George turned back to the guard, his eyes flashing with a lethal, emerald light. He didn't trust this man—not for a second—but the urgency of Bai Qi's madness required his immediate attention. He needed to see what was happening at the Villa. He needed to see the scale of the Monarch's folly.
He reached out and grabbed the guard by the lapels of his uniform, pulling him close until they were nose-to-nose.
"Listen to me, you ungrateful wretch," George hissed, his voice a low, vibrating threat. "I am leaving for an hour. If you move away a single inch from this door... if you blink too long... if you let anyone besides a doctor pass that threshold, I will make sure you never find another job in this life. Or the next."
The guard's eyes went wide, but he didn't falter. He stood straight and delivered a sharp, mocking salute. "On my life, Mr. George. I won't move."
George let out a long, ragged sigh. He glanced once more at the frosted glass, a small, sad smile touching his lips as he thought of the boy inside. He adjusted his coat, regaining his aristocratic posture, and turned on his heel.
His stride was fast, determined, and fueled by a protective fire. He was going to find Bai Qi. He was going to find the viper. And he was going to ensure that the House of Rothenberg didn't crumble under the weight of a ghost's face.
The moment George's silhouette vanished into the elevator at the end of the hall, the guard's posture collapsed. The "pathetic" mask melted away, replaced by a sighed.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. His fingers flew across the screen, the blue light reflecting in his eyes like a digital infection.
Subject: George.
Status: The Lion has called. George has left the post. He is heading for the Villa.
The door is clear.
He hit send.
The guard looked at the frosted glass of Room 43. He could hear the soft, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor—a sound that meant the "Saint" was still there, still vulnerable, still unaware that his only true protector had just been lured away.
"You really shouldn't have trusted me, Mr. George," the guard whispered to the empty hallway.
He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms and settling in. He wasn't guarding Shu Yao. He was simply obeying Shen Haoxuan.
Inside the atmosphere in Room 43 had shifted from a place of healing to a mausoleum of unrequited hope.
Shu Yao sat upright, his frame looking painfully fragile against the stark white of the hospital linens.
The physical agony in his chest—the sharp, stabbing reminders of his broken ribs—had largely receded into a dull hum, but the emotional ache had mutated into something far more predatory.
His eyes, once bright with a saintly clarity, were now bruised by dark circles, the result of a week-long insomniac vigil.
Every time the small television in the corner flickered with the local news, his heart shattered anew. Images of Bai Qi and Ming Su flashed like jagged glass: dinner at the Sapphire Lounge, a private screening at the Luxor, a gala where they stood so close they seemed to share the same breath.
Shu Yao's gaze was fixed on the Phone. His thumb hovered over the screen, scrolling through a desert of unread messages and unanswered calls.
He clutched the device like a holy relic, a lifeline to a man who had effectively erased him.
"Please," he whispered, his voice catching on a sob he refused to let out. "Just once. Just tell me you are not angry."
He wiped a hot tear from his cheek, trying to summon the strength for his discharge. He told himself that once he was free from these walls, he could find Bai Qi.
He could apologize. He could make the world right again.
Outside the door, the Guard stood with his back straight, the perfect image of a reformed sentinel. To any passing nurse, he looked like a man seeking redemption for his earlier desertion.
But beneath the cap, his brow was slick with a cold, greasy sweat. He was no longer a man; he was a recording device. Every sound from Room 43—every muffled sob, every frantic tap on the phone—was being funneled directly to Shen Haoxuan.
The guard didn't know how Shen had unearthed the darkness of his past, but he knew the price of disobedience was a life behind bars. He stood in the shadows, a pathetic puppet waiting for the next string to be pulled.
While Shu Yao languished in the sterile dark, the Rothenberg Villa was being bathed in the warm, deceptive glow of a new era.
Armin stood in the shadows of the grand staircase, his features tightened into a mask of profound annoyance. He watched as Bai Qi led Ming Su through the labyrinthine halls, pointing out treasures that had been in the family for generations.
"This is from the Old Country," Bai Qi murmured, gesturing to an ancient, silver-filigree clock that had belonged to the first Rothenberg patriarch. "It was brought from Germany during the Great Migration. It marks the heartbeat of our legacy."
Ming Su nodded, her movements fluid and hauntingly familiar. She wore a smile that was a perfect, blasphemous imitation of Qing Yue's—serene, slightly tilted, and devastatingly soft.
"It's breathtaking, Ah Qi," she whispered, her voice like silk over stone. "You have so much history here. It feels like... like I was always meant to see this."
Bai Qi felt a visceral pull in his chest, a drowning sensation he mistook for love. He was letting her see the inner sanctum, places where even Shu Yao had been hesitant to tread.
Armin's eyes narrowed. Bai qi has never let a stranger this close, Armin thought bitterly. He is letting a ghost walk through the house of the living.
They eventually settled in Niklas's private study—the high-vaulted room where the "Lion" conducted his most secretive affairs.
Ming Su reached out, her fingers curling tightly around Bai Qi's elbow. The sudden, firm contact made Bai Qi's heart perform a frantic, uncharacteristic flutter. He looked down at her, seeing only the reflection of a past he couldn't let go.
"Wow, Ah Qi," she breathed, looking up at him through a curtain of dark lashes. "I never knew someone like you could be this smart. To run a fashion empire and still command the respect of the world... it's intoxicating."
Bai Qi felt a flush creep up his neck, a heat he hadn't experienced since he was a boy. The "Ice Monarch" was melting under the focused heat of a siren's praise.
She is so sweet, he thought, his pulse thrumming. The way she holds onto me... as if I am her only anchor.
