Summary: When Tong Yao doesn't show up to the base and fails to send a single message, Lu Sicheng doesn't wait—he moves. What begins as concern swiftly sharpens into protectiveness the moment he finds her pale and trembling behind her apartment door, in the grip of pain she's endured in silence for years. But this time, she's not alone. Sicheng steps in, handling everything with the quiet efficiency of someone who refuses to leave. While Yao finally rests, lulled into sleep by warmth and tea, Sicheng's discovery of an old family photo cracks open a past neither of them were prepared for.
Chapter Eight
A Month Later
Sicheng knew something was wrong the second Yao didn't show up. At first, the team assumed she was just running late, but when the hours passed with no messages, no calls, nothing, the atmosphere in the base shifted.
Yue was the first to voice his concern. "She's never missed a day. Not without saying something."
Pang, scrolling through his phone, frowned. "Yeah, even when she was exhausted, she at least texted one of us."
Lao K exchanged a glance with Lao Mao, both of them nodding in silent agreement.
Rui, already pulling up his messages, sighed. "I'll call her."
But before he could dial, Sicheng—who had been silent up until this point—stood up abruptly. "I'll go check," he said, voice smooth but final.
The others barely had time to react before he was already moving, grabbing his keys and wallet.
Yue, watching him with narrowed eyes, muttered, "What does he know that we don't?"
No one answered.
Because Sicheng?
Sicheng had already left.
The second Sicheng stepped out of the ZGDX base, he pulled out his phone and messaged his man.
Status.
It only took a moment for a reply to come back.
Tong Yao has not left her apartment at all today.
Sicheng's jaw tightened. That wasn't normal. She wasn't the type to miss work without reason. She wasn't the type to disappear. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he moved, his long strides carrying him toward his car, his patience thinning by the second.
When he arrived at her building, Sicheng barely hesitated before heading up the stairs to her door. He knocked, firm but not aggressive, listening closely for any movement inside.
For a long moment, nothing.
Then, finally a soft shuffle, followed by the sound of the lock clicking. The door opened just slightly, revealing Tong Yao. And the second he saw her, his irritation vanished, replaced by something much heavier. She looked awful. Her skin was deathly pale, her hazel eyes dulled with pain. Her platinum silver hair was slightly messy, her posture off, as if just standing there was taking too much effort.
Sicheng's expression darkened. "Are you hurt?" His voice was sharp, controlled, but carrying a weight that demanded an answer.
Yao swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the door-frame as she hesitated. "…N-No."
"Then let me in." Sicheng narrowed his eyes, his patience already gone.
Yao, looking mildly guilty, stepped aside, nodding weakly. The second she closed the door behind him, she wavered. Sicheng caught her immediately. His hands gripped her arms, steadying her before she could even think about falling. Yao flinched, but not in fear, more like embarrassment. "I—I'm fine—"
Sicheng wasn't convinced. "You're not fine. What's wrong?" His grip tightened slightly, his sharp eyes scanning her face.
Yao swallowed hard, clearly mortified, before whispering, "I—I'm not hurt… it's just… my time of the month."
Sicheng stilled.
Yao, face burning, averted her gaze, her voice barely above a breath. "They've… always been crippling for me."
The words hit differently than if she had told him she was injured. Because this wasn't something that could be fixed with stitches or ice packs. This was her body putting her through hell, something she had endured for years, something that wasn't an emergency but was still serious.
Sicheng exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. And then—without hesitation—he moved. He guided her carefully toward the couch, easing her down so she wasn't standing anymore.
Yao blinked rapidly. "I—I can handle it—"
Sicheng shot her a look. "You didn't even tell anyone you weren't coming in."
She winced, guilt flashing in her eyes. "…I didn't want to bother anyone."
Sicheng exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before muttering, "Idiot." Yao pouted weakly, but he ignored it, already scanning the small apartment as if forming a plan. She was miserable and he wasn't about to leave her like this.
