Chapter Text
The first thing Hua Yong remembered was the smell of the garden that night.
It was sweet, green, almost fragile under the weak light of the lamps. He told himself it must be autumn starting, that what he felt was the season arriving. He had never truly known it, of course. Autumn was something he had only seen in books. On the page it was always gentle, the air crisp and light, the wind carrying a freedom that summer never did. Leaves weren’t ripped down but drifted, quiet and patient. He liked to imagine it that way, a season softer, kinder—so unlike the house he lived in.
He was eight years old then. The suit jacket hung loose on him like it had been borrowed from another boy. Nobody had bothered to make it smaller. Deep down, he knew why, though.
In this house, no one cared enough to give him a proper suit. The sleeves swallowed his hands whole, and everyone saw it. The servants knew, but they turned their eyes away. The collar was stiff and cruel, rubbing the same patch of skin on his neck until it burned raw. Each breath made the loose buttons clatter together with a hollow sound.
Not once had anyone asked to have it altered, not once had anyone said something in the line make a better one for the young master of Beichao Holding. Heh.
Well, what could he say? What could he do?
The jacket fit his place here too well. Cheap. Uncomfortable.
A reminder every time he wore it that he did not belong.
Behind him, the house burned too brightly. Chandeliers shone in every room as if light alone could convince people there was happiness inside. Laughter spilled out of the windows too, loud and sharp, but it was never warm. It rolled across the halls like glass beads scattering on the floor, easy to see, impossible to hold.
At the far edge of the courtyard, the koi pond gleamed like a sheet of black glass. Gold and orange shapes slid beneath the surface, turning slowly, their fins flashing for an instant before sinking back into the dark.
That house, so full of noise and people, had never been his world. He knew it never would be.
There was a party in the main hall that night. His father had filled the ballroom with guests, music, and wine. The children who were acknowledged as heirs were presented one by one, smiling under the light, names spoken like promises. Not him. Never him.
Hua Yong was only—what, exactly? An unwanted child who happened to share their roof. An accident of blood that no one knew what to do with.
By the time he was eight, Hua Yong already knew how to survive in that house. He knew which stones would betray his steps, which floorboards would creak, which doors sighed too loudly when opened. He knew which servants looked away out of pity and which out of fear. He had trained himself to move like nothing, to slip through the noise without leaving a trace.
And still, that night, silence wasn’t enough.
He had only wanted a moment away. Away from the music, away from the voices, away from the bright hall that had never been meant for him. He had wanted to breathe in the garden’s stillness, to be unseen. That was all.
So why did someone always follow?
Why did trouble always find him, even when he asked for nothing?
He knew the answer, though. They were just bored and wanted to do something.
That time, two figures slipped out from a side door of the ballroom. Their footsteps were slow, measured, as if the outcome was already decided. Hua Yong knew who they were. His eighth and ninth stepbrothers. They always came like this, certain of the ending before it began.
For them, cruelty was nothing special. It was routine.
And tonight, as always, he was the target they had chosen.
The taller one smirked first, the expression lazy, practiced. The shorter one cracked his knuckles as if warming up for play. They didn’t even need words. But their faces carried enough contempt.
Hua Yong felt his stomach tighten. He knew this script. He could already predict the lines.
First the questions, then the laughter, then the push. He thought briefly of running, but where to? The pond was at his back, the ballroom at his side. No one inside would stop them. No one ever had.
His throat felt dry. He kept still, the way he always did, hoping maybe stillness could turn him invisible. But the heat rose in him anyway. The kind of heat that wasn’t strength, only shame.
The tall one let out a mock sigh. “Our didi likes hiding here, doesn’t he?” His tone was drawn out, amused. “Like a little fish in a bowl.”
The shorter one stepped closer and flicked at Hua Yong’s sleeve. “Too clean. Too neat. Maybe we should fix that.”
Hua Yong clenched his fists where they hung by his sides. He didn’t look up. He never looked up. What was the point? They didn’t need his eyes to find him. They had already decided what he was.
Inside, laughter swelled again from the ballroom. It was smooth and lively, the kind that reached the garden but never reached him. He wished he could sink into the stones under his feet, vanish into them, let the night close over him like water.
