Zhiyuan couldn't breathe in that room for another second. The laughter, the fake smiles, the memory of his father's face it all crashed together. He stood up abruptly, the movement sharp.
"excuse me," he said, his voice strangely flat. "A sudden headache. Please, continue the game without me."
He didn't wait for a response. He turned and walked out of the living room, the sounds of his family's protests and fake concern fading behind him like a bad dream.
Yichen, a silent shadow, fell into step behind him immediately, matching his pace through the grand, echoing halls of the Liang mansion and out into the cool night air.
Zhiyuan didn't speak. He just walked straight to the waiting car, his steps stiff. He yanked the door open and practically collapsed into the back seat, slamming it shut.
"Drive," he rasped to Lao Chen.
As the car pulled away from the mansion, the dam broke. The controlled breathing became sharp, ragged gasps. Zhiyuan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The streetlights outside blurred into streaks of yellow.
"Boss? Zhiyuan?" Yichen's voice cut through the haze, close and alert. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
Zhiyuan couldn't answer. In his mind, the faces from the living room twisted. Aunt Ruifen's sweet smile stretched into a grotesque, wide grin. Uncle Shuren's bitter eyes seemed to glow. Uncle Zhaoxi's nervous laugh echoed like a shriek. They were shadows with sharp teeth, closing in on him, all calling his name in a horrible, sing-song chorus.
Zhiyuan... the seat is empty, Zhiyuan...
He clutched at his chest, over his heart. A sharp, tight pain was spreading.
"Water... get me water," he choked out, his voice strangled.
"Lao Chen, pull over! Now!" Yichen commanded, his own calm cracking with urgency.
The driver swerved to the curb near a 24-hour convenience store. "I'll get it!" Lao Chen said, scrambling out of the car and rushing inside.
In the backseat, Zhiyuan was fumbling desperately at his suit jacket, then his pants pockets. "The medicine... where is it... I forgot... I didn't take it..." he muttered, panic rising. His vision swam.
"Hey, look at me. Breathe. Look at me," Yichen said, his voice firm but low. He placed a steadying hand on Zhiyuan's shoulder, grounding him. "It's a panic attack. You're safe. You're in the car with me. Nothing in this car will hurt you. Breathe with me. In... and out."
Zhiyuan tried to focus on Yichen's face, on his calm, amber eyes, pushing back the monstrous shadows of his family.
"Pocket... inside jacket..." Zhiyuan gasped.
Yichen didn't hesitate. He reached over, his movements efficient and gentle, and found the small plastic container in Zhiyuan's inner breast pocket. He opened it, tapped out a single pill into his palm.
Just then, Lao Chen returned, thrusting a cold bottle of water through the open window. Yichen took it, uncapped it, and handed both the pill and the water to Zhiyuan.
"Here. Slow."
Zhiyuan's hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped the pill. With a monumental effort, he placed it on his tongue and washed it down with a gulp of icy water. He was breathing so heavily he was almost hyperventilating. In his distress, his fingers went to his collar, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt and tie, loosening them, needing air against his skin.
"Drive Now. Fast," Yichen ordered Lao Chen, his eyes never leaving Zhiyuan.
The car shot back into traffic, speeding towards the safety of Zhiyuan's own mansion. Yichen kept talking in that low, steady voice, a lifeline in the roaring silence of Zhiyuan's panic.
"Just breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. You're okay. The medicine will help. We're almost there."
As the car raced through the night, Zhiyuan leaned his head back against the seat, eyes closed, focusing on that voice, on the solid, real presence beside him, fighting to silence the bloody, smiling shadows of his family that still haunted the darkness behind his eyelids.
The car screeched to a halt in front of Zhiyuan's mansion. Before Lao Chen could even get out, Yichen had his door open. He leaned in, his voice firm.
"Can you walk?"
Zhiyuan, pale and drenched in a cold sweat, gave a weak, shaky nod. But when he tried to stand, his legs buckled. Without a word, Yichen slid an arm around his waist, hauling him up, and half-carried, half-dragged him through the front door and up the sweeping staircase.
"Nainai!" Yichen called out, his voice echoing.
Meilin appeared at the top of the stairs, her face draining of color. "Tiān a! What happened?!"
"He's having panic attack," Yichen said shortly, shouldering his way into Zhiyuan's bedroom. He laid him down carefully on the large bed.
