The dining hall greeted Bai Qi like a still-life painting—opulent, composed, touched with gold.
Candles flickered in their crystal holders. The long lacquered table gleamed beneath the chandelier's warm gaze. Dishes lay arranged in perfect symmetry—porcelain bowls, silver utensils, delicacies dressed like art.
At the head of the table sat his father, upright and already poised to begin the meal. The man was the picture of dignity—his broad shoulders wrapped in a black tuxedo that shimmered subtly under the light, dark brown hair neatly combed, and eyes like a winter ocean: blue, precise, and unreadable.
And beside him—
His mother.
Grace, carved into the shape of a woman.
Her silky black hair spilled in elegant waves over one shoulder, glinting like onyx under candlelight. Her earrings—fine-cut crystal—danced with every tilt of her head, catching the light in perfect rhythm with her smile. A delicate necklace traced her collarbone, and her lips, painted in soft rose, curved into a familiar warmth.
Her eyes—his eyes—watched him fondly as he entered.
She lifted her hand in a subtle, graceful motion, gesturing for him to sit beside her.
Bai Qi moved silently to his chair, sliding into place like the final note of a familiar melody. His presence completed the picture—but beneath the polished table and sculpted calm, something raw still stirred in him.
"Where have you been, darling?" his mother asked, her voice as gentle as silk against skin.
He looked at her. Smiled faintly, but it didn't quite reach the hollows beneath his eyes.
"I was at the hospital," he said. "A friend of mine… he got sick."
Her brows lifted, concern blooming softly across her face.
"Oh no. Is he alright now?" she asked, her voice dipped in worry.
Bai Qi gave a small nod. "He's fine now. Resting."
Then, after a breath, he added, almost too casually—
"Mom… if I broke your favorite tea set… the really expensive one you always keep in the glass cabinet… would you scold me?"
Her gaze narrowed in gentle confusion.
He continued, his tone thoughtful, slow. "Would you choose me over the tea set… or the tea set over me?"
For a moment, silence held the space between them.
Then her expression softened.
She reached out—graceful fingers brushing against his cheek, tender and warm.
"You foolish boy," she whispered, voice low and fiercely kind. "You are the most expensive tea set of all. Why would I choose something so worthless over my precious child?"
Bai Qi smiled then.
And this time, it reached the places the others hadn't.
Something in him loosened. Something that had clenched tight all evening finally let go—just a little.
He picked up his cutlery, the silver cool in his hand, and began to eat with slow, quiet grace.
He didn't notice the way his father, across the table, watched his wife then.
Didn't see the small, rare smile tug at the corner of the older man's mouth—like a crack in marble.
As if even stone remembered how to feel when love sounded that sincere.
Dinner ended as gracefully as it began.
The plates, once filled with artful delicacies, now held only the remains of polite appetite and practiced conversation. Silver cutlery lay set aside. The candlelight had softened to a flicker, casting golden shadows across the walls.
Bai Qi set down his napkin and rose slowly from his seat.
He turned to face his parents, voice low but even, "Goodnight."
His mother looked up with that serene, ever-tender smile. "Goodnight, my precious prince," she said, her words like a lullaby sewn in silk.
His father, still dignified beneath the weight of the evening, glanced up from the screen of his laptop and offered a nod. "Goodnight."
As Bai Qi's footsteps faded beyond the grand dining hall, the sound of silver and porcelain returned. The servants began to clear the table—efficient, noiseless, shadows in motion.
His mother, still seated, turned her gaze toward her husband. He was now fully focused on the screen before him, fingers tapping swiftly across polished keys. His eyes, oceanic and unreadable, narrowed slightly.
A moment later, he said without glancing up, "One black coffee. Strong."
The nearest servant nodded, stepping forward to fetch it—
But his wife's voice interrupted gently.
"Leave it. I'll prepare it myself."
That made him pause.
He looked up at her—not startled, but softened. As if something dormant in him stirred with the offer.
Her expression was calm. Loving. Steady as always.
Without another word, she rose from her seat, her gown whispering against the marble floor. The chandelier caught in her earrings as she passed beneath it, making them shimmer like captured stars. And then, she vanished into the kitchen, leaving only the faintest trace of her perfume in the air.
