The air in Room 43, once thick with the suffocating heat of a desperate embrace, suddenly turned to ice.
Bai Qi remained frozen, a monolithic statue of obsidian and ivory. His jaw was clenched with such force the bone threatened to splinter, yet the betrayal on his face was undeniable. A deep, visceral flush—a mockery of his supposed coldness—stained his neck and ears.
He was a predator caught in the trap of his own making, paralyzed by the sensation of Shu Yao's head nuzzling into the crook of his neck.
The Monarch was trapped in the gravity of the Saint.
Then realization struck Shu Yao like a sudden jolt. The haze drained from his mind, replaced by a sharp, stinging clarity.
He was touching Bai Qi.
The Monarch.
The man he served, respected—someone far too distant, too untouchable for such weakness.
Shu Yao recoiled, his movements jerky and pained as he broke the embrace. He retreated into the pillows, his breath coming in ragged, diaphanous gasps behind the mask. His translucent skin flared with a frantic blush, and his eyes—wide and swimming with unshed stars—darted away, unable to meet the obsidian fire in Bai Qi's gaze.
"I… I'm sorry, Sir," Shu Yao whispered, his voice thin and unsteady, like silk stretched too far. His fingers tightened in the hospital sheets until the fabric creased beneath his grip, knuckles paling.
I shouldn't have caused trouble, he thought. I shouldn't have needed saving. I should have been stronger.
The shame burned hotter than the pain in his chest. If he had endured better—if he hadn't collapsed, hadn't frightened Bai Qi—none of this would have happened. The fault was his alone.
I relied on him again, he told himself quietly. I always do.
The silence was a whetted blade.
Bai Qi blinked, his equilibrium returning with a violent snap. The blush remained, but his eyes narrowed into predatory slits.
He stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the linoleum floor like a dying animal. The vulnerability of a moment ago was buried under a landslide of practiced cruelty.
"Always pathetic," Bai Qi spat, his voice a low, abrasive rumble that vibrated in the stagnant air. "Always using those tears to draw attention. You play the innocent so well, don't you? Plying for sympathy like a common beggar."
Shu Yao flinched, his head bowing as if under a physical lash. "I... I am sorry, Sir. Truly."
"In the end, you even managed to gain my sympathy for a second," Bai Qi sneered, clearing his throat to dislodge the lingering warmth of the hug. He adjusted his sleeves with meticulous, shaking hands.
"Don't mistake this hospital stay for a vacation, Shu Yao. Do not think your fragility grants you an escape from your work."
Shu Yao lifted his head, his gaze heavy with a mysterious, hollow resignation.
"I'll send the project files over," Bai Qi continued, his tone shifting into the cold cadence of a boardroom executioner.
"It is your rib that is shattered, not your hands.
You will work. Every task I assign must be completed by tomorrow. Efficiency is the only currency I value."
Shu Yao nodded, a slow, rhythmic surrender. "Yes, Sir. I understand."
"Exactly," Bai Qi snapped. "My every second is limited, and I have wasted enough of it on your dramatics."
He turned to leave, his stride purposeful and lethal, but the sudden vibration of his phone halted him. He pulled the device from his pocket, his obsidian eyes softening the moment the name flashed on the screen:
Ming Su.
Bai Qi cleared his throat, his posture shifting from a rigid conqueror to a hopeful supplicant. When he spoke, his voice was a jarring juxtaposition to the venom he had just poured into the room. It was soft—almost melodic.
"Yes... yes, Ming Su?"
Shu Yao, watching from the bed, felt a fresh hemorrhage of pain in his chest. The transition was so effortless, so cruel. He closed his eyes, the sound of Bai Qi's gentle tone for another woman feeling like salt in his open wounds.
He is right, Shu Yao thought, a bitter serenity settling over him. If I cannot work, I am of no use. If work makes him happy, if it keeps the ice from freezing me entirely... Then let it be.
Outside the heavy door, Bai Qi leaned against the wall, his face illuminated by the pale hallway light.
"Ah Qi," Ming Su's voice crackled through the line, a manufactured sweetness that masked her trembling nerves. "I was... I was worried. How is Shu Yao? Is he awake?"
Bai Qi felt something loosen in his chest at her concern. It was subtle, fleeting—but real. A quiet swell of approval rose before he could stop it, warmed by the familiar curve of her smile, the gentleness in her tone.
She is kind, he thought, the judgment forming too easily. Too willingly.
The resemblance lingered in his mind like an ache he never learned to live without.
"He's fine," Bai Qi said after a pause, voice measured, almost dismissive—because anything softer would have betrayed too much.
He adjusted his cuff, gaze turning away as if the matter were already settled.
"Good enough to work," he added. "He's already preparing his tasks."
The words landed cleanly. Controlled.
And just a little too rehearsed.
Ming Su froze on the other end, her smirk tightening. He hasn't told him, she realized. The coward is keeping the sedative a secret. She saw her opening and took it with the precision of a surgeon.
"Don't say that, Ah Qi," she murmured, her voice dripping with faux-concern. "He needs to be healed. He looked so... so incredibly fragile. Please, do not force him to work. He needs rest, for my sake?"
Bai Qi blinked, genuinely surprised by her "grace." The Ice Monarch felt a strange heat in his chest—not for Shu Yao, but for the beauty of Ming Su's "mercy."