Zhiyuan was trembling uncontrollably, his breath still coming in ragged hitches. His expensive shirt was damp and clung to him. Meilin rushed to the ensuite bathroom, returning with a basin of cold water and a cloth. She sat on the edge of the bed, dabbing his forehead and face, her hands gentle but shaking.
"Shh, Young Master. It's alright. You're home. You're safe," she cooed, her voice thick with worry.
Zhiyuan's glassy eyes darted around the room, landing on his suit jacket, which Yichen had tossed over a chair. The medicine bottle was visible in the pocket.
"My... medicine..." Zhiyuan rasped, reaching a trembling hand towards it.
Yichen was faster. He snatched the jacket and took the bottle out, holding it firmly in his hand.
"Give it... give it to me!" Zhiyuan demanded, his voice cracking with desperation. He tried to push himself up.
"No," Yichen said, his voice quiet but absolute. He didn't move.
"YICHEN! GIVE IT BACK!" Zhiyuan yelled, a surge of hysterical strength making him lunge forward.
Meilin stood up, wringing the cloth. "This is too much. He needs a doctor. I'm calling Dr. Fan right now." She hurried out of the room, pulling her phone from her apron.
As soon as she left, Zhiyuan made another grab for the bottle. Yichen didn't argue. In one fluid motion, he caught Zhiyuan's wrists and gently but firmly pushed him back down onto the pillows, pinning his shoulders.
"Zhiyuan. Listen to me," Yichen said, his face close, his gaze locked on Zhiyuan's wild eyes. "You already took a pill in the car. You don't need another one. What you need is to let it work. You need to calm your mind. You're safe. No one is here but me."
"Let go of me!" Zhiyuan struggled weakly, but Yichen's hold was like iron.
"Breathe. Look at me. Breathe with me. In..." Yichen took an exaggerated, slow breath. "...and out." He exhaled slowly. "Your mind is playing tricks. The danger isn't here. It's okay. Just breathe."
Zhiyuan, trapped and exhausted, had no choice but to follow the rhythm of Yichen's breathing. The frantic struggle left his body, replaced by a wave of crushing weakness.
"Shh, it's okay, bao bei," Yichen murmured, the term of endearment slipping out naturally as he held him firmly, his thumbs making slow circles on Zhiyuan's shoulders. "Just let go. I've got you. No one will touch you here."
Hearing that word bao bei, spoken with such protective tenderness in the midst of his utter breakdown, broke something inside Zhiyuan. A hot, shameful tear escaped, tracing a path through the sweat on his temple, then another. He stopped fighting completely, going limp under Yichen's hands.
He turned his face into the pillow, his body shuddering with silent, humiliated sobs. What is happening to me? he thought, the CEO, the heir, the untouchable Liang Zhiyuan, reduced to a trembling, weeping mess, pinned to his bed by his bodyguard. What have I become?
Yichen felt the surrender, the quiet tears. He didn't let go. He slowly released the pressure on Zhiyuan's shoulders, but kept one hand resting firmly on his arm, a steady anchor, waiting for the storm inside the man to finally, truly, pass.
Yichen pressed his forehead lightly against Zhiyuan's damp temple, a gesture of intimate comfort. With his thumb, he gently wiped away the tear tracks.
"Shhh, it's okay. Don't worry. Everything is all right now. I'm right here. Just rest," he murmured, his voice a low, steady hum until Zhiyuan's ragged breaths finally evened out into the shallow rhythm of exhausted sleep.
The bedroom door opened softly. Dr. Fan, an older man with a perpetually serious expression, entered with his medical bag. Meilin hovered anxiously behind him.
"Did it happen again?" Dr. Fan asked, his eyes on the sleeping Zhiyuan.
Meilin wrung her hands. "Yes, Doctor. But... it was different. Usually, after his medicine, he would just go very quiet and limp, or fall straight to sleep. Tonight, he was... fighting. Crying. It was very strange."
Dr. Fan's gaze sharpened. He looked from Meilin to Yichen. "Did he take his evening dose on time?"
Meilin looked helplessly at Yichen, who answered, his voice low. "No. He missed it. By a few hours."
