The suite door sighed open, spilling gold light across marble and glass.
Bai Qi walked in first, his pace clipped, precise. He shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto the couch with the same cold indifference he used for people.
"Tablet," he said.
The word cracked through the quiet like a whip.
Shu Yao blinked, startled, and hurried to obey. He bent near the table, unfastening the laptop bag. His hair slipped forward—soft brown strands catching the lamplight, brushing his hollow cheeks. The burn on his hand ached with every movement, but he stayed silent.
Bai Qi didn't look at him. He couldn't. The sight scraped something raw inside.
Shu Yao drew out the tablet and held it out with both hands. His fingers trembled slightly.
Bai Qi snatched it without a glance. The screen flared to life between them, a cold rectangle of light.
Shu Yao withdrew his hand, murmured a faint, "I am sorry," then straightened. For a moment, he lingered there—half-turned, uncertain.
"Now What the hell are you looking at?" Bai Qi's voice cut the air.
Shu Yao flinched. "I—I'm sorry, sir."
He bowed quickly and carried the bag into the bedroom.
The room beyond was perfection carved in money: soft carpets, pale silk curtains, a bed dressed in snow-white sheets. Shu Yao set the laptop on the desk and powered it on. The glow bathed his tired face as he opened Bai Qi's inbox. A few unanswered emails blinked red; he typed replies with quiet precision, each word weighed, cautious, correct.
By the time he finished, the knock at the suite door startled him.
Bai Qi didn't look up from the tablet. "Do it yourself."
Shu Yao obeyed immediately.
Two hotel staff stood outside with luggage carts polished to mirror shine. "Your luggage, sir," one said. "Dinner will be ready in half an hour."
Shu Yao bowed slightly. "Thank you."
He dragged the heavy suitcases inside, careful not to scuff the floor. The handles burned against his bandaged palm.
Behind him, Bai Qi's voice drifted from the living room. "Whatever it is do it immediately."
"Yes, sir."
Shu Yao knelt by the open cases. The scent of cedar and cologne rose from the neatly folded clothes. He unpacked in silence—suits to the wardrobe, cufflinks to the velvet drawer, watch to its case. Every item was placed with reverence, like offerings before a god who no longer listened.
"Is my bath ready?"
The question came suddenly, sharp.
Shu Yao froze mid-fold. "N-not yet, sir. I'll prepare it immediately."
Bai Qi's head lifted. His eyes were colder than the porcelain floors. "Then what the hell are you waiting for?"
Shu Yao bowed quickly. "Yes, sir."
He almost tripped on his own breath as he hurried into the bathroom.
The room opened wide to glass and skyline—a tub carved from white stone, the view stretching over Suzhou's glimmering lake. He turned the taps, watching steam coil up like ghosts. Scented oil rippled on the surface, catching candlelight.
Footsteps behind him.
He didn't have to turn to know.
Bai Qi stood at the doorway, wrapped in a towel. The air shifted, heavy with the clean spice of his skin and the distance between them.
"Your bath is ready, sir," Shu Yao said softly.
Bai Qi brushed past him without acknowledgment. The water lapped against the sides as he stepped in, the sound too intimate for the space it occupied.
Shu Yao lowered his gaze and backed out. His heart felt like glass beneath bare feet.
Outside, he hung Bai Qi's robe neatly on the rack, smoothing the fabric once, twice. Then he crossed to the wardrobe and chose clothes for after the bath—a sleek black shirt, fine blue long coat. Bai Qi's favorites. He had picked them himself when packing.
Then the phone rang.
Shu Yao startled again. He lifted the receiver quickly. "Yes?"
"Mr. Bai's dinner will be ready in thirty minutes," the staff informed. "A guide will escort you shortly."
"Thank you," he murmured.
The receiver clicked back into silence.
Shu Yao walked to the room, But, pausing by the window soft curtain. The city shimmered below in silver threads, the lake glowing faintly under a bruised sky. For a moment, the beauty hurt.
If Qing Yue were here, he thought, Bai Qi would be smiling. Maybe laughing. The two of them standing there, the world gentle again.
But the window only reflected his own face—tired, small, and breaking in quiet ways no one would ever notice.
He wiped the tears quickly, ashamed of them.
The bathroom door opened. Steam spilled out, gilding the air.
Bai Qi emerged, hair damp, skin flushed from heat. The towel hung loose around his hips.
Shu Yao turned away instantly, stepping aside. "Your clothes, sir."
Bai Qi took them without looking. "Leave."
"Yes sir."
He retreated to the sitting area. The faint splash of water echoed behind him, a reminder that even silence had weight.
Shu Yao tidied what didn't need tidying—the table, the armrest, the row of untouched glasses. Every motion was careful, soundless.
Minutes passed. Then Bai Qi's voice came again, quieter but no softer.
"Shu Yao!"
He appeared in the doorway, fully dressed now, shirt crisp against his frame. The collar caught the lamplight, accentuating the line of his throat. He looked almost human, almost merciful—until his gaze landed on Shu Yao.
"Fix my cuff!"
Shu Yao stepped forward, fingers trembling as he adjusted the silver cufflinks. The faintest brush of skin against skin, and Bai Qi's pulse lurched.
He pulled his hand away. "Don't touch me like that."
"I'm sorry."
The words were so small they barely existed.
Bai Qi turned toward the mirror, pretending to check his reflection. What he really checked was distance—how far he could stand from this boy before guilt caught up.
Shu Yao lowered his head, hands folded neatly before him. "Dinner is served in Jin Jing Ge, sir. The staff will arrive soon for escort."
Bai Qi gave a curt nod.
The silence stretched again, elastic and cruel.
Finally, he said, "You'll stay here."
Shu Yao blinked, startled. "Sir?"
