The descent into Suzhou was silent — a muted glide through evening clouds. The city stretched below them in ribbons of gold and smoke, the canals glimmering like veins under pale light.
Bai Qi checked his watch. Six o'clock sharp. Precision still mattered to him, even when everything else didn't.
He rose from his seat, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. Shu Yao stirred beside him, startled awake by the faint chime announcing their arrival. His lashes fluttered, confusion lingering in his gaze before he quickly straightened, clutching the strap of his laptop bag as if it might anchor him.
"Let's go," Bai Qi said. His voice carried no warmth, only quiet authority.
Shu Yao nodded, stepping aside to let him pass first. The hum of the aircraft filled the silence between them — the kind of silence that wasn't peace, only distance.
When the cabin door opened, the air of Suzhou brushed against them — soft, humid, perfumed faintly with magnolia. The sky had turned the color of tarnished copper, clouds drifting low like a curtain over the city.
They descended the short steps to the tarmac. A private section, far from the public terminals. The world here was quieter, buffered by privilege and money. A sleek black limousine waited nearby, flanked by two assistants and a driver in tailored suits. The men bowed slightly the moment Bai Qi appeared.
"Welcome to Suzhou, Mr. Bai," one of them greeted.
Bai Qi gave a curt nod, his eyes cool. "The arrangements?"
"All set, sir. Your luggage has been transferred directly to the car. The hotel is expecting you."
Shu Yao stood a few steps behind, his posture careful, almost invisible. His hands hung at his sides, one still wrapped in the white bandage that peeked out from under his sleeve. He kept his gaze lowered — as if afraid the evening itself might accuse him of something.
The assistants moved with efficient precision. The trunk of the limousine clicked shut, heavy with Bai qi, luggage. The faint scent of leather and metal filled the air.
Bai Qi turned slightly, his expression unreadable. "What are you staring at," he said again, softer this time, but no less commanding.
Shu Yao followed, clutching the strap of his bag tighter.
Inside the limousine, the world felt smaller — insulated by dark glass and the muted hum of the city beyond. Bai Qi slid into his seat, crossing one leg over the other as the assistants took their places outside to finalize last details. Shu Yao hesitated before sitting beside him, leaving a careful gap between them.
The door closed. The car began to move.
One of the assistants, seated across from them, opened a tablet. "Mr. Bai, the first shoot will take place tomorrow morning at nine. All preparations have been handled by the Suzhou branch."
Bai Qi gave a brief nod. "Good."
He didn't look up. His eyes remained fixed on the fading skyline outside.
The second assistant, holding another tablet, continued. "Your suite at the Four Seasons has already been prepared. You'll have the entire top floor for privacy."
Shu Yao listened quietly, noting every word the way an assistant should — attentive, efficient, invisible. His chest rose and fell evenly, though the throb in his bandaged hand refused to quiet.
The assistant finally turned to him, smiling faintly. "You must be Mr. Shu, yes? Mr. Bai's assistant?"
Shu Yao blinked, startled. "Ah—yes," he said quickly, voice low.
"Well then," the man said kindly, "your task is simple: make sure Mr. Bai has everything he needs. The schedule tomorrow will be demanding."
Shu Yao nodded, almost too quickly. "Of course."
His gaze fell again, hiding the flicker of pain behind his lashes. The wound in his palm pulsed — sharp and hot. He pressed it against his thigh, trying to still the tremor.
The assistant's eyes caught the movement. "Mr. Shu," he said, frowning lightly. "Your hand — what happened?"
Shu Yao froze.
The words seemed to hang in the air, suspended in the low hum of the car.
Bai Qi's jaw tightened. He didn't move, but his gaze sharpened slightly — that dangerous, quiet kind of attention that meant he was already thinking ahead of the lie Shu Yao would tell.
Shu Yao forced a small, awkward smile, lowering his eyes. "Ah, I… accidentally spilled coffee earlier," he murmured. "It's nothing serious."
The assistant nodded, half-believing, half-concerned. "You should still be careful. Burns can scar easily."
Bai Qi turned his face away toward the window, his reflection fractured in the dark glass. The muscles in his jaw flexed once, then stilled. He said nothing, but the silence itself carried his anger — not because of the lie, but because of what it reminded him of.
He remembered the moment — the flash of temper, the sound of his own voice, the rough grip that left bruises on skin that never fought back. Shu Yao's hand had been fine until then. Now it was covered in gauze and pain he'd caused.
And yet the boy still lied for him.
Rage burned, quiet and self-directed.
The limousine rolled through Suzhou's evening streets, lights spilling across the windows like fractured gold. Pedestrians blurred into streaks of color — lives passing by too quickly to matter.
"Sometimes," the assistant was still saying gently, "you must care for yourself before you can care for others, Mr. Shu."
Shu Yao nodded faintly. "Yes."
Bai Qi's hands tightened against his knee.
He wanted to say something — something cruel, something cutting enough to slice through the strange ache growing in his chest — but the words didn't come. Instead, he watched the reflection of Shu Yao beside him: quiet, small, his hair falling against his cheek, the faint shadow of exhaustion softening his features.
How could he still look so calm after everything?
Bai Qi turned away sharply.
"Mr. Bai," the first assistant said, breaking the silence, "we'll arrive shortly. Your check-in has been expedited. You'll have time to rest before tomorrow's schedule."
Bai Qi gave a brief nod. "Understood."
