Zuo Shihuan’s pupils contracted as he stared at Gu Heng’s excessively youthful, handsome face. Those black eyes carried laughter—willful, dazzling—every movement a deliberate tease.
To someone like him, trapped in a pit of despair with no way out, it was like seeing a faint thread of light far above, a single strand of spider silk dangling before him—
Whispering, tempting him:
If he just held on to it, he could climb out—leave the darkness behind.
Zuo Shihuan’s pupils wavered, torn between struggle and fragile hope. His brows knitted in hesitation, his lips pressed together before he finally looked up, those light brown eyes cautious, tentative.
“If… if, Gu Heng, you—felt something for me…”
Gu Heng raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Felt what for you?”
The light in Zuo Shihuan’s eyes dimmed. Facing that carefree, reckless smile, the words caught in his throat—he was afraid of hearing another rejection.
After much hesitation, when he finally wanted to ask, the memory of Gu Heng’s earlier cruel refusal resurfaced. His chest tightened painfully; his throat closed up.
In the end, all he could say, weary and helpless, was—
“Stop joking around.”
Covering half his face, the corner of his mouth twisted into a pained, bitter smile.
“Gu Heng, I really can’t tell anymore—whether you’re serious, or just playing with me.”
Zuo Shihuan was serious.
He could plan a future with Gu Heng. He could abandon ambition, wealth, and all the luxuries that came with being part of the Zuo family—just to be with him.
He’d be willing to start over again, even if everyone else saw him as a fool acting on impulse.
Even if it meant returning to that tiny, broken home from his memories—
A house with nothing but a thin, frail woman at the dinner table; orange light spilling over the old wooden table, secondhand chairs creaking beneath them. So poor even thieves didn’t bother with it— and yet the child he’d been was happy there, swinging his small legs, eating hungrily, sneaking glances at his mother during her rare moments of lucidity, completely content.
That shabby little home—was the warmth he’d always longed for.
It was what he truly wanted.
Zuo Shihuan had never asked for much— just a simple, gentle home, where someone he cared for would care for him the same way.
No matter how hard life was, the young him had never given up—had clawed and dragged that family upward, believing he could lead them toward something better.
He had believed in himself…
But that woman hadn’t. She’d hated him, cursed him for not giving her money for alcohol and drugs— and in the end, she took all the money and abandoned him.
Left him there, alone.
He had thought, after all these years, that the scars would have faded. But now he realized—he was still afraid.
—He believed in himself. But he didn’t believe Gu Heng would ever be serious about him.
Zuo Shihuan stared blankly at his trembling, empty hands, as if he’d become that penniless boy again.
His voice trembled in a low murmur: “I really can’t tell anymore…”
He couldn’t tell whether Gu Heng had even a shred of real feeling for him— or if it was all just another cruel game.
Gu Heng frowned, sensing something wrong in his expression. Tension filled his voice as he gripped those trembling hands.
“Hey—Zuo Shihuan, what’s wrong? Answer me!”
Zuo Shihuan stirred, his dazed mind clearing as he looked up at Gu Heng’s anxious, beautiful face— and for a moment, he saw her again. That delicate, breathtaking woman who’d hurt him deepest, most cruelly, and walked away.
They were the same.
Beautiful, but reckless.
Like black roses blooming in full defiant splendor— radiant, unrestrained, never caring that their poisoned thorns cut the mute gardener who tended them.
Looking into those dark, worried eyes, Zuo Shihuan felt a chill rise from deep within, his lips trembling.
“Why did you come back from Baile Star? Do you have any idea what that means?”
Gu Heng’s eyes dimmed. He looked at the unwelcome expression on Zuo Shihuan’s face— his own eyes half-lidded and bloodshot from exhaustion, the dark shadows beneath them deepening as his expression cooled.
“Am I not allowed to come back?”
“What if I said you’re not?” Zuo Shihuan’s gaze dropped, his voice soft but cutting like a blade. “Gu Heng, you weren’t supposed to come back. You couldn’t. You shouldn’t. But now you have…”
Gu Heng lowered his eyes, silent— perhaps realizing how foolish it had been, risking his life to tear through a dangerous rift just to return. And the person he’d come back for didn’t even want to see him, saying he should never have returned at all.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “I’ll give you back your things and go.”
But Zuo Shihuan wasn’t satisfied.
His light brown eyes wavered, torn between laughter and tears.
“If leaving were that simple,” he said hoarsely, “then you never should’ve come back from Baile Star in the first place— bringing that woman’s things back with you, and making me waste all that effort— only to end up thinking about you even more.”
