Chapter Thirteen
The silence stretched between them, neither willing to break it. The lake shimmered under the afternoon sun, its surface calm—unlike Ping's thoughts.
Ling sat beside her, his posture relaxed, but there was a weight in his expression. The infamous Shadow King—the man she had feared—looked almost... human.
Ping hesitated before speaking. "Do you ever regret it?"
Ling turned to her, one brow raised. "Regret what?"
"Letting people believe the worst about you."
A slow exhale left his lips, and for a moment, he looked past her, lost in thought. "Regret is useless," he finally said. "It does not change the past, nor does it undo what has already been done."
His words were carefully chosen, but Ping could sense something beneath them—something unspoken.
She studied him for a moment, then asked the question that had been on her mind since last night. "Why do you wear the mask?"
Ling's fingers twitched slightly.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached up and, without a word, slowly removed it.
Ping's breath caught.
She had seen his face once before—just for a brief moment before she lost consciousness. But now, in the daylight, she could fully take in the man behind the mask.
His features were sharp, striking. His golden eyes, framed by thick lashes, held a depth she hadn't noticed before. The stories called him a monster, but looking at him now, Ping saw something else entirely.
Something she didn't quite understand.
Ling watched her reaction closely. "Disappointed?"
Ping blinked, startled. "What?"
"You expected something different," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Scars? A face worthy of fear?"
Ping swallowed. "I… I don't know what I expected."
Ling smirked faintly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "That makes two of us."
Ping looked away, her thoughts tangled. She had been told all her life that this man was a beast. But now, as she sat beside him, watching the sunlight catch in his golden hair—she wondered if she had been wrong all along.