Shu Yao stepped out of Bai Qi's office, the tray trembling in his hand.
His pulse thudded beneath the raw skin of his burnt hand. Every step sent a shock of pain through him, but he held the tray carefully, not daring to drop the shards of porcelain.
The hallway was long, almost echoing with its own silence.
Light spilled across the marble floor in cold stripes, and the sound of his uneven breathing seemed too loud in that sterile quiet.
Then a shadow fell across him.
He looked up.
Armin.
For a moment, Shu Yao froze — his eyes wide, lips slightly parted.
Then he lowered his head at once, clutching the tray tighter.
"Excuse me," he murmured, voice thin as air.
Armin said nothing. He only stepped aside, watching as Shu Yao passed him — the young man's hand blistered, the cuff of his sleeve sticking to damp, ruined skin. The faint sound of glass clinking against metal followed Shu Yao down the corridor until the elevator swallowed him from view.
Armin's jaw tightened. His usually calm, glacial eyes darkened as he turned toward the door of Bai Qi's office.
He didn't knock.
The door opened with a soft click.
Bai Qi didn't even glance up. He was typing — sharp, rhythmic, merciless keystrokes.
"What the hell do you want again?" he said, the tone almost bored, almost cruel — the kind he used only for Shu Yao.
There was no answer.
When Bai Qi finally lifted his gaze, the face waiting for him wasn't the one he expected.
"Armin," he said flatly, leaning back in his chair. "Shouldn't you be in a meeting?"
Armin stepped closer to the desk. "What did you do?"
Bai Qi's brows drew together. "What do you mean what I did?"
"Your assistant," Armin said, voice low but sharp. "His hand. It was burnt."
Bai Qi's eyes narrowed, but his tone didn't change. "He dropped a mug of coffee. His own carelessness."
Armin stared at him, disbelieving. "Carelessness?"
Bai Qi shrugged. "He's clumsy, and he needs to learn. That's all."
Armin's voice rose — something rare for him. "Bai Qi, what are you even becoming?"
The room felt smaller suddenly — the air dense, the silence trembling between them.
Bai Qi met his half-brother's eyes, his own dark and unflinching. "Since when has my half-brother started pitying my assistant?"
Armin's jaw tightened. "I'm not talking about pity."
"Then what?" Bai Qi asked, tone lazy but eyes flickering like flint.
Armin leaned forward, his hands pressed flat against the desk. "I'm talking about humanity, Bai Qi. Have you lost all of it?"
For a long moment, Bai Qi didn't move.
Then he laughed — a quiet, bitter sound that cracked halfway through.
"Humanity?" he repeated. "I lost that the day my beloved was taken from me."
Armin took a slow step back. His voice softened, but the words cut deeper. "So that's it. You'll punish the world for your grief?"
Bai Qi's gaze hardened, his expression almost beautiful in its cruelty. "I'll punish those all. Who took Qing Yue from me."
Armin's eyes widened. "You mean you'll punish your assistance—?"
"Indeed," Bai Qi interrupted sharply.
Silence pulsed again.
Armin stared at him for a long moment, searching his brother's face for even a flicker of remorse. There was none. Only exhaustion hidden beneath arrogance.
"I can't believe You Bai qi," Armin whispered. "You've become someone else entirely."
"Someone else?" Bai Qi's voice was ice. "No, Armin. I've become what he actually made me."
Armin turned toward the door, fury trembling in his shoulders. "Mark my words, Bai Qi. You'll regret this. Not today. But you will. One day you'll realize what you destroyed, and it won't be about your pride. It'll be something far greater."
Bai Qi's lips curved into a humorless smile. "I'll rather die than forgive him."
"This isn't about forgiveness," Armin said, pausing in the doorway. "It's about remembering you're still human."
Bai Qi's voice cracked through the silence. "I've had enough of your sermons. You know nothing about my pain, Armin. Now get out."
For a second, Armin stood there — the cold light slicing across his face, his eyes full of something dangerously close to sorrow.
Then he turned and shut the door quietly behind him.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Bai Qi sat back in his chair, eyes fixed on the closed door. His smirk trembled — not from amusement, but something brittle, fragile.
"So you too," he murmured, voice low. "You've joined Uncle's side, haven't you? You hated him the moment I introduced him to you. And now you are preaching compassion?"
He laughed once, softly — a fractured sound.
"What the hell were those words supposed to mean?"
His hand went to his hair, gripping it tightly. The knuckles whitened. His breath came uneven — not from anger, but something deeper.
Slowly, he let go, pressing his palms to his face as if trying to scrub the emotion off.
The office around him felt colder now — too quiet, too still.
When he finally spoke again, it was almost a whisper.
"No matter what happens," he said, "I'll always despise him."
He stared at the reflection of himself in the black surface of the mahagony desk— a man dressed in perfection, but hollow behind the glass.
The corridor outside Bai Qi's office was silent again — that terrible, heavy silence that pressed against the ribs and made breath feel like a burden.
Shu Yao stood before the door, one hand trembling over the tray where there placed another porcelain mug. His fingers ached, red and swollen from the earlier burn, the skin taut and angry where it blistered. But he held it tighter — too tight — as if holding it firmly enough could stop it from betraying him again.
He could feel every heartbeat pulsing inside the wound.
It throbbed like guilt, hot and deep.
He drew one small breath, steadied himself, and knocked.
The voice that came from within was not calm this time. It was low, clipped, threaded with fury barely restrained.
"What now?"
The sound struck through him. But he opened the door anyway.
Inside, Bai Qi sat behind his mahogany desk, the light from the wide glass window cutting sharp lines across his face. His expression was carved from ice — no softness, no grace, only the sculpted perfection of rage held in silence.
Shu Yao entered with his head lowered.