Dr. Fan let out a disapproving sigh. He walked to the bedside and checked Zhiyuan's pulse. "This medicine is not a suggestion. It is very important for his condition. You must make sure he takes it with dinner, every day, on time." He spoke with stern authority. "If he misses it, and an attack begins, letting him have a second pill is the correct protocol. It will help him calm down much faster."
Yichen, who had been listening quietly, frowned. He stepped forward slightly. "A second dose? So quickly? And it causes such different reactions? I've never heard of an anxiety medication working like that."
Dr. Fan turned slowly, fixing Yichen with an icy stare. "Are you questioning me? A medical doctor? His personal physician of ten years?"
Meilin quickly grabbed Yichen's arm. "Yichen! Shh! The doctor knows what's best for the Young Master! Don't be rude!"
But Yichen didn't back down. He crossed his arms, his gaze locked on the doctor. "I'm not being rude. I'm asking a question. What, exactly, is wrong with him? What is this 'condition'?"
Dr. Fan's face tightened with irritation. He turned dismissively back to Meilin, ignoring Yichen completely. "Take care of him. Ensure the medication schedule is followed precisely. I am not here to waste my time explaining basic medicine to security personnel." He glanced at the sleeping Zhiyuan. "He appears stable now. He doesn't need the injection tonight, so I will leave."
"Injection?" Yichen's voice was like a whip crack in the quiet room. "What injection?"
Meilin answered hurriedly, trying to defuse the situation. "Sometimes... if the attack is very severe and the pills don't work fast enough... the doctor gives him an injection to make him sleep. To stop the panic."
Yichen said nothing, but his jaw was clenched. He didn't buy it. Not for a second. The doctor's evasiveness, the unusual medication instructions, the mention of an injection it all felt wrong.
Dr. Fan gave a final, curt nod and left the room. Meilin followed him out, apologizing quietly, "I'm so sorry, Doctor, he's new, he doesn't understand..."
Once they were gone, Yichen stood alone in the room with the sleeping Zhiyuan. His protective instincts were screaming. He walked over to the bedside table where he had placed the small, white pill bottle.
He picked it up, studying the label with the long chemical name. Then, he pulled out his own phone. He opened a search browser, his fingers moving swiftly and silently over the screen. He wasn't going to take the doctor's word for anything. He needed to know what he was really giving Zhiyuan, and why it seemed like the person meant to heal him might be hiding something much darker.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the blinds, feeling too bright and accusing. Zhiyuan woke with a thick, heavy headache pressing behind his eyes. The events of the previous night returned in sharp, humiliating flashes the family gathering, the panic, the tears, Yichen pinning him down, calling him bao bei.
A hot wave of shame washed over him. He, Liang Zhiyuan, had completely lost control in front of an employee. He scrubbed his face with his hands as if he could wipe the memory away.
He went through his morning routine mechanically shower, shave, dressing in a crisp, navy suit building his professional armor piece by piece. By the time he walked downstairs, the CEO mask was firmly back in place, though the headache lingered.
In the dining room, only Meilin was present, setting out a simple breakfast of congee and steamed buns.
"Good morning, Young Master," she said, her voice carefully neutral, but her eyes were full of unasked questions.
"Morning, Meilin," he replied, sitting down. He stirred the congee, not meeting her gaze. The silence stretched, filled with the memory of his breakdown. Finally, he cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. "Where's Yichen?"
Meilin paused, a small frown on her face. "I... I don't know, Young Master. He wasn't in his room this morning. He didn't come for breakfast."
Zhiyuan's spoon stilled. "He left?"
"Maybe he went for a run? Or to check the grounds?" Meilin offered, but she sounded unsure. Yichen's comings and goings were already a mystery.
Zhiyuan just nodded, a strange pang of something worry? irritation? hitting him. He focused on eating, the food tasting like ash.
Just as he was finishing, his personal phone buzzed on the table. It was Miss Zhang, his assistant. Her tone was all business, a familiar and welcome anchor.
"Sir, good morning. I have the preliminary update you requested on the individuals from the restaurant garage incident."
Zhiyuan straightened up, all his attention focused. "Go ahead."
"The facial recognition from the surrounding city cameras was... inconclusive, sir. Their faces are not in any national database we have access to. However, their escape route was traced to a warehouse district in the old port. The vehicles were found abandoned and clean."
"Clean?"
"Wiped,sir. No fingerprints, no registration, no DNA. Professionally sanitized."