Gu Heng’s lashes trembled as he lifted his dark eyes toward Zuo Shihuan.
Zuo Shihuan’s gaze was deep and grief-stricken, unable to control himself, yet his mind was painfully clear as he asked, “Gu Heng, I’ll ask you one last time… will you be with me?”
Gu Heng’s pupils froze. He said nothing.
“You won’t? Why aren’t you saying anything?”
Zuo Shihuan bit down hard on his lower lip, trying to hide the disappointment and the sheen of tears in his eyes. A self-mocking smile tugged at his lips as he asked, “If you don’t want to—then why did you go to Baile Star for me? Why did you get that mecha model that has nothing to do with you, making me feel a ridiculous, baseless hope again? Were you just pitying me?”
Gu Heng’s dark eyes didn’t respond, but his fingers clenched secretly, tighter and tighter.
Zuo Shihuan had already expected rejection. Yet Gu Heng’s silence still slashed at his pride—like another scene where he was performing a one-man play. A faint, bitter smile curved his mouth.
“Gu Heng, what do you think we are?”
Gu Heng could no longer ignore him. Seeing Zuo Shihuan’s desolate expression made his chest ache; his fingers clenched so hard that his nails dug into his palms, breaking the skin—yet he felt no pain.
He didn’t dare meet Zuo Shihuan’s eyes.
He was afraid that if he did, he would speak the truth—and sometimes, the truth was the cruelest thing of all.
Could he really keep it hidden forever? Pretend to be an ordinary Beta from the Federation’s lower city district, when in truth, he was the Empire’s crown prince? He couldn’t stay in the Federation forever. He couldn’t abandon his country for Zuo Shihuan.
If Zuo Shihuan were just a little more ordinary—just a little more—then fine. Gu Heng could take him back. At worst, bringing a common Federation beauty home would only earn criticism.
But if he brought back the heir of one of the Federation’s most powerful families—the political and diplomatic fallout would be catastrophic. Even as crown prince, Gu Heng couldn’t afford that. War between the Empire and the Federation could break out. And even if he did bring him back—would Zuo Shihuan accept someone who had lied about his identity all along?
Gu Heng looked at him. His dark eyes were like a bottomless abyss. His voice was faint, hesitant. “Can’t we just be friends?”
Zuo Shihuan froze.
Friends?
So, someone who had almost shared a bed with him—could still be called a “friend”?
He let out a laugh. One after another, wild, hollow laughs spilled from his chest. When absurdity reached its limit, even sorrow lost its edge. Everything was a joke. He was a joke. His life was a joke.
If they were really “just friends,” then he should send out a wedding invitation now—invite this “friend” to come and witness his marriage.
Right? If it’s all a joke, then let’s make it grander. Let everyone be entertained!
Aren’t they friends?
Then come to his wedding. Surely Gu Heng wouldn’t mind.
Zuo Shihuan laughed until his pupils dilated, laughter twisted with pain, bitterness, and vengeance. He wanted to spill everything—every secret, every humiliating truth.
Let Gu Heng see. Let him witness.
But when he met Gu Heng’s eyes—those deep black eyes reflecting his image—his throat locked. He couldn’t say a word.
In the end, he couldn’t bear to let Gu Heng see him at his ugliest and most broken.
That would mean returning to the beginning again—pathetic, abandoned, alone.
No amount of anger, hatred, or pride could hide the loneliness crying inside him.
Gradually, Zuo Shihuan’s voice calmed. His gaze turned empty as he murmured, “Fine. We’re just friends.”
He looked away. “Friend… I’m tired. It’s late. I want to go home. Can you give me the thing and then leave?”
“…All right,” Gu Heng said quietly, eyes dark. “It’s yours anyway.”
Zuo Shihuan paused for a second, then said, coolly, “Thank you.”
Gu Heng looked at his pale, weary face. Guilt and heaviness flashed in his eyes as he placed the undamaged mecha model before him. “I’m returning this to you.”
Zuo Shihuan stared in silence, not reaching for it.
After more than ten years, even the best-kept toy had faded a little. He wasn’t that child anymore—the one who had begged adults to buy him a mecha toy. If that woman hadn’t suddenly reappeared, he might have forgotten he’d ever liked this model.
But to say he didn’t want it—that was a lie. It had always been his.
Yet taking it back would only remind him—day and night—that this mecha came from the woman who had abandoned him.
Gu Heng’s lashes lowered. After a moment, he said quietly, “You wanted it, didn’t you? Take it. Then I’ll go.”
