The morning light poured through the silk-draped windows like melted gold, soft and decadent, as if even the sun had come to see her today.
Qing Yue stood before the gilded mirror, still in disbelief. Her fingers hovered above the black dress hanging like a reverent hush on the mannequin—high-necked, sleek as ink, kissed with a belt of radiant gold that shimmered with every turn of light. It had arrived earlier, folded inside a glass case like an artifact. A servant had brought it, bowed low, and said only one thing:
"Lord Bai Qi has selected this for you. You are to stand beside him."
She hadn't believed it. Not at first. Her breath had caught in her throat, tangled somewhere between hope and hesitation.
But now...
Now she stood dressed in it, the silk wrapping around her body like prophecy. It hugged her slender frame with a grace no corset could teach, flowing down past her hips like night given shape. She was 165 centimeters of softness and sunlit bloom—shoulders delicate, posture poised, as the servants fussed around her with brushes and glimmering powders.
They insisted on makeup, though she hardly needed it.
Her beauty was not born of embellishment.
It lived in the curve of her soft brown eyes—those doe-like orbs that held the dusk and the dawn together in a single gaze. It breathed in the gentle slope of her shoulders, the way her hair, warm chestnut and straight, just brushed the tops of them. Her bangs framed her face like the final stroke on a painting not meant to be touched.
And Bai Qi loved all of it.
He loved her as she was, as she had always been—without correction, without comparison. His gaze had never sought perfection, only truth. And in Qing Yue, he had found something close to divine.
"He wants me there," she whispered once to herself as the stylist applied a final sweep of shimmer to her cheekbones. "He wants me beside him. In the photos. In the billboards. In his world."
And the wonder in her voice wasn't performative—it was real. As if the fairytales she read as a girl had finally decided to include her.
Across the room, her mother stood with hands folded like a chapel hymn. No makeup. No adornments. Just a single soft dress and flaxen hair twisted into a loose bun. Her skin was pale and honest, and her eyes—the color of café au lait—shone brighter than anything the room had to offer.
"You look like a dream I once prayed for," she said softly.
Qing Yue turned to her, cheeks pink with a child's wonder. "Do you really think he loves me that much?"
Her mother's eyes shimmered, and for a moment, she didn't answer. She simply stepped forward and tucked a strand of hair behind her daughter's ear.
"He sees you," she said. "Not for what the world wants you to be—but for what you are."
Qing Yue smiled, and it wasn't small. It was glorious.
She had always believed love should be quiet and patient—like a garden waiting for spring. But now it was here, and Bai Qi had chosen her to bloom beside him beneath the ruthless sun of fame. Not in shadows. Not behind velvet curtains.
On the cover. In the lights. In the frame.
As the servants stepped away, finishing touches done, Qing Yue turned toward the mirror once more. She took herself in fully—the dress, the grace, the trembling thrill in her chest. She looked like a queen in mourning and celebration both. And her eyes whispered:
This is really happening.
Somewhere in her heart, a single truth rang out like a bell:
He wants me in his story. Not as a side note. But as a chapter.
And just like that, she stepped forward—out of the fairytale.
And into the pages of something real.
The sun had barely stretched its golden fingers across the halls when Qing Yue descended from her dressing room, fully adorned. Her black high-necked dress, cinched with a belt of gold, caught the light like a hymn. She was flanked by two silent attendants and the stylist, all of them standing a step behind her as though even their presence might disrupt the illusion she had become.
She was not walking—she was floating. Gliding like an answered prayer.
Her cheeks were dusted in the faintest blush, her soft brown hair curled slightly at the ends, tied back just enough to show the delicacy of her collarbones. The dress fit like it had been stitched from a dream. A dream Bai Qi had chosen for her.
And still—still—she could hardly believe it.
She would be standing beside him today. In photographs. In billboards. In the world.
Somewhere beyond the landing, soft footsteps echoed from above—faint, tired, deliberate. Not rushed, not lazy. Just exhausted in that way only the soul could be.
Shu Yao was descending the stairs.
His suit was pressed, a deep, earthy brown that complimented the faint gold glints in his hair—still wet, slicked back into a low ribbon that clung to the nape of his neck. The moisture in his lashes clung like dew, but no one would ask whether it came from the shower or something quieter, crueler.
He looked like a man dressed for business but walking through mourning.
As he reached the bottom step, he turned silently toward the dining room, following a scent he no longer noticed. The breakfast was already served—warm, beautiful, untouched. The air was filled with the scent of butter and cinnamon and something that should've comforted.
But Shu Yao sat with the weariness of someone who did not expect comfort anymore.
He pulled the plate toward him, silver clinking softly against porcelain. Fork in hand, he forced three absentminded bites into his mouth, tasting none of them. Not because the food lacked flavor—but because his own thoughts tasted stronger.
Stronger than the ache in his chest.
Stronger than the memory of Bai Qi's voice echoing in his dreams, sharp and cruel, slicing through his silence like a blade dressed in love.
He couldn't eat. His stomach rebelled against the idea.
And so, like most mornings before it, he pushed the plate away—still full, still untouched by the world—and stared into a place only he could see.
Then came the sound of laughter.
Light, airy, untouched by sadness.
Qing Yue.
She entered the room in soft skips, her dress shimmering like midnight caught in motion. Her eyes sparkled like honey catching sun, cheeks already pink with anticipation. She twirled once, twice, unable to contain the joy that threatened to spill over.
"Gege," she sang, spinning toward him, her eyes wide. "How do I look?"
Shu Yao lifted his gaze slowly.
