Shu Yao was a hollowed-out shell, a ghost haunting the very halls that were draining his lifeblood. He leaned heavily against the cold marble wall of the Rothenberg lobby, his spine a jagged line of agony.
What should i do?, The question looped in his mind like a funeral dirge. He felt his eyes burning, the moisture returning to blur his vision as his strength finally evaporated. With a shaky, rattling breath, he let his knees fold, sliding down the polished stone until he was a small, broken heap on the floor.
He pressed his hands into his elbows, physically trying to hold his shivering frame together. He was ready to endure anything—Bai Qi's hatred, the exhaustion, the starvation—if only the man would listen. But Bai Qi was deaf to the truth, blinded by a ghost wearing a serpent's skin.
Outside, a sleek black sedan screeched to a halt, nearly mounting the curb. George didn't wait for the valet. He threw the door open, his long grey coat billowing like the wings of a vengeful archangel.
He stormed into the lobby, his presence shattering the quiet, corporate atmosphere. His green eyes scanned the vast, labyrinthine space, searching for a flash of autumn hair.
He was heading for the elevators when he saw it: a figure shambling against the far wall, fingers clawing at the stone for purchase.
George didn't waste a second. He moved with a predatory speed, his polished shoes thundering against the marble. He reached the figure just as it began to slip.
"Thank God," George breathed, a visceral prayer of relief that died the moment he saw Shu Yao's face.
Shu Yao lifted his head, and George felt his heart lurch in his chest. The boy's eyes were raw, bloodshot, and framed by deep, bruised crescents of exhaustion. He looked like he had been dragged through a nightmare.
Shu Yao blinked hard, trying to chase away the tears, but the marks of his misery remained unmistakable.
George reached out, his massive hands—calloused but gentle—landing on Shu Yao's trembling shoulders.
Shu Yao flinched. It was a sharp, instinctive recoil that made George clench his jaw so hard his teeth ached.
George lowered his towering two-meter frame, crouching until he was at eye level with the boy. The height difference was staggering, but George made himself small, his voice dropping into a soft, velvet register that vibrated with suppressed fury.
"Shu Yao," George began, his voice thick. "Didn't I warn you? Why did you come here? You know you're too weak for this."
Shu Yao's lower lip quivered. A single tear escaped, tracing a path through the dust on his cheek.
"Bai Qi... he's in danger," Shu Yao rasped, his voice a dry, hacking whisper. "He... he isn't listening to me."
George's brain momentarily froze. The absurdity of it struck him like a physical blow. Here was a boy who could barely hold his head up, a boy who was fading into a translucent shadow, worrying about the "danger" of a man who had spent the last twenty-four hours tormenting him.
"Forget about that brat, Shu Yao," George commanded, his brow knitting into a sharp, painful furrow. "Look at yourself. You shouldn't have come. You are at your limit."
Shu Yao shook his head violently, a move that clearly caused him a wave of vertigo. "No... I can't leave him."
George's expression hardened into granite. The protective instinct he felt for Shu Yao was a roaring fire now.
"Shu Yao, please. You are in no state to be anyone's shield."
"I can't, Mr. George," Shu Yao sobbed, the sound breaking George's heart into a thousand jagged pieces. "She... Ming Su... she is trying to hurt, Bai qi I... I... can't let her harm him."
George's hands twitched on Shu Yao's shoulders. A horrible, scorching fury began to rise in his chest, directed squarely at his nephew.
"I am going to slap that brat so hard his ancestors will feel it," George hissed, his light green eyes flashing with a lethal light. "I'll beat some goddamn sense into him for what he's done to you."
Suddenly, Shu Yao's hand shot out. It was a weak, trembling movement, but he managed to snag the sleeve of George's expensive coat, his fingers hooking into the fabric with desperate strength.
"No," Shu Yao gasped, shaking his head. "You... you promised me. You promised you wouldn't come between us. You won't hurt him."
George felt trapped. He was a man of immense power, a titan of industry, yet he was being held captive by the plea of a dying boy. He looked at Shu Yao—at the devotion that was acting like a parasite, consuming the very life it claimed to protect.
"Come on, Shu Yao," George pleaded, his voice cracking. "You need rest. Leave this damn building. Let him handle the fire he built for himself."
Shu Yao's breath hitched, his lungs struggling to pull in enough oxygen to answer.
"I... I can't."
Shu Yao's fingers were white-knuckled, hooked into the fabric of George's sleeve. He was a bird fluttering against a hurricane, his breath coming in shallow, jagged hitches
"I... I can't leave..."
