The night air was a laceration against the skin, but George didn't feel the cold. He moved with the desperate, staggering speed of a man fleeing a burning place, the fragile weight of Shu Yao held tightly against his chest.
Shu Yao was no longer present in the physical world. His head lolled against George's shoulder, his hand outstretched toward the empty air. In his mind, the garden was still blooming, and a man—his Prince—stood amidst the roses, smiling with a heartbreaking sadness. Shu Yao had never seen Bai Qi look so soft, so free of the obsidian armor he wore for the world.
"Don't go... please, don't go," Shu Yao whispered, his voice a ghost of a sound, wet with the dark copper of his own blood.
George's jaw was a jagged line of stone. "I've got you, shu Yao. I've got you. Just hang on."
Suddenly, a flash of crimson cut through the shadows. Ming Su appeared, sprinting forward with a frantic, uncharacteristic desperation.
"It's not just some mere poison!" she hissed.
George flinched, pulling Shu Yao away from her touch with a predatory snarl.
"It's Belladonna!" she spoke boldly, the word hitting the air like a death knell. "The refined extract! It doesn't just kill, it hollows you out. It leaves the body an empty vessel while the mind burns. If you don't get him to a specialist now, there won't be anything left to save!"
George didn't respond with words. He threw her a look of such concentrated loathing that she stepped back into the shadows. He strode toward his black sedan, barking a command at the driver who had already sensed the catastrophe and swung the door open.
George slid into the backseat, pulling Shu Yao into his lap. The boy was a paradox—burning with a dry, systemic fever while his limbs shivered with a glacial chill.
"To the hospital! Drive!" George roared.
As the engine ignited with a guttural scream, George rubbed Shu Yao's back, his large hands trembling. "I swear, Shu Yao... I won't let anything happen. I swear it on my life."
But Shu Yao was staring out the window at the retreating lights of the villa, his glassy eyes reflecting a world George couldn't see. "Don't go... don't go..."
Back at the estate, the gala was bleeding into its final hours. Bai Mingzhu and Niklas stood at the grand entrance, performing the ritual of the final farewell.
Among the departing guests was a young boy, Lu Yuan, who clutched his mother's silk dress with a grip of iron. He spotted Ming Su standing a few yards away, her face illuminated by her phone's glow.
"Mama, look!" the boy whispered, pointing a small, sticky finger. "It's that rude lady."
His mother quickly swatted his hand down. "Lu Yuan! How many times have I told you it's rude to point someone?"
"But Mama, she yelled at me!" the boy insisted, continuing to munch on a piece of shimmering silver candy.
Bai Qi, who had been standing nearby in a silent, brooding trance, felt his gaze snap to the child. More specifically, to the candies in the boy's hand. They were rare—imported sweets from a specific region in the north, the kind of luxury that wasn't sold in the city.
The kind Shu Yao used to keep in his desk.
Bai Qi approached, his presence casting a long, intimidating shadow. The mother startled and bowed deeply. "Mr. Rothenberg, please forgive him. He's just way too shenanigan."
Bai Qi ignored her, crouching down so he was eye-level with Lu Yuan. "Why aren't you listening to your mother.
The boy pouted, but pointed again at Ming Su. "She's a rude lady. She yelled at me when I fell down."
Bai Qi's expression faltered. He looked back at Ming Su. To the world, she was the perfect girl, but the boy's words were a tiny crack in the porcelain facade.
"And then," Lu Yuan continued, his eyes bright with the memory, "a nice Mister came. He gave me these candies. He was a good Mister. Not like her."
Bai Qi stood up slowly, his hand resting on the boy's shoulder. His heart felt heavy, a dull ache beginning to throb behind his ribs. "Good boys don't accuse others rudely," he said, the words feeling hollow even as he spoke them.
"I'm not lying!" the boy huffed, turning away.
Bai Qi didn't wait for the mother's apology. He turned and walked away from the lights, the laughter, and the lies. He needed the silence of his own room.
