The sun had already bowed behind the city's edge, leaving behind a hush of amber gold and soft lilac that glazed the glass towers in dreamlight.
Qing Yue stood outside the tall building—her reflection caught briefly in the curved glass like a painting about to come to life.
She had dressed with care.
A soft pink gown, flowing like mist at her feet, cinched lightly at the waist with a crystal belt that caught the light like starlight. Her short hair, styled with delicate curls and soft extensions, fell just past her shoulders, as if time itself had lingered to frame her innocence. Her big, doll-like eyes sparkled with laughter and hope—the eyes of a girl who knew nothing of heartbreak, only the taste of sweet beginnings.
She stepped forward, heels tapping against marble, her heart ticking in rhythm.
Inside, heads turned.
Eyes widened.
Gasps softened the air as everyone paused—stirred not by power, but beauty.
Qing Yue smiled modestly, cheeks pinker than her dress, unaware that every man watching her had forgotten how to breathe.
And then—
The lift chimed.
From it stepped Bai Qi.
Sharp. Tall. Sculpted in midnight grey and silver, his suit tailored so perfectly it moved like a second skin. One hand rested in his pocket, the other lifted ever so slightly as he walked forward with slow, deliberate confidence.
And his eyes?
Only for her.
Qing Yue gasped, caught between awe and joy. "Bai Qi…"
He reached her, face unreadable—but his movements said everything.
With an elegant bend of his elbow, he offered his forearm to her.
Not a word spoken.
And yet, it was loud enough for the world to hear.
She placed her hand on his arm with the same care a girl places her first wish on a birthday candle—hoping it lasts forever.
The crowd murmured, whispers flickering like wind through silk.
And then, they walked.
Together.
Down the long crystal hallway lined with petals and silver lights—like a royal procession carved from a fairytale. The perfect couple. One of quiet adoration. Of fate that seemed already decided.
Gasps followed them.
Admiration.
Envy.
Wonder.
But from the side—
Near the far archway, half in shadow, half in light—
Someone watched.
And turned away.
Shu Yao.
He had been holding a tray of folded files, not that anyone noticed. His hair, still tied loosely with the pencil, framed his delicate face like stormlight caught in lace.
He didn't flinch.
He didn't cry.
He simply… turned.
His lips, which always looked like they were meant for poetry, pressed into a line too quiet to be seen.
So this is how it is, he thought.
The ache in his ankle had faded.
But the one in his chest?
Still there. Still sharp.
He didn't blame them. Not Qing Yue. Not even Bai Qi.
No, the knife had always been his own.
He had loved in silence.
Worshipped in stillness.
And now, he would suffer in quiet.
All because he gave his heart
—to a man who didn't know it was ever offered.
His hands trembled faintly as he walked away.
And in that hall, dressed in pink and grey, two people smiled as if love had already written their ending.
While one—
In shadow—
Carried the weight of a thousand unwritten pages in his chest.
In the still hush of Bai Qi's private office, time felt as if it had paused to hold its breath.
Qing Yue stood near the window, her lashes fluttering with confusion as Bai Qi reached into his drawer, drew out a black velvet ribbon, and gently tied it across her eyes.
"Bai Qi?" she whispered, her voice a soft chime. "What's going on? Why can't I see?"
But he didn't answer with words—only a smile.
Instead, he stepped forward and took her hand, brushing his lips against her ear in a whisper meant only for her:
"Tonight… I want to show you something you'll never forget."
She didn't protest after that.
Outside, the world had transformed.
The building's courtyard was bathed in twilight splendor. Golden lights looped in curves and arcs like hanging stars; candles flickered along the edge of a red carpet rolled out like a path through a dream. Tables were adorned with pink and white flowers, shimmering glassware, and soft satin.
And every employee stood in hushed anticipation, phones in hand, smiles hovering on their lips—witnesses to a fairytale coming true.
Bai Qi led her gently to the center, where a circular platform awaited under the softest glow of crystal chandeliers suspended from high frames.
He stopped.
Unknotted the ribbon.
And let her see.
At first, darkness.
Then—
Click.
Click.
Click.
Lights flickered one by one across the canopy like stars blinking into existence. Each spotlight illuminated a part of the space: a glowing table with hand-written letters, a wall adorned with every memory they'd made, a stage beneath them that whispered devotion through every delicate flourish.
And in the center—
Him.
Bai Qi dropped to one knee.
Time collapsed.
And Qing Yue gasped.
She brought both hands to her mouth, trembling, eyes wide with disbelief. The silence around them magnified the soft rustle of her dress as she swayed on uncertain feet, overwhelmed by beauty—by this moment.
Tears welled in her eyes and fell without permission, trailing down her cheeks like joy breaking its dam.
Seeing her cry, Bai Qi's brows pinched with worry. He rose to his feet, gently brushing a tear from her cheek.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, voice lower now, more raw. "Did I… upset you?"
Qing Yue choked on a laugh. "You fool…" she whispered, shaking her head. "It's because I'm happy. It's because—" Her voice broke. "You've made me into something I could never forget."
Bai Qi smiled—relieved, radiant—and slipped the ring onto her finger.
It fit like it had always belonged there.
The applause shattered the silence.
Soft at first. Then louder. Then rising like a chorus from the stars themselves.
He pulled her close and hugged her tight, as though she were the dream he had finally chased down and caught in both arms.
But…
Far above them, on a higher floor wrapped in glass and quiet, another scene played out.
Shu Yao stood at the window, gaze fixed on the world below.
His fingers clutched the windowsill, his jaw set not in anger—but in grief carefully hidden beneath composure.
He watched her cry in joy.
And he cried too—but silently.
Yes… he thought. Even tears know which stage they belong to. Hers belong in the spotlight. Mine... in silence.
