Chapter two

The noise of the marketplace faded into a dull hum, as though the very world had turned against him.

The insults, the laughter — all dissolved into the void of his darkness.

Lifting his gaze, Xiu Zhao felt as if the street itself had forgotten he existed.

The people, weary and indifferent, returned to their tasks, their colors, their joy.

Only he remained — a ghost, wandering through the ruins of their happiness.

His feet dragged him forward, forcing him to follow his mother — the same woman who saw everything, yet closed her eyes to the humiliation her son endured.

For a fleeting moment, he wondered if the world had erred in allowing him to live.

Then came the chime of a bell — soft, delicate — from a passing carriage, its sound a gentle discord against the market’s chaos.

He lifted his head.

Drawn by the sight of noble white horses pulling the carriage, he knew immediately that something so ethereal could not possibly belong to their small, forgotten town.

The crowd gathered around, whispers rising like wind through reeds — this time not because of him.

The carriage stopped. From within emerged a boy clad in pale blue silk.

His presence — pure, kind, almost unearthly — stirred the silent walls inside Xiu Zhao. Golden hair caught the dim afternoon light, gleaming like a promise.

Xiu Zhao’s heart faltered, his eyes lingering longer than they should upon the unfamiliar figure.

“What are you doing here? Go back to where you came from!”

The cold, sharp voice startled him. His mother — a woman of marble and silence — now spoke with a tone laced with disgust and anger.

“I cannot” replied the boy.

Lady Yi’s gaze locked onto his — eyes as blue as her own. Her heart skipped as she recognized in them the same emptiness she had always seen in her son’s.

“Xiu Zhao, take him home” she commanded, leaving no space for refusal. Then she turned away, swallowed by the market’s crowd.

The blond boy stepped closer, a bright smile blooming across his face.

“Hi, Xiu Zhao.”

His voice was soft, delicate — and it made Xiu Zhao tremble.

“H-hi.”

“You’re adorable.”

A faint blush rose to Xiu Zhao’s cheeks. The boy intertwined his arm with his.

“Shall we go?” Xiu Zhao nodded slightly.

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

Xiu Zhao froze. His eyes — the reason for their mockery, the reason his mother turned away, the reason he had tried again and again to end his life — beautiful? What a cruel joke.

“You don’t need to be polite” he muttered, pulling his arm away.

“I’m not,” the boy said, smiling softly. “And I don’t lie when I see something beautiful.”

Xiu Zhao searched his gaze, desperate to find something — disgust, pity, deception — anything to push him away.

But there was nothing. Only clear, tranquil eyes that reflected a gentleness even Xiu Zhao himself did not know he possessed.

He turned and began walking toward home. Behind him, the strange boy — still nameless — followed, lighthearted and cheerful.

“What a strange boy” Xiu Zhao whispered.

---

Xiu Zhao never imagined that just two weeks with that boy, Yi Chen Li, would stir such a storm within him.

Chen Yi was everything he believed himself not to be. Yet the boy’s actions defied every assumption.

In those short weeks, even without truly knowing Xiu Zhao, Chen spoke freely — about his life, his family, the loneliness that lingered in his every word.

Xiu Zhao pretended indifference, but each night as Chen spoke, something inside him burned.

Every tale of neglect, every wound disguised as a smile awakened his own buried fury — his thirst for blood, long hidden, began to rise again.

Chen came from a noble family, much like his own, yet he never knew love — not truly.

His mother had abandoned him to the servants’ care; she hadn’t visited him once since his birth. She adored the elder brother, and let the younger rot beneath scorn — beaten by cousins, belittled by father and brother alike.

Even within a vast household, Chen was invisible. Uncles, aunts, even the lowest servants mocked him, calling him weak.

Since childhood, he had been forced to cultivate, to excel — and when he failed, their laughter followed him.

“You’ll never be better than your brother” they said, their voices like knives.

Every stumble brought a new name: coward, fool, bastard — though he was none of those things.

And yet, when he spoke, he smiled. Always smiled.

That was what haunted Xiu Zhao the most — that radiant smile wrapped around a loneliness he knew too well.

He would never say it aloud, but in some quiet place within him, Chen had already taken root — even deeper than his father’s shadow.

…

Beneath the cherry tree, Xiu Zhao turned the pages of his book, lost in its depths.

He didn’t notice the boy who had been watching him for some time.

“The Heavenly Realm” Chen said, intrigued.

Used to these interruptions, Xiu Zhao didn’t even flinch.

“Do you like it?”

“Not really. But the stories are interesting.”

The walls around Xiu Zhao crumbled a little more each day. The small sun before him — smiling, radiant — broke through them effortlessly.

“Xiu Zhao” Chen murmured softly.

Seeing the serious expression on his face, Xiu Zhao set his book aside.

“Don’t worry” he said.

They didn’t need words. His eyes spoke what his lips could not.

Xiu Zhao reached out, brushed his hand along Chen’s face, and whispered:

“I’m here.”

He drew him close, wrapping him in a firm embrace, his hand gentle against the boy’s trembling back.

“Please… don’t leave me” came the muffled plea.

“I’ll never leave you.”

Just a single sentence — and Chen broke, tears spilling freely.

Above them, the heavens wept, sealing their fragile promise beneath the rain.

Two broken hearts, trampled and scarred, bound together by words heavier than all their pain.

“My light.”

Two words that roared louder than thunder.

“Young master, please come inside!” a servant called.

Even drenched beneath the tree, the boys held each other tightly, savoring every heartbeat as though the world might end tomorrow.

Lightning tore the sky apart.

“We should go in” Xiu Zhao whispered.

They rose. Rain ran down his face as he brushed the golden strands from Chen’s eyes.

Side by side, hand in hand, they walked through the storm with smiles on their faces.

And even the fiercest tempest felt like a sunlit day.

…

In the bath, their chilled bodies eased as the warm water touched their skin.

“Can’t you stay a little longer? Just a few days?”

Though he tried to hide it, his voice trembled with desperation.

“I can’t.”

Chen drew closer, wrapping his arms around him. Xiu Zhao leaned into the warmth of his touch.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” Chen murmured. “You’re my first friend.”

“You’re mine too,” Xiu Zhao whispered back.

“Then let’s make the most of our last day together.”

…

The dinners they shared erased every memory of loneliness.

Chen prepared Xiu Zhao’s favorite dishes — all vegetarian, no meat.

Even the servants treated the meal with care, unwilling to repeat the mistakes of years past.

The dinner passed quickly — too quickly.

Xiu Zhao wanted time itself to slow, just so he could hold onto those moments a little longer.

As always, Chen followed him to his room afterward.

They sat side by side on the bed, Xiu Zhao’s small hand gripping Chen’s tightly, reluctant to let go.

“Xiu.”

“Mm?”

“Why don’t you eat meat?”

The question that had lingered finally slipped from his lips like a whisper.

“I stopped because it started making me sick. The smell alone makes me want to vomit.”

“But don’t worry, I don’t—”

Before he could finish, Chen pulled him into a fierce embrace — so tight that Xiu Zhao, even accustomed to his warmth, was left breathless.

He patted Chen’s back lightly, gasping between words.

“Sometimes I think you’re trying to kill me.”

“Sorry”

Xiu Zhao laughed — truly laughed — until he fell back on the bed, breathless.

Chen didn’t understand what amused him so much, but the sound filled him with warmth.

“Stay like this, little light” Chen whispered, brushing a hand through his hair.

To his surprise, Xiu Zhao was already asleep.

Smiling, Chen pulled the blanket over him and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead.

“Good night, Xiu Zhao.”

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