But the garden didn’t care. The night didn’t care.
All Hua Yong could do was stand there, bracing for it—the hands, the shove, the tearing.
Inside his chest, the same thought circled, tired and sour. I just wanted to be left alone. Don’t you have anything better to do than chase me down and make trouble?
The taller boy moved first. His hand shot out fast, careless, hooking into the front of Hua Yong’s jacket. The fabric twisted hard. It was biting into the side of his neck, tightening until it pinched his breath.
Yet of course nobody cared.
“See? It doesn’t even fit him,” his brother even sneered, fingers jerking at the collar. “Looks like he borrowed it from a servant.”
The shorter one laughed, sharp and ugly. He pushed closer and tugged at Hua Yong’s sleeve until the long fabric slipped back, exposing the thin wrist underneath. “Nothing here,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Not a muscle. Not even a scar. What kind of son is this? He doesn’t belong to us.”
Their laughter burst out together, loud and cruel.
The taller one nodded as if the judgment was final. His grip slid lower, fumbling at the buttons. “Let’s see what he’s hiding underneath.”
The shorter one cackled, the sound grating, foul. “Maybe underneath he doesn’t even have a penis!”
The words landed harder than the hands. Hua Yong’s breath stuttered in his chest. He was angry, furious, but trapped.
The cold night air pressed in, sharp in his lungs. He wanted to twist away, but the pond was right at his back, dark and waiting. If he struggled, he would fall. And for a fleeting second, he wondered if falling into the water would be better.
Their laughter hurt more than their hands. It rang in his ears, heavy enough to make his chest ache, like bruises forming without a touch.
He bit the inside of his cheek until the taste of iron spread across his tongue and forced himself to stand still. He already knew the rules.
If he fought back, it would only get worse.
If he cried, it would only feed them.
Silence was the only thing he had left, the last scrap of dignity he could hold on to.
The shorter one leaned closer. His breath carried the sour bite of stolen wine. “Don’t look away, didi. We are your family. You should thank us for teaching you your place.”
The words seeped into the night like poison. Fingers jerked at his collar again, harder this time, dragging the stiff fabric across his skin until it burned. Hua Yong’s fists curled tighter at his sides, nails pressing half-moons into his palms, sharp enough to sting. He stayed still. Moving would only waste his strength.
Behind him, the koi broke the surface. Water rippled in sudden circles, as if even the pond could sense the weight in the air. Lantern light shook across the surface and threw sharp glints onto his brothers’ faces, their cruelty cut deeper by the glow.
Hua Yong drew in a breath and tried to brace himself. He told himself he was ready for whatever came next.
But before the thought could settle, the night shifted.
It was sudden, like a thread pulled loose from the dark.
The air dipped. It was sudden, a hitch in the night that stilled even the koi beneath the water. Their fins froze mid-stroke, circles of light collapsing into silence.
Then—
A weight struck the stones. Not loud, not clumsy. Precise. Certain. A shadow tore free from the branches of the old tree, cutting through the lantern light like a blade. It dropped swiftly as lightning, knees bending in a crouch, before unfolding into the shape of a boy.
Both brothers jolted as if the ground itself had thrown him at them. Their laughter snapped in half, the sound dying sharp in their throats.
What?
How?
They hadn’t felt it. Not a breath, not a stir, not the faintest ripple of a presence nearby. It was as if the boy had never existed at all until he chose, deliberately, to arrive.
And yet he stood there.
A stranger.
Taller than them. Older—yes, definitely older. His frame carried the steadiness of someone who no longer needed to prove he belonged. His hands hung loose at his sides, one still curved lightly around the spine of a book as though even gravity obeyed him.
The lantern light touched him in fragments. First the hard line of his jaw, then the smooth arc of his brow, then the shadowed calm in his eyes. Calm, not because the world was kind, but because nothing in it had the power to rattle him. It clung to him like a second skin, invisible yet unshakable.
For a breath, it felt as if he had been there all along, standing at the edge of their vision, waiting for the right moment to let himself be seen.
His mouth moved, slow and precise, and when he spoke, the words cut through the garden as clean as glass breaking.
