178: Chapter 178 She had completely forgotten about Krystal.

Choi Sulli recalled the past few days in Paris: the wind by the Seine River, the sycamore leaves falling outside the cafe, the dim, yellow light in the hotel corridor late at night, and the temperature of his fingertips when he handed her the charger.

She was not that idol Choi Sulli, packaged and perfectly smiling by her company. At least, in this moment, in this space filled with fragments of stories, in front of this silent old dress, she could be someone else.

Sulli took a slow, deep breath. She did not look at Song Tianhao again, nor at Ms. Durand, nor even at the scrutinizing gazes in the reception area.

She closed her eyes, her long eyelashes casting a small shadow under her lids, her chest rising and falling gently with her breath.

A few seconds, or perhaps a dozen, time flowed in the silence.

Then, she opened her eyes.

The panic, helplessness, shyness, and nervousness in her eyes had all vanished. In their place was a strange emptiness, followed by a hint of curiosity and a touch of inquiry, slowly emerging from the depths of those clear eyes.

She did not walk toward the dress immediately but stood in place, her gaze crossing the space between them and landing far away on that ivory, tattered dress.

Her gaze was very light and slow, as if caressing the dress, from the faded neckline to the worn cuffs, to the simple fabric on the chest, then to the tightened lines at the waist that symbolized restriction, and finally, resting on the shocking, dark stain on the hem.

Her brows furrowed ever so slightly, as if feeling a pain of empathy.

Then, she moved.

She took a step, her high heels making a light, steady "tap, tap" sound on the wooden floor. She walked very slowly, her gaze never leaving the dress, as if pulled by an invisible force.

She reached the dress and stopped at a distance of about one meter.

She did not reach out to touch it; she merely tilted her head slightly, gazing at it more closely and carefully.

Her gaze moved downward, inch by inch, from the top of the dress. Her expression was changing.

At first it was curious, like a child who had stumbled into an old attic and discovered a forgotten treasure. Then, that curiosity gradually mixed with appreciation; as she looked at the intricate embroidery patterns, which still revealed their former beauty despite the damage, her eyes softened, carrying a sense of respect for the craftsmanship.

Her gaze fell on the waist, on those tightly cinched lines. Her body seemed to instinctively tighten slightly, her shoulders drawing inward, as if she could feel the suffocating constriction of a whalebone corset. In her eyes, there was a hint of suppressed, silent repression.

Then, her gaze slowly moved downward, landing on that dark, irregular stain on the hem.

Her breathing hitched, almost imperceptibly.

Then, she did something that caught everyone by surprise.

Slowly, extremely slowly, she raised a hand. Not to touch the dress, but hovering in the air, a few centimeters away from the stain on the hem. Her fingers were slender and fair, trembling slightly in the air; her fingertips seemed to want to touch it, yet were filled with a certain timidity and reluctance.

Her gaze changed.

The earlier appreciation and suppression were now completely replaced by an intense, inescapable sorrow. This sorrow was not a wail, but quiet and deep, like a drop of ink falling into clear water, slowly spreading and saturating her entire gaze.

She looked at the stain, as if seeing not just a simple mark, but a frozen moment, a broken story, a silent tragedy. Her lips pursed gently, the line of her chin tightened, and her eye rims reddened rapidly, visible to the naked eye.

But she did not cry; there wasn't even an excess of tears. It was just that the heavy sorrow seemed almost tangible, flowing out from her eyes and permeating the air.

A lady in the reception area subconsciously sat up straight and held her breath.

Ms. Durand crossed her arms, her gray-blue eyes staring at Sulli without blinking. Her face remained expressionless, but the fingers holding her arms tightened unconsciously.

Song Tianhao stood in place, watching Sulli's back quietly. His eyes were deep, as if he were seeing something else through her.

