Chapter 228: Milk and Masks

Morning light, like a highly permeable liquid, slowly seeped in through the entire wall of smart glass on the east side of the Star Dome Hall.

The light, filtered by a special coating, lost its sharpness and warmth, spreading across the terrazzo floor and cutting the vast hall into silent strips of light and shadow.

Yang Yi sat in a high-backed chair, her back straight as an arrow.

She had changed into a clean, plain-colored shirt with the cuffs rolled up, revealing pale wrists where the faint blue veins beneath the skin were clearly visible, as if the terrifying transformation of the previous night had drained away some of her flesh and blood, leaving only a thinner, more fragile outline.

On the small round table before her sat a glass of water; she stared at the surface, her eyes empty like the embers of a burnt-out fire.

A faint trace of blood still seemed to linger in the air, but she knew the high-temperature cleaner had completely washed away all traces of the previous night, leaving not even a single cell behind.

Footsteps came from the long corridor connecting to the inner rooms, and Yang Yi's fingers twitched slightly.

Chris walked in carrying a tray with a cup of milk emitting faint steam and a small plate of perfectly toasted bread.

He wore linen loungewear, his hair was somewhat messy, and there were faint dark circles under his eyes.

Placing the tray on the table before her, he casually dragged a chair to sit in front of her, watching her silently as if observing a dream that might shatter at any moment.

Yang Yi did not move, not even a single eyelash twitched.

But Chris could feel that the cold shadow enveloping her had, imperceptibly, rippled for an instant upon his arrival.

He finally spoke, his voice somewhat dry from prolonged silence, and he tried to make it sound normal: "Although you said you no longer need to eat, warm food can at least lift your mood." He gently pushed the tray toward her. "The milk should be just the right temperature, and the toast... I baked it, with a little honey spread on it."

Yang Yi did not want to tell him that human food was nothing but foul filth to her.

Her gaze shifted from the glass of water to the cup of milk, where a very thin film had formed on the milky white surface.

Her eyes then fell on Chris's hand resting on the table; his fingers were unconsciously curled slightly, and his hand was wrapped in thick medical gauze, beneath which lay the wounds she had unconsciously scratched in her pain the previous night.

She looked at that hand for a long time, so long that Chris almost thought she would never react again.

She extended her hand extremely slowly, and with her fingertips, gently touched the gauze on the back of his hand.

The movement was as light as a feather brushing past, yet it was like a stone thrown into still water; Chris immediately reached out and grasped her hand.

He pressed her hand against his face and gently kissed it.

Yang Yi immediately pulled her hand back.

"Thank you for last night," Yang Yi said very politely, her voice soft and without inflection, sounding more like a flat statement. Yet in this morning, in this space with only the two of them, it conveyed a weary concession.

The two fell silent again, but this silence was no longer like a desolate ice field; it was like a lake shrouded in morning mist, with something beginning to flow beneath the surface.

Yang Yi lifted the cup of milk, did not drink, but held it with both hands, feeling the warmth transmitted to her palms.

The heat seeped through the porcelain cup, inch by inch into her cold fingers, then spread upward along her arms, trying to melt some of the chill frozen deeper within.

Chris picked up the glass of water before her and took a sip; the sound of his Adam's apple rolling was distinct in the silence.

"You..." Chris paused, as if choosing his words, finally abandoning a complex expression and asking only, "Does it still hurt?"

Yang Yi lifted her gaze from the ripples in the milk in her cup and looked at him.

That look was complex, containing scrutiny, a fleeting pang of pain, an unshakeable barrier, but at the very depths, perhaps even a place she herself was unwilling to admit, there was a faint, almost imperceptible sense of being at a loss before such straightforward concern.

She did not answer whether it hurt or not; that would be meaningless, just as she had once told him, that people cannot truly share each other's feelings.

She simply turned her gaze back to the window, where the plants in the glass greenhouse were lush and green, their leaves vibrantly alive, forming a striking contrast to the desolation of winter in the courtyard.

"Today," she suddenly spoke, her voice still soft, as if talking to herself, "there is no schedule."

Chris was taken aback, then understood.

This was her rare, voluntary "blank"; she... had cancelled all her appointments.

"Really?" Chris exclaimed with delight. "Shall we watch a movie at home? Play games? Or stroll around your Grand Villa? Damn, it's so huge; I've lived here for so many days, and I haven't finished running even if I change my route every day..."

Yang Yi finally took a sip of milk; the warm liquid slid down her throat, bringing a foul-smelling comfort.

She set the cup down and looked at Chris's face; his straight nose cast a faint shadow on his profile, and his blue pupils, in the sunlight, were the pale blue of a chrysanthemum, like the shallow sea under the summer sun.

It was this man who had embraced that deformed monster last night.

The barrier remained, like a thick, cold wall of glass standing between them.

Trust had long been shattered, difficult to piece back together.

But at this moment, in this pale morning light, in this silence after surviving disaster, she decided to take a breath of relief.

"Let's take a stroll together; I haven't explored it yet," she said lightly.

Chris enthusiastically described the scenery of various spots in the Spirit Pivot Grand Villa to her, while Yang Yi held the gradually cooling milk, gazing at the world outside the window that was still distant but gradually brightening.

Winter was still cold, the Star Dome Main Hall was still terrifyingly vast, but in any case, the light had indeed shone in.

The milk smelled foul, but it was indeed warm, and at this moment, neither of them wore any mask.

That was enough.