Shu Yao blinked up at the ceiling, breath snagging in his throat like he was drowning all over again. His chest rose in rapid, shallow bursts. Sweat trickled along his temples, clinging to his hair. The room around him tilted, unfocused, melting in and out of shape like watercolor left in the rain.
The servant's hands trembled as he brought the cup forward.
"S-sir… please drink this…"
Shu Yao didn't argue. He didn't have the strength to. His lips parted, barely. The bitter medicine slid over his tongue and down his throat in a single, obedient swallow. His vision blurred further, colors bleeding at the edges. He didn't speak. He couldn't. He simply endured.
When the last drop was gone, the servant laid him back against the pillows with timid, shaking hands. He smoothed the sheets over Shu Yao's thin body. His voice cracked when he addressed the figure standing nearby.
"It… it is done, Mr. Bai."
Bai Qi didn't even look at the boy in the bed. He only offered a sharp, curt nod.
"Now get out."
The servant jolted, nearly tripping over his own feet as he stumbled toward the door. He bowed once—low, terrified—before fleeing the suite as if chased.
Silence sealed the room.
Bai Qi exhaled hard through his nose. Irritation curled beneath his skin like smoke. He raked a hand through his hair, pushing the strands out of his eyes as he muttered under his breath:
"Pathetic."
He turned and entered the bedroom proper.
The dim light brushed over Shu Yao's shivering frame, but Bai Qi's gaze slid past him without pause. He didn't spare him a second look. He simply lowered himself onto the bed, back turned firmly toward the trembling boy, jaw locked tight.
He closed his eyes.
Sleep dragged him under like a heavy tide.
The room stilled.
The only sound left was Shu Yao's unsteady breathing—wet, ragged, fragile.
He shifted weakly in his sleep, drenched in sweat, the sheets clinging to him like cold hands. The medicine was beginning its slow work, but his skin felt like ice. Every breath shuddered out as if stolen from a storm.
Time ticked by in muffled seconds.
Bai Qi shifted faintly in his own sleep, muscles twitching as his dream hooked deeper into him.
He stood in a field.
A quiet, endless field.
Red roses stretched as far as his eyes could see—waves of velvety petals moving with the wind. They glowed beneath soft sunlight, thornless, unnaturally perfect.
Bai Qi frowned.
These aren't my favorites.
He walked forward, each step unsettlingly soundless, his boots sinking into petals that didn't quite feel real.
Something was wrong with this beauty. Too soft. Too sweet. Too peaceful.
And at the far end of the field—
a silhouette.
A girl.
Golden light framed her like a forgotten memory. Long brown hair spilled down her back. Brown eyes—gentle but unbearably sad—watched him.
Qing Yue.
His Qing Yue.
His dynasty.
His one unreachable regret.
Bai Qi's breath caught. His heart ricocheted painfully inside his ribs as he took a step toward her—
Crunch.
He froze.
He looked down.
The roses under his feet had crumpled into nothing.
Qing Yue's expression tightened. She descended from the slight rise where she had stood, gliding toward him with quiet steps until they were only six inches apart. Close enough for Bai Qi to see the disappointment in her eyes.
She looked down.
At the ruined roses beneath his heel.
Her voice floated out, fragile and devastating:
"Bai Qi… you hurt my gege's favorite flower."
The words struck him like a blade. His throat worked.
"Qing Yue…"
He reached toward her, desperation searing through him, but she stepped back, forbidding any closeness.
"You've misunderstood."
Bai Qi's brows furrowed. "What are you talking about? Qing Yue—why can't I move my feet?"
"Because you hurt him," she whispered.
"Hurt who?"
Qing Yue lifted her eyes to his—soft, mournful, ancient with grief.
"Gege," she said. "My gege. You hurt my gege. That's why the flowers keep dying beneath you."
Bai Qi's breath stuttered. His teeth clenched, pain and denial clawing up his throat. Tears gathered along his lower lashes, trembling but refusing to fall.