It took everything in him not to flinch.
There she was, wrapped in the dress that bore the name of Rothenberg. The dress that Bai Qi had chosen. The dress that proved, once and for all, that the boy Shu Yao loved had chosen someone else to stand beside him.
And not just anyone.
His sister.
"You look beautiful," Shu Yao said, voice low but steady.
A practiced smile tugged at the corner of his lips—one he had worn a thousand times before. The kind of smile that didn't ask to be believed. The kind that made room for others' happiness.
"I'm sure once people see you in that dress, everyone will be wearing Rothenberg."
Qing Yue gasped, pressing her palms to her warm cheeks. "Do you really think so, gege?"
Shu Yao nodded, the smile holding, even as something fragile slipped beneath the surface of his voice.
"Of course. Why not? It's not even the dress, really... it's you, Qing Yue. You makes it shine."
And that was the truth.
It always had been.
Qing Yue melted at his words, her shoulders relaxing as her joy turned into soft laughter. She stepped forward to give him a quick hug, unbothered by the sharp lines of his suit or the heaviness in his posture.
Shu Yao didn't flinch.
He simply closed his eyes for a moment, holding the warmth she gave him like a borrowed coat he would soon have to return.
And in that moment, with his sister glowing in a dream come true and the memory of Bai Qi's cruel voice still echoing in the hollow parts of him, Shu Yao did what he always did.
He loved them from the silence.
From the shadows.
And he smiled.
Qing Yue's phone chimed softly—a note of modern music against the stillness of the morning light. She glanced at the screen, and there it was:
Bai Qi: "We're about to reach."
Just two words, and yet her heart skipped like a pebble across water.
She looked up from the screen, her eyes catching her brother's across the dining room. Her lips, pink and soft, curled into the kind of smile that carried both thrill and disbelief.
>"Gege…" she said, turning now to face him fully, a rare seriousness in her tone beneath the joy. "Bai Qi and his uncle—they'll be here in minutes. They want us outside."
Shu Yao nodded quietly, folding his hands in his lap for a moment before rising. His body moved with that careful stillness he wore like a second skin—graceful, practiced, contained. He didn't say a word, but his eyes followed her with a gentleness only siblings ever knew.
And then—outside—the air shifted.
The quiet of the street broke as the hum of a luxurious engine whispered closer. Not the usual car. This one gleamed like a black opal kissed by sunlight— this one is sleek, longer, almost reverent in its design. It moved like royalty through a common road and parked with the authority of a final sentence.
A delicate honk followed—barely a sound, more a call to destiny than a noise.
Qing Yue gasped. Her heart kicked in her chest like it remembered it was in love.
"Gege, come on!" she said, her voice light as ribbons as she hurried to the main door.
Their mother appeared behind her, hands lightly folded, expression serene. She wore a soft smile, warm with pride, as Qing Yue turned to her and bowed her head, whispering a goodbye wrapped in happiness.
Then, she stepped outside.
Shu Yao followed, slower. The door shut behind them with the hush of finality.
And there he was.
Bai Qi stood beside the open car door—tall, lithe, dressed in that ink-dark suit and violet vest that turned his presence into poetry. His black wolfcut hair was tied neatly, but wild strands danced with the wind like threads of shadow. He looked carved from elegance, all edges softened only by the faint smile now tugging at the corner of his lips.
He had never looked more unreal.
Qing Yue's cheeks blossomed with pink the moment their eyes met. Her heart beat too loudly for the street to not hear it.
But what surprised the world—if it had been watching—was Shu Yao.
His blush came not from affection returned, but from beauty undeserved. From longing so silent it barely knew how to ache out loud. His eyes dragged slowly from Bai Qi's perfectly pressed lapel, down to the shine of his shoes, then back again to the small curl of hair above his cheekbone.
It was like looking at a portrait painted from every quiet desire Shu Yao had ever tucked away and told not to speak.
He blushed—harder than Qing Yue.
The pink rose behind his ears, delicate and low. His long lashes cast shadows across his cheeks, still damp from earlier tears or water—who could tell?
Only George saw it.
Standing tall behind Bai Qi, the ever-watching eye of precision, George Harold von Rothenberg caught the slip of blush on Shu Yao's cheek like a thief catching a pearl mid-fall. He didn't comment. He simply smiled—faintly, knowingly. The kind of smile that says I see what no one else does.
Shu Yao didn't notice.
He was too busy pretending not to exist.
Meanwhile, Bai Qi's attention had shifted to Qing Yue. He extended his hand toward her—slow, elegant, reverent.
"You look…" he said, the word catching briefly on the edges of his tongue, "...like something the stars might kneel for."
Qing Yue reached out, her fingertips trembling for only a second before she accepted his hand. It was warm. Familiar. And still, it made her dizzy with joy.
She didn't faint or gasp. She simply smiled as if the world had tilted in her favor.
She was beside the boy she loved, and the world would soon see it.
Shu Yao, two steps behind, watched them from the edge of the morning.
Not with envy.
Not even with sorrow.
But with something gentler. Something quieter.
As if loving from a distance had always been enough—until it wasn't.
The wind blew then, just slightly—brushing Shu Yao's hair back, lifting a strand from behind his ear, like even the breeze wanted to expose the softness he kept so carefully hidden.
And George, still watching, tucked the image away.
Because some blushes are secrets, and some are stories waiting to be written.
Would you like the next scene to shift into the car interior as they head toward Rothenberg Courtyard, or arrive directly at the shoot location for the next emotional or visual beat?