“You are too loud.” The scowl etched across his face deepened as his gaze settled on the brothers. His voice sharpened, each syllable slicing the night open. “I was trying to nap.”
The words landed like stones in still water, breaking the balance. For the first time, Hua Yong felt the grip on his collar loosen, just a fraction. Enough to breathe, not enough to move. The shorter brother clicked his tongue, irritation flashing across his face, his eyes narrowing at the stranger who dared to interrupt.
“Seriously?” the stranger over there said in disbelief. His voice was low and razor-sharp, his gaze narrowing to a knife’s edge. “If you want to rape someone, pick another place. Not here.”
The words shattered the moment like glass.
The taller brother jerked Hua Yong forward one last time, shoving him as if the gesture could erase the humiliation of being called out. His chest swelled, his glare lit with fury. “Rape? The fuck did you just say?” he roared, voice cracking with rage. “How dare you!”
His eyes burned hot, sharp like a knife ready to cut. Yet the boy in black only tilted his head, one shoulder lifting in a faint shrug. It was careless. Effortless. He might as well have been brushing away dust. Not fear, not even concern, just the weightless disinterest of someone who didn’t think they were worth his time.
That shrug was worse than mockery. It poured oil on the fire.
A grin split across the taller brother’s face, wide and vicious, teeth bared. His rage twisted into arrogance, every line of his body dripping with it. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?” he spat, venom lacing every word. “This is our family’s business. Beichao’s business.”
He taunted with the weight of the name. Letting it fall heavily between them. Beichao Holding was powerful, and he thought its shadow made him untouchable. He sneered, leaning forward like a king looking down from a throne. “And you? A lowly stray dares to interrupt us?”
He lifted his chin high, proud, as though posture alone could crown him. Shoulders squared, muscles pulled taut beneath his suit, every breath puffed up with performance. The sharp tang of alpha pheromones burst out of him, hot and uneven, spilling into the air like smoke from a weak fire. It clung, acrid, loud. More show than strength.
The shorter brother stepped in beside him, his smirk broad and mean. He rolled his shoulders back, mimicking the same posture, as if to prove he wore the same crown. His eyes slid over the boy in black with open contempt, lips curling in challenge.
“You’re dead,” he sneered, his voice thick with smugness, the kind that came from boys who had never once been told no.
It was pride in its rawest shape.
The boy in black did not move. He did not even blink. He only looked at them, his expression hovering somewhere between boredom and faint amusement, the kind of look that said without words, Is that all?
The silence drew long, stretched taut as a wire. The brothers stood puffed up in their own fumes, chests heaving, the sharp reek of their pheromones clawing at the air.
And still, nothing happened.
The stranger remained unshaken, untouched, as if their bravado were nothing more than dust swirling in a beam of light.
Then ... slowly, deliberately, he moved.
One step forward. Not fast, yet certain.
The scrape of his sole against stone sounded louder than their huffs of breath. Another step followed, steady, inevitable, until his frame eclipsed Hua Yong entirely. The boy was gone from their sight, shielded as if the night itself had pulled a wall up between him and his brothers.
Lantern light climbed his figure now. It caught the cut of his jaw, the faint slope of his brow, the hollow at his throat where his collar gaped slightly open. Shadows clung to the folds of his dark shirt and trousers, carving sharper lines, making him look both sculpted and alive. His chin tilted the smallest fraction higher, lazy in its confidence.
And then his mouth curved.
Slow. Mocking. A smile that bent with certainty, one that hollowed their pride before his voice even reached them.
“You think your D-level pheromones can make me kneel?”
The words cracked across the courtyard like a whip, sharp enough to sting skin.
And then the air changed.
It thickened, invisible yet undeniable, rolling out across the stones with the weight of a tide. It pressed into their chests, deep and steady, not crushing all at once but absolute, unstoppable. A scent rose with it, clean and sharp, rum laced with bitter orange, burning bright through the garden.
The laughter, the posturing, the arrogance of moments ago from his brother, in just one second, was gone.
It thickened then. Invisible yet inescapable, rushing through the garden like a tide. It pressed into Hua Yong’s chest, deep and steady, not crushing but absolute. The scent followed, sharp and layered, rum streaked with bitter orange. Clean. Powerful. Unstoppable.