"He deserves it," Bai Qi growled. "Because of him… I lost you."
He reached out again, fingers trembling—but still she stayed just beyond reach.
Qing Yue shook her head softly.
"You don't know anything about gege."
"I don't care," Bai Qi snapped, voice raw. "I don't care about him. Not about anything anymore."
She flinched.
"I cannot help you," she whispered, voice breaking like paper. "But I will tell you one thing…
"You will understand everything". once you read my gege's journal."
His stomach twisted.
"No," Bai Qi said, shaking his head violently. "Qing Yue—don't say that. I don't want anything else. I want you. Come back to me. I don't care about anything else."
But the field began to fade.
Her form blurred at the edges.
Qing Yue stepped back, dissolving into the wind, her voice echoing like the last breath of a dream.
"We were never made for each other…"
And then—
Silence.
Bai Qi stood alone in the sea of roses. Dead petals crunched under his feet as he stumbled forward, unable to stop himself. The field twisted around him. The sky darkened. Every flower he stepped on wilted into black ruin.
He gritted his teeth, rage and grief choking him.
Then—
He woke.
His eyes snapped open, wet with unshed tears. His chest heaved once. Twice. A quiet gasp caught in his throat.
The room came back into focus.
Dark. Still. Heavy.
And—
Something warm.
Too close.
Bai Qi stiffened.
Slowly—disbelievingly—he turned his head.
Shu Yao lay curled against him, face pressed unconsciously near Bai Qi's chest, breathing hot and uneven, seeking warmth in his fevered state.
His fingers barely touched the fabric of Bai Qi's shirt, like a drowning boy clinging to the nearest shore.
His shivering had eased—only because he had moved toward Bai Qi in his sleep.
Bai Qi's stomach twisted in disgust.
His jaw tightened.
He scooted back sharply, every muscle snapping tight at the unwanted closeness.
"Pathetic," he spat under his breath, venom coating the word.
Shu Yao didn't stir.
But the breath that escaped his lips trembled—fragile, cold, aching.
Bai Qi exhaled hard, forcing his breath steady as he turned his back—again—on the boy behind him. His shoulders felt stiff, locked with anger he didn't want to acknowledge. Qing Yue had appeared in his dream, but she hadn't come to him. She hadn't reached for him. Instead… she had spoken about him.
Shu Yao.
Her gege.
The one Bai Qi refused to understand. The one he blamed.
His hands curled into fists.
"She talks about him even now…" he muttered under his breath, bitterness burning low in his throat. "He's the one I lost you. I'm suffering all because of him…"
The memory of Qing Yue's smile—warm, soft, painfully gentle—stabbed through him like a blade. Her arms once around his neck. Her laughter. The way she whispered his name like it mattered.
He felt the tear threaten his lashes.
No.
He clenched his teeth hard, refusing to crumble. Weakness was a luxury he never allowed himself.
He shut his eyes, jaw trembling once.
Behind him, something shifted.
Then a weight touched his back—warm, hesitant, unconscious.
Shu Yao had curled toward him again, resting his fevered head against Bai Qi's back, seeking warmth like an instinct.
A spark ignited in Bai Qi's eyes.
He snapped.
"What the hell is your problem?" he barked, whipping his head around.
But Shu Yao only clung tighter, hands weakly clutching the back of Bai Qi's shirt, fingers trembling. He wasn't awake enough to defend himself—just driven by cold and delirium.
Bai Qi's disgust sharpened.
He shoved him back—firm, unhesitating.
Shu Yao's body rolled slightly, and that was enough to drag him out of his stupor. His lashes fluttered. A faint groan left him. Slowly—painfully—his eyes opened.
His gaze darted around, confused, disoriented. The familiar walls of the luxury suite came into view. The lamp. The curtains. The cold air.
His breath hitched.
He straightened instinctively, though his body protested. He glanced toward Bai Qi with dazed, unfocused eyes.