"If you are saying so, Ming Su... then I will let him rest," Bai Qi conceded, his voice dropping into a register of pure devotion.
"How sweet of you, Ah Qi," Ming Su whispered, her smirk widening into a demonic triumph.
Bai Qi felt a deep, adolescent blush creep up his face again. Even though she wasn't standing before him, her praise felt like a crown. "I... it's nothing."
"Actually, Ah Qi," Ming Su continued, "I want to visit him. I want to see him with my own eyes to make sure he is truly alright. I couldn't sleep otherwise."
A flicker of jealousy sparked in Bai Qi's gut—a possessive, irrational fire.
He looked through the frosted glass of the door, seeing the silhouette of Shu Yao leaning against his pillows, staring blankly at the sterile wall. He didn't want Ming Su to see him; he didn't want her kindness directed at the "Saint." But he couldn't deny her.
"Fine," Bai Qi grunted, turning his head away from the glass with a sharp hmph. "If you want to see him, it's fine."
"Thank you, Ah Qi! You are the best."
Before she could disconnect, Bai Qi spoke again, his voice strained with a sudden, desperate hesitation. "Well... Ming Su. Since you want to go, and I am... I am free... I can come and take you? My car is already nearby."
He lied. His schedule was a labyrinth of billion-dollar meetings, but for the "Ghost," he would burn the world down.
Ming Su blinked, her expression one of amused disbelief. "Well... why not?"
Bai Qi almost squealed—a sound so foreign to the Ice Monarch it felt like sacrilege.
"Okay! Send me your address. I'll be there in moments."
"See you later, Ah Qi. Goodbye."
Bai Qi cut the call, his heart hammering against his ribs. He turned back to the glass one last time, his gaze lingering on the motionless figure of Shu Yao.
"You are lucky," Bai Qi muttered to the glass, his voice a mix of envy and disdain. "You are lucky she is too kind, or else I wouldn't give a damn. It is only because of her that I can learn not to harm you."
He turned on his heel and vanished into the elevator, the Monarch rushing to serve a phantom, leaving the Saint alone in the silence of Room 43.
Inside Room, the silence was no longer empty; it was heavy, vibrating with the echoes of Bai Qi's cruelty and the lingering ghost of his heat. Shu Yao remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the frosted glass where the silhouette of his master had just vanished.
The pain in his chest was a dual-edged blade. One side was the jagged agony of his splintered ribs; the other was a cold, creeping dread. Ming Su. The name alone felt like a slow-acting venom in his veins.
He didn't fear her for himself—he had already been unmade by the world—but he feared her for Bai Qi. She was a viper draped in the skin of a Saint, and Bai Qi was walking into her coils with his eyes wide shut.
I have to heal, Shu Yao thought, his fingers twitching against the sterile sheets. I have to become the shield again. If I am broken, who will stand between Bai qi and the serpent?
His gaze drifted downward, falling upon the midnight-blue silk box resting on the edge of the mattress. It was a king's ransom in a world of antiseptic white.
Slowly, with a reverence usually reserved for holy relics, Shu Yao reached out. His porcelain-pale fingers brushed the expensive fabric. It was cool, smooth, and carried the faint, intoxicating scent of the boutique—and the man who had walked through its doors.
A shameless, feverish blush crawled up his neck, staining his translucent cheeks a deep, visceral crimson.
"He... he actually bought me a new phone," he whispered, the words barely a breath against his oxygen mask.
With trembling hands, he untied the silk ribbon, letting it fall like a shed skin. He lifted the lid of the box, and there it sat—the iPhone 17. A monolith of titanium and sapphire glass, reflecting the harsh hospital lights like a dark mirror.
To anyone else, it was a tool. To Shu Yao, it was a fragment of a Monarch's mercy.
He lifted the device, his heart performing a violent, rhythmic dance against his bruised ribs. He didn't see the processor or the camera; he saw the moment Bai Qi had chosen this for him. He saw the "Efficiency" that masked a hidden, jagged concern.
"I wouldn't let this phone suffer a single scratch," Shu Yao murmured, his voice thick with a sudden, overwhelming devotion.
He pulled the cold device to his chest, hugging it against the thin fabric of his hospital gown. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back as the blush deepened, turning his ears a bright, telltale red.
Thank you, Bai Qi, he thought, a tear escaping the corner of his eye and vanishing into the pillow. Even though you hate me... even though you see me as a burden... But still you brought me this. Still You thought of me.
A soft, broken laugh escaped his lips. He felt so full of the man's presence that his chest ached with a different kind of pressure.
I appreciate it so much... I could just kiss you for this.
He hid his face in his hands, the thought of the kiss—of those cold, obsidian lips meeting his—sending a fresh wave of electricity through his healing nerves.
Shu Yao didn't know that outside those walls, Bai Qi wasn't thinking of him. He didn't know that the phone wasn't a gift of love, but a tax paid to the guilt. Bai Qi was already miles away in his mind, racing toward a "ghost" that wore Qing yue's face.
The Monarch wasn't protecting the Saint; he was chasing a shadow, blinded by a reflection in a pool of his own making.
Shu Yao clutched the phone tighter, a small, hopeful smile blooming behind his mask—the smile of a man who didn't realize he was worshipping a star that had already gone dark.