Pheromones.
Not the clumsy bluster his brothers threw around like spoiled children.
Not a mere D-level Alpha.
Yes, this was not that.
This was the weight of a wildfire, contained but impossible to deny. It was control, perfect and absolute, and it pulled every ounce of air toward him.
The taller brother’s grin cracked first. His throat convulsed around a strangled breath, knees buckling as if his own body no longer belonged to him.
The shorter one clawed at his collar, face twisting in disbelief, nails dragging red lines across his skin as if air itself had turned scarce. Their pride dissolved in seconds, arrogance drowned beneath the invisible force pressing them down.
Both of them stumbled, gasping like boys dragged under water, arrogance drowned in fear.
Neither could hide it. How their bodies betrayed them. Bent them. Made them small.
And still the boy in black hadn’t lifted a hand.
He stood tall, shoulders straight, his breathing calm and measured. The night itself seemed to shape around him, the lantern light steady on his face, his gaze unshakable. Even the servant hiding at the edge of the courtyard pressed back into the shadows, his breath caught in his chest.
And Hua Yong…
Hua Yong felt it too. But not like them. The pressure pressed against him, yes, but it steadied him. His fists, tight and trembling, loosened. His lungs opened. For the first time all night, he could breathe.
Something warm moved through him. Not the cruel blaze of the sun that scorched and punished, but a softer glow, orange and beautiful. It brushed against him without burning. It felt like dusk light caught in leaves, like cool wind after heavy days.
And in that moment, Hua Yong knew.
It wasn’t just autumn he imagined anymore. It was autumn itself, standing here in the shape of a boy.
The claim bloomed in his chest, sharp and certain, burning brighter than the lanterns and stronger than the fear.
In that cruel, blinding house, for the first time… Hua Yong felt he had found something that was his.
The air held heavy for a moment longer, then began to thin. The suffocating pressure ebbed away like a tide pulling back from the shore.
The brothers were the first to break. They scrambled to their feet, faces pale, bodies trembling. The taller one still clutched at his throat, chest heaving, while the shorter one’s nails had carved angry red marks across his collarbone. Their arrogance drained into silence. Without a word, they turned and stumbled down the stone path, vanishing into the bright windows and music of the house beyond the hedges.
The garden was left in silence. Not the same silence as before. This one breathed. Alive. Charged with something that lingered even after the weight had gone.
The boy exhaled once, slow and steady, the sound almost lost to the rustle of leaves. He adjusted the book in his hand, shifting the worn spine against his palm. He did not look after them. He did not need to. His stance stayed calm, his eyes forward, as though their retreat had been written before they even tried to fight.
Hua Yong remained frozen. His collar was still crooked where rough fingers had yanked it. His fists tingled from how tightly he had clenched them, the half-moons of his nails pressed into his palms. But he let it be. His gaze clung to the stranger, unable to move away.
At last, the boy turned to him.
Up close, the details cut sharper. The way his lashes lowered, slow, before lifting again. The way his mouth rested in a line that was not stern yet not soft either, unreadable but steady. The way his shoulders rose and fell with quiet breaths, even, controlled, as though nothing in this garden had touched him at all.
A strand of hair slipped across his forehead. The breeze shifted, brushing it against his temple before carrying it back. His fingers adjusted their hold on the book, a small, restless tap against the cover before stilling again. His gaze flicked down to Hua Yong’s collar. A ripple crossed his expression, subtle but there, a faint tightening of the eyes, a soft crease between his brows. Concern.
And at that moment, in this cold palace garden, Hua Yong felt warmth for the very first time.
The boy did not express his concern. He acted instead.
He raised his hand without hurry. Two fingers caught the fabric of Hua Yong’s collar and tugged it gently back into place. A simple motion, precise and unhurried, yet it landed like lightning in Hua Yong’s chest.
“I—” Hua Yong tried to speak, but the sound broke before it became a word.
The boy’s gaze dropped slightly, unreadable. His voice came quiet, flat, almost like an afterthought. “Are you a beta?”
The question cut through him. Whatever Hua Yong had meant to say dissolved. His throat locked. He shook his head quickly. “I am not yet presented.”
