Chapter : 2 "Bulling The Sister Of A Broken Brother"

He hadn't slept. Not really Just lay there.

In that gray space between dreams and waking, his eyes burning, his throat dry. Even in sleep, his heart had not rested only repeated the same ache in prettier disguises.

Shu Yao sat up slowly, the sheets clinging to his skin, damp with the sweat of stifled sobs. His head throbbed — a dull, insistent ache behind his eyes, as though tears had taken up residence there and refused to leave.

The sunlight didn't feel soft this morning.

It felt cruel.

Too loud. Too bright.

He stood, wobbling slightly, and moved like a ghost toward the mirror. His reflection met him with honesty he hadn't asked for:

— swollen eyelids,

— faint eye bags bruising the lower lids,

— the rims of his eyes still red,

— lips bitten raw.

He washed his face in cold water until it stung. The chill helped, barely.

Downstairs, the clatter of breakfast and the scent of steamed buns drifted up faintly.

His mother's voice carried through the hallway.

> "Shu Yao! Are you up yet? We're not late today, are we?"

"Qing Yue still hasn't come down!"

But Shu Yao was already dressed.

Neatly. Uniform crisp, hair tied back loosely at the nape. His collar buttoned, shoes polished. Everything perfect — everything untouched.

Except his heart.

That was in pieces again.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, took a breath, and picked up his phone. The brightness of the screen stabbed into his eyes like tiny needles.

> Ping.

One new notification.

It was a post.

Trending.

Liked over 2,000 times already.

Shared by friends. Schoolmates. Strangers.

And the photo—

It was them.

Bai Qi.

Qing Yue.

He was holding her close, one hand around her waist, his cheek resting gently on her head as she smiled up at the camera. Both of them wore soft white sweaters, almost matching. But it wasn't the clothes that stole Shu Yao's breath — it was the rings.

Silver bands. Identical. Delicate.

The caption was short.

"We're official now ForeverQingQi"

His thumb hovered over the screen.

Then the water rose again.

His eyes stung, not from surprise — he had always known this day would come — but from the quiet finality of it.

Bai Qi had chosen.

And it wasn't him.

Tears gathered again, slowly, gently, like the ocean creeping back to the shore. But this time, before they could fall — he wiped them away.

One breath.

Then another.

He stood up.

He would smile.

He would walk.

He would carry his heart like glass in his chest and pretend it wasn't cracked.

Just like he always did.

The phone dimmed in his hand, screen fading to black. He didn't move. Didn't blink. He just stood there, heart folded up and hidden where no one would dare to look.

Then came the sound—heels tapping on the wooden floor. Quick. Sharp. Familiar. A knock that wasn't really a knock. The door swung open without waiting.

"Shu Yao! Why are you still in here?"

His mother entered like a storm in silk. Hair swept into a tight bun. Glossed lips already pursed. She scanned the room like it offended her.

"You didn't even come down for breakfast," she snapped, arms crossed. "Always acting like the world revolves around your moods. What is it this time? You know, if you acted more like Qing Yue, maybe you'd actually do something with your life."

Her voice sliced cleanly through the air. Like she wasn't just scolding—she was disappointed by the very fact that he existed.

"Look at her—responsible, beautiful, in a real relationship. She helps around the house, and she doesn't sulk in corners all day. When will you grow up, Shu Yao?"

He said nothing. Didn't lift his eyes. Didn't flinch. He just… stood there. Still. Perfectly still.

"Honestly," she huffed, already turning to leave. "Some boys your age are out there achieving things. But you—you're always so sensitive, so dramatic. Pathetic."

The door closed behind her with a dull click.

Silence. Again.

But this time it didn't hold.

A single tear slipped down his cheek. Then another. He didn't even try to stop them. Didn't wipe them this time. Didn't hold his breath to keep them from falling. He just stood in the middle of the room, drowning.

No screams. No fists pounding into pillows. No shattered mirrors.

Only soft sobs—like wind passing through leaves, too quiet for anyone to notice.

He cried as if his heart was something foreign. Something hollow. Something cracked open from too much silence.

He cried like it was the only language he had left. And somewhere inside that pain, he smiled again Before it hurts so much it almost felt funny.