Shu Yao wheezed, his eyes searching George's face for a mercy he didn't want. "He'll... he'll..."
George looked at the boy—at the translucent skin, the trembling lips, and the sheer, terrifying light of self-sacrifice in his eyes. He realized then that words were useless. Shu Yao would stay here until his heart literally stopped beating if George didn't intervene.
"Then Forgive me, for that one," George whispered, his voice a low rumble of sorrow.
George didn't hesitate. He reached down, one massive arm sliding beneath Shu Yao's knees and the other supporting his fragile back. With a single, powerful surge, George stood up, lifting the boy from the floor.
The transition was too fast for a body so depleted.
As George reached his full height of two meters, the sudden change in posture triggered a violent drop in Shu Yao's blood pressure. The world didn't just tilt for Shu Yao; it dissolved into a kaleidoscope of grey and black.
"Mr… George…" Shu Yao's voice drifted out like a ghost of sound.
He tried to resist, his weak hands coming up to push against George's chest, but the movement was clumsy, lacking any coordination.
George ignored the resistance, pulling Shu Yao closer, tucking the boy's head firmly into the crook of his neck and shoulder.
"Hush," George commanded softly. "Don't worry shu Yao, Just Rest."
The warmth of George's heavy coat, the rhythmic thud of a strong heart beneath his ear, and the sudden rush of blood away from his brain created a perfect storm. Shu Yao's eyes, once wide with terror, began to roll back.
His hands, which had been feebly clawing at George's lapels, slowly lost their grip. His fingers uncurled, sliding down the grey wool like falling leaves. His head became a dead weight against George's shoulder, his breathing evening out into the shallow, terrifyingly quiet rhythm of a deep faint.
Shu Yao was gone. The martyr had finally been forced into peace.
George adjusted his grip, cradling the unconscious boy as if he were made of the finest porcelain.
He turned toward the exit, his face a mask of cold, lethal determination.
He didn't care about the business. He didn't care about the onlookers.
George moved through the lobby like a glacier—slow, heavy, and unstoppable.
In his arms, Shu Yao was nothing but a collection of hollow bones and fading warmth. His head lolled against George's broad chest, his neck tilted at a vulnerable, porcelain angle. His arms hung loose, hands dangling with a sepulchral stillness, the fingers brushing against George's coat with every heavy stride.
The lobby was a gauntlet of silent witnesses. The employees stood frozen behind their sleek desks, their faces etched with a visceral, sickening guilt.
They had seen the boy's slow descent over the last twenty-four hours. They had heard Bai Qi's cold, absolute edict: no one was to offer aid. They were shackled by the fear of the Ice Monarch, forced to watch a tragedy unfold in high-definition.
George was still blissfully unaware of the degree of his nephew's depravity. He only saw the shame in their averted eyes. He didn't care for their silence; he only cared for the shallow, thready breath ghosting against his collarbone.
The automatic glass doors hissed open, admitting the biting chill of the morning air.
The driver stood by the idling sedan, his posture stiffening into a gargoyle-like shock as he beheld the scene
.Mr. George—a man of iron-clad composure—look so shattered, so fiercely protective.
Without a word, the driver lunged for the rear door, throwing it wide.
George halted at the threshold of the car. He didn't just place Shu Yao inside; he orchestrated a delicate, agonizingly careful descent.
He lowered the boy onto the leather seat as if he were laying a saint into a reliquary, terrified that the slightest jarring movement would snap the gossamer thread of his life.
George leaned deep into the cabin, his large frame nearly filling the space as he pulled the seatbelt across Shu Yao. He handled the buckle with a meticulous, trembling precision, ensuring the strap didn't chafe the boy's bruised skin.
He didn't move to the other side. He slid into the seat directly beside him.
The door closed with a soft, expensive thud, sealing them into a world of leather and hushed anxiety.
George turned his head. Shu Yao looked like a dead leaf—fragile, desiccated, and impossibly serene. How could a soul so quiet, so inherently beautiful, endure such a relentless siege of cruelty?
George's heart didn't just ache; it fractured. He had spent a lifetime navigating the cutthroat world of the Rothenbergs, but he had never encountered a martyr like this. He looked at the boy's profile—the long, dark lashes casting skeletal shadows over his ashen cheeks, the stray strands of autumn-gold hair falling across a brow damp with the sweat of exhaustion.
For a man like George, love was a protective fire. Looking at Shu Yao, he knew he would burn the world to ashes just to keep this fragile beauty from flickering out.
He reached out, his hand hovering for a second before he gently guided Shu Yao's head onto his own shoulder. He needed the physical weight of the boy there—needed to feel the proximity to ensure he was still breathing.
