Bai Qi jolted upright, gasping as if breaking the surface of deep water.
His obsidian eyes were wide, the whites rimmed with a feverish red. His wolf-cut hair was a disheveled mess of ink-black strands sticking to his damp forehead. His heart hammered against his ribs—a frantic, caged bird.
No.
Then he looked at his hands.
His fingers trembled.
His palms were cold.
His pulse was chaos.
He dragged one hand up to his temple, squeezing it hard.
"No… this couldn't be… it's impossible—" His voice cracked with pure rejection. "Shu… Shu Yao? All this time—? No. No. No."
The memory of the dream—or was it a memory of reality?—assaulted him. The confession. The look in those autumn eyes.
A wave of nausea rolled over him, violent and acidic.
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the dream. Maybe it was both.
Bai Qi scrambled out of bed, his legs tangling in the silk sheets, and lurched toward the bathroom. He barely reached the porcelain basin before he retched, his body convulsing as he purged the toxicity of the previous night's wine.
The bitterness burned his throat. The moment he caught a breath, he spat again, chest heaving, mind splitting.
And like an idiot—
like a complete fool—
he blamed Shu Yao.
"That disgusting confession—" he whispered, shaking, "—making me nauseous… ridiculous…"
He flushed, braced himself against the sink, and stared into the mirror. His reflection looked like a man cornered by something he didn't know how to fight.
"There is no Qing Yue," he muttered, but the words trembled at the edges, as if they were cutting him on the way out.
He turned on the faucet. Cold water splashed over his face, but it didn't calm him.
He braced both palms against the cold marble sink, head bowed. Water dripped from his jawline, sliding down the hollow of his throat like tiny, icy knives.
"Qing Yue…"
Her name escaped him again—this time as a breath, not a sentence.
A plea more than a memory.
His reflection flickered in the misted mirror. Wet lashes. Red-rimmed eyes. A man cracked open by his own ghosts.
"I can't even think straight without you."
His voice wavered, raw and ragged.
"You were the only one who made sense. The only one who… kept me human."
He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head slowly, violently—like he could rattle the grief loose.
"But you're not here," he whispered. "You're not here and I—"
A trembling inhale cut him off.
"I am nothing without you. Nothing but a mess that keeps drowning and pretending it's fine."
"Qing Yue… tell me what I'm supposed to do."
He slammed his fist into the marble. His bandaged hand screamed with pain, but he didn't even flinch.
"I need that journal," he growled. "I will get it. And if I find anything—anything disgusting—if that brat really crossed that line…"
He didn't finish the thought.
He didn't need to.
He tore off his clothes and threw it aside, stepping into the shower. Steam rose around him, but his thoughts stayed boiling hot. Every memory shoved itself to the front, every suspicion twisting deeper.
Shen Haoxuan's voice echoed next.
"Shu Yao…"
Bai Qi froze.
That tone. That familiarity.
That claim.
He nearly choked on the thought.
"No way— absolutely not—did Shu… that brat… with Shen?" His face drained of color. "I'll kill both of them, if they really has something between each other."
He pushed the thought away, but it stuck like a thorn.
He finished showering and dressed, though every button he fastened felt like he was tying knots inside his chest.
When he sat at the dining table, picking at his breakfast with lethal precision.
He sliced a piece of sausage, but before he could lift the fork, a memory struck him. It was a flash of a face.
Shen Haoxuan.
Bai Qi froze. He remembered the way Shen had looked at Shu Yao. The familiarity. The way he had said his name.
Bai Qi's eyes widened, the pupils contracting. He shoved a piece of bread into his mouth, chewing aggressively, nearly choking as the realization took root.
His mind raced, connecting dots that didn't exist. Does Shu Yao have a relationship with Shen? Is that why he's so secretive? Is that why Shen was lurking around yesterday?
Then Armin walked in, immaculate as usual.
"Good morning," he said.
Bai Qi didn't bother responding.
Armin began carefully, straightening the cuffs of his suit, "you were… significantly intoxicated last night."
Bai Qi scoffed, "I can do anything I want. I drank too much. What is so wrong about that?"
Armin lifted a brow. "You were murmuring that girl's name. Over and over."
Bai Qi stiffened. Shame crawled up his spine like a cold hand.
"It's none of your concern," he muttered, shoving back his chair.
Armin exhaled quietly. His mouth opening to speak, but he swallowed the words. He wanted to tell him about the schedule, that his uncle was in a business meeting, that Ming Su was arriving today. He wanted to ask what Bai Qi planned to do.
But the man walking away wasn't the Bai Qi he knew. He had become ten times more stubborn, a stranger consumed by his own darkness.
Armin shook his head, a heavy sigh escaping him. "I don't recognize you anymore, my brother."
MEANWHILE, SHU YAO
Shu Yao had been up since dawn. His body still felt weak, but he pushed through it. His hair was freshly combed, falling in soft autumn strands down the sides of his face. It had grown long—too long—but he never cut it. Hair held memories. And memories were all he had left.
"Juju," he whispered, tying the last knot of his shoelaces.
The cat blinked sleepily, curled like a small orange sun on his blanket.
Shu Yao forced a smile. "I'll be back soon."
He walked outside, locking his door with trembling fingers. The taxi he'd called waited at the curb. Before getting in, he inhaled deeply.
"It will be fine," he whispered to himself.
But his voice didn't sound convinced.
Inside the taxi, the world passed by in streaks of grey and blue. He clasped his hands together tightly, trying not to think about yesterday… or the elevator… or the file… or what Bai Qi might look like today.
His throat felt dry.
He feared everything.
