Bai Qi's steps thudded heavy against the polished wood as he descended the stairs. The house was quiet, save for the faint clatter from the kitchen where Qing Yue hummed to herself. His chest tightened with each step.
"Greedy." The word echoed back at him like a curse. He had flung it at Shu Yao without thought, sharp as a blade. Now the sting burned him instead.
He paused halfway down, hand gripping the rail. A bitter sigh slipped past his lips. What had he done? Shu Yao wasn't one to fight back—he carried his silence like armor. But behind that silence… Bai Qi had seen the tremor in his eyes. Something raw. Something fragile.
He reached the bottom of the stairs but did not move further. His instincts urged him toward the door, out into the light, away from his own guilt. Yet a heavier pull rooted him. What if Shu Yao locked himself away, swallowed by shadows? What if Qing Yue sensed his cruelty and turned her wrath on him? She adored her brother fiercely—if she knew Bai Qi had cut him so harshly, she would never forgive him.
Bai Qi dragged a hand through his hair. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "Too much. I went too far."
The silence pressed in. He turned, almost against his own will, and climbed the stairs once more. Each step back felt slower, heavier, as if the house itself were judging him. He hesitated outside Shu Yao's door, palm hovering above the knob.
What if Shu Yao refused to see him? What if he had already closed off, shutting Bai Qi out for good?
Bai Qi exhaled hard and forced the thought away. Better to face it now than drown in regret later. He twisted the handle.
The door opened with a faint creak.
The door creaked open.
Bai Qi's hand lingered on the knob, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard. His heart knocked unevenly against his ribs. He hadn't meant it—hadn't meant to wound with that word. Greedy. It rang crueler now than it had when it first slipped past his lips.
Inside, Shu Yao sat in shadow.
His shoulders trembled faintly, his frame curled inward, fragile as glass about to splinter. His hands pressed against his face, desperate to wipe the tears away, but they came anyway—hot, relentless, spilling faster than he could banish them. His autumn-colored eyes burned red, lashes clumped with salt, his lips trembling with every sob that forced its way through his chest.
He loved Bai Qi. God, he loved him. Loved him so completely it hollowed him out. If Bai Qi ever reached for his heart, he would peel it from his chest and give it willingly. But what good was love, when it hurt like this? When even breathing beside him felt like breaking?
If it is always suffering… then dying would be easier.
The thought staggered him. His hand jerked upward, wiping hard at his tears again. He didn't want Bai Qi—of all people—to see him like this. To see him small, pitiful, pathetic.
But then the door clicked wider.
Shu Yao's heart lurched violently. Instinct tore his head away, hiding his face from view. His whole body tensed as Bai Qi stepped inside.
Bai Qi froze at the sight. Shu Yao was trembling, shoulders stiff, head turned sharply aside as though he could vanish if he wished it hard enough. Guilt slammed into him like a wave. That word—greedy. How could he have said it?
"Hey… Shu Yao." His voice came low, hesitant, stripped of the easy arrogance that usually wrapped it.
Shu Yao turned further, presenting only his profile, refusing him even a sliver of his gaze.
Bai Qi's chest tightened. He moved a step closer. "Come on, Shu Yao. Don't be like this. I know—I shouldn't have said something like that."
Shu Yao's breath hitched, his hand pressing harder against his damp cheek. Inside, words ached to rise. I don't blame you, Bai Qi. But please… just go. I can't face you like this. I look too pathetic.
A tremor rippled through his frame. Bai Qi frowned, brows knitting, then reached forward. His hand settled gently on Shu Yao's shoulder.
The contact broke him. Shu Yao hiccuped, small and raw, betraying himself.
Bai Qi blinked at the sound, his eyes narrowing. He tilted his head, confusion and worry tightening his jaw. "Shu Yao… was it really that bad?"
He shifted closer, brushing his hand down to Shu Yao's arm. The fabric was damp beneath his touch.
"You're crying," Bai Qi murmured, realization heavy in his voice.
Shu Yao hiccuped again, choking down the sob. His voice rasped out, fractured. "It's… nothing."
Bai Qi's expression hardened. He leaned closer, dark eyes piercing. "Don't lie. Shu Yao, look at me."
Shu Yao flinched. His whole body screamed no. In his heart, he chanted desperately: I can't. I can't look at you. I don't want you to see me weak. I don't want you to see me broken.
"Lift your head," Bai Qi urged.
Shu Yao shrank further, burying his face deeper into the safety of his sleeve.
Bai Qi's voice sharpened, rising with impatience and hurt. "Did you hear me? I said lift your head."
The command cracked against the silence. Shu Yao's chest quivered. He resisted for one more heartbeat… then broke.
Slowly, painfully, he lifted his head.
Bai Qi leaned forward eagerly—only to falter when his eyes met Shu Yao's.
Those autumn irises, usually so quiet and steady, were rimmed red, raw and bloodshot from relentless tears. His pale face flushed in shame, streaked wet with grief he had fought to hide. The sight punched straight through Bai Qi, leaving his jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists.
"Shu Yao…" His voice trembled with anger, not at him, but at the invisible force that had done this to him. "You're a man, damn it. Tell me—who is it? Who has guts to make you like this?"
His words fell like thunder, a vow blazing with fury.