He tucked a stray lock of hair behind Shu Yao's ear, his fingers lingering against the cold skin.
"Drive," George commanded, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. "To the private clinic. And if you hit a single bump, you're fired."
The car glided away from the curb, a silent black shadow carrying a broken heart and its guardian into the grey morning light.
The executive suite of Rothenberg Industries was an obsidian fortress, a space of glass and sharp edges that usually felt cold. But as the door opened, a manufactured warmth flooded the room.
Ming Su stepped inside. Her face was a masterpiece of mimicry, a sorrowful, delicate smile playing on her lips that made Bai Qi's heart skip a rhythmic beat. To him, she was a miracle—a living echo of the woman he had lost, a salvaged piece of his own shattered soul.
Bai Qi stood abruptly, his professional mask slipping for a fraction of a second. The sight of her eased the lingering irritation of his confrontation with shu Yao early meeting.
"Did I interrupt something, Bai Qi?" Ming Su asked, her voice a saccharine melody.
Bai Qi shook his head with uncharacteristic haste. "Not at all."
Ming Su's eyes sparkled with a secret, predatory satisfaction. She turned slightly, signaling her assistant with a sharp, imperious flick of her wrist.
"Wait outside, Naina."
Naina, a girl with auburn hair tucked tightly behind her ears, stood as still as a statue. Her peach-colored eyes were twin pools of simmering hatred as she looked at her mistress, her knuckles white as she clutched her hands together. Without a word, she pivoted and stepped out, the heavy door clicking shut behind her like a guillotine.
Inside the office, the air grew thick with a forced intimacy.
Ming Su tucked a strand of her bobbed hair behind her ear, her movements fluid and practiced. She looked at Bai Qi with a gaze that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken sympathies.
Bai Qi felt a heat rise to his cheeks—a boyish blush he hadn't experienced in past few weeks. He cleared his throat, trying to anchor himself in his authority.
"Why are you still standing? Sit, please," he managed, his voice slightly husky.
They sat across from one another, the vast mahogany desk a bridge between a man drowning in nostalgia and a woman holding the anchor.
"Well, Bai Qi," Ming Su began, her voice dropping into a soft, velvety register. "I wanted to tell you something."
Bai Qi leaned forward, his composure fraying. "Yes, Miss Ming... tell me."
Ming Su tilted her head, a playful yet gentle reprimand in her eyes.
"First, stop calling me 'Miss.' We are partners now, aren't we?"
Bai Qi found himself momentarily speechless. The "Ice Monarch" was melting under the heat of a calculated lie. He swallowed hard, his jaw tight.
"Yes... Ming Su."
Ming Su's smile widened, but she quickly transitioned into her next act. She let her shoulders slump slightly, her expression clouding with a performative sadness.
"I was just coming to your office," she began, her eyes downcast. "And I saw your assistant in the lobby."
Bai Qi stiffened. His gaze flickered toward the window, his mind flashing back to the ruinous state of Shu Yao. "Did he... did he do something to you?"
"No, no!" Ming Su exclaimed, reaching out a hand as if to stop a blow. "He didn't do anything at all. It's just..."
She paused, weaving a web of false empathy.
"He looked so incredibly weak, Bai Qi. His state... it wasn't good. I was quite worried."
Bai Qi's jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped. He looked at her—at this woman who was apparently so pure, so kind-hearted, that she felt pity for the very man who had spent the morning trying to poison Bai Qi's mind against her.
To him, she was the reincarnation of Qing Yue's grace. She was a saint, while Shu Yao was a treacherous, jealous liar who had let his own sister die.
"He needs to learn a lesson," Bai Qi muttered, the words like shards of glass.
"No, Bai Qi," Ming Su whispered, her voice a gentle caress. She reached across the desk, her fingers brushing the back of his hand.
Bai Qi looked up, his eyes wide, his heart hammering.
"I know you are a kind man," she continued, her eyes searching his. "I know you will stop giving him so much work. He is so loyal to you, after all."
Bai Qi felt trapped in a beautiful, agonizing contradiction. He looked at Ming Su and saw a protector, a woman of infinite mercy. He thought of Shu Yao and saw only a culprit, a betrayer who had lurked in the corners of his life for too long.
He didn't see the trap. He didn't see the "huge plan" unfolding behind those sorrowful eyes—a plan designed to strip him of his company, his family, and his sanity.
Bai Qi nodded slowly, intoxicated by the saint's masquerade, unaware that every word she spoke was a nail in the coffin of his future.