A faint ripple stirred in Zuo Shihuan’s eyes. His lips curved in a small, tired smile. “You’re right. It’s late. We should both go home.”
Dawn was approaching. It was time to wake up.
Zuo Shihuan’s light-brown eyes looked subdued, yet he smiled faintly and reached out for the model— That meaningless toy, the one nobody cared about.
Only he would bring it home.
Seeing him reach for it, Gu Heng naturally loosened his hand.
The model slipped free—
Zuo Shihuan’s pupils flickered; his vision turned hazy white. His hand lost strength, fingers loosening as the toy fell through them.
Bang.
The first sound, as it hit the ground.
Clatter.
The second sound, as it bounced and broke apart.
Gu Heng’s eyes widened in shock. He hadn’t expected Zuo Shihuan to miss it. His first instinct was to lunge forward—to catch the mecha before it hit the floor—
Because all he could think was how much it meant to Zuo Shihuan.
But just as Gu Heng moved, he was seized by an inexplicable impulse and looked up— looked straight at Zuo Shihuan.
Those light brown eyes were calm, detached, like those of a bystander, watching the mecha model fall without the slightest flicker of emotion.
In that instant, Gu Heng understood something. His expression darkened, and he stopped his movement—standing still beside Zuo Shihuan, watching it fall to the end together.
Crash—
The base that supported the entire model cracked apart, collapsing piece by piece like a line of dominoes.
First the base split in two; then the parts of the mecha’s legs, waist, and back broke off one after another, scattered across the floor as if it were being dismembered.
In the end, only the upper half of the mecha remained on the ground— a ridiculous fragment, its single mechanical arm still raised high, as though waving hello to Zuo Shihuan.
Zuo Shihuan’s eyes widened slightly, delayed shock dawning on his face. He looked down at the broken pieces littering the floor and finally realized what had happened in that brief lapse of consciousness.
He thought he might feel sorrow or regret.
But instead, he found this ending… somehow right. The corners of his mouth lifted in a strange, inexplicable smile.
That smile made Gu Heng frown deeply.
Gu Heng bent down slowly, his eyes dark and heavy, crouching on the floor to pick up the scattered pieces one by one. His voice was low, solemn as he said, “I’m sorry. It was my fault—I let go too soon. Zuo Shihuan, if you’re willing to wait, I can fix it. I’ll make it look exactly the same as before.”
Halfway through gathering the pieces, Gu Heng paused when his fingers brushed against something.
But Zuo Shihuan didn’t answer him. His light brown eyes glimmered with a strange brightness— the kind of feverish warmth felt by someone freezing to death. His lips curved faintly. “No need. Maybe this is how it’s meant to be. And besides—it was you who brought it back. I should be thanking you.”
Brought back by Gu Heng, and then broken in his hands.
Zuo Shihuan had never believed in fate, yet this time he felt as though the model breaking was fate—or perhaps a sign. A sign that he should have let go long ago.
Not just of the past— but of the present too.
“This is enough,” he said softly. “Broken things can’t be restored. And as it turns out, giving something up isn’t so hard after all.”
He looked down at Gu Heng, who was still crouched on the ground collecting fragments. His lips curved in a faint, detached smile, and his tone was calm— his light brown eyes carrying a cold, distant indifference, like someone gazing through a pane of glass at a visitor standing below.
The sight made Gu Heng’s hand tighten around the fragments.
He had thought that after this, he would sever ties with this Federation Alpha. But…
He looked up, meeting Zuo Shihuan’s indifferent gaze. He wasn’t smiling, yet on his lips was that same polite, distant smile— the kind he had seen so many times among imperial nobles and politicians.
He didn’t want to see Zuo Shihuan smile like that— a smile that looked bright but was uglier than crying.
Yet Gu Heng stayed silent. He had no right to judge.
The one who wore the mask first, the one who lied, the one who hurt Zuo Shihuan— was him.
There was only one thing left to do.
“This is your letter.” Gu Heng’s dark eyes lowered as he held out a folded envelope he’d just found among the broken parts.
Zuo Shihuan glanced at it, smiling faintly, his tone dismissive. “What’s this?”
“It was inside the mecha,” Gu Heng said quietly. “I thought you should know. If you don’t want to read it, I can take care of it for you.”
The handwriting on the envelope was unmistakably a woman’s. Gu Heng had only caught a glimpse, but he immediately recognized whose it was.