The door to Bai Qi's private suite clicked shut, sealing out the world. He stood by the window, watching the last of the cars snake down the driveway like a line of glowing beetles.
"Why, Shu Yao?" he whispered to the glass. "Why do you always have to make me go crazy? Why couldn't you just stay in your place?"
A sharp knock at the door interrupted his spiral. A waiter entered, holding a familiar cardboard box—the one from the office. The one Shen had used to deliver the shredded remnants of Shu Yao's dignity.
"Young Master," the waiter bowed. "An employee from the office brought this. He said it was found when they were clearing the floor."
Bai Qi scoffed, his eyes flashing with irritation. "It's an empty box of trash. Take it to the furnace."
"Forgive me, Master," the waiter said, his voice hesitant. "But the man said... when he was about to throw the box away, he realized it wasn't just trash. There was something else inside".
Bai Qi's brow knitted. He felt a sudden, sharp spike of adrenaline. He gestured to the table. "Leave it. Get out."
The waiter placed the box down and vanished.
Meanwhile at The atmosphere of the hospital was a jagged contrast to the festive lights of the Rothenberg estate. George moved through the sliding doors not like a man, but like a frantic, wounded animal.
Nurses and doctors were already stationed at the entrance, a specialized team alerted by George's desperate call.
The moment George transferred Shu Yao's struggling, trembling frame onto the white stretcher, the boy's body arched. A fresh torrent of dark, viscous blood erupted from his lips, splattering across the pristine linoleum.
"He's convulsing! Get him to Trauma One, now!" the lead doctor shouted.
George was left behind in the wake of the rushing stretcher. He stood outside the double doors of the Emergency Room, his breathing coming in heavy, ragged hitches. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth threatened to shatter. The Tears he refused to let fall blurred his vision.
He had seen Shu Yao heal from so much, only for the boy to be broken again by the very family he served. George's fists curled at his sides. How could she dare?
Inside the sterile chaos of the trauma room, Shu Yao's world was narrowing into a pinprick of light.
He felt the invasive, cold pressure of the charcoal tube being forced down his throat to neutralize the Belladonna. He felt the sharp sting of injections meant to stabilize his erratic heart. But the pain was secondary.
Behind his flickering eyelids, a golden halo began to form. It was warm, unlike the glacial fever in his veins. He saw a silhouette standing in that light—the Prince of his childhood, the boy with the black hair and the kind eyes.
Shu Yao's fingers, which had been clutching the hospital sheets in a death grip, slowly went limp. A small, heartbreaking smile touched his blood-stained lips. He didn't forgive me, his mind whispered.
Then, the darkness claimed him, and the monitors began a long, rhythmic drone.
Back at the Rothenberg villa, the party was a dying ember. Bai Mingzhu moved through the foyer, her eyes searching the dwindling crowd. She spotted Charles, whose
"Charles? What happened?" Mingzhu asked, her brow furrowing. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."
Charles quickly averted his gaze, the velvet gift box still clutched in his hand, "It's nothing, Ma'am. Just the fatigue of the evening."
"Have you seen Shu Yao?" Mingzhu asked, her voice tinged with disappointment. "I looked for him everywhere. I told him to stay so we could speak. I wanted to give him his presents."
Charles remained silent. He doesn't know what to tell the Matriarch that the boy she loved like a son was currently fighting for his life because of the son she had raised.
Outside, in the sanctuary of velvet maroon car, Ming Su gripped her phone. Her voice was a sharp whisper as she spoke to Shen.
"It's a mess, Shen. A complete mess," she hissed.
"How?" Shen's voice crackled over the line, vibrating with fury. "The plan was flawless. Bai Qi was supposed to be the one on the floor."
"Shu Yao was there," Ming Su replied, her eyes staring blankly at the passing trees. "He saw me. He drank the cocoa himself to prove his innocence to Bai Qi."
There was a long silence on the other end. "He drank it?" Shen whispered, a rare note of surprise in his voice. "After everything I did to him... he still showed up to be a shield? What is he? Is he even human?"