He walked to the desk, each step slow, reverent, careful not to spill. the heat seeped through to his raw skin. His knuckles were pale, his lips tinged blue from the air conditioner's constant hiss. He swallowed once, twice, as if forcing down pain.
When Shu Yao placed the tray down before him, his hand trembled just slightly. The steam curled upward, ghostly against the chill.
Bai Qi looked up, eyes flashing dark and livid.
"You again," he said, voice thin and lethal. "Get the hell out of here. You've already ruined my mood."
Shu Yao lowered his head. "I'm sorry, sir," he murmured, the words nearly swallowed by the hum of the air conditioner.
But before either could speak again, the door opened without a knock.
A gust of colder air swept in, and with it—George.
He filled the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a heavy German coat lined with fur. His eyes, a cutting shade of green, softened the moment they landed on Shu Yao. "Didn't I say not to come to work today?" he said, voice both stern and alarmed.
Shu Yao tried to lowered his gaze, a ghost of himself. "I… I."
His voice was faint, breath uneven. The fever had painted a sheen of sweat on his skin despite the freezing air.
George's brow furrowed as he approached, boots silent on the polished floor. He placed his palm against Shu Yao's forehead—and his eyes widened. "ohh dear Lord… Shu Yao, you're burning up!"
From behind the desk came a dry, sharp voice.
"Uncle, could you stop pampering my assistant, he is not some four years old baby?"
George turned toward Bai Qi, disbelief flickering in his gaze. "Pampering?" he repeated slowly. "Have you know, that he is sick for almost three days?"
Bai Qi leaned back in his chair, lips curving into something close to a sneer. "Since he's my assistant, he'll do what I ask. Simple as that."
George's patience thinned like ice under strain. "You call this work?" His voice cracked the silence, sharp and accusing.
Shu Yao flinched, instinctively tucking his left hand behind him — a desperate, trembling motion, as though hiding a secret that might burn the world itself.
But George had already seen it. His eyes narrowed, sharp with sudden suspicion. "Why are you keep hiding your hand, Shu Yao?"
"I—" Shu Yao began, but the word barely left his lips before George reached forward and seized his wrist.
The boy's breath caught. For a fleeting second, his body went rigid — like a bird caught mid-flight, wings pinned in fear.
And a breath left the room.
George froze, staring at the ruin of flesh before him — the angry red burns, the blistered skin that spoke of boiling pain. His own breath turned to smoke in his throat.
"From above God…" he whispered, his voice raw. "What have you done to your hand?"
The pattern of the burn looked like a cruel signature of someone's indifference. Shu Yao immediately pulled back, clutching his hand to his chest.
Shu Yao lowered his gaze, the shadow of shame softening his lashes. His voice came out like a broken reed, trembling and small. "It is.… nothing, Mr George. — an accident."
George's gaze snapped to Bai Qi. "Did you do this?"
Before Bai Qi could speak, Shu Yao shook his head desperately. It was a plea—don't accuse him. It has nothing to do with Bai qi.
"It was his first time fetching coffee," Bai Qi said coolly. "He'll learned it or maybe Not."
George's jaw clenched. His stare could have carved through marble. "You're unbelievable," he muttered. "I didn't expect cruelty from you of all people."
Something dark flashed across Bai Qi's face. "So you really are on his side?" His tone dripped with venom. "Fine. Let him be your precious charity case—but not under my roof."
"Bai Qi," George said quietly, "I didn't come here to argue. But you're crossing the lines."
"Crossing lines?" Bai Qi laughed—a short, humorless sound. "He fainted once. That wasn't my problem. He called you for help. Still not my problem without my permission."
"What is actually wrong with you?" George snapped. His voice filled the room, echoing against the walls. "What's happening to you?"
"What is happening to me huh?, you are helping someone who stole my warmth" Bai Qi's voice dropped to a dangerous calm. "You want to know what I saw? I saw you carrying him into your car, I saw it with my own damn eyes."
even I forbade him to not seek help.
George froze. "You—"
"Don't bother denying it." Bai Qi's words sliced through him. "You think I didn't see? You've been meddling. Everyone is meddling."
Enough!" George's control snapped. "You're still a minor, Bai Qi! Have you forgotten how to speak to your elders?"
Shu Yao took a small step forward, trying to intervene, but his voice caught in his throat. Bai Qi had forbidden him from asking for help—had forbidden him from speaking out of turn.
"I'll inform your parents about this," George said, fury flashing in his green eyes.
"Oh, do it," Bai Qi spat, standing so suddenly that his chair scraped against the floor. "I don't care!"
Shu Yao's breathing hitched. His vision blurred at the edges. The fever pulsed in his skull like a drumbeat.
"You have no right to speak between me and my assistant," Bai Qi snarled, closing the distance between them. "Stay out of it."
George stared at him, disbelief giving way to anger. "What have you become, Bai Qi? I respect you because you are my nephew. Don't make me lose that."
"Respect?" Bai Qi's voice cracked like ice. "Where was that respect when you were carrying him like he mattered more than me?"
"Because he's human!" George roared.
Bai Qi's expression twisted. "Human for you but, For me, he's a dog—nothing else."
That broke something in George. His hand rose before he could think, fury and disappointment driving it forward—a slap meant to shake sense into his nephew.
But in the blink of an eye, another body moved between them.
The sound of skin striking skin split the air.
Shu Yao's head turned with the force of the blow. The world tilted, the floor spun. His knees buckled, and he collapsed.
George froze. For a moment, no one breathed.
Then he saw it—the thin line of blood tracing from the corner of Shu Yao's mouth, the stunned stillness in his eyes. His blistered hand hung limply at his side.
"Shu Yao…" George's voice broke. "Oh Dear God…"