"You heard me," Bai Qi said, slipping his watch on, the metallic click echoing in the silence. "You're not coming with me."
Shu Yao's lips parted, but the words didn't make it out. He hadn't eaten since morning—he'd tried, once, but the taste had turned to ash in his mouth.
Bai Qi's gaze flicked over him, cold and clinical. "You look pathetic enough already. Stay here. Consider it a suspension until you remember how to function without falling apart."
Shu Yao lowered his head, the floor tilting faintly beneath him.
"Yes, sir."
Before either of them could speak again, a knock came at the door — measured, formal.
Shu Yao moved first. He opened it to find a man dressed in crisp butler's attire, head bowed slightly. "Sir, the dining room is prepared," the man announced.
Bai Qi adjusted his cufflink, not sparing Shu Yao a glance. "Understood."
He brushed past, his cologne lingering like cold steel in the air. Shu Yao's eyes lifted for a moment — just long enough to see Bai Qi's back disappearing down the corridor beside the servants.
The door clicked shut.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Shu Yao lowered his gaze. For a long moment, he simply stood there, feeling the room tilt faintly around him. Then, as if his body had stopped asking for permission, tears slid down his face — quiet, unbidden.
He didn't know why he was crying.
He didn't hate Bai Qi. Not really.
Maybe it was because Bai Qi hadn't looked at him even once. Or maybe it was something heavier, something wordless — the ache of being invisible to the person who had already seen too much of him.
He pressed his bandaged hand against his chest. The warmth there felt distant, almost foreign.
Without thinking, he crossed the room and sank into the same couch where Bai Qi had been sitting minutes ago. The scent of him still clung to the fabric — cool, restrained, merciless.
Shu Yao leaned back, eyes half-lidded, afraid to think any further.
Because if he did…
he wasn't sure his tears would ever stop.
The silence pressed down like mist.
Shu Yao finally rose from the couch, his body moving on instinct more than will. He needed the first aid kit — anything to keep his hands busy, to stop his thoughts from bleeding through.
But first… a shower.
He turned toward the bathroom, only to stop short. The realization hit him like a cold draft — he hadn't brought any clothes. Not a single change.
He looked down at himself: the same dark suit from earlier, its sleeves crumpled and faintly stained. He let out a long, Shaky sighed. He'd been so lost — so shaken — he hadn't even thought to pack.
Then his phone buzzed.
The sound startled him. He blinked down at the screen.
Mr,George.
He answered at once, voice soft. "Hello, Mr. George."
"Shu Yao! Have you and Bai Qi reached Suzhou?" George's voice came bright and warm, the kind that always made Shu Yao's chest loosen a little.
"Yes," Shu Yao murmured, lowering his gaze. "We already reached the hotel."
A pause hummed through the line. Then George's tone shifted, sharp with concern.
"What happened, Shu Yao? Did Bai Qi say something again? I swear, I'll knock that stubborn fool's head straight until he realizes how much time he's wasting hurting you."
Shu Yao's eyes widened slightly. He shook his head, the motion almost frantic. "No, Mr. George… it's nothing."
"Don't lie to me," George pressed gently. "You know I can hear it when you're holding something back."
Shu Yao hesitated — then, as if to deflect, George's voice brightened again. "Oh, by the way, I fed your cat. he misses you already."
The words struck him like a soft blow. His cat. He had forgotten all about him. A wave of shame washed through him.
"I—I'm sorry," Shu Yao whispered. "I didn't even say goodbye to him."
George's laugh was kind, a balm against the ache. "Oh, dear Shu Yao. You'd forget your own shadow if it didn't follow you around."
Shu Yao's cheeks burned, from embarrassment,
George continued, teasingly, "Don't worry, you've got me. I'll make sure you survive that marble fortress Bai Qi calls a hotel."
Shu Yao smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "But… I forgot my luggage," he admitted in a whisper, shame coiling around the words.
There was a beat of silence on the line. Then George burst out laughing. "Oh heavens, you're truly hopeless sometimes, Shu Yao!"
"Mr. George—"
"Relax," George said between chuckles. "You'll have what you need in a moment. Just… hang up the phone for now."
Shu Yao frowned, confused. "Why?"
"Trust me."
Shu Yao hesitated — then ended the call.
He exhaled, brushing the dampness from his eyes with the back of his hand. The skin around his eyelids was raw, rimmed faintly red. He looked down at his bandaged palm, flexing it slightly. Everything about him felt worn thin, translucent.
Then — a knock at the door.
He froze.
For a heartbeat, he thought it might be Bai Qi. He turned quickly, brushing his hair back, trying to compose himself before opening the door.
But it wasn't him.
A woman stood there instead, elegantly dressed — a stylist by the looks of her — her smile warm but professional. Behind her, two assistants held racks of suits and neatly folded shirts in deep jewel tones.
"Mr. Shu," she said lightly, "these are for you. You'll be needing them."
Shu Yao blinked, momentarily stunned. "For me…?"
She smiled wider. "A little something from Mr. George. He insisted."
Before he could say a word, she nodded politely. "Do tell him I said hello."
Then she was gone, the corridor swallowing her up.
Shu Yao stood there in silence, staring at the garments — fabrics finer than anything he'd ever owned. His throat tightened.
The phone rang again. He picked it up at once.
"Mr. George… who was she?" Shu Yao asked quietly.
George's laughter came through, soft and teasing. "Just someone who owed me a favor. You needed clothes, don't worry about anything shu Yao"
Shu Yao lowered his gaze, unable to stop the small, helpless tear's.
"Take care of yourself, Shu Yao," George said gently. "Suzhou's colder than you think. Don't let it get to you."
Before Shu Yao could respond, the call ended.