The corridor of the Beijing Central Hospital gleamed with a sterile white sheen, the kind that smelled faintly of disinfectant and something older—something like fear.
Small shoes pattered against the polished floor. Too fast. Too light. Too mischievous.
Bai Qi.
He was six, dressed like a tiny nobleman—dark velvet vest, crisp white shirt, and trousers that were definitely too expensive for a child who couldn't sit still for more than three seconds. His black hair was wild from running, and his dark eyes glimmered with restless curiosity.
This was his first time in China.
His first time in Beijing.
His first time in a hospital that looked as noisy as a beehive.
And he had absolutely no intention of staying where he was told.
Inside the hospital room, Bai Mingzhu sat beside her mother's bed, holding her frail hand. She looked divine—long black hair pinned neatly, a soft white shawl draped over her shoulders, her features as delicate as a painting. Niklas, tall and sharp-featured with protective arms folded, stood behind her like a silent pillar. He had not stopped watching both his wife and his son for even a heartbeat.
But Bai Qi, the moment his father leaned closer to comfort Mingzhu, saw his chance.
He slipped under Niklas' arm, ducked behind a rolling tray, and vanished through the doorway like a tiny fugitive.
Nobody noticed.
Of course.
The hallway stretched before him like a maze. Bai Qi's steps echoed softly as he wandered, touching wall signs, chasing reflections on the floor, peeking into rooms he definitely shouldn't.
Then—
A voice.
Soft, warm, and wrapped in worry.
"Oh, my Qing Yue, my little princess… don't cry, darling."
Bai Qi stopped mid-step.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"Qing… Yue?" he mouthed silently, tilting his head. He didn't know who that was, but the name sounded… sparkly. Like a ribbon.
Another voice answered, calmer, deeper, tinged with exhaustion.
"Yes, Mr. Shu Yuelin," the nurse said. "His condition is stabilizing. He needs rest."
Bai Qi peeked around the doorframe.
He couldn't see the speaker clearly—just a shadowy shape and the soft rustle of fabric—but the name "Qing Yue" replayed in his head like a bouncing marble.
Inside the room, Shu Yuelin sat beside the hospital bed, brushing damp strands of hair from a small, trembling figure lying beneath blankets. When the call ended abruptly—because he assumed Qing Yue's mother had stolen the phone again—he sighed faintly, kissed the child's temple, and whispered something Bai Qi couldn't hear.
The nurse exited moments later.
Bai Qi panicked and flattened himself into the corner, tiny fingers gripping the wall.
When she disappeared down the corridor, he exhaled triumphantly.
Now he could look.
Properly.
The door was cracked, just enough for a curious six-year-old to tiptoe and peek.
Inside—
A man with warm brown eyes sat beside a bed, lifting a cup to the lips of a very frail child.
The child's eyelashes fluttered weakly as he whispered, "Water…"
Shu Yuelin supported his son gently, helping him drink. His touch was tender, careful, overflowing with fear that he was trying—and failing—to hide.
Bai Qi's lips parted.
He didn't understand what he was seeing, but something tugged inside him.
Before he could process anything, a clumsy man stumbled in the hallway, bumping into Bai Qi.
"Parents these days don't watch their kids," the man muttered, brushing past.
Bai Qi puffed his cheeks, offended—but then froze.
The hospital door swung open wider.
Light from the windows streamed across the bed inside, illuminating the small figure lying there.
And Bai Qi saw him.
Properly.
Fully.
Shu Yao.
The child's cheeks were flushed a soft rose, lashes long enough to cast tiny shadows, hair damp from fever, lips pale and trembling. His frail frame rose and fell with uneven breaths, each one looking painful.
Bai Qi stared.
Absolutely froze.
His little heart did something strange—like skipping and stumbling at the same time.
Shu Yao looked… beautiful.
Fragile.
Breakable.
Something inside Bai Qi squeezed painfully.
Before he could run away, Shu Yuelin's shadow loomed over him.
"What are you doing here, hm?" the father asked gently, bending down.
Bai Qi looked up, big dark eyes blinking with instinctive guilt.
Shu Yuelin sighed. "Children like you shouldn't wander away from their parents. It's too dangerous."
Before Bai Qi could even explain that he wasn't lost, Shu Yuelin simply scooped him up—just like that—into his arms.
Bai Qi stiffened in surprise.
Now he had the perfect view of the child on the bed.