At the breakfast table, Qing Yue was already finishing the last sip of her milk, her polished fingers brushing a crumb from her skirt as she stood up, slinging her bag over one shoulder. Her voice was light, casual, but with that natural sweetness only she could

carry. "Gege, don't be late, okay?" she called out, already halfway through the hall, shoes tapping softly against the floor. She didn't wait for a reply, didn't even glance back just disappeared through the

doorway with the ease of someone who's never been scolded for simply existing. On the other side of the table, their mother was seated, already eyeing Shu Yao with that familiar expression: part annoyance, part disappointment, part silent accusation. Her

lips twisted with disdain as she set down her cup. "Look at her," she said, gesturing toward the empty doorway like it was proof. "Already done with breakfast, already prepared, not making anyone chase after her. She's so perfect. And you" her gaze

turned sharp as a blade, slicing across the table to land on him, "look at yourself. Always dragging behind. Always so slow. So much trouble and for what?" Shu Yao said nothing. Not a word. Not even a sigh. He picked up his bag, slipped it over his shoulder, and walked past her with quiet, heavy steps. He didn't say goodbye. Didn't

even look at her. And behind him, his mother watched, eyes narrowed, mouth tight, arms crossed as if folding herself into her own sense of righteousness. She didn't speak again. She just glared. And he just left.

The morning was warm, golden, too quiet.

Shu Yao had just stepped out of the house, bag slung over one shoulder, the door clicking shut behind him. He walked with the stillness of someone who hadn't fully returned from the night before—tired, but trying. The street stretched ahead, leaves brushing over the pavement like whispers, and he thought, just for a second, that maybe today would pass like any other.

Then he heard it—

a sharp voice,

his sister's.

"Give it back!"

Not playful. Not teasing.

Desperate.

He turned toward the sound and froze.

Qing Yue was cornered near the old school wall, three boys—seniors—towering around her like vultures. One of them dangled her phone high above her reach, grinning.

"If you're so famous," the tall one sneered, "where's your boyfriend, princess?"

The others laughed, crowding closer.

Qing Yue's fists were clenched at her sides, her face burning—not just with anger, but humiliation.

And for a moment, she looked small.

Too small for the fury inside her.

Shu Yao didn't think.

Didn't hesitate.

He crossed the distance like a ghost in wind.

By the time the taller boy raised the phone again, Shu Yao was already between them.

"Let her go," he said, calm—too calm.

Qing Yue blinked. "Gege…"

He kept his eyes on the boys.

One arm reached behind him, gently nudging her away. "Run."

She didn't move.

"Qing Yue." His voice was firmer now. "Run. I'll be fine. Go."

She stared a moment longer—at his pale face, the dark circles under his eyes, the calm in his voice that didn't match the way his hands trembled. And then, reluctantly, she turned and ran.

The laughter stopped.

The moment she vanished around the corner, hands grabbed Shu Yao by the collar.

"You want to play hero?" the tall one hissed.

Shu Yao struggled to free himself, teeth gritted, but they were stronger. Too strong. He barely braced before the first punch came—

a sharp blow to the cheek that sent him stumbling back, one hand flying to his face as warm blood slipped down his skin.

But he didn't fall.

Didn't cry out.

He stood there—back straight, face turned slightly away, pressing a handkerchief to the wound with quiet dignity.

And then—

"HEY!"

A voice, angry and loud, came from behind the bullies.

A teacher had seen.

The boys froze.

Behind the teacher stood Bai Qi.

His eyes burned as he took in the scene—the crumpled handkerchief, the smear of blood, the fading echo of a punch. Then he turned his gaze on the boys, and it was cold enough to silence wind.

He didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

His look said everything:

I'll remember this.

You'll regret it.

The teacher barked orders, sending the seniors stumbling away toward the principal's office, heads down, muttering excuses.

But Bai Qi didn't follow.

He stayed, watching Shu Yao.

The boy stood there, slightly hunched, as though his bones were too tired to hold him upright. Still clutching the white cloth to his face, stained red. Still not saying a word.

Bai Qi took a step forward—then paused.

He wanted to help.

Because this boy—this fragile, stubborn boy—was the brother of the girl he loved.

But before he could open his mouth, Shu Yao had already turned.

He walked past without looking back.

Without meeting his eyes.

Without asking for anything.

And that silence…

hurt more than any words could have.

Bai Qi stood there for a long moment.

Then, quietly, he pulled out his phone.

He typed a message:

"I'm coming to your class."

Sent.

No hesitation.

He didn't glance again at Shu Yao's retreating figure.

Didn't check if he was still bleeding.

But guilt curled around his ribs like smoke.

Because for all his sharp words and careful pride,

Bai Qi had seen the pain in those eyes.

And still…

he walked away.