Pain didn't always come with screams.
Sometimes, it sat quietly in your bones—breathing. Waiting. Shu yao sat still, his
ankle pulsing like a drum beneath silk skin, but he didn't say a word.
Bai Qi crouched in front of him, brow furrowed, watching his face for a reaction.
"How does it feel now?" he asked, brushing his thumb lightly against Shu Yao's foot.
Shu Yao turned his head away.
His voice was steady, but stripped of breath. "It's okay… The boss is waiting."
Bai Qi blinked, sensing something wasn't right, but his pride or perhaps guilt stopped him from pressing further. He bit his tongue—literally—jaw clenching for half a heartbeat before he stood.
"Yes. Right. I should go."
He turned, ready to vanish into the long way of his father's empire, but paused just a step away.
"Oh… wait," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "How was the interview? I hope my father wasn't too harsh on you."
Shu Yao hesitated.
Then, with effort, the words left him like a reluctant truth. "I… I got selected."
Bai Qi froze mid-step.
"What?"
His voice came out low—somewhere between surprise and disbelief.
Shu Yao didn't look at him.
"I start tomorrow."
Bai Qi stared at him a moment longer, as if trying to translate something impossible into logic. Then his lips curved—not a smirk, but a genuine smile.
"Congratulations."
And then—
He was gone.
Like a gust of wind that left the silence even heavier in its wake.
Shu Yao stayed still for a moment.
Too long.
The pain now bloomed with clarity—not from the fall, but from Bai Qi's well-meaning, misaligned touch. His ankle throbbed as if it were weeping beneath his skin.
He drew a breath, sharp as glass, and placed his palms beside him.
Then he stood.
The pain exploded.
White. Blinding. Brutal.
It struck like lightning behind his eyes, and for a moment, he swayed—his balance tipping like a fragile statue on a cracked pedestal.
But he didn't fall.
No. Not like this.
Not when he'd made it this far.
He clenched his jaw, each breath tight and deliberate, and began to limp toward the elevator. Every step was a negotiation with agony. His hands trembled as he pressed the button, and once the doors opened, he leaned heavily against the back wall—his breath fogging the steel behind him.
As the lift descended, he closed his eyes.
He didn't want to see the world right now.
It was too bright.
When the doors opened again, the lobby was crowded.
Chatter echoed from men in suits and women with clipped heels—talk of numbers, deadlines, contracts, futures being negotiated in real-time.
Shu Yao kept his head down.
He didn't look at them.
He couldn't.
He took each step as if walking across fire, limping through a battlefield made of marble and silence. He didn't stop. He didn't let the pain win.
He reached the glass doors just as the woman at the counter spotted him again.
"How was your meeting with the boss?" she asked cheerfully.
Shu Yao summoned a smile—not real, not fake, just… survival.
"It went very well."
She beamed. "Congratulations then! We're lucky to have you!"
He nodded, murmured a quiet "Thank you," and then the glass door open with more force than necessary.
Outside, the air hit him like a slap.
Clean. Cold. Honest.
He didn't want anyone to see the limp in his steps—the cracked rhythm of someone who was barely standing, barely stitched together.
So he veered toward a stone bench near the front walkway and sat down carefully.
The file folder rested on his lap, but he wasn't holding it anymore.
He pulled out his phone, fingers slightly shaking, and booked a cab.
Then—
He breathed.
Just sat there, letting the ache settle into his bones like a sad lullaby.
His thoughts floated toward the same name again.
Bai Qi.
It was always Bai Qi.
Like a constellation that haunted every corner of his sky.
Every time he thought he'd escaped the gravity, he was pulled back—whether by fate, or memory, or something worse: hope.
And now?
Even hurt like this—ankle throbbing, heart bruised, pride shattered—
He smiled.
A small, pitiful smile that came from a place deeper than the wound.
Because no matter how far he ran, no matter how hard he tried to rewrite the story—
It would be Bai Qi.
It would always be Bai Qi.
He glanced down at his ankle.
Swollen now. The fabric of his sock tight against the skin.
If Bai Qi had done this before, then why… why had he twisted it the wrong way?
Shu Yao let his hand drift to it, fingers brushing gently against the pulsing bruise.
Even that soft touch made him suck in a breath.
The pain was sharp.
But it wasn't what hurt the most.
It was that he'd pushed himself this far—
And no one noticed.
The heavy glass door clicked shut behind Bai Qi with a muted finality as he entered his father's office. The space smelled faintly of sandalwood and old paper, and the air felt cooler here—more serious, like even oxygen was required to ask permission before entering.
His father looked up from behind a fortress of paperwork. "How many times have I told you to knock first before barging in?"
Bai Qi rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching in a half-smile. He made his way to the chair opposite his father's desk and sat down with exaggerated ease.
"Father, why are you doing this to me?" he asked, voice light but laced with honest frustration. "I'm still growing up and you're already tossing me into the fire."
The older man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "From tomorrow on, you'll handle every meeting that crosses this office. No more dodging. No more delays."
That made Bai Qi blink. He leaned forward, half-joking, half-serious. "Why are you crowning me monarch instead of letting me become a husband first?"