Sicheng barely gave Yao time to argue before he pressed her down onto the couch, his grip firm but careful, ensuring she didn't try anything stupid—like pretending she wasn't in pain. "Lay down," he ordered, already reaching for a nearby throw blanket and pulling it over her small frame. She huffed softly in protest, but she was too weak to fight him on it. Satisfied that she was no longer trying to move, he straightened, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie as his sharp amber eyes scanned the apartment with purpose. "Where do you keep your hot water bottle?"
"H-Huh?" Yao blinked at him, mildly startled.
Sicheng glanced at her, unimpressed. "Hot water bottle. Or heating pad. Where is it?"
Still flustered, Yao hesitated, then muttered, "Bathroom cabinet… under the sink."
Sicheng didn't hesitate. He strode toward the small bathroom, found exactly what he was looking for, and then returned, already moving toward the kitchen before she could process what was happening.
She turned her head weakly, watching as he pulled out his phone, his fingers moving with precise efficiency as he placed an order, not just for any food, but for something she could actually eat in this state.
Plain congee.
Saltine crackers.
Hot tea.
No grease, nothing too heavy, just enough to settle her stomach.
Yao swallowed hard, pressing her lips together as warmth curled through her chest, something entirely different from the pain she had been suffering through all morning. He didn't ask. He didn't wait. He just handled it.
Meanwhile, Sicheng, still moving, took in the space around him as he walked toward the kitchen. For such a small studio, he had expected something cramped, maybe a little messy considering how much work she did.
But instead?
It was spotless.
Tidy.
Neat in a way that wasn't forced, but simply who she was.
Even the air smelled… pleasant, carrying the faint scent of fresh flowers. His gaze flickered toward the small dining table near the window, where a glass vase sat, holding a bouquet of fresh tulips and roses.
She must have bought them recently.
He took that in, filed it away, then continued with what he was doing, ignoring the massive ball of fluff lounging on the twin bed in the corner.
Da Bing, sprawled out comfortably on the mattress, flicked his tail once, lifting his head slightly to observe him before deciding he wasn't worth the effort. Sicheng ignored him right back. Right now, his priority was her. And whether she liked it or not. She was going to be taken care of.
Yao, still curled under the blanket, shifted uncomfortably as Sicheng moved around her apartment with effortless ease, as if he had been there a hundred times before instead of this being his first visit. She swallowed, forcing some strength back into her voice. "Sicheng, you really don't have to stay…"
He didn't even pause.
"I'm staying."
His voice was smooth, low, and completely unbothered, as if her protest was nothing more than background noise. He was already filling the hot water bottle, waiting for the food delivery, and setting up everything she would need for the next few hours.
Yao's lips pressed together, her fingers twitching slightly against the edge of the blanket. She should keep trying. She should tell him that she was fine, that he could go, that she could handle it like she always did. But when she glanced up at him, when she saw the calm determination in his amber eyes, something inside her hesitated.
Because he wasn't just ignoring her words. He was watching her. Not just looking at her, not just checking to see if she needed something. He was seeing her and in that moment, he knew. She wasn't used to this. Wasn't used to someone staying. Wasn't used to someone taking care of her, handling things before she even had to ask, making sure she was comfortable without waiting for her permission. And judging by the flicker in her eyes? She hadn't had this since her parents had passed.
Sicheng exhaled slowly, leaning against the counter, not taking his eyes off her. "You don't have to ask me to leave. I'm not going anywhere." he murmured, his voice lower this time, more controlled.
Yao's breath caught. Her fingers tightened around the blanket, her heart hammering for a completely different reason now. She should argue. She should tell him that he doesn't need to do this. But for the first time in a long, long time. She didn't want to be alone. So she swallowed hard and didn't fight him.
And Sicheng?
He just nodded slightly, as if that was the answer he had been waiting for all along. After making sure Yao had eaten something and drank the hot tea he had set out for her, Sicheng leaned back against the arm of the couch, watching. She had tried to resist, tried to act like she wasn't completely drained, but eventually, the warmth of the blanket, the tea, and the weight of exhaustion won.
And she fell asleep.
Sicheng exhaled slowly, his sharp amber eyes flickering over her small frame, curled up under the blanket, her breathing soft and even.