Now he could see everything—every tremble, every breath, every fluttering eyelash.
Shu Yao.
And it hurt.
Not physically.
Somewhere softer.
Somewhere quiet.
"I'll go look for your parents," Shu Yuelin said, adjusting Bai Qi's weight. "But for now, you sit right here. Behave. Don't wander."
He placed Bai Qi gently on a chair beside the hospital bed, beside shu Yao, smoothing his hair once with fatherly instinct.
"I'll be right back. Don't move," Shu Yuelin repeated, then hurried out.
The room fell silent.
Bai Qi sat stiffly, hands on his knees, staring at the child who lay inches away.
Shu Yao's lashes trembled.
He sensed someone near and slowly shifted his gaze.
Their eyes met.
Bai Qi's breath caught.
Just a tiny, soft, shocked inhale.
He suddenly feared everything—
Feared this fragile child,
Feared touching him,
Feared doing something wrong.
He wasn't scared of anything normally—he was Bai Qi, after all. Mischievous, bold, utterly chaotic.
But this child unnerved him.
Shu Yao shivered weakly, hands twitching beneath the blanket.
And then—
Bai Qi moved first.
Tiny fingers reached out, hesitant but determined, and touched Shu Yao's forehead.
Shu Yao's eyes widened instantly.
Fear flashed through them.
He flinched and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for—
But nothing harsh came.
Instead—
A warm little palm rested on his head.
Shu Yao opened his eyes again.
Bai Qi smiled.
A tiny, innocent smile.
The kind that held no malice, no cruelty—only pure, childish sincerity.
"Does it hurt?" Bai Qi whispered.
Shu Yao wanted to speak. But He couldn't.
So he nodded.
Bai Qi's heart squeezed again, harder this time.
"Don't worry," he said, voice soft as a lullaby. "The pain will go away. All of it. I promise."
Shu Yao blinked at him, stunned. For a moment, the ache in his chest faded—not because the fever broke, but because of something small and bright blooming quietly inside him.
He believed the boy.
Without question.
Without hesitation.
He believed him.
Bai Qi smiled wider, cheeks turning red, heart beating fast for a reason he couldn't possibly understand.
She is so beautiful, he thought.
This was the mistake.
Because it was never she.
It was always he.
And that he was Shu Yao.
The first and last person Bai Qi ever promised comfort to.
The first heartbeat that ever made his own stumble.
The first name that would one day haunt him without mercy.
Shu Yao.
And neither of them knew—
that this small, trembling moment would bind them for the rest of their lives.
Shu Yao blinked up at the boy sitting beside him—small, dark-haired, dressed in an expensive suit, and smiling as though the sun had crawled into his chest and lit him from within.
Shu Yao's breath trembled.
His voice wouldn't come. Speaking felt impossible—like his throat had been wrapped in ice. So the words stayed trapped inside his mind, soft and trembling.
Why… why is he smiling at me… like that?
The boy tilted his head, his eyes shining with something Shu Yao couldn't name. Kindness… or something gentler.
Something that felt forbidden.
Shu Yao's chest warmed painfully.
Then—
A cough ripped from him, sharp and weak. His small body curled slightly, trembling from the jolt.
The boy's bright smile faded. He frowned—genuine sadness, as though Shu Yao's pain was his own.
Shu Yao stared, stunned.
No one… no one has ever looked at me like that. No one was ever… this kind to me…
His parents loved him, yes. But they were gentle in quiet ways, busy in quiet ways, and Shu Yao had always learned to endure quietly.
But this child… this stranger…
He felt something stir inside — something tiny, fluttering, new.
Before Shu Yao could understand it, the boy dug into his little pocket. Shu Yao blinked, startled, watching as the boy's small hand reached out.
Warm fingers wrapped around his.
Shu Yao gasped softly.
His eyes flew wide, heart thudding too loud for his tiny chest. Nobody—not even Qing Yue—had ever grabbed his hand like this.
His cheeks heated, fever and shyness mixing in a dizzy haze.
The boy leaned forward. Slowly. Carefully.
And then—
A soft kiss landed on Shu Yao's forehead.
Shu Yao froze.
Completely.
The kiss was light, warm, almost clumsy—but it sent a shock through him so powerful he forgot how to breathe.
His parents kissed him sometimes—but a stranger? No. Never.
How could a stranger kiss him like he was precious?
