Summary: In the quiet hum of an ordinary day, Chen Yao discovers that love is built not in grand gestures—but in burnt breakfasts, stolen laughter, and the unshakable certainty that she is exactly where she belongs.
Chapter Thirteen
It was late morning by the time Yao and Sicheng finally made their way downstairs. The base was already awake and humming with low energy, breakfast dishes clinking in the kitchen, the muted sounds of a practice scrim loading on the big screen.
Yao padded across the living room in one of Sicheng's oversized hoodies and her leggings, her hair still damp from the quick shower she had stolen first while he had half-heartedly grumbled and pulled the blankets back over his head. She dropped into her usual spot on the couch, tucking one leg under her as she pulled out her laptop to check the day's assignments, slipping her glasses onto her nose with automatic ease.
The others were scattered around, Pang throwing popcorn at Yue, Lao K silently critiquing both of them, Lao Mao sipping coffee while scrolling his tablet.
But it was Yue who noticed first. He narrowed his eyes, peering over the back of the couch at her, his face scrunching up like he was trying to solve a math problem he didn't like. "Wait a second," he said slowly, pointing an accusing finger. "Since when do you wear glasses?"
Yao didn't even look up from her screen. She just snorted softly and shook her head, a faint smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. "They're not prescription," she said, tapping a few keys. "They're blue-light filtering glasses."
Yue blinked at her, confused.
She finally glanced up, sliding the glasses down her nose slightly to give him a look over the rims, the kind of look that made Yue immediately snicker and Pang elbow him in the ribs to shut him up. "They help protect my eyes from the blue light that comes from computer screens," she explained patiently. "Less strain, less headaches. Makes my eyes less tired when I'm staring at this thing for ten hours straight." She patted the top of her laptop affectionately like it was a particularly stubborn pet.
Yue looked vaguely betrayed. "You've been wearing them this whole time?"
Yao shrugged. "Off and on. Mostly when I'm working. You guys were too busy throwing popcorn and fighting over couch space to notice."
Pang groaned dramatically, throwing himself backward onto the floor. "We're terrible!"
Yue clutched his chest. "We're monsters!"
Lao Mao didn't even look up from his tablet. "You were monsters long before this."
Lao K muttered under his breath, "You still are."
Ming, passing through with a mug of coffee and the calm exhaustion of a man parenting too many grown children, arched a brow and deadpanned, "Glad you all figured it out. Only took you forever."
Sicheng, who had just wandered into the room barefoot and still looking half-asleep, caught the tail end of the conversation. He slouched down onto the couch beside Yao, draping an arm lazily over her shoulders, and grunted, "Took you idiots long enough."
Yao smiled, slipping her glasses back up properly and leaning lightly into Sicheng's side without thinking, her heart full in a way it hadn't been in years.
Sicheng stretched lazily where he sat, his arm still draped over Yao's shoulders as she scrolled through her laptop. But after a few minutes, he shifted, glancing down at her with a look that was far too serious for a man still in sweatpants. "You need to eat," he muttered.
Yao blinked up at him, smiling. "I'm fine."
He narrowed his eyes. "You didn't eat anything last night," he said, his voice dropping into that low, stubborn tone that usually meant there was no point arguing. "And you're not living on coffee and stubbornness," he added, nudging her laptop closed with two fingers, ignoring her squawk of protest.
Pang snickered from the other side of the room. "Uh-oh. Salt Maiden's about to get Dad'ed."
Yue stage-whispered, "Pray for her."
Yao rolled her eyes but let Sicheng tug her gently to her feet, grumbling good-naturedly under her breath. "You're ridiculous," she muttered as he steered her toward the kitchen with one firm hand on the small of her back.
"Sit," he ordered, tapping the counter.
She huffed but hopped up onto the edge of the counter, swinging her legs lightly as she watched him move around the kitchen.
It was... something to see.
Sicheng opened cabinets with no real idea what he was looking for, pulled out a frying pan with a frown like it had personally offended him, and stared at the stove controls like they were written in another language.
Yao bit her lip, trying desperately not to laugh. He slapped a few pieces of bread into the toaster and cracked eggs into the pan with a little too much force, a few flecks of shell flying in. She couldn't help it, she giggled, pressing her hand over her mouth when he turned to glare at her.
"You want breakfast or not?" he growled, but it was ruined by the way his mouth twitched, fighting a grin.
"I'm just... observing," Yao said innocently, her eyes dancing.
