The memory didn't just fade; it crystallized, sharpening into a vision of a day when the world felt fragile yet full of promise. In the center of that sun-drenched courtyard, the power shifted from the "God of the High School" to a sixteen-year-old girl with a bobbed haircut and a protective fire in her soul.
Qing Yue reached out, her fingers brushing against the silk-soft petals of the thornless roses. She took them from Bai Qi's trembling hands with the authority of a queen accepting a tribute.
Bai Qi stood paralyzed. His face was a canvas of deep, mortified crimson. He was trying so hard to maintain his composure, to not look caught or desperate, but in the presence of Qing Yue, his armor was melting.
Shu Yao watched them, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. He felt a small, barely perceptible frown pull at his brow—a rare expression for a boy who only knew how to be kind. He leaned in, his hand landing softly on Qing Yue's shoulder, his voice a feather-light whisper in her ear.
"Qing'er, that's rude," he cautioned, his eyes darting to Bai Qi. "You shouldn't be so demanding. He is your senior."
Qing Yue didn't flinch. She leaned back toward her brother, her own whisper sharp and flavored with a sister's fierce intuition. "But Gege, I heard this tyrant is too rich. I don't trust people like him. They act too arrogant... But don't worry, Gege I won't let him bully you."
Shu Yao offered her a small, helpless smile, his heart aching at her loyalty. "No, Qing. He isn't what you think. He... he isn't like the others."
Qing Yue pulled away, her gaze snapping back to Bai Qi. "You!"
Bai Qi flinched, his eyes wide. "Yes?"
The "Ice Monarch" of the future was nowhere to be found. Here, he was just a boy trapped in the gravity of two siblings.
"I take these flowers," Qing Yue declared, hoisting the bouquet. "And in return, you are now my personal worker. My eyes and ears."
Shu Yao's breath hitched. He wanted to intervene, but the words died in his throat as Qing Yue began to lay down the law of her heart.
"Rule number one," she said, her voice ringing out in the courtyard. "If anyone tries to bully my kind Gege, you will protect him. Rule number two: if my Gege gets hurt, you will be responsible.
You will tell me everything. And If you fail, don't even think of being my friend."
Bai Qi gulped, his throat working visibly. He looked at Shu Yao—the boy he had previously mocked, the boy he had taken for a rival—and then back at the girl he worshipped.
"I... I won't disappoint you," Bai Qi promised, his voice cracking with a boyish sincerity. "I promise."
Shu Yao was frozen in disbelief. In a single moment, the hierarchy of his life had been rewritten. The boy he loved from afar had just promised to become his shield.
"Now," Qing Yue chirped, her mood flipping back to sunshine. "Your time begins."
She snatched Shu Yao's hand, her small grip firm and undeniable. She pulled him away, leading him toward their favorite bench.
Shu Yao couldn't look back. He was blushing so fiercely he felt his skin would burn. He couldn't risk meeting those obsidian eyes again—not now, when his heart was overflowing with a hope that felt like a sin.
When they reached the bench, Qing Yue sat down with a satisfied huff. "Now," she said, looking at the school building with a defiant tilt of her chin. "No one will ever dare to bully you again, Gege."
Shu Yao sat beside her, his head bowed to hide his burning face. He watched as Qing Yue looked down at the beautiful red roses in her lap. Her expression shifted, a small frown marring her features.
"I don't like these," she murmured, blinking at the vibrant red. "They look like they're bleeding. Why would he bring something so sad?"
Shu Yao's heart skipped. He remembered the white lilies he had suggested, and the roses Bai Qi had chosen instead.
Suddenly, Qing Yue smiled. She looked at her brother, her eyes sparkling with realization. "Wait... Gege, these are your favorite, aren't they?"
Before he could answer, she tossed the bouquet.
Shu Yao's reflexes took over. He caught the flowers against his chest, his fingers sinking into the cool, thornless stems.
He stared at them—the roses Bai Qi had meticulously prepared, the ones he had intended for the girl of his dreams.
They were in Shu Yao's hands now.
He clutched the bouquet to his chest, burying his face in the velvet petals. The sweet, heavy perfume filled his lungs, dizzying and pure.
Thank you, Bai Qi, he whispered in the silent vault of his heart. Thank you for the flowers, you didn't know I like.
The memory shattered against the clinical white light of the hospital room.
Shu Yao lay pinned to the mattress, his fingers twitching against the coarse hospital sheets. The sleep he so desperately needed wouldn't come.
Every time his eyelids grew heavy, the past surged forward like a tidal wave—the boyish smile, the star locket, the promise made in a sunlit courtyard.
That charm was gone now. The boy who had promised to be his shield was now a man drowning in a sea of grief, so blinded by loss that he was walking straight into the fangs of a traitor.
Shu Yao's heart felt like it was breaking all over again. It wasn't just the physical strain of his failing organs; it was the agony of watching Bai Qi be lured by a mirage that wore his sister's face but carried none of her heart.
Rule number two, Shu Yao thought, a bitter, wheezing laugh catching in his throat. If Gege gets hurt, you will be responsible.
Bai Qi had broken every rule. And yet, Shu Yao was still trying to fulfill his own silent vow.
His knuckles turned a skeletal white as he gripped the bedsheets. With a low, guttural groan of pain, he tried to lift his upper body. His head throbbed, a jagged rhythm that pulsed behind his eyes.
"I have to..." he gasped, his breath hitching as the heart monitor's staccato grew more frantic. "I have to see him."
He didn't care about the IV line or the doctor's warnings. He needed to see if Bai Qi was alright. He needed to know if the man he loved was still alive behind that mask of ice, or if Ming Su had already hollowed him out.