The car glided into the hotel's private entrance — a canopy of gold light and rain-polished marble. The Four Seasons towered above them, its mirrored façade reflecting the city's glow.
The limousine slowed, then stopped.
Outside, the hotel staff stood waiting, bowing as the door opened.
Bai Qi stepped out first. His coat caught the faint breeze, the scent of rain and magnolia blending in the air. Shu Yao followed, quieter, holding his bag close to his chest.
For a fleeting second, their reflections crossed on the glass door — his and Bai Qi's, side by side but never touching. Two ghosts arriving in a city that would remember neither.
"Welcome to Suzhou, sir," a concierge said smoothly.
Bai Qi gave a slight nod. His expression remained cold.
Behind him, Shu Yao's gaze lingered on the marble floor, his voice caught somewhere between apology and silence.
The night swallowed them both as the doors closed — and the hum of the limousine faded into the distance.
Inside The glass doors whispered shut behind them, sealing out the murmurs of the city.
The Four Seasons Suzhou gleamed in quiet luxury — chandeliers suspended like captured starlight, marble floors so polished they mirrored the souls that crossed them. Bai Qi walked ahead, shoulders drawn tight, every step measured.
Shu Yao followed. His reflection trembled faintly on the floor, fractured by each passing light. His hand throbbed under the bandage, the skin beneath still raw, the ache a quiet reminder of what silence cost.
They reached the elevator. The attendant bowed low and pressed the top-floor button. A soft chime, the hiss of closing doors — and suddenly, they were alone.
The mirrored walls multiplied their distance.
Bai Qi's image stood still and severe; Shu Yao's, smaller, uncertain.
The hum of ascent filled the air until Bai Qi's voice cut through it.
"Why did you lie to them?"
Shu Yao flinched, fingers curling around the strap of his bag. "It—it was my carelessness," he said quietly.
Bai Qi turned his head sharply, his reflection slicing across the mirror. "Carelessness?" His tone was cold enough to burn. "You think appearing pitiful earns you sympathy? That it makes people pity you easily, is that it?"
Shu Yao's eyes widened. He shook his head quickly, voice trembling. "No, sir. It's not true—"
But Bai Qi moved before the words could settle. He reached out and seized Shu Yao's injured hand. The bandage was warm, the faint blot of red blooming through it like guilt refusing to fade.
"Then what's this?" Bai Qi hissed. His fingers pressed harder. "A compliment? Or another way to remind me what I did?"
Shu Yao gasped softly, his hand instinctively twitching back, but Bai Qi's grip was unyielding. He tried to free himself without resistance, whispering, "I'm sorry, sir."
Bai Qi's jaw tightened, fury flickering like a match too close to the edge.
"What will they think of me, then?" he said, voice low, dangerous. "That Bai Qi — son of Niklas von Rothenberg — is cruel to his assistant? That I abuse the weak now, is that the story you're writing?"
Shu Yao lowered his head, voice thin as breath. "I never said it was your fault."
The words caught Bai Qi mid-rage. For a heartbeat, something in his expression faltered — the faintest shadow of hesitation. Then he released Shu Yao's hand abruptly, stepping back.
Shu Yao pressed the injured hand against his chest, as though he could cradle the pain into silence. The ache crawled up his arm, but the sting in his chest was far worse.
"Unbelievable," Bai Qi muttered, half to himself. "Whatever you do, Shu Yao — no matter how you lower your head or bite your tongue — you wear that pitiful look as if it's your armor. But don't think for a moment that I'll forgive you."
His gaze found Shu Yao's reflection again, dark and unreadable. "Never in this life."
Shu Yao said nothing.
The elevator hummed softly around them, the silence pressing heavier than any noise. His lips parted as if to speak — to explain, to plead — but nothing came. The words lived only behind his ribs, locked there like prisoners.
I didn't mean to make you sad, he thought. I didn't mean to hurt you.
But Bai Qi wouldn't hear it.
A soft chime broke the tension. The elevator slowed, then stilled. The doors parted with a muted sigh, spilling them into the private corridor of the top floor.
Bai Qi stepped out first, movements smooth and distant, as though routine were the only thing holding him together. He walked like a man chasing the ghost of discipline — or perhaps running from memory.
Shu Yao followed, his steps quieter, hesitant. The carpet beneath their feet muffled everything, even the ache between them.
He looked up once, catching the sharp line of Bai Qi's shoulders, the familiar profile that once made him feel safe. Now it only reminded him of what he'd lost — not just Bai Qi's warmth, but the version of himself that believed he could ever be forgiven.
In his heart, words bloomed and died before they could take shape.
If you must hate me, then hate me, he thought. I'll still follow you. I'll still stay where you are. — if it could take away your sorrow — I would trade myself without a second thought.
But none of that reached the air.
Instead, he only bowed his head lower, shadowed by the golden light spilling from the chandeliers above.
Bai Qi paused at the end of the hall, waiting just long enough for Shu Yao to catch up. His hand rested against the keycard, the other still trembling faintly though he'd never admit it.
The doors ahead opened to their suite — vast, immaculate, cold.
The faint scent of lilies drifted from within, the kind that always reminded Bai Qi of Beijing. Of a time when laughter didn't echo like ghosts in the corners of his memory.
He stepped inside without looking back.
Shu Yao lingered at the threshold, his gaze on the marble floor where their reflections met and parted. The distance between them had become something living, something that grew sharper with every breath.
And yet, even now, he followed.
Quietly. Faithfully.
As if following were the only thing he still knew how to do.