Ming Su smirked, a jagged, predatory expression that vanished the moment he looked her way. She began to trace her fingers along his jawline, the touch light as a feather but heavy with intent. Bai Qi jolted upright, the shock of the intimacy sending a shiver through his spine.
"You are so capable," Ming Su whispered, her fingers beginning to trace the sharp, breathtaking line of his jaw.
With a calculated, deliberate motion, she reached behind his neck and pulled him down.
Bai Qi, the monolithic heir to the Rothenberg name, was led like a fool. He offered no resistance, his eyes closing instinctively as he was drawn into her orbit, seduced by the scent of jasmine and the promise of a beautiful lie.
Ming Su's smirk widened. She had him. The Monarch was ready to kneel.
SLAM.
The heavy oak door of the study, which had been left ajar, was thrown open with a violent, echoing force.
George stood in the threshold, his emerald eyes burning with a righteous, German fury. He took in the scene: Bai Qi leaning down, Ming Su's hand behind his neck, her fingers clutching his waist. The desecration of his brother's study was complete.
George barked, the sound a sharp, military command that shattered the romantic haze. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Ming Su stopped dead, her eyes widening in a feigned, doll-like terror. She immediately recoiled, burying her face in Bai Qi's chest with a theatrical shiver.
Bai Qi snapped his head toward George, his obsidian eyes flashing with a cold, defensive rage. He hated the sound of his uncle's voice—it was the sound of reality crashing into his fantasy.
"What do you want from me now?" Bai Qi growled, his jaw set in a line of granite. "Wasn't everything you did at the hospital enough? You've already drawn blood, Uncle. Why are you here?"
"I am sorry, Ah Qi," Ming Su whimpered into his coat, her voice trembling. "Whenever I see him... I feel so scared. He looks at me like he wants to destroy me."
Bai Qi's protective instincts flared. He wrapped a firm arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his heart. "I'm sorry, Ming Su. I promise I won't let anything happen to you." He turned back to George, his face a mask of unprecedented arrogance.
"Since that day in Room 43, I haven't visited him. I haven't forced him into work. I've given you the silence you demanded. So why are you trespassing in my way?"
George pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache throbbing behind his eyes. "You have no idea what you've done, you arrogant brat. This is your father's sanctuary, and you are inviting a nothing to sit in his chair."
"Ming su is not a 'Nothing'!" Bai Qi barked, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "She is my friend! She is the only person who understands the weight I carry!"
"Oh, really?" George's voice dropped to a low, lethal purr, dripping with sarcasm. "If she is truly that kind—that angelic—then perhaps you can let her explain one tiny detail, Bai Qi. Where the hell did sedative come from?"
The word hit the room like a physical blow.
Ming Su's eyes dilated, the pupils blooming into dark pools of visceral shock. Deep within the recesses of her mind, she cursed George with a venom so malignant it nearly eroded her porcelain mask. How dare he, The sedative was supposed to be untraceable, a phantom in the blood.
Bai Qi stilled. The "Ice Monarch" felt a sudden, freezing draft in his soul as the doctor's words from the hospital echoed in his mind. The only reason the patent collapsed was because of a high-grade sedative.
George didn't let up. He leaned forward, his emerald eyes boring into Ming Su's pale face.
"I am asking you a direct question. Do you have an answer for the chemical?"
"She didn't do anything!" Bai Qi's voice erupted, a jagged bark of defensive fury. He clutched Ming Su harder, his fingers digging into the fabric of her coat as if he could shield her from the truth. "She was with me! Every second of that night, she was by my side. She is innocent, uncle. Stop trying to stain her with your paranoia!"
George cut him off with a sharp, derisive laugh. "Of course she was with you, you fool! A mastermind never gets their own hands dirty. They don't work alone; they move pawns across the board to stay beyond reproach. She used a surrogate—her assistant, a hired hand, it doesn't matter. The intent remains hers."
Bai Qi's jaw clenched so hard the bone seemed ready to shatter. "Were you there? No. You weren't. So stop this vitriolic nonsense! Ming Su has been nothing but generous toward Shu Yao. She has shown more concern for him than you ever have for our family's reputation!"
Ming Su saw her opening. This was the moment to pivot from the defensive to the devastating. She didn't argue. She didn't fight. She simply collapsed.
She began to cry—not a loud, boisterous sob, but a miserable, silent weeping that made her shoulders quiver with a pathetic rhythm. She buried her face in Bai Qi's chest, her fingers clutching his shirt like a drowning woman.
"I... I was just being kind," she whimpered, her voice a fragile wisp of silk. "Shu Yao was so fragile... it broke my heart to see him like that, Ah Qi. I would never... I could never do such a thing."
She tilted her head up, looking at Bai Qi with a face that was a haunting, mirror image of Qing Yue.
It was the exact look that had once driven a younger Bai Qi to nearly kill a group of students who had dared to bruise Qing Yue's skin. The same wide-eyed, shimmering terror. The same silent plea for a hero to rise and burn the world down in her name.
Bai Qi's heart did a violent, agonizing somersault. The logic of the sedative, the warnings of his uncle, the reality of the hospital—it all evaporated in the heat of that gaze.
He looked at his uncle, his eyes flashing with a shimmering, dangerous fire.
He straightened his back, pulling Ming Su closer as he stepped toward the door. "Disrespecting a lady is a mark of a coward. Since you have chosen to insult my guest in my father's house, I wouldn't stay here another minute to listen to your delusional nonsense."
"Bai Qi, don't walk away from the truth!" George shouted.
"The only truth I see," Bai Qi hissed, turning his head over his shoulder, "is a man who has grown too old to recognize a friend. We are leaving."
Bai Qi strode out of the study, the heavy oak doors swinging behind him with a final, echoing boom. George stood alone in the silence, the scent of jasmine lingering like a threat.