Later that night, sleep wouldn't come. The day's violence and tension had given Zhiyuan a throbbing headache. Quietly, he slipped out of the bedroom where Yichen was finally resting and made his way to the special room the shrine to his father's memory.
The quiet in there was different. Peaceful. He sat on the edge of the bed, just looking around, soaking in the feeling of his dad's presence.
His eyes fell on the side drawer. It was slightly open. Curious, he pulled it open. Inside were dozens of keychains. Silly, funny character keychains a grinning frog, a lopsided star, a cartoon animal. So many of them. Why did Dad have so many cheap keychains? He smiled, picking one up. It felt light and happy.
Needing to feel closer, he got up and opened the wardrobe. His father's old clothes hung neatly. His school uniform. His sharp business suits. Zhiyuan's fingers brushed the sleeve of a particular dark gray suit.
A memory, sharp and clear, flashed in his mind.
He was very small. His father was dressed in this very suit, ready for a very important meeting. Little Zhiyuan had thrown a huge tantrum, not wanting him to leave. In a fit of rage, he'd grabbed a pot of red paint and thrown it. The thick paint splattered all over the pristine suit front.
Wenhao had frozen, then let out a deep, frustrated sigh. "Zhiyuan! Look what you've done!" It was the first and only time his gentle father had ever truly scolded him.
Sitting in the quiet room now, Zhiyuan chuckled softly to himself. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispered to the empty air. "I was a real trouble-maker."
His gaze drifted to the back of the wardrobe. There was a wooden box, old and tucked away. His curiosity piqued, he pulled it out and opened the lid.
He froze.
Inside, neatly folded, were women's clothes. A soft, floral-patterned blouse. A deep blue skirt made of a silky material.
Zhiyuan's cheeks flushed hot. His first instinct was denial. No. It's impossible. Dad would never… wear something like this. He hurriedly put the skirt back and closed the lid, his heart racing.
But the image stayed in his mind. And slowly, the denial melted, replaced by a wave of tender, bewildered understanding. His father, the powerful CEO… had his own secret self. A side no one knew.
A soft, disbelieving chuckle escaped him. He shook his head. "Even you had secrets like this, Dad?"
Almost without thinking, his hand reached out again. He opened the box and carefully picked up the blue skirt. It was soft and cool between his fingers. He held it up, staring at it, his mind a whirl of confused emotions.
Then, a quiet, persistent thought began to whisper in the back of his mind, growing louder.
Try it
Just… try it.
No one will ever know.
His heart hammered against his ribs. It felt wrong. It felt like intruding on a deeply private part of his father. But another part of him felt a strange, magnetic pull. A need to understand. To connect with this hidden piece of the man he loved and missed so much.
He stood there in the silent room, holding the delicate skirt, caught between embarrassment, curiosity, and a longing so deep it stole his breath.
He couldn't hold back the curiosity. It was a wild, impulsive feeling.
With trembling fingers, he pushed his soft sleep trousers down and stepped out of them. He carefully stepped into the blue skirt, pulling the silky material up over his hips. It settled lightly around his waist, the fabric cool and strange against his skin.
Hesitantly, he walked to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room.
He froze.
His reflection looked back at him his own familiar face, flushed and wide-eyed, above the soft drape of the skirt. His legs, pale and long and slender from weeks of illness and rest, looked… different. Exposed. Soft.
A hot blush burned from his neck to the tips of his ears. But beneath the embarrassment, a tiny, secret thrill sparked. It felt… nice. The fabric was light. It felt freeing in a way he couldn't explain.
This is silly. Take it off, he scolded himself, reaching for the waistband.
But then another thought, unbidden and warm, crept into his mind.
How would Yichen react?
His heart gave a funny little leap.
Would he be shocked?
Would he laugh?
Would he… like it?
Zhiyuan shook his head violently, his cheeks flaming. "No, no, no. I shouldn't show him. It's weird. He'll think I'm weird."
But his body seemed to have a mind of its own. He found himself grabbing his discarded trousers from the floor. He peeked out into the dark, silent hallway. Seeing it empty, a sudden, reckless courage seized him.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he was running on tiptoe, the skirt swishing softly around his legs, back toward his and Yichen's shared bedroom. His mind raced the whole way.
Should I show him? Should I…?
He pushed the door open gently. Moonlight streamed in, illuminating Yichen asleep on the bed. He looked peaceful, his bruised face relaxed in slumber.
All the bravado drained out of Zhiyuan in a rush. He sighed softly, his shoulders slumping.