"I swear—I'll make her regret ever hurting you. You're like a brother to me."
The word struck deeper than any blade.
Shu Yao's chest seized, breath fracturing as the walls inside him collapsed further. Brother. He never wanted to be Bai Qi's brother. Good enough to be protected, to be pitied—never enough to be loved. His heart screamed silently, tearing itself apart, while his lips remained sealed.
I love you, he thought, trembling. Not as a brother. Never as a brother.
But his silence devoured the confession whole.
For a moment, something warm flickered in Shu Yao's chest. To have Bai Qi ready to fight for him, to defend him—it filled him with fragile happiness. But that warmth was poisoned. Because there was no her. There was only Bai Qi. The man standing before him was the one who had unknowingly shattered him.
The contradiction tore him apart.
His head lowered again, voice breaking. "I already told you, Bai Qi. It's nothing. Just… nothing."
"Don't lie to me!" Bai Qi's frustration surged again. "Even Qing Yue noticed. She told me herself—something's wrong with you these past days. Shu Yao, you can't keep burying this."
He leaned closer still, his presence pressing like a tide. "Come on. Don't carry it alone. Let me in."
But Shu Yao shook his head, trembling. His voice fractured into pieces. "It is no one. Nothing."
Silence fell.
Bai Qi stared at him, chest heaving, torn between fury and despair. But what else could he do? Shu Yao's walls were too high, his silence too absolute.
Finally, Bai Qi exhaled hard, stepping back, his hand slipping from Shu Yao's shoulder. The fight drained from his voice, leaving only a raw edge.
"Fine," he muttered. "If you won't tell me… I'll stop asking."
But as he looked at Shu Yao, broken and trembling before him, Bai Qi knew surrender was not peace. It was only helplessness.
Bai Qi lingered a moment longer in the room. Then he move towards the door, His hand rested on the handle, the wood cool against his palm. The air between them was too thick to breathe. Shu Yao sat motionless, eyes cast down, his profile pale in the gray light that crept through the curtains.
Bai Qi's throat worked, words pressing up that never found their shape. He left instead—slowly, quietly, his steps soft against the floorboards as though afraid to disturb the boy that clung to the room. The door closed behind him with a sigh.
Inside, Shu Yao bit his lip until the taste of salt and iron filled his mouth. He pressed a trembling hand to his chest, as if to hold himself together. Every breath felt like it might betray him, every heartbeat a reminder of what he could never say. The moment Bai Qi's footsteps faded down the stairs, Shu Yao let go—soundless sobs shaking through him, fragile and raw.
He'd never meant to love him this way. And yet, that single word—brother—had torn through his chest more cruelly than any insult.
It was almost ten.
The sun had already climbed high, spilling through the paper screens in a pale, merciless light that made everything feel too awake, too exposed.
Downstairs, Qing Yue sat at the dining table, little Juju cradled in her lap, her thoughts far away as the clock ticked louder than it should. Her cup of tea had long gone cold.
From the kitchen came the rustle of her mother drying her hands on her apron. "Qing'er," she called, "did Shu Yao eat his breakfast?"
Qing Yue blinked out of her reverie. "Yes, yes, Mother. Gege finished it earlier."
Her mother nodded absently, glancing toward the stairwell. "He's taking the day off today."
Qing Yue smiled faintly. "Yes, Mother."
The woman chuckled under her breath, pinching her daughter's nose. "That boy—sleeping in until now. What's gotten into him?"
Qing Yue laughed softly, tapping her mother's shoulder. "Come on, Mom. He deserves a rest. Can't you see how hard he's been working?"
Her mother sighed, though her eyes softened. "Look at you, Qing'er. You're younger than Shu Yao, yet you talk like his keeper. In a few days you'll be married—perhaps you should start thinking about your own home instead."
Qing Yue's cheeks turned red. "Mom, please…"
Her mother's lips curved into a teasing smirk. "And where's Bai Qi? Still upstairs?"
Qing Yue straightened slightly. "He staying here for the night. He's in Gege's room."
Her mother exhaled, amused and a little suspicious. "I hope he's not up there making a mess. That boy always locks himself in, as if the world might swallow him whole if he steps outside."
"Mom," Qing Yue protested, half-laughing. "I promise Gege's fine. He'll be the kind of brother everyone can rely on—he just needs a little more time."
Her mother studied her face for a moment, then rested her chin in her palm. "He's just like his father," she murmured. "Kind, serene, silent. But too much kindness can be a curse, you know. The world eats gentle souls easy."
Qing Yue lowered her gaze, her voice softer now. "That's why I believe he'll grow stronger, Mom. He just needs time."
The older woman sighed, letting the words settle. The late morning air felt heavy, thick with unspoken worry.
Then came the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
Both women turned. Bai Qi descended slowly, the sunlight from the high window glinting against his hair. His shoulders seemed weighed down by something invisible.
"Bai Qi?" Qing Yue asked gently.
"Did "gege" said anything?" Qing Yue asked, worry creeping into her tone.
Bai Qi hesitated. His fingers twitched. "He's… resting."
That was all. But the words carried too much.
Qing Yue's eyes narrowed, a playful scold folded into real worry. She pointed a finger at Bai Qi's chest as he paused.
"You better not step outside," she said, voice edged with annoyance. "You know exactly what will happen if you do."