She looked… fragile like this.
Not weak.
Just—
Like someone who had spent too much time alone. Like someone who had never been given the chance to rely on others.
His jaw tightened slightly at the thought. Then, after a long pause, he finally stood, moving silently across the small apartment, his gaze naturally scanning his surroundings once more, now that she was no longer awake to stop him. Everything was neat. Organized. There was no unnecessary clutter, no signs of messiness despite the small space.
It suited her.
Simple. Quiet. Controlled.
And yet—
Something on her desk caught his eye.
A photograph.
Sicheng's steps slowed as he moved toward it, reaching out and carefully picking it up. The picture was slightly worn at the edges, clearly well-kept, meaning it was something important. And when he looked at it. His breath stilled. The image showed Yao—younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen—with two adults. Her parents. Her father, a tall, serious-looking man with sharp features, had his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Her mother, a beautiful woman with delicate features and warm eyes, stood beside them, her smile soft yet confident. But it wasn't the family resemblance that held his attention. It was her mother. Because the moment he looked at her, something clicked. He knew her. Or at least, he had seen her before. His fingers tightened slightly around the frame, his mind already working, already digging through old memories, trying to place where he had seen that face before.
Sicheng exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair before setting the framed photo back exactly where he found it. His mind was still turning, still processing, but he knew now wasn't the time to chase that thought further. For now, his priority was her. He turned back toward the couch, where Yao was still curled up, her small frame barely moving under the soft rhythm of her breathing. She was completely out.
Good.
That meant she was actually resting.
Letting out another quiet sigh, he moved, settling into the chair at her small desk. He pulled out his phone, opening up their group chat and, before any of the idiots got the idea to storm her apartment looking for answers, started typing.
ZGDX_Chessman: She's fine. Just not feeling well. It's her time of the month.
The chat immediately exploded.
ZGDX_Lv: FINALLY. Took you long enough to update, bro.
ZGDX_K: Damn, we were about to start placing bets on whether you'd left to go find her or not.
ZGDX_Mao: Was there even a question? Of course, he went to find her.
ZGDX_Pang: Wait, wait, wait—so, let me get this straight. We were all worried, thinking maybe she was kidnapped or collapsed somewhere—
ZGDX_Lv: —and it turns out she's just suffering through period hell?
ZGDX_Ming: …To be fair, knowing Yao, she would absolutely just suffer in silence instead of telling anyone she needed help.
Sicheng's jaw tightened slightly at that. Because they were right. She had suffered in silence and that wasn't going to happen again. He didn't type anything, just leaned back in the chair, watching the messages continue to roll in.
ZGDX_Rui: Do we need to send anything?
ZGDX_Pang: Yeah, do we need to make a supply run? Get her more tea? Snacks? Those heating patch things?
ZGDX_Lv: Also, is Da Bing behaving or did he try to swat you out of the apartment?
Sicheng smirked slightly, glancing toward the twin bed where Da Bing was still sprawled, completely unbothered by his presence.
ZGDX_Chessman: He doesn't care as long as I don't move her.
That earned several laughing reactions.
ZGDX_K: Makes sense. That's his human, after all.
ZGDX_Lv: Yeah, well, he's gonna have to start getting used to sharing.
Sicheng's smirk dropped. His amber eyes flickered over that message, pausing for a fraction of a second before he shook his head and ignored it. Instead, he typed one last thing.
ZGDX_Chessman: She doesn't need anything. I've already handled it. Just leave her alone and let her rest.
The chat finally slowed.
A few seconds later—
ZGDX_Ming: Got it.
ZGDX_Pang: Fine, fine. We'll back off.
ZGDX_Lv: For now.
Sicheng sighed, locking his phone and tossing it onto the desk. Then, he glanced back toward the couch, where Yao was still asleep, her breathing soft and even. He didn't plan on staying all night. But for now? He wasn't leaving, either.
Sicheng's gaze flickered back to the framed photo on Yao's desk, his fingers lightly tapping against the armrest of the chair as his thoughts churned. The familiarity of Yao's mother still gnawed at him, a faint thread of recognition pulling at something in the back of his mind. His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced down, unlocking it to see a new message from her.