I shouldn't wake him up for something so stupid, he thought, a wave of shyness washing over him. He's hurt. He needs rest.
Feeling both relieved and a little disappointed, he quietly went to the bathroom, changed back into his sleep trousers, and carefully folded the skirt, placing it on a chair. He slipped back into bed beside Yichen, lying on his side to watch him sleep.
He reached out and very gently brushed a strand of hair from Yichen's forehead. A small, secret smile touched his lips.
I'll show him tomorrow, he promised himself, before closing his eyes and letting sleep finally pull him under, his mind full of silk and moonlight and the thrilling, terrifying prospect of morning.
The next morning, Yichen woke slowly, consciousness returning through a pleasant haze. He felt a slight, warm weight on his chest. He blinked his eyes open, the morning light soft in the room.
Zhiyuan was sitting on top of him, straddling his waist. He was leaning forward, his hands braced on Yichen's chest for balance. And he was wearing… Yichen's shirt. It was loose on Zhiyuan's frame, slipping off one shoulder, showing a smooth collarbone and a sliver of pale skin.
A slow, dazed smile spread across Yichen's face. His voice was rough with sleep. "Am I in heaven? Did I die?"
Zhiyuan blushed beautifully, the pink spreading from his cheeks down his neck. He gave Yichen's chest a light, playful hut with his fist. "Idiot," he mumbled, but he was smiling too
He sat up a little straighter, his hands nervously fidgeting with the hem of the oversized shirt. The movement pulled the fabric taut for a second.
That's when Yichen's sleep-addled brain finally processed what was below the shirt.
His gaze traveled down, past the hem of his own shirt, past Zhiyuan's slender waist… to where the soft, silky fabric of a pale blue skirt fanned out over his lap and Yichen's thighs.
Yichen's eyes widened. He blinked once, twice, as if clearing a hallucination.
He stared. At the shirt. At the skirt. At the breathtaking, shy, defiantly beautiful man sitting on him.
His mouth fell open slightly. No sound came out. His brain short-circuited. All he could manage was a strangled, incredulous noise that was half gasp, half laugh.
The hilarious, utterly perfect shock on Yichen's bruised face was everything Zhiyuan had hoped for and more.
Yichen's brain finally rebooted with a zing of pure, unadulterated shock. It wasn't disgust. It wasn't confusion. It was a tidal wave of heat and awe that flooded his entire system, making his skin tingle.
"You…" he breathed out, the word barely audible. He couldn't form a coherent thought. All he could do was look. The oversized shirt, the delicate skirt, the shy, blushing face above him it was a vision that short-circuited all his higher functions.
In one smooth, almost involuntary motion, driven by sheer wonder, he shifted. He rolled them over, reversing their positions so that Zhiyuan was now lying beneath him on the bed, looking up with wide, suddenly nervous eyes.
Yichen braced himself on his elbows above him, his gaze sweeping over him again, drinking in every detail. The shirt had ridden up, exposing more of the skirt's waistband and the pale skin of Zhiyuan's stomach.
Zhiyuan's embarrassment skyrocketed.
"Yichen… stop staring…" he mumbled, trying to squirm out from under him. "Let me up, I'm gonna change, this was stupid—"
"No," Yichen said, his voice a low, reverent rumble. It wasn't a command it was a plea.
"Don't change."
He let one hand slide down, his fingers skimming over the soft cotton of his own shirt before his palm came to rest on the bare skin of Zhiyuan's thigh, just above where the skirt's hem ended. The touch was electric for both of them.
Zhiyuan gasped, his back arching off the bed slightly. A jolt of sensation shot through him. He was completely exposed, more vulnerable than he'd ever been, and the look of pure, heated admiration in Yichen's eyes was overwhelming.
"Yichen, please…" he begged, his voice trembling. He brought the back of his own hand to his mouth and bit down on it, a desperate attempt to stifle any betraying sound
But Yichen was lost in the sensation, in the unbelievable reality of it. He leaned down, his lips brushing the inside of Zhiyuan's knee, then higher, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of his thigh in a gentle, possessive bite.
A sharp, muffled cry escaped Zhiyuan behind his hand. His legs trembled. "Let me go… I need to change…" he whimpered, the protest weak and unconvincing even to his own ears.
Yichen looked up, his eyes dark and serious. He moved up Zhiyuan's body until their faces were inches apart. He gently pried Zhiyuan's hand away from his mouth.
"Why?" Yichen whispered, his breath warm against Zhiyuan's lips. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Don't you dare hide from me."