Rothenberg Industries loomed against the skyline, a monolith of glass and steel.
Shu Yao stepped off the taxi and walked into the towering building, head lowered. People passed him, chatting, laughing, living lives untouched by yesterday's chaos. He moved silently through the lobby. his presence unobtrusive. He reached the elevator banks, watching the digital numbers flicker as the cars ascended.
He took a step forward, then froze.
The memory of the elevator, the feeling of being trapped with Bai Qi's volatile temper—paralyzed him. His breath hitched.
I can't.
Shu Yao turned sharply toward the fire exit. He would rather exhaust himself physically than endure the mental torture of that metal box.
He arranged Bai Qi's schedule with the precision of someone stitching their own wound shut. Every meeting, every signature slot, every break was lined up perfectly on the tablet screen — so perfect that the reflection of his trembling hands looked almost offensive against it.
When he finished, Shu Yao sat there for a long moment.
Just breathing.
Just staring at the screen.
His fingers hovered above the tablet as if debating whether to erase everything he'd done. Whether to erase himself. Whether disappearing quietly might solve the ache in his chest and the disaster of yesterday.
He swallowed hard.
He couldn't deliver it in person… could he?
The elevator flashed across his mind — the claustrophobic panic, the loss of air, the grip he couldn't forget. His breath hitched as if some invisible hand tightened over his lungs all over again.
He closed his eyes, steadying himself.
Slowly… painfully… he stood.
His legs felt light, like they didn't belong to him.
He picked up the tablet, holding it against his chest for a moment as if it were a shield. Or a confession. Or both.
"I'll just… place it on his desk," he whispered to himself. "That's all. Just place it there… and leave."
His decision wobbled inside him, but he forced his feet forward.
If the elevator terrified him, then he'd use the stairs.
Step by step, breath by breath, he climbed the entire way. His heartbeat was too loud, his palms slick with cold sweat, but he refused to stop.
When he finally reached Bai Qi's office floor, he stood outside the double doors like a man preparing to walk through fire.
He pushed them open gently.
The office was immaculate, silent, almost intimidating in its order — the gleaming mahogany desk, the crimson German rug, the faint scent of Bai Qi's cologne still lingering in the air.
Shu Yao approached the desk slowly, reverently, like approaching an altar that did not want him there.
He set the tablet down.
Carefully.
Quietly.
As if placing something breakable.
Then he backed away from the desk, retreating like a ghost who hoped not to be noticed.
Before Bai Qi arrived.
Before anything else could shatter.
Shu Yao turned to leave, his heart already seeking the safety of the stairwell, but then—
Ding.
The elevator chime sliced through the silence like a guillotine blade.
Shu Yao froze. His breath hitched in his throat, sealing his lungs.
He stared at the heavy double doors, his pupils trembling. Panic, cold and visceral, flooded his veins. There was nowhere to hide, no shadow deep enough to swallow him whole. He was trapped in the lion's den, and the lion had returned.
The fear of seeing Bai Qi—of witnessing the hatred that had pooled in those obsidian eyes yesterday—made the room spin.
Shu Yao gulped, the sound loud in the oppressive quiet. He took a tentative step back, his legs feeling like water, just as the handle turned.
The doors swung open slowly, revealing the architect of his misery.
Bai Qi stood on the threshold. He looked less like a upcoming young CEO and more like a boy haunted by phantoms.
His face was pale, etched with the exhaustion of a sleepless night and the burden of unanswered questions. He carried the weight of his nightmares on his shoulders, a dark shroud that seemed to dim the morning light.
Shu Yao's heart lurched, a painful spasm against his ribs. It hurt to look at him. Even his own heart, battered and bruised, couldn't withstand the sight of Bai Qi in such disarray.
Bai Qi stiffened the moment he saw the figure by his desk.
Shu Yao.
The name sparked a fuse in Bai Qi's mind. There he was. The source of the nausea. The keeper of the journal. The solution to the riddle that had choked him at breakfast.
Bai Qi stepped forward, the door clicking shut behind him. The air between them instantly charged with static tension.
Before Bai Qi could unleash the storm, Shu Yao squeezed his eyes shut, his hands trembling at his sides.
"I… I am sorry," Shu Yao stammered, his voice brittle. "I… I didn't do anything. I was just here to give the schedule. I was leaving."
Bai Qi didn't listen. The apology was white noise. He curled his lip, a cruel sneer twisting his handsome features.
"Oh, really?" Bai Qi's voice was low, vibrating with mockery. "Just the schedule? Or did you plan to see me from another vision? Perhaps through disgusting eyes?"
Shu Yao's eyes snapped open, wide and startled. He didn't understand the cryptic accusation. The confusion paralyzed him.
"I… I am sorry, sir," he whispered, lowering his head in submission. "I don't—"
Bai Qi moved.
Bai Qi moved.
He crossed the room with predatory speed, closing the distance before Shu Yao could draw a breath. He reached out and seized Shu Yao's wrist, his grip iron-tight, possessive and angry.
"Ah!" Shu Yao gasped, horrified by the sudden violence. He tried to pull back, but he was anchored.
"Stop the act," Bai Qi hissed, dragging Shu Yao a step closer until he could see the fear dilating the other man's pupils. "Get to the point already."
Shu Yao shook, his mind fragmenting under the pressure. "The point? I…"
"I want the truth," Bai Qi demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl.
"What… what truth?" Shu Yao choked out, his mind racing. What does he know? What is he asking?
Bai Qi tightened his grip, his eyes burning into Shu Yao's soul. It wasn't a request.
It wasn't a question.
It was an ultimatum.