Meanwhile, In the silent tomb of his bedroom, Bai Qi stared at the cardboard box on his table. His hands were steady, but his heart was a chaotic roar.
He reached into the box, his fingers brushing, Then, he hit it—something rough, cool, and unmistakable.
He slowly pulled it out. It was the leather journal. The same journal that had haunted his dreams,
Bai Qi sat on the edge of his expansive bed, his hands trembling as he gripped the weathered leather of the journal.
This was the object that had haunted the periphery of his consciousness. It was the relic Qing Yue had once mentioned over and over. Now, it was in his hands, delivered by a twist of fate and the cruelty of an office clearance.
He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the oppressive silence. He felt like a man standing at the edge of a precipice, staring into a fog that was about to lift. With a slow, deliberate motion, he peeled back the cover.
The first few pages were a mosaic of a forgotten childhood. The handwriting was large, messy, and unpracticed—the loops of a boy still learning the weight of a pen. Bai Qi felt a strange, amused tug at his chest as he realized.He turned another page, his movements dictated by a sudden, frantic curiosity.
The dates were early, scrawled in the corners. As he reached the middle of the first section, the handwriting became more legible, and the tone shifted.
His eyes locked onto a passage that made his heart stutter.
I will never forget him. I will never forget the boy with the black hair and the black eyes. He was too kind to be real. He sat by my bed when everything was cold.
Bai Qi gripped the leather until his knuckles turned a ghostly white. A cold sweat broke out across his brow. He read further, the words blurring as his breathing became shallow.
He kissed my head and handed me candies. His voice was soft, like a secret. He told me, "All the pain will go away." I believed him. Ever since that.
The journal slipped slightly in his hands, his fingers losing their strength. Bai Qi felt his legs go weak, the muscles turning to water as he slumped back onto the mattress. The world was spinning, the walls of his room expanding and contracting with the rhythm of a panic attack.
The hospital bed. Years ago.
He had always remembered that moment. He had carried the image of a broken, fragile child in a sterile room as the catalyst for his entire life's devotion. But he had lived a decade believing that child was Qing Yue. He had built his grief, his loyalty, and his coldness around a memory he had assigned to the wrong soul.
"No," he whispered, the sound a ragged ghost in the room. "It can't be."
He turned the pages frantically now, the paper rustling like dead leaves. He saw a gap—blackened pages where the ink was smudged, perhaps by tears or time. Then, the handwriting evolved into the elegant, rhythmic script of a seventeen-year-old.
My dream came true. I saw him today. I didn't know his name then, but the look in his eyes... I would know that look anywhere. It's him. My heart tells me it's him. I found him finally.
Bai Qi's mind was a storm of static. He remembered their first day of school. He remembered Shu Yao standing in the hallway, looking at him with an intensity he had mistaken for arrogance or calculation.
He turned the page, the weight of the revelation crushing his chest like a physical blow.
I thought he would recognize me. I thought he would see the boy from the hospital bed. But I was wrong. He doesn't see me at all. He only sees my sister. Maybe it's because it has been so long. Maybe if he remembers the candies, he might know me too.
A single tear hit the page, dark and heavy. Bai Qi felt his heart fracture. Every time he had looked past Shu Yao to find Qing Yue, he had been walking over the very person he had once promised to protect.
He turned the page again, his vision swimming. The ink here was darker, the letters pressed hard into the paper as if the writer were trying to anchor themselves to the world.
I saw him today. He wasn't a fool; he was just in love. He brought roses—deep, red roses they were so fresh and without thorns. They are my favorite flowers, but I had to tell him she doesn't like them. He looked so embarrassed, so afraid of being seen as a fool, that he shyly hid them behind his back. I wanted to reach out and take them. I wanted to tell him they were beautiful I wanted to tell him that don't be shy,
But I couldn't knowing he loves her was enough for me to stay back.
Bai Qi closed the journal with a violent snap. The sound echoed like a gunshot.