And in that moment, with the morning sun painting them in gold, any last thought of changing, of hiding this secret, fragile part of himself, melted away under the heat of Yichen's unwavering gaze.
Zhiyuan stared up at him, his breath catching. The fear of being seen as 'weird' evaporated under the sheer intensity of Yichen's look. There was no judgment, no mockery. Only awe, and a heat that matched his own.
"You… you really don't think it's strange?" Zhiyuan whispered, his voice barely there.
Yichen shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving his. "Strange? Bao bei, you could wear a potato sack and I'd think you were a masterpiece."
He let his fingers trail lightly over the silky fabric of the skirt, his touch feather-light. "But this… this is something else. It's soft. Like you."
He leaned down again, this time to press a soft kiss to the corner of Zhiyuan's mouth. "Where did you even find it?"
Zhiyuan's cheeks flushed anew. "In… in my father's room. In a box. With his things."
Understanding dawned in Yichen's eyes, softening them further. He kissed him again, deeper this time, a slow, savoring kiss that spoke of acceptance and a love that encompassed every part of him past, present, and secrets yet uncovered
When he pulled back, he was smiling, a real, unguarded smile that made his bruised face look boyish. "So you're telling me I have to compete with your dad's fashion sense now? That's not fair."
A genuine laugh burst from Zhiyuan, the sound light and free. The tension shattered. He shoved at Yichen's shoulder playfully. "Shut up. Your fashion sense is 'black t-shirt' and 'another black t-shirt'."
Yichen chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and into Zhiyuan's. He shifted to lie beside him, pulling Zhiyuan into his arms so they were face to face on the pillows. He kept one hand resting lightly on Zhiyuan's hip, over the skirt.
"Seriously, though," Yichen said, his tone turning soft and sincere. "Thank you."
"For what?" Zhiyuan asked, nuzzling closer.
"For trusting me enough to show me."
Yichen brushed a strand of hair from Zhiyuan's forehead. "For letting me see all of you. Even the parts you're still figuring out."
Zhiyuan's heart felt so full it might burst.
He hid his face in Yichen's neck, inhaling his familiar, comforting scent. "Don't get used to it," he mumbled, but he was smiling. "It might just be a one-time thing."
"Mmhmm," Yichen hummed, clearly not believing him for a second. He held him close, content to just lie there in the quiet morning, the whisper of silk between them just another thread in the tapestry of their messy, complicated, beautiful love.
After their quiet morning, Yichen had carried Zhiyuan to the shower, the skirt carefully placed aside, their closeness washing away any lingering shadows from the night before. Fresh and dressed in simple clothes, they made their way downstairs.
Breakfast was on the table. The atmosphere was tense but calm. Zhenlong watched them enter, his expression unreadable. As they sat down, he cleared his throat.
"Did you… think about my plan?" Zhenlong asked carefully, his eyes flicking between them. He meant the plan to use Yichen as bait or to take a more aggressive, direct approach against Ruifen.
Zhiyuan didn't look up from pouring tea. His voice was firm. "No. I won't let anyone take that kind of risk. We will think about something else."
Yichen, sitting beside him, shifted uncomfortably. He knew the plan was dangerous, but he also felt the pressing weight of the threat. "But Zhiyuan… we might not have a choice. Ruifen has Meilin. She's searching everywhere. If we don't act fast…"
Dr. Shen, trying to be the voice of reason, added gently, "Zhiyuan, you have to trust us. We've been handling these kinds of situations for a long time. We promise, we won't let anyone get seriously hurt. We will have layers of protection."
Zhiyuan finally looked up, but not at Dr. Shen or his father. He turned his gaze to Yichen. He searched his face the fading bruises, the earnest worry in his eyes, the unwavering readiness to be the shield.
He saw the soldier, the protector, willing to walk into danger. But he also saw the man who had held him that morning, who had looked at him with awe and not judgment.
"Trust you?" Zhiyuan said softly, his question aimed directly at Yichen.
"I do trust you. I trust you to protect me. But I need you to trust me too. Trust that I don't want your protection if it means you becoming a target they can shoot at freely."
He reached under the table and found Yichen's hand, lacing their fingers together tightly. "We find another way. A smarter way. One where we don't start by sacrificing one of our own. That's what she does. We have to be better."
His words weren't just a refusal. They were a new directive. They were the CEO making a strategic decision, and the partner drawing a line in the sand. The plan was vetoed. They would need a new one.
Inthe City
Ruifen was adjusting her suit jacket, about to enter a high-stakes board meeting to solidify her control, when Guo Lian rushed up, her usually stoic face tight with urgency.
