The house had gone quiet.
It was the kind of quiet that felt too heavy, like something waiting to be broken.
Qing Yue glanced at the clock — nearly seven. The smell of simmering soup drifted faintly from the kitchen.
She rose, brushing her skirt lightly, and whispered to herself,
"I'll call Gege down, almost to herself."
Her steps echoed on the wooden stairs, soft but certain.
Outside, thunder grumbled far away — a warning stitched into the clouds.
She reached Shu Yao's door and knocked gently.
"Gege?"
No answer.
She smiled faintly, knocking again. "Gege, it's almost dinner time. You didn't even have lunch, come down already."
Her tone was teasing, but her heart began to twist.
Still no response.
"Okay, I'm coming in," she said, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. "If you keep staying silent, don't blame me later."
The doorknob turned with a soft click.
The room was empty.
The curtains were fluttering in the wind like pale ghosts, the window yawning open toward a bruised sky.
The papers on the desk trembled beneath the gusts, and the air smelled faintly of rain and Shu Yao's cologne.
"Gege?" she called again, softer now.
No reply. Only the rustling of the curtains.
She hurried to the window and shut it. The clouds above looked swollen, ready to burst.
"My, my," she whispered, pressing her fingers to the glass. "The weather's worsening again."
She turned and flicked on the light.
The soft glow bled across the room, touching the neatly folded sheets, the chair slightly turned — like someone had been sitting there, just moments ago.
Her eyes darted to the bathroom door.
"Gege?"
The silence that answered her was cold.
She stepped inside and peeked in. Empty.
A chill coiled up her spine.
gege wouldn't have gone out without saying something. He never did.
"Strange…" she murmured. "Did Gege really… go outside?"
She turned to leave, but something caught her eye.
The journal.
It lay on his desk, half open, its pages shifting in the faint wind.
Qing Yue froze.
That old leather-bound journal — the one Shu Yao had kept since he was a child.
A secret little world he never let anyone enter.
Her heart squeezed. Recently, he'd seemed distant, locked behind a smile that never reached his eyes. She'd wanted to ask why — but he always brushed her off with a gentle laugh.
Now that same laugh echoed in her mind like an echo from a faraway place.
Her feet moved before her thoughts could stop them. She reached for the journal.
Then stopped.
Her fingers hovered over the cover.
"This is wrong," she whispered. "It's his privacy."
But the ache in her chest answered her. He's suffering, and you're doing nothing.
"Calm down, Qing Yue," she breathed. "You're not committing a crime… you're just trying to help him smile again."
She opened it.
At first, her lips curved faintly.
Simple words — soft handwriting describing childhood memories. Little details of weather, drawings in the margins, dates.
Then the tone shifted.
I was sick when he came. He looked at me like I mattered. He placed his hand on my face and said, "The pain will go away."
Her breath hitched.
He?
Her brow furrowed. "Wait… isn't this what Bai Qi once mentioned?…"
She turned the page.
October 31st.
Bai Qi was playing basketball. He scratched his knee, but he didn't even notice the blood. He was staring at her.
Qing Yue blinked. She was confused "At… me?"
She turned another page, confusion deepening.
He was staring at Qing Yue again. I know why he didn't feel the pain — because she was laughing.
Her pulse quickened. but, why did Gege write such thing about Bai qi and me
I watched him from the class window. He was sitting with Qing Yue, feeding her while she teased him. I was invisible to him, yet I could never stop looking. His smile is the only thing that keeps me breathing.
Her hand trembled.
The handwriting grew more uneven, the ink darker. As Qing yue eyes widening with horror, she completely froze.
No matter how I try to stop, I can't. Because of him, I forget to eat. Because of him, I forget to stop crying. I can't stop loving you, Bai Qi.
Her world tilted. As she almost drop the journey, but, caught it with trembling hands.
It will be the end of me. I'd rather die than confess. I can't ruin what you and Qing Yue have. I just… can't stop loving you.
Tear marks stained the paper — faint but real. The ink had bled through, twisting into ghostly shadows.
Qing Yue's fingertips brushed the stains. They were dry, yet somehow still warm.
Her lips quivered.
"Why, Gege…?"
The first tear slid down her cheek, soundless. "Why would you hide something like this?"
Her voice broke into a whisper, small and trembling. "This isn't the why of betrayal… it's the why of pain.
"You carried this for so long, all by yourself."
Her knees nearly gave out. She sat on the edge of his bed, the journal trembling in her lap.
"Were you so afraid," she whispered, "that you couldn't even tell me?"
Her gaze lifted to the photo frame beside the bed — one of her and Shu Yao, standing side by side, sunlight catching their hair.
He was smiling then — really smiling.
She picked it up gently, her reflection quivering through the glass. "I never knew you were fighting like this, Gege…"
The wind outside roared suddenly. The window she had closed swung open again, the curtains snapping like sails.
Startled, she turned, setting the frame down too hastily — right on the edge.
The frame fell.
The sound of breaking glass cut through the silence.
Qing Yue flinched, staring at the cracked photo — her small, innocent face beside her brother's protective shadow. The break line split right through his smile.
She pressed a hand over her mouth. "No…"
As she lift the frame with trembling hand, she placed it again on the beside
Her tears came faster now. "You endured all of that, watched us together every day, and still you smiled. You should've screamed, Gege. You should've hated me."
She clutched the journal to her chest, sobbing quietly.
After a long, trembling pause, she stood. Her mind was a storm — guilt, love, fear all tangling together.
Her gaze drifted to the window again. The wind was howling, rain threatening to burst. Shu Yao was nowhere in sight.
"He's not home," she whispered. "He's out there."
She rushed downstairs, grabbed her umbrella, and flung the door open.