Sulli's hand was still hovering there. A few seconds later, the trembling fingertips slowly, slowly curled up, forming a loose fist. Then, her hand lowered, inch by inch.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

When she opened her eyes again, the sorrow in them slowly receded like the tide. It did not turn into joy immediately, but into a more complex emotion. A sense of relief tinged with pain, a forgiveness that traversed time, a calmness after the dust had settled.

She took one last look at the dress, her gaze sweeping over every inch of it, from the stain to the tattered embroidery, to the simple neckline...

Then, the corners of her mouth curved upward ever so slightly.

It was not a smile, not even close. It was just a faint, almost invisible curve. It was like a sigh, and also like a farewell.

Then, she turned around to face Ms. Durand and Song Tianhao, and all the gazes in the reception area. She bowed slightly, offering a salute. Her movements were elegant, carrying a calmness that belied her age.

It was over.

She hadn't said a word, hadn't made a sound. But with her eyes, her subtle expressions, the posture of her body, and the rhythm of her breathing, she had told a complete story. About beauty and confinement, about accidents and trauma, about the passage of time and the settling of pain, and finally, about acceptance and reconciliation.

The studio was so quiet that one could hear the sound of dust settling.

Everyone was looking at her; for a moment, no one spoke.

Ms. Durand stood there with her arms crossed, unmoving.

She stared at Sulli. Those icy blue, sharp eyes were now like a melting glacier; though still cold, something else, something more complex, seemed to be flowing in their depths. Her lips were pursed tight, and the wrinkles on her face appeared even deeper in the light and shadow.

Time passed second by second, each second feeling as long as a century.

Sulli maintained her slight bow, her heart pounding like a drum. She did not know if she had done the right thing, or how this stern master would judge her.

She had simply acted according to her feelings in that moment, pouring all her emotions into that silent gaze and subtle movement.

Finally, Ms. Durand moved.

She lowered her arms from her chest and walked toward Sulli, step by step, slowly. Her steps were steady, the sound of her high heels clicking on the floor exceptionally clear in the silence.

She stopped in front of Sulli, very close. Sulli could smell the scent on her, a mixture of faint tobacco, bitter orange, and old paper.

Ms. Durand lowered her head to look at Sulli. Sulli could feel the weight of that gaze, landing heavily on her face.

Then, Ms. Durand spoke, still in French to Song Tianhao, but this time, her tone was no longer cold or full of scrutiny, but a calm, matter-of-fact tone, and her speaking speed was much slower.

Song Tianhao listened quietly, then looked at Sulli and translated clearly and steadily in Korean: "She says, 'You can let go now, child. You did very well.'"

Sulli jerked her head up, her eyes filled with disbelief.

Song Tianhao looked at her and continued to translate, his voice carrying a strange, penetrating power in the quiet studio: "She says, 'Words are cheap, and expressions can be trained, but eyes do not lie. Your eyes can tell a story.'"

Sulli's eyes widened instantly, a surge of scalding heat rushing into her eye rims without warning, which she held back with all her might. She looked at Song Tianhao, then at Ms. Durand, her lips moving, but she could not make a sound.

Ms. Durand did not look at Sulli again but turned to Song Tianhao and said something else. This time, her voice was lighter and her speed faster, carrying a meaning that only the two of them could understand.

After listening, Song Tianhao was silent for two seconds, then nodded slightly to Ms. Durand and replied in the same light, fast French. His French was fluent and natural, his tone elegant, his word choice precise, even carrying a hint of the subtle pronunciation habits peculiar to Parisians.

On Ms. Durand's face, which had always been expressionless, a trace of a very faint, very slight smile finally appeared, very brief, like a ripple on the water's surface, vanishing in a flash.

She nodded to Song Tianhao, then turned and walked toward an old wooden cabinet filled with clutter, rummaging for something inside.

Sulli was still immersed in the immense shock and joy, standing there somewhat at a loss. Song Tianhao walked to her side and said in a low voice in Korean: "It's okay, relax."

Only then did Sulli realize she was still maintaining a slight bow, and quickly straightened up, feeling her back had become somewhat stiff.