Shu Yao's lips parted, silent. His wide brown eyes shimmered with confusion—yet something soft bloomed deep within his chest.
The boy placed something in his hand.
A small wrapped candy. Then another. And one more, as though trying to build a barrier between Shu Yao and the world.
"Don't worry about the pain," the boy whispered. "Take my candies."
Shu Yao's fingers curled around them slowly.
Still trembling.
Still burning with a shy, aching warmth.
He wanted to speak.
He wanted to say thank you.
He wanted to ask his name.
But his throat only let out a weak breath.
And still, he stared.
And still, his heart beat too fast.
And still, the boy's kindness kept melting something inside him he didn't know existed.
Outside the Room
Niklas hurried down the hallway, panic etching sharp lines across his usually composed face. His golden hair was slightly disheveled, his tall figure striding with a quiet urgency.
His son was missing.
Again.
He scanned every corner, every door, every passing shadow. Fear curled like a cold hand around his ribs.
Meanwhile, Shu Yuelin stood beside the nurse's desk, explaining calmly, "Yes, there was a little boy here. He wandered into my son's room just now."
Niklas's head snapped up.
The nurse startled as a tall blond man suddenly stepped forward, his blue eyes blazing.
"Have you seen a boy," Niklas asked, voice low and controlled, "black hair, wearing a suit?"
Shu Yuelin blinked, then smiled faintly with serene politeness.
"Come, sir. I will take you to him. He is with my son."
Niklas exhaled—part relief, part lingering fury.
Shu Yuelin added gently, "Your child is safe. But… you should keep a closer eye on him."
Niklas sighed, rubbing his forehead. "He's too naughty. He can't behave for even a minute."
"I see," Shu Yuelin replied. "I have a son too. He's kind… too kind. Fragile. Today he fell into a fountain. He could barely stand.
Niklas glanced at him. "You're lucky to have a son like him."
A faint, hollow laugh slipped from Shu Yuelin — the kind that vanishes before it ever reaches the eyes. "Kind," he echoed softly. "Yes. Quiet, gentle… and somehow still the one who suffers."
They walked a few more paces down the corridor. The fluorescent light washed their shadows long across the floor.
"He never speaks back," Shu Yuelin continued, his voice lowering. "Never complains. He just bows his head and endures it. And I…" He paused, swallowing the bitter truth. "I don't know how to teach him to fight without breaking the parts of him that make him who he is."
Niklas's stern features softened just slightly, the hard lines easing around his eyes. "Some children aren't meant to fight," he said. "Sometimes… their eyes say more than any fists."
Shu Yuelin's expression flickered — sorrow threaded with something like gratitude. "Maybe," he murmured. "But I wish the world would listen before it hurts him again."
The hallway turned, and the door to Shu Yao's room finally came into view — slightly ajar, a faint sliver of warm golden plight spilling onto the tiles.
Together, they walked toward the hospital room.
The moment the door opened, Shu Yuelin froze.
His son—who had been trembling, silent, feverish—was lying on the bed with a tiny smile ghosting over his lips.
And beside him, perched on the chair now like a protective little guardian.
Bai Qi.
Niklas clenched his jaw. The golden hallway light framed his figure, making him look like a furious deity carved from sunlight and discipline.
"How many times," he began, voice dangerously calm, "have I told you to behave?"
Bai Qi stiffened.
He sensed his father.
He sensed the trouble.
But he did not look away from Shu Yao.
Not even once.
Niklas strode forward, ready to seize the boy's ear, but Shu Yuelin raised a gentle hand.
"It's all right. He is still a child."
Niklas exhaled sharply and scooped Bai Qi up.
Bai Qi pouted instantly—tiny brows furrowed in stubborn protest—but his eyes…
His eyes never left Shu Yao.
"Thank you," Niklas said tightly to Shu Yuelin. "For helping me find him."
"You're welcome," Shu Yuelin replied warmly.
Niklas turned to leave.
But Bai Qi twisted, craning his neck, his small hand stretching out desperately toward the fragile boy on the bed.
Shu Yao blinked, breath catching.
Bai Qi smiled at him—bright, warm, unguarded.
And Shu Yao's cheeks flushed pink again, heart beating erratically.
The door closed.
Bai Qi was carried away.
But Shu Yao would never forget that smile.
And Bai Qi… would never forget the boy with trembling lashes and fever-warm skin who took his candies like they were a promise.
Their first meeting lasted minutes.
But fate had already made its choice.