Bai Qi glared at him. "What is your problem?" he snapped again, voice low and venomous.
Shu Yao lowered his head immediately, swallowing around the dryness in his throat.
"I… I am sorry, sir."
That word—sorry—struck something sharp in Bai Qi. It was too small. Too quiet. Too pathetic.
His irritation flared red.
"Get out," Bai Qi growled, "before I do something bad."
The threat hung heavy.
Shu Yao's breath stalled.
Fear flickered through his eyes. He nodded—slow, trembling—and peeled the blankets from his body with shaking fingers. He bowed his head once.
"I'm… sorry," he whispered again.
Then he slid off the bed.
His legs nearly buckled, but he caught himself and shuffled toward the door. He pushed into the living room, every step careful, unsteady. The moment he reached the couch, he sat down heavily, shoulders dropping as if every bone in him had turned fragile.
Silence wrapped around him.
He stared at his hands.
His mind, still fuzzy, reached back—slowly—trying to piece together what happened. He remembered the corridor. The cold tiles. The dizziness. The world spinning.
After that?
Nothing.
Only darkness.
His brows furrowed softly.
"Did… did Bai qi take care of me?" he murmured under his breath.
The question came out timid, almost unbelieving.
He blinked once, twice, and then—without meaning to—his gaze drifted back toward the door.
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Small. Warm. Completely wrong.
But he believed it.
He thought Bai Qi had looked after him. Covered him. Helped him. Stayed with him through the fever.
He dropped his gaze to his lap, a faint blush warming his cheeks as he whispered to himself:
"Maybe… he doesn't hate me as much as I thought…"
His smile softened.
Fragile hope bloomed in the quiet.
Not knowing that, in the bedroom beyond, Bai Qi sat awake—jaw tight, fists clenched—thinking of Qing Yue, and blaming Shu Yao for every ache in his chest.
And yet…
Shu Yao smiled.
Believing, foolishly, that Bai Qi take care of him.
Inside Bai Qi dragged a hand through his hair, breath sharp and uneven. The room felt too small, the air too thin. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall.
4:07 a.m.
Still dark. Still unforgiving.
He clenched his jaw until it ached.
The silence pressed in on him like a weight. He turned his head sharply toward the panoramic window—the city stretching far below, washed in the faintest bruise-blue of approaching dawn.
But the view offered nothing.
No clarity.
No comfort.
Only more emptiness.
"What am I supposed to do without you?" he muttered, voice low, raw. "Qing Yue… I'll lose my mind."
His fists tightened at his sides. His reflection in the glass looked foreign—eyes tired, haunted, furious at himself, furious at fate.
He closed his eyes.
"Why did you leave me with him…"
But he didn't finish the sentence. He didn't dare.
Outside the bedroom, the suite was dim and quiet.
Shu Yao lay curled on the couch, a soft blanket pulled up to his chin. His breathing had steadied; the fever-light in his eyes had dimmed. In the hush of the early morning, his expression softened in a way it almost never did.
He smiled to himself.
Small. Gentle. Barely there.
But real.
Because in the fragments of his returning memory… he thought he had seen it.
Bai Qi's hand adjusting the sheets.
Bai Qi's shadow leaning over him.
Bai Qi's voice—cold but present.
It wasn't accurate.
But it was enough.
Shu Yao tucked the blanket closer, eyes growing heavy again. A warmth settled in his chest, fragile but bright.
He's the same…
My Bai Qi from long ago… the one who helped me when I was small… the one I admired…
His fingers curled slightly, clutching the edge of the blanket.
He still hoped—quietly, stubbornly—that one day Bai Qi would understand him. Understand everything he had held back. Everything he had endured.
One day… maybe Bai Qi would see him.
Really see him.
Shu Yao's lashes fluttered, a faint breath escaping him.
"I hope… someday," he whispered into the stillness, "you'll understand how I feel about you."
His smile lingered.
Soft.
Hopeful.
Utterly unaware of the storm raging behind the bedroom door.