[part:gemini-3.5-flash]

She looked at Song Tianhao, her eyes shining bright, filled with the relief of surviving a disaster, a great sense of achievement, and a deep, almost overflowing gratitude.

Just then, Durand walked back, holding a small, dark blue velvet pouch. The pouch looked quite old, with slightly worn corners, but it was very clean. She walked up to Sulli and handed it to her.

Sulli was taken aback and instinctively accepted it with both hands. The pouch was very light.

"Open it and take a look," Song Tianhao said.

Sulli did as she was told, carefully untying the matching silk drawstring at the mouth of the bag. Reaching inside, her fingers brushed against a fabric that was cool, smooth, yet exceptionally soft. She gently pulled the item out.

It was a palm-sized piece of fabric. Its color was a very peculiar shade between dark green and deep blue, shimmering and shifting under the sunlight.

The material itself was hard to identify; it felt like silk, but was crisper. Its surface featured incredibly intricate, almost invisible jacquard patterns, cool and smooth to the touch, as if it were alive.

The edges of the fabric were irregular, as if it had been carefully cut from a larger garment, and the fine warp and weft threads could be seen at the cut.

This piece of fabric was already very old, its color steeped in the depth of time. Yet, its exquisite nature, the luxury hidden beneath its simplicity, and that indescribable, breathing life force rushed over her.

"This is..." Sulli looked at Song Tianhao in a daze, holding the small yet incredibly heavy piece of fabric.

Song Tianhao looked at the fabric, a flicker of surprise passing through his eyes before he quickly regained his composure.

He translated for Sulli: "Ms. Durand says this is a piece of hand-woven fabric from the early twentieth century, made by a seamstress named Madeleine. That seamstress only made clothes for herself her entire life and never sold them. This is one of the few items she left behind."

He paused, then added, "She said this fabric is a gift for you. A memento of the story you told with your eyes today."

Sulli was stunned, her hands trembling slightly as she held the fabric. She hurriedly bowed deeply to Durand and stammered in her halting French, "Thank you, thank you very much, Madame!"

Looking at her flustered yet sincere demeanor, the faint smile on Durand's face reappeared for a brief moment. She nodded, said one last word to Song Tianhao, and then turned back to her workbench. She picked up her magnifying glass and bent over to study the deep purple velvet again, as if nothing had just happened.

Song Tianhao gestured to Sulli that they could leave.

Under the complex gazes of several guests in the reception area, the two turned and walked toward the door along the path they had come. The man with the buzz cut silently followed behind them, escorted them to the door, and pulled open the dark blue wooden door.

The bright, almost blinding afternoon sunlight of Paris and the slightly warm breeze from the streets instantly rushed in, shutting out the dim world behind them, which was filled with the scent of old fabrics and silent stories.

Sulli stood at the door, clutching the dark blue velvet pouch tightly in her hand, her fingertips still feeling the cool touch of the antique fabric. She looked back at the ordinary dark blue wooden door that had closed again, feeling as if everything that had just happened was a brief and wondrous dream.

It wasn't until she sat in the backseat of the sedan heading back to the hotel, and the car smoothly merged into the Parisian traffic, that Sulli seemed to fully wake up from her dream.

She looked down at the small velvet pouch in her palm. Her heart was still thumping with excitement and lingering fear, but even more, she felt an unprecedented, intense sense of achievement and a strange, satisfying feeling of being recognized.

"President..." She turned her head to look at Song Tianhao beside her, her eyes incredibly bright. "I... I did it, right? She... Ms. Durand, she recognized me, right?" Her voice trembled slightly with excitement.

Leaning against the back seat, Song Tianhao watched the Parisian streetscape flashing past the window. Hearing her, he turned his head to look at her. His gaze lingered on her cheeks, which were flushed with excitement, before falling on her hand tightly clutching the pouch.

