsciousness like someone slipping beneath deep water. Only then, when she had fallen silent and still, did the man finally seem satisfied. When Shu Wan woke, the bed beside her was empty. The sheets retained the faint warmth of another body, but the space was already cold with absence. From the bathroom came the soft, constant sound of running water—a hush of droplets against tile, steady as rain. She turned her head toward it and saw the frosted glass, misted over, reflecting the blurred outline of a tall, slender figure. The sight startled her. Usually, Ji Sihan left the moment everything ended. He never waited for her to wake, never lingered for any aftermath that might resemble companionship. Yet this time he was still here. Shu Wan drew a slow breath, forcing herself past the dull soreness that sat in her bones. She pushed herself upright, moving carefully, as though her body had been rearranged into something fragile. Then she sat quietly on the bed, as obedient and composed as she knew how to be, waiting for him to come out. Several minutes passed. The water stopped abruptly. The bathroom door opened, and Ji Sihan stepped out with a towel wrapped around his waist. Water clung to the ends of his hair and slid down his honey-toned skin in thin rivulets, tracing the hard plane of his abdomen, catching briefly along the ridges of muscle before disappearing. His physique was lean yet powerfully defined—strength disciplined into elegance, an allure that felt almost lethal in its calm. His face was the kind that made people forget how to breathe: exquisitely handsome, sharp as if cut by a blade, every angle precise. His eyes—those distant, peach-blossom-shaped eyes—were beautiful in the way deep water is beautiful, dark and unreadable, offering no hint of what lay beneath. He was, by any standard, an exceptional man. And yet the chill that surrounded him was equally exceptional—an austere coldness that made others instinctively keep their distance, as though warmth would be punished. He noticed she was awake. His gaze slid over her with the same icy composure he had shown when she entered. Then he spoke, and the words he delivered were as clean and cruel as a knife. “From now on, you don’t need to come anymore.” For a moment Shu Wan did not understand. The sentence was simple, and yet it did not fit into the world as she knew it. Not need to come… what did that mean? Was he dismissing her for tonight? Was he saying she could leave now? But Ji Sihan did not look at her again. He turned, walked to a nearby table, and picked up a document. With the detached efficiency of a man closing a file, he handed it to her. “This contract will be terminated in advance.” Shu Wan’s fingers tightened slightly as she took it. Her eyes fell to the familiar heading—those words that had once felt like a strange lifeline and later became a quiet shackle. The kept-woman agreement. Only then did she fully comprehend: Ji Sihan was ending their relationship. So that was why he had not left immediately this time. Not because he felt reluctant, not because he wanted to stay, not because he had any tenderness he could not suppress. He had remained only to deliver a final decision—like a notice issued by a company, cold and impersonal. She had been with him for five years. She had imagined, in her most lucid and fearful moments, that one day this would happen. Yet she had never anticipated it would be so abrupt, so unadorned by reason. There was no explanation, no softened tone, no gesture of consideration—only a direct announcement, as if her presence had always been something temporary, easily erased. A sharp pain surged up from her chest, swift and merciless, as though her heart had been squeezed in a fist. Shu Wan lowered her gaze for an instant, swallowing the ache, forcing it down where it could not spill into her voice. Then she lifted her head again and looked at him. Ji Sihan was already dressing. He moved with unhurried precision, buttoning his shirt, sliding his arms into the sleeves as though he were preparing for an ordinary day. He did not appear troubled. He did not appear conflicted. His calm was almost offensive in its completeness. Shu Wan’s throat tightened. She gathered what little courage remained and spoke softly. “There are only six months left until the contract expires,” she said. “Can’t we wait until then?” The words were polite, restrained, almost businesslike—yet beneath them hid something far more desperate. The doctor had told her she had only three months left. Three months. A span so brief it felt like a cruel joke. She wanted time—time to stay near him a little longer, time to watch him in silence, time to memorize the shape of his presence before the world went dark for her. She did not ask for love. She did not demand a future. She only wanted to remain until the end. Ji Sihan offered no reply. He simply looked at her, and the coldness in his eyes was absolute. There was not the smallest trace of reluctance, not even the kind that comes from habit. His gaze had the sterile finality of someone discarding a possession that no longer amused him. That silence answered everything. Shu Wan understood, with a clarity that hurt, that after five years she still had not managed to warm his heart. Whatever dream she had clung to—no matter how foolish, no matter how quietly—was over. It was time to wake. She lowered her eyes to the contract and accepted its weight like an unavoidable verdict. When she looked up again, she forced her lips into a smile—soft, serene, almost sweet. It was the kind of smile that could fool strangers, the kind that could make pain look like grace. “Don’t be so serious,” she said lightly. “I was just joking.” Then, as if it were an afterthought, she added, “Honestly, I stopped wanting to be with you a long time ago. If the contract ends early, I should be celebrating.” Ji Sihan’s hands paused—only slightly—as he adjusted the cuff of his shirt. The movement was so brief it might have been imagined. He lifted his eyes, studying her with a sharpness that suggested he was weighing the truth of her performance. Her face, outwardly, carried no sorrow. If anything, she had shaped it into something that almost resembled relief—an expression that implied she had been set free. A faint furrow appeared between his brows. “You stopped wanting to be with me?” he asked, his tone still flat, still calm. Shu Wan nodded as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Yes,” she replied. “I’m not young anymore. I should be getting married, having children. I can’t keep following you forever with no name and no place.” Marriage. Children. The words felt like a foreign language in her mouth. She knew, with bitter certainty, that such things would never belong to her now. Yet she refused to leave him looking pitiful. If she had to exit his life, she would do it with dignity—cleanly, as though she were the one who had chosen to go. Holding that fragile pride together, she let her smile widen a little, teasing and bright, and asked, “Since the contract is over, does that mean I can get a boyfriend from now on?” Ji Sihan’s expression did not shift in any obvious way. The emotions in his eyes were indistinct, like shadows moving behind thick glass. He stared at her for a long moment—long enough for Shu Wan’s fingers to cool, long enough for the air in the room to feel sharper. Then he reached for the Blancpain watch placed neatly on the bedside table. He slipped it into his hand, turned away, and walked toward the door as though the conversation had already ended. “Do as you like,” he said. Those were the final words he left behind. The door closed. The room returned to silence. Shu Wan continued to smile for a few seconds longer, as though she were still playing the role he expected—composed, agreeable, easily dismissed. But the moment his footsteps faded, the corners of her mouth trembled, and the expression could no longer hold. Her smile slowly fell away, dissolving into something blank and exhausted. Ji Sihan hated it when others touched what was his. He had always been possessive in the most arrogant, effortless way—like a king who did not need to raise his voice to claim ownership. Yet when she mentioned getting a boyfriend, he had shown no reaction at all. Not anger. Not jealousy. Not even the faintest flicker of irritation. That emptiness was more definitive than any cruel statement. It meant only one thing. He was truly tired of her. He had played long enough. And now, he had finally grown bored.