Zhiyuan's headache throbbed."So, nothing."
"Not entirely,sir," Miss Zhang continued. "One of the men, the one with the injured ribs, was seen on a lower-quality traffic camera before the attack. He was coming out of a private club in the financial district. The club is owned by a shell corporation, which our legal team is still untangling, but its board of advisors has... indirect links to several of our domestic competitors."
A lead. Thin, but a lead. It moved the threat from a vague, familial shadow into the realm of corporate warfare. Or a very clever disguise for it.
"Keep digging. I want to know who owns that club, who frequents it, and where that money trail leads," Zhiyuan ordered.
"Of course, sir. I'll update you as soon as we have more."
He ended the call,his mind racing. Professional, untraceable attackers connected to a competitors' club. It made a twisted kind of sense. But it didn't erase the feeling in his gut the one that told him the real danger was much closer to home, sitting across from him at a family game night.
He looked at the empty chair where Yichen usually appeared, uninvited and annoying. Today, the absence was louder than his presence had ever been. Where had he gone? And why did it feel, unsettlingly, like he needed him here to figure this out?
The walls of his home office, usually a sanctuary, felt like they were closing in. The paperwork blurred, the numbers on the screen made no sense. The weight of the attacks, the family suspicion, the humiliating memory of last night it all pressed down until he couldn't breathe.
For the first time in years, Liang Zhiyuan decided to take a day off. He didn't announce it. He just stood up, left his laptop open, and walked out to the large, secluded terrace at the back of the mansion. Leaning against the railing, he lit a cigarette, hoping the quiet and the smoke would clear the static in his head.
He was on his second drag, lost in a fog of his own thoughts, when a voice spoke directly into his ear from behind.
"Boo."
Zhiyuan jolted violently, the cigarette flying from his fingers over the railing. He spun around, heart hammering against his ribs.
Chen Yichen stood there, grinning like a mischievous fox. He was dressed in simple grey training clothes, a light sweat glistening on his forehead, as if he'd just finished a long run.
"You!" Zhiyuan snapped, his hand over his heart. "What is wrong with you?!"
"You looked too serious. The world isn't ending because you took a smoke break," Yichen said, leaning casually against the railing next to where Zhiyuan had been standing.
"I wasn't— For God's sake, you made me lose my cigarette," Zhiyuan grumbled, patting his pockets for another.
"Good. They're bad for you. You should thank me," Yichen replied, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
"I should fire you," Zhiyuan muttered, finally finding his cigarette case.
"You can't. I'm on my day off too," Yichen said cheerfully.
"You don't get days off. You're on a trial period. And you weren't even here this morning."
"Aw, did you miss me, Zhang?" Yichen teased, nudging him lightly with his elbow.
"No. I was wondering if you'd quit so I could hire someone with basic manners and a working knowledge of personal space."
Yichen chuckled. "My manners are perfect. I said 'Boo' very politely." He watched as Zhiyuan lit another cigarette. "You know, instead of poisoning your lungs, you could try talking. I'm told I'm a good listener. For a security risk."
"I don't want to talk. I want quiet," Zhiyuan said, exhaling a plume of smoke pointedly away from him.
"Quiet is overrated. It's how bad ideas fester. Like deciding to hide out on an open terrace." Yichen gestured to the wide, exposed space. "See? I'm full of useful advice."
"Your advice is to never have a moment's peace?"
"My advice is to stay alive.And being jumpy," he said, poking Zhiyuan's arm, making him flinch again, "is good for your reflexes."
Zhiyuan swatted his hand away. "Stop that. Are you five years old?"
"I'm twenty-four. It's my job to keep you alert, Lao Ban." Yichen's grin widened. "So, what's on the mind of the great CEO on his day off? Stock prices? Hostile takeovers? The profound sadness of being richer than everyone?"
Zhiyuan just glared at him, taking a long, deliberate drag from his cigarette, hoping the silence would make him go away.
It didn't. Yichen just hummed a little tune and started doing light stretches right there on the terrace, as if they were at a gym together.
The annoyance was, as always, a bizarre kind of relief. It was loud, present, and real. It drowned out the whispering fears and the echoing, bloody smiles from his memory. Against all logic, the presence of this infuriating man was the only thing that made the terrace not feel like just another lonely, gilded cage.