He didn't move. He couldn't.
Until—
A soft sound behind him.
The door opened again.
Shu Yao turned slightly.
That same stranger. The one from the lift. The one whose German tongue and green eyes kept brushing into his world like wind that refused to stay outside.
He was still here.
He stepped into the room with a hesitant curiosity, glancing at Shu Yao with something like confusion… and interest.
"Ah," the man murmured in German, his voice velvet and cocky. "It's quite the emotional scene, isn't it? You must be moved. Because… the girl just got engaged?"
His words hovered like smoke.
Shu Yao didn't respond at first. His lips parted slightly, breath slow and burning.
Then his gaze turned to steel.
He replied in flawless German, sharp and swift as a blade drawn too fast:
"She's my sister."
The stranger blinked, stunned.
"Ohh…" he said, drawing the word out with a crooked smile. "So that's why."
But Shu Yao had already turned.
He walked to the door, hand hovering near the frame.
"Wait," the man called softly. "Today is a special day for my nephew… and for you too, isn't it?"
Shu Yao didn't respond. But he didn't stop the man from following either.
They descended together—one of elegance, one of shadows.
The crowd below was still reveling. Laughter, chatter, music.
Bai Qi's mother and Shu Yao's were seated together, smiling, glasses clinking with celebratory toasts.
Shu Yao quietly slipped away and settled at a distant table beneath the archway's curve. The lights flickered around him, golden and romantic, but he looked like a statue carved from moonlight—untouched.
A waiter approached. Shu Yao's voice was a low whisper:
"Bring me something strong."
The waiter bowed, poured.
One glass.
Then another.
Then another.
The stranger watched from a few feet away, leaning on a column with a look of curious disbelief.
Can he even handle that much?
But Shu Yao didn't flinch.
Didn't sway.
He simply rested his head on the table, the faintest sigh escaping his lips. Eyes half-lidded, glistening with salt, breath tinged with heartbreak and alcohol.
And then he murmured something.
So soft. So slurred.
The stranger leaned in, trying to catch it.
But he couldn't understand.
It wasn't German.
Wasn't Mandarin, either.
It was the language of grief—a dialect only the heart could speak when it had no more words left to say.
The evening bloomed outside in soft laughter and gilded joy—petals of celebration scattered over silk-topped tables and crystal flutes.
But within the shadowed corridors of the tall glass building, something quieter stirred. Something threaded not with garlands, but questions.
The stranger—green-eyed, golden-haired, and draped in tailored dusk—leaned ever so slightly against the pillar. His gaze, sharp as a noble falcon's, flicked between the crowd and the lone figure curled over a glass.
He'd been watching Bai Qi, his nephew, smiling too earnestly beside the girl in pink—her features striking, delicate, and bright with love.
But it wasn't her that tugged his attention now.
No.
It was the boy sitting in silence a few tables away—face haloed by amber lights, lips parted in mute grief.
At first, it was just curiosity.
Then something… stranger.
The resemblance was subtle, but present. Those lips, that jawline, the delicate curve of the lashes. The girl beside Bai Qi—and this broken figure near the wineglass—they shared blood. That much was now obvious.
Siblings.
Twins?
But what confounded him more was beauty. Beauty so gentle it was disarming. The stranger had been to Paris, to Vienna, to cities drenched in poetry and elegance. But this?
This was something else.
Is it my mind? he wondered. Or are all Chinese people this... beautiful? Male or female, it doesn't matter.
He leaned in slightly, watching the way Shu Yao's lips moved as he whispered something into the glass. Words lost between syllables and suffering.
He couldn't make them out.
And Shu Yao didn't care if anyone could.
Because when his eyes opened again, they found Bai Qi.
Bai Qi, smiling like a prince.
Bai Qi, holding hands with someone else.
Shu Yao looked away—sharply, violently—as if sight itself had betrayed him.
He pushed his chair back.
Slowly.
One trembling leg at a time.
His cheeks were warm—rose-tinted and glazed. The world swayed a little, but not enough to drown him. No, not yet.
He wouldn't allow himself to fall.
Instead, he drifted away from the celebration like a dream departing morning—one step at a time, head low, steps light but strained.
The stranger blinked.
The chair was empty.
The boy was gone.
And something in his chest stirred—curiosity braided with something else he hadn't yet named.
With silent steps, he followed.
Through the corridor that pulsed with distant laughter, across the velvet flooring that softened each footfall like petals falling in reverse.
He found him.
Not collapsed.
Not lost.
But standing before the mirror in the marble-walled bathroom—still, quiet, half-shadowed by moonlight that spilled in through the high arching windows.
Shu Yao's hands were beneath the faucet, catching cold water in delicate palms. He splashed it across his cheeks like he was trying to rinse away the ache. The glittering trails of water ran down his face like melted stars.
And then—
A soft sound.
Tap.
A pencil hit the counter, rolled once, and fell.
Now, his hair—longer than before, grown past the small of his back—unfurled in waves of light brown and gold, cascading behind him like threads of woven dusk.
It fanned outward, catching the soft breath of the air vent and blooming like silk across his shoulder blades. Damp, heavy, trembling.
The stranger paused in the doorway.
For a moment, he wasn't sure if he should look away—or if he even could.
There, in the privacy of solitude, stood Shu Yao.
A portrait of sorrow wrapped in beauty. His back was straight, but his fingers trembled faintly as he gripped the edge of the sink. His head was bowed slightly, like someone preparing for a battle he had no intention of winning.
The stranger took a step forward, the door hissing softly behind him.
And Shu Yao—
He lifted his gaze to the mirror.
Their eyes met.
One green. One dark as rainclouds.
And both held something the other did not yet understand.