His father's glare was sharp enough to slice marble.
Bai Qi raised his hands in mock surrender. "Kidding. Just kidding. You know, back when you were my age, you were out on dates. Now when it's my turn, you're blocking every possible escape."
Another glare. This one came with a sigh that felt like it carried years.
Finally, Bai Qi slumped. "Alright. Fine. I'll do what you say. I'll take the meetings. I'll be the prince."
His father gave a curt nod. "You were late today. Don't make a habit of it."
Bai Qi stood, lips quirking into a smile. "Yes, sir. May I go home now, Your Majesty?"
His father opened his mouth. "There's something I want you to—"
But Bai Qi was already at the door.
"I'll be off now," he said with a grin, disappearing down the hall.
The sound of his father's annoyed voice chased him, but Bai Qi only laughed softly to himself as he pressed the lift button.
The metallic chime of the elevator echoed as the doors slid open. He stepped in, leaned back against the mirrored wall, and began whistling a lazy tune.
Today, he'd stop by Qing Yue's place. He had left too hastily that morning—no proper goodbye. Just that dream still curling around his neck like smoke. He still couldn't fully remember it, only the feeling it left: something soft, something broken. Something that scared him.
When the elevator reached the ground floor, the doors parted with a low chime.
Bai Qi stepped out into the lobby. People moved around him, some bowing their heads in greeting, others whispering about the heir's arrival. He ignored them all, slipping his hands into his pockets and strolling through the automatic glass doors.
Outside, his black car waited. The driver, always poised, opened the back door for him.
Bai Qi slid into the seat and buckled in. As the door shut, he let himself melt into the leather, eyes closing for a brief second of silence.
"Young Master," his driver said gently. "If you don't mind me speaking…"
Bai Qi cracked one eye open. "Go ahead."
"The girl you often visit… she has a brother, right?"
Bai Qi straightened slightly. "Yeah. So?"
"A short while ago, a young man limped out of the building. I believe it was him. He looked like he was in pain. Still sitting outside. On the bench."
A pause.
Bai Qi sat up fully now. His brow furrowed. "Still limping? I thought I—" He stopped. The memory of Shu Yao's swollen ankle surfaced like a bruise in his mind. "Where is he."
The driver pointed.
There.
Shu Yao, still seated on the bench.
Bent slightly forward. One hand on his ankle. One on his lap. He looked like a fallen petal—fragile and misplaced.
Without another word, Bai Qi unfastened his seatbelt and stepped out of the car. The sun caught on his obsidian suit as he walked toward the bench, footsteps echoing with purpose.
"Shu Yao,"
The name slipped from his mouth before he could think.
Shu Yao froze.
His fingers, previously hovering around his ankle, dropped to his side. He didn't turn. Didn't speak.
Bai Qi crouched before him, eye-level now.
"Is it still hurting?"
Shu Yao shook his head, but the way his lips pressed together betrayed him.
Bai Qi reached for the ankle again.
Shu Yao flinched—but didn't stop him.
"It's not hurting anymore," Shu Yao whispered.
Bai Qi frowned. "How can it not hurt when it's this swollen?"
He gently pressed around the area. Shu Yao held his breath, eyes darting away.
Then, before warning—
Another twist.
A sharp cry almost escaped Shu Yao's lips. He bit down on it, trembling slightly.
"Stop it. It's fine," Shu Yao said quickly, pushing Bai Qi's hand away.
Bai Qi pulled back, looking chastened. "Let me drop you home. You can't walk like this."
"I already ordered a cab," Shu Yao replied, his voice tight.
Bai Qi didn't argue. Not out loud.
When the cab finally pulled up, he moved fast.
"I'll handle it," he told the driver. "He's not going alone."
The driver nodded, but confused, as Bai Qi passed him cash. Then He Pulled away his car
Behind him, Shu Yao struggled to rise.
Failed.
Bai Qi turned, his hands already moving.
One arm around Shu Yao's waist. The other gripping his shoulder.
"Lean on me."
Shu Yao tried, but the moment he placed weight on the ankle, pain surged like lightning.
He gasped.
And then—
Again
Without asking—
Bai Qi scooped him up.
One arm under his knees. One at his back.
It is already shown in, Bai qi Manner that "How innocent" He is
Shu Yao's breath hitched. His cheeks flushed.
"P-put me down… it's—this is—"
"You can't walk," Bai Qi said simply.
He didn't look at him.
Didn't flinch.
Just walked.
Through the crowd. Through the whispers.
To the car.
The driver opened the door.
Bai Qi placed Shu Yao into the passenger seat like he was something made of glass. Then slid in beside him.
He reached across—fastened Shu Yao's seatbelt, fingers brushing his chest briefly.
Silence.
Bai Qi glanced at the ankle again. Red. Swollen. Angrily bruising.
He said nothing. Just leaned back.
The car began to move.
And beside him, Shu Yao sat—quiet, hurting, and unable to stop his heart from thudding like a war drum in a glass cage.
Because this—
This was Bai Qi.
And no matter how much he ran…
It would always be him.