"Smartass." he muttered under his breath, turning back to the pan.
The toaster dinged.
Or rather, sparked.
The smell of burnt toast filled the kitchen instantly.
Yao gagged dramatically, waving a hand in front of her face. "Is that smoke?"
Sicheng yanked the toast out with a grimace and tossed it directly into the sink without even pretending it was salvageable. The eggs weren't faring much better, overcooked, rubbery at the edges, sticking stubbornly to the pan. He stared at them like he was contemplating launching the entire frying pan out the window.
Yao was doubled over by this point, trying and failing to hide her laughter behind her hands. "You're terrible at this." she gasped between giggles.
Sicheng turned to face her fully, tossing the spatula down with a clatter, and crossed his arms. "I didn't see you offering to help."
Yao wiped at her eyes, still laughing, and swung her legs lightly. "Because watching this," she said, breathless, "is way better than TV."
He glared at her for half a second. Then his mouth quirked in that slow, lazy smirk she knew too well. Without another word, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped quickly through a few screens. "Ordering takeout," he muttered.
Yao blinked at him, still laughing. "Giving up that fast?"
He slid the phone back into his pocket and stalked toward her. "Was my plan all along," he said smugly. And before she could sass him again, he slid his hands to her hips, yanked her forward on the counter so she was nestled between his legs, and kissed her hard, grinning against her mouth when she squeaked in surprise.
The others wandered in eventually, wrinkling their noses at the lingering smoke smell, Pang muttering about needing a gas mask while Yue offered a solemn prayer for the frying pan's soul.
But Yao didn't care. None of it mattered. Not the burnt toast. Not the ruined eggs. Only Sicheng. Only the warm, steady feel of his arms wrapped around her. Only the bright, endless future they were building, one burned breakfast—and one perfect morning—at a time.
The smell of burnt toast eventually faded, replaced by the far more welcome scent of fresh takeout.
When the doorbell rang, Sicheng gave Yao's thigh one last affectionate squeeze, then reluctantly pulled away to answer it. He returned a minute later with three huge bags of food, casually kicking the door shut behind him as he carried them into the kitchen.
Pang and Yue descended immediately, circling like vultures, practically bouncing in excitement. Lao Mao and Lao K wandered in more calmly, with the distinct air of men who knew if they didn't claim their food early, they might lose it altogether. Even Rui emerged from his office, adjusting his glasses, sniffing the air like he was following a survival instinct rather than a meal.
Ming drifted down last, carrying a folder under one arm and giving the whole scene a long, exhausted look before muttering, "If you animals break anything, you're cleaning it up yourselves."
It didn't stop anyone. Within minutes, they were all gathered around the kitchen island and the couch, plates and containers spread out, chopsticks clattering, the sound of teasing and laughter bouncing off the walls.
Yao sat perched on the counter still, legs swinging, her takeout box balanced neatly in her lap as she smiled over the rim of her chopsticks. It was chaos. Loud. Messy. Completely ridiculous.
Pang was stealing dumplings from everyone's containers and getting whacked with chopsticks for it. Yue kept offering commentary about every single dish like he was hosting a food show. Lao Mao and Lao K silently tag-teamed defending their plates from scavengers without missing a beat. Rui sighed heavily every time someone dropped rice on the floor.
And through it all, Sicheng stayed at Yao's side, snagging bites off her plate with infuriating casualness and smirking whenever she elbowed him for it.
Yao looked around at all of it—this loud, messy, impossibly wonderful chaos—and felt something deep inside her settle with a soft, steady click. She wasn't just someone passing through anymore. She wasn't an outsider peeking in through the glass. She was this. She was part of it. Part of them. Her heart swelled so full she thought it might burst, but instead of saying anything, instead of ruining the moment, she leaned lightly into Sicheng's side, bumping her shoulder against his. He glanced down at her, his mouth curving into that rare, slow smile that was only hers. No words were needed. He already knew. They all did. She was home.
The base slowly began to settle as the afternoon draped itself over Shenzhen. The energy shifted, calmer, more focused but still filled with the easy, unshakable hum of family.
Yao sat curled up in the lounge now, tucked against Sicheng's side on the long couch. Her laptop was balanced on her knees again, but this time she wasn't furiously typing—just idly scrolling, a soft, absent-minded smile playing on her lips.
Sicheng was beside her, one arm draped lazily across the back of the couch, his fingers trailing occasional slow, thoughtless patterns along her shoulder. He wasn't watching the game replays playing on the big screen. He was watching her. Always her.