"Ma'am. We have a sighting. Of Yichen."
Ruifen froze, then slowly turned. "Where?"
"In the old market district. One of our men saw him heading towards a pharmacy. He was sneaking around, keeping his head down. He vanished into the crowd near the textile alley."
A cold, calculating smile touched Ruifen's lips. "Yichen wouldn't go to pharmacies for himself. If he's here, that means Zhiyuan is close. I'm sure he's buying medicine for him." Her eyes hardened.
"Go. Search that entire area. Now. Comb every street, every shop, every damn hole. Find him. Wherever Yichen is, Zhiyuan will be there too. We need to find them before that little cockroach decides to show his face to the world."
Guo Lian gave a sharp nod. "Understood." She turned and barked orders into her comms, mobilizing the search team.
Ruifen took a deep breath, smoothing her expression into one of cool authority before pushing through the boardroom doors. But her mind was no longer on the meeting. It was on the hunt.
In a Safe House Apartment:
In a dusty, old apartment on the edge of the market district, Yichen had his phone pressed to his ear. He was peering through a crack in the blinds.
"Dr. Shen, did you find it? Any location of the servants?" he asked, his voice low.
On the other end, Dr. Shen sounded weary and frustrated. "No. We've hit dead ends. They're well hidden. We have no choice now. We have to move to Plan B."
Yichen's jaw tightened. Plan B was the one Zhiyuan hated. The riskier one. But time was up. "Okay," he said, resignation in his voice. "We do it tonight. Be ready."
He ended the call. He pulled a baseball cap low over his eyes and shrugged on a nondescript coat. His job now was to be the visible mouse, leading the cat away from the real trap.
He slipped out of the apartment and melted into the bustling market crowd. His sharp eyes quickly picked out Guo Lian's men professional, moving with purpose, scanning faces.
He kept his head down, acting casual, just another person in the crowd. He bought a bottle of water from a stall, his movements calm.
But one of the searchers, a sharp-eyed man, paused. Something about the way this person held himself… too alert, too controlled for a regular shopper. The man's gaze lingered.
Yichen felt the scrutiny. Damn it. He didn't look back. He just started walking, a little faster, weaving through the throng of people.
The sharp-eyed man spoke into his wrist, and suddenly, the casual search turned focused. Heads turned. Yichen could feel multiple pairs of eyes locking onto him.
He stopped pretending. He shoved past a cart, breaking into a run.
"THERE! GET HIM!" a voice shouted.
The chase was on. Yichen became a blur, ducking under awnings, vaulting over low walls, pushing through startled crowds. Guo Lian's men were good, fanning out to cut him off.
Dr. Shen, watching from a different vantage point, saw the chase begin. His part of the mission was now critical. He turned and hurried away, leaving Yichen to play the dangerous game of bait.
Yichen rounded a corner into a narrower, quieter alley a mistake. It was a dead end. He skidded to a halt, his back to the brick wall.
Five of Guo Lian's men closed in, blocking the only exit. They didn't have guns out in the open market, but their hands were near hidden weapons, their stances ready for a fight.
Yichen slowly raised his hands, not in surrender, but settling into a fighting stance. The cap shadowed his eyes, but a grim smile touched his lips. The trap was set. Now he just had to survive long enough for it to spring.
The alley was a tight, shadowy corridor. The five men fanned out, cutting off any escape. The leader, a man with a scar down his cheek, cracked his knuckles.
"Chen Yichen," Scar-face said. "The boss has been looking for you. Come quietly. It'll be easier."
Yichen didn't answer. He calculated distances, weaknesses. The man on the far left had a slight limp. The one on the right was bigger, slower. He needed to create an opening.
"Easy's not really my style," Yichen finally said, his voice a low growl.
He moved first. A feint toward Scar-face, then a explosive pivot to the left. His foot snapped out, a vicious kick to the knee of the man with the limp. A sickening pop and a scream echoed in the alley as the man went down.
Chaos erupted.
The other four surged forward. Yichen became a whirlwind of controlled violence. He blocked a punch from the big man, using the momentum to throw him into the one coming up behind. They crashed into a pile of trash cans with a deafening clatter.
A knife flashed in the hand of a third man. Yichen sidestepped, grabbed the attacker's wrist, and twisted hard until the bone snapped. The knife clattered to the ground.
But he couldn't watch everyone. A heavy blow from behind a metal pipe caught him across the shoulders. Pain exploded down his spine, driving him to his knees.
Scar-face loomed over him, pulling out a syringe filled with a clear liquid.