The boy’s brow twitched. His fingers tapped once against the spine of his book, sharp and deliberate. “Then what exactly were those bastards trying to do?” His voice carried scorn, his brows drawn tight.
“They tried to cut my penis,” Hua Yong said, as if it were the most ordinary fact in the world.
The boy froze. His composure cracked open for the first time. His mouth parted, his eyes went wide. The great S-level alpha looked almost stunned, as if someone had poured cold water over his head.
“You… what?” The word slipped out before he could stop it.
Hua Yong tilted his head. His voice stayed steady in the strange way only a child’s could be. “They do that often.”
Silence closed in. The night felt too still.
The boy blinked once, then again. His grip on the book tightened until his knuckles went white. His lips moved without sound. For the first time, he looked less like someone untouchable and more like a person caught between fury and disbelief.
“That often?” His voice was sharper now, his jaw tight, the crease between his brows deepening with anger he could not hide.
Hua Yong nodded. Slower this time. His shoulders lifted in a practiced shrug, and he smoothed the hem of his oversized jacket as if the fabric could cover everything. “Mm. That often.”
The boy let out a short, rough breath. His mouth twitched, and before he could swallow it down, a sound escaped. Not quite a laugh, more a startled snort, quick and unwilling. He turned his head slightly as if to cover it, but it was too late.
Hua Yong blinked at him, wide-eyed. Then his lips curved upward, a shy smile tugging through the heaviness in his chest. For all the fear, for all the trembling still hidden in him, this moment was bright. He had made this boy laugh. Even just a little.
The stranger over there straightened almost immediately, forcing his mouth back into a line. His gaze cut away, his jaw tightening. He tried to seal the slip. But the faint curve at the edge of his lips betrayed him, refusing to vanish entirely.
“What are they to you?” he asked finally, quieter now, his tone lower, almost reluctant.
“Mm... they were supposed to be my brothers?” Hua Yong answered easily. Not sure but, well...
Disbelief flickered across that beautiful alpha's face. His brows rose slightly before disdain replaced them, cold and sharp. His lips pressed into a thin line. “So it was half-brothers,” he said at last, the word landing like a verdict.
He let it hang there. Then his hand lifted again. Two fingers brushed dust from Hua Yong’s shoulder, tugged his collar straight one final time. His motions were neat, almost impatient, but his eyes stayed dark, heavy with something unspoken.
For a long moment, he looked at Hua Yong. His gaze lingered on the boy’s face, the collar, the fists that still trembled. Anger flickered there, not at him but at the house that caged him.
“Endure it,” he said finally, low and certain, almost a murmur carried by the koi surfacing behind them. “It will not last forever.”
The words fell heavier than comfort, sharper than kindness. A promise. A warning. Both.
He stepped back. The book hung once more against his thigh. His eyes shifted toward the garden path, the stone trail lined with lanterns leading back toward the house. His body leaned that way, restless, preparing to leave.
“Wait. Gege. Wait.”
Hua Yong’s voice broke the silence, soft but desperate. His hand twitched at his side, half-lifting, aching to reach out but not daring to touch. His eyes stayed locked on the boy’s face, wide and unyielding, refusing to let the moment end.
That gege turned to look at him. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if asking wordlessly what was wrong, but his body remained angled toward the path, ready to go unless something truly stopped him.
Hua Yong’s mind spun. He searched his pockets, his sleeves, anywhere he might have something. He found nothing. Only the pen he always carried, old and too large for his small fingers. His gaze dropped to it, then lifted again with sudden resolve.
He thrust the pen forward, then opened his palm, tiny and trembling but steady. “Gege, what’s your name? Your phone number?”
Their gazes locked beneath the glow of the garden lamps. The boy’s brows lifted, his eyes narrowing with quiet surprise. His lips curved faintly, tugged upward as if amused in spite of himself.
Hua Yong thought he would say ‘don’t call me gege’ or something in that line. Yet he didn’t.
“You want to repay me?” That time, it was what Gege said instead. His voice wasn’t harsh, but it carried that tone of disbelief, like he still couldn’t figure out this strange, stubborn child standing in front of him. Yet there was something else underneath, too. Something warmer, as if the words softened on their way out.