Yao shifted slightly, leaning into his side, the movement instinctive now, natural in a way that still made his chest ache if he let himself think about it too long.
For a long moment, they stayed there, content in the quiet pulse of each other's presence.
And then, without looking away from her, without making a big deal of it, Sicheng spoke, his voice low, casual, but carrying something heavier, something steadier underneath, "After the Championship and you graduate," he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly against her sleeve, "I'm taking you somewhere."
Yao blinked, glancing up at him with a soft, curious smile. "Where?"
Sicheng's mouth curved slightly, his thumb brushing the curve of her arm with slow, deliberate care. "Somewhere quiet," he said simply. "Just us." He didn't elaborate. Didn't need to.
Because she heard everything he wasn't saying. The weight of the chaos they had survived. The battles fought. The walls torn down. And now, the need for something that was just theirs. No screaming fans. No scrims. No deadlines or cameras or noise. Just them.
Yao smiled wider, her heart tightening almost painfully with how much she loved him, how much she trusted him. She nodded once, tucking her face into the curve of his shoulder, breathing him in. "Okay," she whispered against him.
He shifted, pressing a kiss into her hair, holding her tighter against his side. No promises were needed. No grand declarations. Only this steady, unbreakable certainty growing stronger between them with every breath, every heartbeat. Whatever came next. They would face it together. And afterward? They would carve out a piece of the world just for them. Exactly the way they had always deserved.
It was late afternoon when Yue found him.
The sun was slanting low across the windows, casting long bands of warm gold through the ZGDX base.
Sicheng was reviewing practice schedules in the lounge, one hand lazily scrolling through his tablet, when Yue approached, quiet, serious, his usual playful energy muted into something heavier. Without a word, Sicheng set the tablet aside, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied his younger brother.
Yue shifted once, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I need help," he said simply.
Sicheng arched an eyebrow, silent but listening.
Yue took a breath, then exhaled sharply through his nose, like the words tasted bitter even as he said them. "Mother sent me a message," he muttered, glancing down like he couldn't bear to meet his brother's gaze. "Since she can't shove you into blind dates anymore... she's coming after me."
Sicheng's entire body went still.
Yue grimaced and pushed on, the words spilling out faster now, edged with frustration. "She's lining up introductions. Calling in favors. Dragging out every damn socialite from every first-tier family like I'm some kind of prize to auction off." He lifted his head finally, his mouth tightening into a grim line. "And I want it stopped." There was no pleading in his voice. Just quiet certainty. Because they both knew. There was only one person in the family now with the authority—and the sheer brutal will—to shut it down completely.
Sicheng. Not even their father would cross him anymore—not after the way Sicheng had systematically, quietly, ripped every shred of influence out of their mother's hands and handed it back to their grandfather where it belonged.
Sicheng rose from the couch without a word, his movements smooth, predatory. His expression hadn't changed outwardly but the air around him had. It had sharpened. Hardened. Darkened into something cold and lethal. "Get your jacket," he said simply, his voice low and iron-hard. "We're taking a trip."
Yue didn't argue. Didn't question. He disappeared down the hall without hesitation.
Sicheng pulled out his phone as he reached for his own jacket, shrugging it on with slow, deliberate movements. He tapped a number. The line picked up after a single ring. "Grandfather," Sicheng said, his voice as cold and steady as a blade sliding into place, "I'm coming to the house."
There was a pause.
Then his grandfather's voice, low, gravelly, and infinitely amused, rumbled through the line.
"What's she done now?"
Sicheng's jaw flexed. "She's targeting Yue," he said flatly. "Trying to drag him into blind dates. Arranging marriage prospects without consent."
The silence on the other end turned sharp, lethal.
Sicheng continued, each word clipped and ice-edged, "I'm razing that mansion to the ground if I have to. I'll burn every tie she's trying to pull. And if it isn't handled," His mouth twisted into something colder, darker. "I'll start destroying the reputations of every high-tier socialite family she's crawling to for favors. One by one. Publicly. Permanently."
Another beat of silence.
Then the faint, unmistakable sound of their grandfather chuckling low under his breath.
"Do your part, boy," the old man said. "I'll yank your parents into my study myself."
The line clicked dead.