The wind struck her face like a slap.
But she didn't stop.
"Gege!" she called, stepping into the drizzle. "You can't keep enduring this! Just say it, already!"
Her shoes splashed through puddles, her heartbeat drowning in the sound of rain.
She couldn't shake the memory — Shu Yao watching as she and Bai Qi kissed that night. With twisted ankle, body trembling in pain, and yet he said nothing. Nothing.
The guilt crushed her chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered to the storm. "I'm so sorry, Gege." she cried, I... I.. wished I had realize sooner.
Thunder cracked overhead. The world blurred into rain and streetlight.
But Qing Yue kept walking — fast, desperate — her heart screaming the words her brother never could.
You can't keep dying in silence.
On the other side.
Rain dripped from the ends of Shu Yao's hair, tracing down his neck and collar as he hurried down the darkened street.
The wind clawed at his soaked jacket, and puddles swallowed his steps. His breath came out in uneven bursts — fog rising and fading in the chill.
"Ah— I'm going to be scolded again if I don't hurry…"
He half-whispered the words to himself, trying to outwalk the storm. His fingers were stiff, trembling from cold and anxiety, but he pressed on, his gaze fixed on the faint lights ahead.
That was when the car—the one that had been trailing him since the corner of the street—slid silently forward and came to a sudden stop right in front of him.
Shu Yao froze.
The engine's hum lingered low, almost predatory. He blinked the rain out of his lashes and tried to step aside. But before he could, the door swung open, slicing through the sound of rainfall.
A man stepped out.
He didn't rush. He didn't need to.
A black umbrella opened above him, held by someone else — a subordinate, silent and obedient. The man's coat gleamed faintly under the rainlight, and his presence carried the kind of quiet cruelty that made the air heavy.
Lu Zeyan.
Shu Yao didn't know the name. But his body remembered something his mind didn't.
He turned, pretending not to see, and tried to walk past.
A hand shot out.
Fingers like iron clamped around his elbow and yanked him back with brutal force.
Shu Yao stumbled, gasping, his back slamming into the cold wall. His shoulder blades stung.
Lu Zeyan's voice was low and sharp — the kind that could slice through silk.
"Today, you don't get to run."
Shu Yao looked up, rain slipping from his chin, his lips trembling.
> "who are you… What do you want from me?"
Lu Zeyan laughed. Not a joyful laugh. A cruel, hollow sound that cut through the rain.
"Don't know me?" He leaned close, his eyes gleaming with disdain. "You've got quite the memory problem, huh?"
Shu Yao's breath hitched. He could smell tobacco and stormwater from Lu Zeyan's coat — and something darker beneath it.
"I—I really don't—"
The words barely left his lips before a fist slammed into his stomach.
The sound of impact echoed under the rain. Shu Yao folded forward, air rushing out of his lungs as he fell to his knees, clutching his abdomen. His soaked hair clung to his forehead.
"Stop—please—"
Lu Zeyan crouched down in front of him, voice dropping to a venomous whisper.
"You think acting innocent will change anything? Huh?"
Shu Yao lifted his head weakly, rain and tears mixing on his face.
"W-What are you talking about…"
"What am I talking about?" Lu Zeyan snarled, gripping Shu Yao's chin and forcing his face upward. "You laid your filthy hands on my boss, you wrecked shit!"
For a moment, Shu Yao's mind blanked.
And then — like a knife drawn through fog — memory struck.
That night.
That horrible, suffocating night.
The trembling of his hands. The unwanted touch. The way his voice had broken when he tried to say no.
Shu Yao's lips quivered, his body shaking from more than just the cold.
"I… I didn't do anything. It—it was him… I only tried to defend myself—"
SLAP.
The sound cracked like thunder.
His head whipped sideways, cheek burning. For a moment, everything went silent — the kind of silence that feels like the world holding its breath.
Then Shu Yao turned his face back, the faintest bitter smile ghosting his lips.
"My fault," he whispered hoarsely, "was that I was too weak to fight back. Too coward to stop him. I let him—"
Another blow.
A brutal punch to his stomach, sharper this time.
Shu Yao doubled over, coughing, blood tinting his spit as he gasped for air. His knees hit the pavement. The rain poured harder, washing the red away.
Lu Zeyan's anger deepened. It wasn't just rage — it was envy, twisted with something uglier.
"You—" he spat, voice low and shaking. "You worthless thing. You're not even fit to touch my boss's shoes, yet you—"
He stopped himself, clenching his jaw.
The veins in his hand pulsed. He wanted to hit again — to destroy that quiet look in Shu Yao's eyes.
Because what he saw there wasn't fear anymore.
It was exhaustion.
Resignation.
Shu Yao smiled faintly, a cracked thing, empty of defense.
"Then tell me," he whispered, "how should I pay for it?"
Lu Zeyan froze for half a second — something in Shu Yao's voice felt too calm, too final.
"Don't test me," he hissed.
But Shu Yao didn't move. He didn't even look up.
Rain dripped down his face, his hands trembling as they rested on cold pavement. His eyes were glassy, reflecting only the city lights and the faint shimmer of headlights.
"All of them took everything that was left to take."
For the first time, Lu Zeyan felt a flicker of unease — not guilt, — but the uneasy realization that the person before him had already been broken long before this night.
The rain grew heavier. The umbrella above Lu Zeyan tilted as his subordinate shifted nervously.
A flash of lightning tore through the sky, lighting up the scene:
Shu Yao on his knees, drenched, eyes open but far away.
Lu Zeyan standing over him, shadow stretching long on the pavement.
And in that fleeting white light — Shu Yao's faint smile looked almost peaceful.
Almost.