Upstairs, Bai Qi reached his bedroom door.
He turned the brass handle slowly, stepped inside, and let the door click shut behind him. The soft lock was the only sound he needed tonight.
His fingers moved with quiet habit—blazer off, shirt undone, belt unfastened.
He made his way into the bathroom, cool air brushing against his skin like memory.
Steam curled around him in quiet spirals as water poured over his shoulders. The shower was hot. Cleansing. A brief escape.
Moments later, wrapped in a dark robe, his damp hair falling into his eyes, Bai Qi stepped barefoot to the window.
The city blinked in the distance, half-asleep. The stars above were faint—drowned beneath neon and cloud—but he looked for them anyway.
His arms folded.
His brow furrowed slightly.
"Hm…"
A breath left him. Thoughtful. Unspoken.
We're about to graduate.
The thought landed gently, like a drop of rain on glass.
And then another followed.
Do I… really want to inherit the company?
His eyes narrowed a little. He could see the distant skyline—tall buildings with names like his father's etched into the steel.
The future was already waiting.
But something in him wasn't sure it was listening.
He leaned against the window frame, robe brushing against his knees, eyes half-lidded beneath the silver of moonlight.
Do I want to become a boss... or just become myself?
He didn't answer.
Not tonight.
The silence held the question for him.
The room was quiet, steeped in the hush of midnight and moonlight.
Bai Qi moved with unhurried grace, slipping the strap of his school bag off his shoulder. It landed with a soft thump against the polished desk. He knelt beside it, fingers pulling the zipper back in one smooth motion—precise, practiced.
Books inside were stacked perfectly. Not because he was meticulous, but because everything in his life had always been arranged—order, expectation, silence.
He pulled out his homework, placing it on the desk with calm efficiency.
His robe clung loosely to his frame, still damp in places from the lingering steam. Droplets of water curled through his hair, darkening the strands and letting them fall over his temples, unbothered. He didn't care to dry it. Not tonight.
His long fingers moved over the pages, smooth and steady—writing with a fluid ease that spoke of years spent mastering perfection. His handwriting was sharp, refined, elegant like calligraphy dressed in modern ink.
But as he worked, his mind began to drift again.
Twenty, he thought. Soon I'll be twenty.
He paused, pen hovering just above the page.
What came after graduation? A suit, a title, a company? His father's empire had already carved a space for him, but something inside him still asked for more than signatures and stockholders.
He looked up toward the window, the city still glinting in the dark.
When will I be able to call Qing Yue… my wife?
The thought landed like a warm weight in his chest. Not heavy. Not urgent. Just there—honest and lingering.
He imagined her then—eyes lit up with laughter, her soft voice telling him stories he pretended not to listen to but memorized anyway.
But then—
A shift in thought.
Shu Yao.
His chest stirred with something heavier now. Something warmer and wrong all at once.
He set his pen down and leaned back slightly, guilt curling beneath his ribs like smoke.
Shu Yao—who had helped him with Qing Yue from the very beginning. Who had written delicate, trembling letters on Bai Qi's behalf, laced with metaphors and feelings Bai Qi couldn't express in words at the time. Shu Yao's words had reached Qing Yue before he ever did.
He was the bridge, Bai Qi realized. And I walked right over it.
He blinked, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips—soft, sheepish, touched with something affectionate.
That quiet idiot. Always helping, always hiding behind others.
He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering.
There were so many girls back then. Bright eyes. Quick laughs. Faces that blurred together. All of them chasing, hoping, glowing.
But none of them stayed in his memory.
Only Qing Yue.
Maybe that's what fate looked like—not loud or sudden, just inevitable.
Bai Qi opened his eyes again, a faint gleam lighting behind them.
Fine, he thought. If fate gave me her… then maybe it's time I pay it forward.
He leaned his elbow on the desk, chin resting lightly against his knuckles, lips curling.
I'll find someone for Shu Yao, he thought. Someone who sees what he hides. Someone who makes him blush so hard he forgets how to speak.
His smile grew.
Soft.
Quiet.
Mischievous.
"I'll handle it," he murmured to himself.
Outside, the night deepened.
Inside, something kind had begun to take root.