Sicheng pocketed the phone smoothly as Yue reappeared, jacket slung over his shoulder. Yue opened his mouth, maybe to ask, maybe to thank him but Sicheng just jerked his head toward the door. "Move." There was no argument. No hesitation. Because when Lu Sicheng made a promise. Especially to protect the people who mattered, The world learned very quickly that he would tear everything apart to keep it. And tonight, it was their mother's turn to remember exactly how dangerous the son she had tried to control had become.
The drive to the Lu estate was silent. Not the strained, uncertain kind of silence. The kind of silence before a storm breaks.
Yue sat stiffly in the passenger seat, his hands loosely fisted in his lap, stealing occasional glances at his older brother—at the quiet, implacable fury radiating off him in steady, suffocating waves.
Sicheng drove like he lived—calm, controlled, utterly without hesitation.
When they pulled up to the mansion gates, the guards hesitated for only half a second before scrambling to open them, recognizing the car immediately. The Lu mansion loomed ahead—sprawling and pristine, the manicured hedges and stone courtyard gleaming under the late afternoon sun.
Sicheng cut the engine, stepping out first, his movements precise and unhurried. Yue followed without needing to be told but Sicheng caught his sleeve as they reached the front steps, pulling him subtly a step behind. A silent command. Stay behind me.
Yue didn't argue. Didn't even blink. He just nodded once, falling into step half a stride back and to the side—out of reach, out of danger.
Sicheng strode up the steps without knocking, pushing open the heavy front doors with a casual strength that echoed through the wide marble halls.
The housekeeper appeared immediately, pale and wringing her hands.
"Young Masters," she stammered. "Your parents are—"
Sicheng didn't even glance at her. "Where are they?" he asked, his voice low, calm—and sharp enough to cut bone.
"In the parlor," she whispered.
Without a word, Sicheng turned on his heel, stalking down the long corridor, Yue shadowing him carefully, still tucked half a step behind.
The parlor doors were open.
Their mother sat primly on one of the ornate sofas, a cup of tea balanced elegantly between her fingers, her posture perfect.
Their father stood near the fireplace, swirling a glass of dark liquor, his gaze flickering up as they entered.
Neither of them moved to greet their sons.
Sicheng didn't wait for the pleasantries. Didn't bother with the games they liked to play. He stopped dead in the center of the parlor, the heavy silence of his arrival swallowing the room whole.
And Yue remained exactly where Sicheng had placed him—one step behind his older brother's broad shoulders, fully shielded, fully protected.
The message was clear without a single word being spoken.
You will not touch him.
You will not reach him.
Not through pressure.
Not through guilt.
Not through manipulation.
Not ever again.
Their mother set her teacup down carefully, smoothing her skirt with an air of brittle control. "My son," she said coolly. "I did not realize you intended to visit so suddenly."
Sicheng's mouth curved into something that wasn't remotely a smile. "You knew exactly why I would come," he said, his voice smooth, dangerous. Her lips thinned. Their father shifted slightly by the fireplace but said nothing—wisely. Sicheng took one slow, deliberate step forward. "You've started targeting Yue," he said, his tone never rising above that deadly calm. "Since you can't control me anymore."
Their mother lifted her chin. "He needs guidance. Connections. Proper matches—"
Sicheng cut her off with a slight tilt of his head, the small, almost lazy gesture somehow more final than a shout. "You will stop," he said quietly. "You will not arrange meetings. You will not whisper in the ears of family friends. You will not send his name out like a business card to every desperate family climbing for our bloodline." Each sentence dropped into the heavy air like a blade driven deep. "You will do nothing," he finished, his voice dipping into something low and razor-sharp, "unless it is with his consent."
Their mother's hands twitched faintly in her lap.
Their father opened his mouth to speak—and then closed it again at the look on Sicheng's face.
"If you don't," Sicheng continued, soft as velvet, lethal as steel, "I will burn your entire network to the ground."
Their mother blanched, the color draining from her face.
Sicheng's mouth curled into something darker, colder. "And I won't stop with the friends you use for introductions." His gaze bored into hers, unflinching. "I'll go after the entire class you cherish so much. The ones you think would protect you. The ones you think would shelter you." He smiled then—a sharp, vicious thing. "I'll ruin every name you breathe into."
The silence stretched brittle and taut.
From somewhere deeper in the house, heavy footsteps echoed—approaching.
Their grandfather.
Their mother stiffened further.
Their father shifted, straightening almost instinctively at the sound.
Sicheng didn't so much as glance away. He held their gaze, steady and lethal, until the footsteps stopped just behind them.