He had gone all the way to Baile Star to retrieve this model for Zuo Shihuan. Whatever had happened in that family— even when Zuo Shihuan’s half-brother had begged Gu Heng to reach out— Gu Heng had refused. If Zuo Shihuan didn’t want contact, then Gu Heng would never betray his whereabouts.
Only…
This letter had been folded and hidden deep within the mecha’s base. Even Gu Heng hadn’t discovered it until now. And since it was part of the model, he chose to give it to Zuo Shihuan.
Zuo Shihuan froze, his pupils contracting slightly. He stared at the seemingly ordinary envelope, unable to keep his gaze steady—his eyes flickering with avoidance, instinctively resisting it.
But under Gu Heng’s steady gaze, he was forced to feign composure, numbly accepting the letter—from his mother, Yu Cha.
So what if he opened it out of pride?
The moment he saw the handwriting—her handwriting— saw how she wrote his childhood nickname, “Huan Huan,” as though nothing had ever happened—
His eyes went rigid. He couldn’t go on reading. His mind went blank.
He struggled, again and again.
He should read it.
He should see what that woman—the one who abandoned him—had to say.
He should feel fury, contempt, moral superiority—mock and scorn her cruelty.
No matter what empty excuses the letter contained, he would never forgive her.
He would never go back.
He would never meet her again.
He hated her.
She was the cause of all his years of pain and darkness.
That’s how it should have been.
But Zuo Shihuan found—he couldn’t do it.
Just one glance at the first line, and he felt as though he’d reached the edge of the world.
He was dragged into memory, unable to escape. That woman had once called him that name so tenderly— and in his mind, instead of hatred and pain, a faint sliver of warmth surfaced, a tiny, fragile thread of memory amidst all the bleakness.
He remembered that once, he hadn’t asked for much. That once, when he was small, he had smiled at her—his mother— sincerely, happily, contentedly.
He had been such a simple, innocent child back then.
But now, he was an adult.
He was no longer that child who would run back foolishly after being given a bit of sweetness. But those fragments of warmth and happiness in his memory seemed to place a filter over Zuo Shihuan’s eyes as he looked down at the letter.
He… he realized he couldn’t truly hate that woman completely. Even his love and hatred for her floated aimlessly—like tangled water grass drifting on a river’s surface.
Zuo Shihuan stayed frozen for several minutes, but in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to read any further.
He realized—he was afraid.
Afraid that if he kept reading, he would, without even noticing, forgive the woman who had abandoned him.
And the one who had caused all this turmoil was standing right there, watching him intently, as if silently urging him to make a decision.
Zuo Shihuan gritted his teeth. The edges of the letter were crumpled in his hand. His bright, light-brown eyes flashed with misplaced anger as he glared at the innocent Gu Heng beside him.
“I really hate you right now!” he said.
Gu Heng froze for a moment—then, to Shihuan’s irritation, smiled faintly, his dark eyes glimmering. “Really?”
“Didn’t you hear me say I hate you? Why are you still smiling?”
Gu Heng chuckled, his gaze lingering on Zuo Shihuan’s vivid, angry expression. Compared to that false, cold smile from earlier, this real, fiery one was much more alive—much more beautiful.
…Even if it came with words of hatred.
“Then I’ll make you hate me a little more,” Gu Heng said.
A trace of softness flickered in his deep eyes. Before Zuo Shihuan could react, Gu Heng snatched the letter from his hand. His gaze swept over the contents quickly, committing every word to memory.
Then he lifted the letter and flicked open his lighter.
The flame jumped to life.
Reflected in Gu Heng’s black eyes, the flickering light made them seem almost gentle. He looked at Zuo Shihuan and said quietly, “You don’t want to read it, right? Then don’t. I’ll burn it for you. You can keep hating me—blaming me.”
Zuo Shihuan blinked, confused. “What are you even saying, Gu Heng?”
Gu Heng lowered his eyes, lips curving faintly. “Just think of it as one of my pranks. You can put all the blame on me anyway—didn’t you say you already hate me?”
The lighter’s flame inched closer to the paper, slow and deliberate. Red light spread over the surface.
Zuo Shihuan should have stopped him right away—but his heart pounded violently. The calm in his eyes was shattered by the tiny spark; his thoughts tangled into a storm, and somewhere inside that chaos—something like expectation stirred.
He wanted to run away.
And now someone was offering him that escape.
If the fire swallowed the letter, it wouldn’t be his fault. He wouldn’t have to think about what was written inside, wouldn’t have to face the ugly past or those people he never wanted to see again. If it all burned—then it would finally, completely, end.
He watched as the fire caught the edge of the letter, curling it black.