"She didn't recognize the idol 'Choi Sulli'," Song Tianhao said calmly, as if stating an objective fact. "What she recognized was the 'person' in that room just now, who temporarily shed her idol shell to feel and express with her instincts."

He paused and added, "This is far more valuable than recognizing the identity of 'Choi Sulli'."

Sulli was stunned, carefully savoring those words. Shedding the idol shell... feeling with instincts...

Yes, in the studio just now, she had forgotten about the camera, forgotten about facial expression management, and forgotten that she was f(x)'s Sulli.

She had simply looked at the dress, felt the emotions it conveyed, and then presented what she felt without reservation.

"You... you told me to look into her eyes," she looked at Song Tianhao, her voice softening unconsciously, carrying an unprecedented sense of dependence and trust. "And the things you translated... Thank you, President. If it weren't for you, I might..."

She might not have even had the courage to stand there, let alone complete such a seemingly impossible task.

Song Tianhao withdrew his gaze from the window and let it fall back on her face. His gaze was focused, carrying a sense of scrutiny, but it was no longer Durand's cold scrutiny; instead, it was a gentler, evaluative look.

"You did very well today." He repeated Durand's words, but his tone was affirmative. "You proved one thing: some communication doesn't require language."

Sulli's heart skipped a beat at his affirmation, and a mixture of sweetness, pride, and fluttering excitement welled up inside her.

She looked at his sharp profile and his calm, unruffled eyes. A thought—or rather, an impulse—appeared clearly in her mind without warning, quickly taking root and growing incredibly strong.

She took a deep breath, feeling her fingertips grow slightly cold from nervousness, but she forced her voice to remain steady, even carrying a hint of tentative anticipation and hope that she herself didn't notice.

"President," she spoke softly, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the rough surface of the velvet pouch, "are you free tonight? Could... could I treat you to dinner? Just the two of us."

She added quickly, as if afraid of being rejected, and also to convince herself, "I want to thank you, thank you for today... and for these past few days in Paris, for taking care of and guiding me."

"I looked up some recommendations and found a really nice restaurant with great reviews..." Her voice grew quieter and quieter, and a blush crept onto her cheeks. Yet, her eyes remained fixed on him, filled to the brim with anticipation and nervousness.

Song Tianhao looked at her and remained silent for a few seconds. To Sulli, those few seconds felt like an eternity. She could even hear the sound of her own blood flowing.

Then, he spoke, his voice still steady and without much inflection: "Sure." He took out his phone and glanced at the schedule his assistant had sent; his evening was temporarily blank. "But my treat."

"Really? That's great!" Sulli's eyes instantly lit up, and the smile on her face could no longer be suppressed, like sunlight breaking through the clouds, dazzlingly bright.

She nodded vigorously, then quickly reined in her overly visible joy, saying softly but cheerfully, "Then... should I send the restaurant address to your assistant in a bit?"

"Sure," Song Tianhao replied, turning his gaze back out the window.

Sulli was so happy she almost jumped in her seat, but she forced herself to hold back, though the curve of her lips could not be pressed down.

She lowered her head and looked at the small velvet pouch in her palm again, her fingertips gently caressing its fine texture. Her heart felt filled with something warm and sweet. A private dinner with the President... in Paris...

Just then, the phone in her handbag on her lap vibrated.

She snapped out of it, took out her phone, and lit up the screen. It was a message from Krystal.

"unnie, do you want to have dinner together tonight? My body is feeling better, and my appetite is back. Shall we go eat at that steakhouse you said you wanted to try?"

The message was followed by a cute cat emoji.

Sulli looked at the message, and the smile on her face instantly froze. She had been so completely immersed in the excitement of passing the test and the joy of her successful invitation that she had completely forgotten about Krystal.

She instinctively looked up, quickly stealing a glance at Song Tianhao beside her. He was still looking out the window, the lines of his profile appearing somewhat blurred in the shifting light and shadow.

Sulli's finger hovered over the phone screen for a few seconds, and she bit her lower lip.