"Good," their grandfather's voice rumbled, approving and low. "I see I wasn't wrong to make you my Heir, boy." The old man stepped into the room fully now, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the scene with cold satisfaction. "Now," he said, his voice cutting through the heavy air like a blade, "let's finish this properly." He flicked a sharp, commanding glance at their mother and father. "You four. Study. Now."
Their mother opened her mouth to object, then snapped it shut at the look the old man gave her.
Their father set his drink down with slow, reluctant precision.
They left the parlor in silence, the tension snapping behind them like a whip crack.
As soon as they were gone, their grandfather turned to them fully, his eyes settling first on Sicheng, steady, approving, and then on Yue, standing just behind him. "You," the old man said, his voice dropping into something almost kind beneath its gravel, "have nothing to worry about now."
And for the first time in a long, long time… Yue believed it. Because when his brother, Lu Sicheng made a promise. The world bent to it. Or it burned.
The heavy door of the study swung shut behind them with a quiet, brutal finality. The room was cold and shadowed, lined with dark wood paneling, the tall windows shuttered against the late afternoon sun. Their grandfather moved behind the massive mahogany desk at the far end of the room with slow, deliberate steps, every movement carrying the full weight of his authority. He said nothing at first. Just stood there. Letting the silence stretch. Letting the pressure build.
Their mother stood stiff and furious, her hands folded neatly in front of her, every inch of her radiating outrage barely held in check. Their father stood further back, expression guarded, carefully neutral but even he couldn't hide the faint tension in his shoulders, the knowledge that no amount of diplomacy was going to save them now.
Finally, their grandfather spoke, his voice a low rumble, hard as the desk he stood behind. "I should have stripped you of your authority years ago," he said, addressing their mother first. Her mouth tightened into a thin, furious line. "You forgot your place," he continued, his tone calm, almost conversational. "You forgot your role was to protect this family. Not control it." She opened her mouth, but the old man raised a hand, a single sharp motion—and she fell silent, lips pressed into a bloodless line. "You tried to bend my heir to your will," he said, the edge creeping into his voice now. "Failed. You tried to hold influence over the boy who followed him." His gaze shifted briefly to where Yue's name hung unspoken between them. "And failed again."
Their mother's hands clenched, nails digging into her palms.
Their father shifted slightly, but still said nothing.
Their grandfather leaned forward slightly, planting his hands flat on the polished surface of the desk. "You thought your connections—your name—would protect you," he said, his voice dropping lower, harder. "You thought the old rules would still hold." He shook his head once, slow and deliberate. "You were wrong."
The words dropped into the room like stones thrown into still water.
Their mother's face cracked, the calm mask faltering at the edges. "You have no right—" she hissed, voice sharp and furious.
The old man's hand slammed down against the desk, the sound sharp as a gunshot.
Both their parents flinched.
"I have every right!" he thundered. "As the Head of this family! As the man you swore loyalty to when you married into this bloodline!" His voice dropped again, a lethal growl. "And now that you've proven you cannot be trusted, you will be treated accordingly." He straightened slowly, letting the full weight of his words settle into the room. "You are stripped of all remaining influence within the family business. You are barred from arranging any personal or professional introductions for either of my grandsons without explicit permission. You are forbidden from using the Lu name to advance your own social standing." Each sentence was delivered like a hammer strike. "You will attend family events when called. You will maintain appearances. And you will keep your ambitions—" his eyes burned into her, sharp as a blade, "—out of sight."
Their mother's face had gone pale, her lips trembling faintly around the effort not to scream. Their father shifted again, but there was no defense left to mount.
No ground left to stand on.
"You will obey," the old man finished coldly, "or you will be disowned."
The final word landed with the force of a death sentence. Their mother's hands shook faintly where they gripped the hem of her dress. Their father looked away.
And the old man leaned back, satisfaction settling into his lined face as he folded his arms. "Dismissed."
Their mother turned on her heel, spine rigid, fury radiating off her in waves as she stormed from the room. Their father followed, slower, casting a single, resigned glance back at the man seated behind the desk, then at the closed door that would forever divide what they once had from what now was.
The door shut with a soft, final click.
Their grandfather sat still for a long moment. Then he reached for the old crystal decanter on the edge of the desk, pouring a slow, deliberate glass of whiskey. He lifted it toward the empty room with a dry, humorless smile. "To the new generation," he murmured. "And may the old learn their place."
Sicheng and Yue waited in the heavy, measured silence. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.
