The Beijing spring was subtle, but it arrived in the little things.
Cherry blossoms shivered open in the Wang Group courtyard—soft pinks against the gray glass towers. Office windows welcomed light instead of fog. And Wang Yibo began arriving a little later to work… but only on the days Xiao Zhan arrived early.
It was unspoken, of course.
Just like everything between them.
But those quiet mornings on the 38th floor grew charged. A shared kettle of tea. The rustle of documents passed hand to hand. The air between them was no longer still—it breathed.
Yet in public, they remained distant. Professional. Wang Yibo returned to his cold executive presence the moment someone stepped into the room. And Xiao Zhan wore his polite, impassive smile like silk armor.
But in private—
It frayed.
The first true unraveling came during the spring gala at the Chaoyang Royal Gallery.
It was a polished affair: a benefit auction held once a year by China's wealthiest dynasties. Crowned investors. Elite historians. Fashion houses. Silent auctions and louder egos. Underneath the glimmer, it was always a battlefield.
Wang Yibo, of course, arrived in custom black silk, his mother's crest—a golden phoenix—pinned neatly over his chest.
Xiao Zhan followed ten paces behind. Though he was technically an assistant tonight, his attire said otherwise. He wore a modern hanfu-inspired tuxedo, dark with midnight-blue embroidery across the sleeves—waves and wind, if one looked closely enough.
He moved like someone who had once walked before emperors.
Whispers followed him. Not because anyone knew his name—but because they couldn't. He didn't exist in the elite guest lists. His face, though achingly familiar, didn't belong to any family they could place. And that… made him dangerous.
Wang Yibo noticed.
He had noticed long ago.
But tonight, his stare lingered longer than usual. As Xiao Zhan handed him a folder of final bidding cards, Yibo leaned just slightly closer, voice low enough to be felt more than heard.
"You don't belong in the shadows."
Xiao Zhan's fingers paused. "It's where I survive."
"But is that still what you want?"
A question. Or a warning. Zhan didn't answer.
Moments later, a woman approached.
Sharp heels. Crimson lips. The commanding presence of a born politician. Princess Liu Mingxia of Taiwan. A direct heir of the Ming remnants. Her presence was rarely casual, and her eyes fell on Xiao Zhan before she even greeted Wang Yibo.
"Well," she purred, "you've chosen an intriguing shadow tonight, Wang Yibo."
Yibo didn't smile. "Mr. Xiao is one of my most trusted analysts."
She tilted her head. "Strange. He looks like someone I once saw in Kyoto. At the Emperor's birthday. But of course… that boy disappeared, didn't he?"
The air stiffened.
Xiao Zhan bowed, expression unchanging. "Many boys in Kyoto look the same. Pale, quiet, forgettable."
Mingxia's smile sharpened, but she said no more.
But Wang Yibo had heard the tremor beneath Zhan's words. And he filed it away.
---
Later, on the third floor of the gallery, beneath an antique moon gate carved with dragons, they stood in silence.
Zhan leaned against the wall, the faintest tremble in his hands. Yibo stood beside him, his gaze guarded—but not cold.
"You recognized her," Yibo said.
Xiao Zhan closed his eyes. "Everyone from that world knows each other's ghosts."
"Tell me," Yibo said quietly, "who are you, really?"
Xiao Zhan's jaw tightened.
He didn't speak for a long time.
Then:
"My name is Xiao Zhan," he said. "But in Kyoto, I was known as Prince Akihiko. I was the adopted heir of the last Japanese noble clan with direct ties to the imperial line. I was raised to be silence. To be grace. To never fall in love."
He looked away.
"I left when I discovered I could. When I realized I wasn't theirs to keep."
Yibo stared at him—at the weight he carried in those few, calm words.
"I know what it means to live behind a mask," Yibo finally said. "I've done it my whole life."
Their eyes met.
And for the first time… they truly saw each other.
Not titles. Not roles.
Just two men who had been caged by lineage and expectation. Two men who had carved cracks into their crowns just to breathe.
---
Later that night, as the gala ended, and the city returned to silence, Wang Yibo's car pulled into the underground penthouse garage.
But he didn't go up.
He remained in the car, watching Xiao Zhan in the rearview mirror. Zhan had fallen asleep, his head leaned gently against the window. The shadows of fatigue painted softly under his eyes.
Yibo didn't wake him.
Instead, he lowered the seat just slightly… and placed a velvet blanket over his shoulders.
His hand lingered.
And as the soft city lights flickered on Zhan's sleeping form, Wang Yibo whispered words only the night could hear:
"Don't disappear again."
---
Somewhere in Kyoto, a faded portrait burned in a sealed hearth—of a boy in red robes, smiling before he learned silence.
And in the same room, a new order was given.
"Find the Crownless Prince. Before Wang Yibo gives him a kingdom of his own."
---