"Bai... Qi..."
Meanwhile in villa,The mirror did not lie, but it only told half the truth.
In his dressing room, Bai Qi stood as a monument to inherited power and curated perfection. His suit was a masterpiece of charcoal wool and silk—a garment that did not just speak of wealth, but whispered of a pedigree that demanded silence. From every angle, he was flawless.
His obsidian eyes, framed by lashes that cast long, arrogant shadows on his cheekbones, were as cold as the glass he stared into. His sleek black wolfcut had been styled to a degree of razor-edged precision, the dark strands catching the light like polished onyx.
But his focus was not on his reflection. It was on the cold, black slab of his phone.
"The mobile you are calling is switched off."
The digital voice was a repetitive insult to his patience.
Bai Qi's jaw tightened, the muscles jumping beneath his pale skin. He was a man who moved the world with a single word, yet he was being held hostage by the silence of a
"Little Secretary."
"If you think you can hide, Shu Yao," he hissed, voice low and vibrating with menace, "I will tear you from your home and drag you by the collar. You will not sully Ming Su's generosity with your absence."
He stepped out of the room, his hand buried in his pocket. As he reached the foyer, a thought flickered through his mind—a sudden, sharp realization. The last person to mention that brat was his uncle, George.
With a decisive flick of his wrist, he pulled out his phone and dialed the one person who might have answers.
In the sterile vacuum of the private wing, the silence was broken by the sound of sliding metal.
Shu Yao was standing. It was an act of pure, agonizing defiance.
His legs felt like glass, his vision swimming in a sea of grey, but he was standing.
His trembling fingers were clawing at the medical tape on his arm, trying to rip the IV needle from his vein.
He didn't care about the blood. He didn't care about the pain. He only saw the clock.
The door hissed open. George walked in, carrying a tray of nutrient-dense broth—a small, desperate attempt to put some color back into the boy's translucent skin.
The tray nearly hit the floor. George sprinted forward, his face a mask of sudden, frantic alarm. He caught Shu Yao's wrists just as the boy managed to loosen the tape.
"What are you doing, Shu Yao!" George's voice was a roar of protective fear.
Shu Yao flinched, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot and drowning in unshed tears. His lower lip thinned into a line of desperate resolve.
"I... I want to see him," he rasped, the same old phrase, the same old curse. "Let me go."
George sighed, a sound of profound, weary sadness. "You can barely stand, Shu Yao. You aren't going anywhere."
Suddenly, a phone began to vibrate.
Shu Yao jolted as if struck by a live wire. He looked at the device George pulled from his pocket, his breath catching in his throat.
Even before George looked at the screen, Shu Yao saw the caller ID.
"Bai Qi!"
The name was a sob and a prayer. George's jaw clenched. He stared at his nephew's name on the screen with a simmering, lethal fury. He didn't want to talk to that arrogant brat—not while he was holding the broken pieces of the person Bai Qi had shattered.
"I want to talk to him," Shu Yao pleaded, his eyes wide and feverish. "Please, Mr, George. Please."
"No," George said, his voice firm, edged with steel. "You can barely draw a breath, let alone speak to him."
In a sudden, uncoordinated burst of energy born of pure panic, Shu Yao snatched the phone from George's hand. George stood speechless, his arms half-extended, watching as Shu Yao pressed the device to his ear.
On the other end, Bai Qi's voice was a jagged blade. "Uncle? Do you know where Shu Yao is?"
Shu Yao's heart skipped a beat, then thudded violently against his ribs. Hearing that voice was like breathing air for the first time in an hour—painful, cold, but
necessary.
"Bai—" He caught himself, the habit of a lifetime of subservience slam
ming back into place. "Sir..."
The silence on the other end was absolute. Bai Qi's brow furrowed in the darkened hallway of his villa.
That wasn't his uncle's steady, gravelly tone. This voice was hoarse, broken, and sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well.
"Who is this?" Bai Qi barked, his voice sharpening into a weapon. "Where is my uncle?"
George stood over Shu Yao, watching the "fragile beauty" of the boy crumble in real-time.
He wanted to take the phone back, to end the torture, but Shu Yao turned away, his shoulder hunching to protect the connection.
"Sir... it's me," Shu Yao whispered, his throat so dry it felt like it was lined with glass. "Shu Yao."
He broke into a harsh, hitching cough, his small frame rattling with the effort.
On the other side of the city, Bai Qi froze. The shock hit him like a physical blow, followed immediately by a wave of white-hot, irrational rage.
Shu Yao was with his uncle. All this time, while Bai Qi was pacing his office, while his patience was rotting into dust, his secretary was with his uncle.
The image of Shu Yao under George's protection—flared up into a towering inferno.
He clutched the phone until the plastic groaned. "You disgusting creature," he spat, the words dripping with a toxic, unearned venom.
Shu Yao flinched, his eyes squeezing shut. George sensed the shift in the air, his hand reaching out to intervene, but Shu Yao shook his head miserably, clutching the phone tighter.
"You're having fun with my uncle?" Bai Qi barked, his voice rising in a crescendo of fury. "While I am sitting here waiting? While Ming Su is preparing a seat for a liar like you?"
"Sir... I can explain," Shu Yao gasped, the IV site on his arm beginning to bleed from his frantic movements.
"I don't need your pathetic explanations!" Bai Qi's voice was a roar now, a decree of absolute tyranny.
"If you aren't standing in front of my villa in thirty minutes—in a clean suit, looking like a human being and not a stray dog—then do not ever think of facing me again."
Click.