Because no matter how far Sicheng had risen, no matter how thoroughly he had taken control back from their mother, there was still one man in the world he would not disrespect. The man who had built the Lu family from the ground up with nothing but force of will and unrelenting precision. Their grandfather. The only man capable of outmaneuvering even Lu Sicheng himself if he ever chose to. And in this house, in this moment, there were rules that not even Sicheng would cross.
You waited until you were dismissed.
Properly.
Yue stood half a step behind him, tense but steady, stealing glances at his brother—at the way Sicheng stood, calm and sharp and utterly unmoved by the tension still crackling faintly from within the study.
Sicheng didn't fidget. Didn't sigh. He simply waited, arms relaxed at his sides, posture deceptively casual but every line of his body humming with silent readiness.
Yue straightened slightly, falling into the same stillness. Following his lead.
A few minutes passed.
Their grandfather looked at them both for a long, heavy moment. The weight of generations, of power, of expectation settling tangibly over the air between them. The old man's gaze sharpened, pinning Sicheng directly. He took two steps forward until they stood nearly chest to chest, old iron facing new steel.
For a heartbeat, Yue swore the entire house held its breath. Their grandfather studied him, his sharp eyes narrowing fractionally. And then, without a word, he gave a single, slow nod. A rare, solid gesture. A silent acknowledgement.
Approval.
Respect.
Recognition.
Sicheng inclined his head slightly in return—nothing exaggerated, nothing dramatic. Just a simple, measured answer. Man to man. Leader to leader. It wasn't just a nod. It was a sealing of the new order. A final, unspoken agreement:
Lu Sicheng had proven himself. And now, the weight of the family's future had been placed, permanently and willingly, onto his shoulders. The old guard stepping back. The new one stepping forward. Their grandfather turned then, opening his study door and moved walking slowly down the hall without another word, his footsteps measured, unhurried, utterly at peace with the storm that had finally passed.
Sicheng stood there for another long moment, letting the gravity of it settle over them.
Yue exhaled shakily, the tension bleeding from his shoulders all at once. He glanced sideways at his brother, awe and something deeper, something fierce and unshakable, written across his face.
For the first time, Yue understood it fully. There was nothing left to fear. Not with Lu Sicheng standing at the head of their family. Not with his brother leading them. He wasn't just protected. He was untouchable. Because with Sicheng there. No one would ever reach him again. And for once…. for the first time in too many years. He felt safe. Truly, irrevocably safe.
The drive back to the base was quiet. Not the tense, brittle quiet from before. This was different. Solid. Settled. The sun had dipped lower on the horizon, casting the city streets in soft orange light, the world sliding into that brief, golden hour where everything looked a little warmer, a little more real.
Sicheng drove with the same steady, controlled ease he always carried.
But Yue watched him differently now. Not with the wide-eyed awe he might have felt when he was younger. Not with the exasperated brotherly irritation that filled most of their adult conversations. But with something deeper. Something heavier. Something earned. They hit a red light. The car idled softly. And in the comfortable stillness, Yue finally spoke—his voice low, rough around the edges, but clear, "Thanks."
One word.
Simple.
Unvarnished.
Sicheng didn't glance over. Didn't make a big deal out of it. He just shifted his grip slightly on the steering wheel, the faintest tilt of his head the only sign he'd heard.
For a beat, Yue thought maybe that was it. Maybe that was all the acknowledgment he was going to get.
Sicheng's voice, low and steady, rolled across the space between them. "You don't have to thank me," he said simply.
Yue frowned slightly, glancing sideways at him.
Sicheng's gaze stayed on the road, but his mouth curved into something almost wry. Almost fond. "You're my brother," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Protecting you... wasn't a favor." He shifted gears as the light turned green, the car gliding forward smoothly. "It's just what it means," Sicheng finished quietly. "Being family."
Yue swallowed hard against the sudden, sharp sting behind his eyes. He turned his face toward the window, hiding the way his throat worked against the emotion that punched through him unexpectedly. For a while, they drove on in silence again. But it wasn't empty. It was full. Full of every unspoken word, every unacknowledged memory, every moment where one had stood for the other without asking, without expecting anything in return. And sitting there, under the golden light bleeding into the city, Yue understood something that would settle deep in his bones forever:
It had never been about blood. Or duty. Or obligation. It had always been about love. The kind that was rough-edged and stubborn and unshakable. The kind that, once given, could never be taken back. The kind that protected. The kind that endured. Always.