Hua Yong shook his head quickly. Too quickly. His hair fell across his brow and stuck there, half-covering his eyes.
“Not repay,” he blurted, breath catching. “I just… I just need to know you.” His hand pushed forward again, the pen wobbling in his grip. The movement was small, clumsy even, but unyielding.
For a moment, the older one just stared at him.
Then it happened.
A laugh broke free.
It was short, low, pulled from deep in his chest like it had been waiting there all along. The sound startled even him, slipping out before he could catch it.
But it was real. Not polished, not sharp, not cruel. Just raw, unguarded. It cracked the night open in a way that felt impossible.
Hua Yong’s chest clenched hard. The laugh wrapped around him like heat. His pulse skipped and then raced, hammering so fast he thought it might burst out of him. He had been cold all evening, but now warmth filled him from the inside out. Not from safety. Not from relief. From something else he didn’t yet have a name for.
That Gege reached out then, and in that time, for Hua Yong, the world slowed.
Gege’s fingers brushed Hua Yong’s knuckles, light, cool, deliberate, and turned his palm upward. He didn’t ask for thanks. He didn’t write his name. Instead, the pen pressed once, then again, leaving behind a single shape.
A star.
Small, uneven, but unmistakable.
“No need,” he said, his voice quieter now, steady as stone. “Keep it. Worry about yourself.” He folded Hua Yong’s fingers down gently, one by one, until the little hand curled into a fist with the star hidden inside. “If you cannot fight them, then run. Or better… learn to fight back.”
Their eyes met and held. Lantern light shifted on his face, and in that moment his mouth curved—not mocking, not guarded. Something rare, almost tender. Hua Yong didn’t know the word for it, but he knew he would carry that look forever.
His heart refused to slow. Even when Gege decided to step back. The rhythm in Hua Yong’s chest only grew louder, more desperate. His hand stayed tight, the star pressed into his skin as if letting go meant losing the only treasure he had ever been given.
Yet—
The older boy’s eyes shifted past him, toward the house. He didn’t leave right away. Instead, he tilted his head, just the smallest movement, a question carried without words: Will you be all right if I go?
Hua Yong did not know why, but he understood. Something in him was tuned to this gege, as if the silence between them spoke louder than words. Even the smallest gesture felt clear, as if it had been meant only for him.
“I know the quiet paths,” Hua Yong whispered. His voice came out small but steady. “I’ll take them to go back.”
Gege studied him a moment longer. Then he lifted his hand again, two fingers reaching for Hua Yong’s collar. He tugged it back into place where rough hands had twisted it. The gesture was quick, exact, but to Hua Yong it felt like something else entirely. It felt like being restored.
“Good,” he murmured. His tone left no room for doubt. “Walk them. I’ll wait until you are gone.”
He shifted sideways, not retreating but adjusting his stance. In that instant, Hua Yong could see it, almost as if it were drawn in the air. The line of protection the Alpha had carved into the garden. From the pond’s edge, along his shoulders, across the stones to the veranda. A shield. For him.
The words slipped out before Hua Yong could stop them. “Will I see you again?” His voice was quiet, hopeful, the kind of question that trembled even as it stood.
The alpha’s eyes flickered. Almost a smile touched them, though it never reached his mouth. “If you look where you mean to,” he said. Not yes. Not no. Somehow kinder than either.
Later, alone in his room, Hua Yong opened his fist under the weak glow of his desk lamp. The star had smudged around the edges, but it was still there, dark ink against pale skin. He pressed it to his chest, right over the frantic beat of his heart.
He lay awake for hours, staring at it, afraid to close his eyes in case it faded. For the first time in his life, he felt he held something that was his. Not the house, not the name, not the blood in his veins. Just this small star, this warmth, this moment.
That night, he did not sleep. He lay awake, staring at the faint star on his palm until his vision blurred, holding it as if it were a promise. The garden, the koi, a Gege with autumn in his breath—all of it folded into one truth.
He was his autumn.
He was his alpha.
And Hua Yong, eight years old, had found the season he would chase for the rest of his life.
[perhaps, tbc]