And then he reached out to stop it.
Because through the flame, Zuo Shihuan saw Gu Heng’s pale, quiet face—those dark eyes shadowed yet luminous, smiling faintly through the blaze.
It wasn’t the smile of someone burning a letter.
It was the smile of someone making a silent, eternal confession.
Zuo Shihuan’s breath caught. His heartbeat roared in his ears, wild and uneven.
He was losing his sense of what was real—what his eyes saw, what his heart felt, what trembled inside him. How could someone tell him to hate him, destroy his letter, do cruel things, reject him again and again—yet still make it impossible for him to hate back?
The contents of the letter no longer mattered.
The real question—the only question left—was this:
What on earth was Gu Heng thinking?
He couldn’t figure it out.
But no matter what the answer was, he could see that bright, reckless light in Gu Heng’s eyes.
Was Gu Heng deliberately trying to make him hate him, to remember him, to feel indebted—to never forget him?
Helping him and tormenting him at once, like reeling in a hooked fish, dragging it in and letting it go— over and over, until the suffering became unbearable.
And that tiny hook, d*mn it, made Zuo Shihuan’s heart catch again and again—filling him with foolish, lingering illusions.
Friends? Was that what this was supposed to be?
He couldn’t think anymore—so he stopped.
Zuo Shihuan reached out and snatched the half-burning letter from Gu Heng’s hand. He didn’t care about the flames; he crushed them in his palm, smothering the fire.
Gu Heng’s eyes widened in alarm. He grabbed Shihuan’s hand immediately. “Are you insane, Zuo Shihuan?! You’re not afraid of burning yourself?!”
He checked quickly—just a bit red, no blisters. Only then did he breathe out in relief.
Zuo Shihuan’s brows curved, his bright eyes sparkling. He laughed freely, a small dimple appearing on his cheek. “See? Not hurt at all. I was careful. And—” his tone turned teasing— “Now that I’ve got the letter, Gu Heng, do you really think you’re so impressive? You think you understand everything about me? I still hate you.”
Gu Heng’s dark eyes dimmed. His voice came low. “…Is that so?”
The next second, Zuo Shihuan grabbed Gu Heng by the collar, yanked him down, and pressed a light kiss against his lips.
His voice was soft. “Yeah. I hate you so much—I don’t even want you at my wedding.”
Gu Heng froze, stunned—barely aware of the fleeting warmth of that kiss before Shihuan shoved him away hard, making him stumble back several steps.
“You can leave now. I don’t want to be your friend.”
Zuo Shihuan’s tone turned cold, his expression calm again. He turned, sat down on the hotel sofa, poised and composed once more. Resting his chin on one hand, he unfolded the letter on his lap and began to read, eyes cool and distant.
Gu Heng stood there for a long moment, dazed, still touching his lips in disbelief.
Had Zuo Shihuan really just kissed him?
But the next moment, he’d been pushed away. Maybe it was just an illusion.
On the sofa, Zuo Shihuan didn’t look up. His light-brown eyes were elegant and indifferent, focused entirely on the letter in his hand.
And for the first time, the ever-calm, rational Gu Heng began to doubt even his own memory.
Gu Heng was completely thrown off by Zuo Shihuan’s sudden one-eighty in attitude— he felt as though he’d been nothing more than a tool, used up and discarded.
At that moment, Zuo Shihuan had finished reading the letter in his hand.
He was, surprisingly, calmer than he’d imagined he would be— and that was thanks to Gu Heng.
Before opening it, he had already guessed what it would say, and sure enough, it was exactly as he expected. His mother, Yu Cha, was easy to understand— just like most people in the world are easy to understand.
Zuo Shihuan’s lips curved into a faint, meaningful smile. Through the paper, his gaze seemed to look straight at that woman.
She poured out her feelings, confessed her guilt, begged forgiveness— the emotions in the letter were so sincere they could move any outsider.
But…
That woman—she did feel guilty toward him, perhaps even had some love for him, but not that much love.
At least when she wrote of regret, of missing him, of wanting to see him one last time— Zuo Shihuan’s first reaction was to laugh. Not from genuine happiness, but a light, distant sort of amusement— the kind you feel sitting in the audience watching an actor perform on stage.
So easy to read.
Unlike the one person he could never understand.
Lowering his eyes, Zuo Shihuan hid the feelings and confusion buried deep inside. Outwardly, his gaze was calm and cool as he turned toward Gu Heng standing nearby, and voiced the question that lingered in his mind.
“I’ll ask one last thing—how did you manage to get this letter in such a short time?”