#OneHarpy: I want to meet Tong Yao.
Sicheng exhaled deeply , already bracing himself for whatever this was going to turn into.
Brat#One: Why?
His mother's reply came immediately.
#OneHarpy: Because she works for ZGDX now, and I want to welcome her properly.
Brat#One: You don't 'welcome' people. You interrogate them.
#OneHarpy: And?
Sicheng pinched the bridge of his nose.
Brat#One: She's already overwhelmed as it is. She doesn't need you breathing down her neck.
His mother wasn't deterred in the slightest.
#OneHarpy: She's earned it. Not just because she's working for the team, but because she saved your idiot brother's ass.
Sicheng paused. That part was true. If Yao hadn't stolen Ai Jia's phone and run straight into ZGDX HQ, Yue would have been suspended at best, blacklisted at worst.
Brat#One: She's not the type to want attention for that.
#OneHarpy: Too bad. She's going to get it anyway.
Sicheng sighed, running a hand through his hair before leaning back in Yao's chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment. There was no stopping his mother when she had decided something. Yao would have to meet her eventually. But right now? He wasn't sure if she was ready for Lu Wang Lan. Or if he was ready for the questions his mother would ask. Because knowing her? She would see everything and Sicheng wasn't entirely sure what she would find.
Sicheng's thumb hovered over the screen for a moment, his sharp amber eyes flickering back to the framed photo of Yao and her parents. Something about it kept nagging at him, a memory on the edge of his mind, something he hadn't thought about in years.
Then—
It hit him.
A flash of an old conversation, a passing mention from his mother years ago, half-listened to at the time but now surfacing with unshakable clarity. His mother. Her best friend from college.
Sicheng stiffened. Before he even thought about it, his fingers moved, opening their chat again.
Brat#One: What was your best friend from college's name?
The reply came almost instantly.
#OneHarpy: Why?
Sicheng exhaled, already knowing this was going to be a battle.
Brat#One: Just answer the question.
His mother took a little longer this time, as if suspicious .
Then—
#OneHarpy: Xu Roulan.
His breath stilled. He knew that name. It was written on the bottom of the photograph he had just been looking at, under the delicate, beautiful woman standing beside Yao's father. Yao's mother. His grip tightened around the phone. But before he could even begin to process that revelation, another message arrived.
#OneHarpy: Why are you asking?
Sicheng hesitated for a fraction of a second before typing a question.
Brat#One: Do you have a picture of her?
A long pause.
Then—
#OneHarpy: …Lu Sicheng. What exactly are you doing?
He refused to answer. And knowing him, knowing that he wasn't going to tell her until she got tired of waiting, his mother finally sent two attachments.
Sicheng tapped the first one and the second he saw it, his entire body froze.
There she was.
Xu Roulan. Younger, vibrant, laughing beside his mother, her hair swept back by the wind, her eyes sharp and full of life. There was no mistaking it. Yao's mother had been his mother's best friend. The second image showed them standing together in their graduation robes, his mother holding her diploma, Xu Roulan linking arms with her, smiling brightly at the camera.
Sicheng couldn't move. Couldn't even breathe properly as his mind spun, rewriting everything. Yao's mother. His mother's best friend. That was why she had seemed so familiar. His mother's next message came through, sharper now, more direct.
#OneHarpy: Lu Sicheng. What the hell is going on?
He didn't reply. Didn't even blink. Because right now? He was still processing the fact that Tong Yao. The shy, brilliant girl currently sleeping on her couch, the girl he had pulled into his world, the girl he had no intention of letting go of. Had been connected to him long before they had ever met.
The second his phone buzzed again, Sicheng's sharp reflexes kicked in. Without hesitation, he snatched it off the desk, answering before the sound could wake Yao. He exhaled quietly, lowering his voice as he pressed the phone to his ear. "Keep your voice down." he muttered, his tone smooth but edged with warning.
On the other end, Lu Wang Lan was not in the mood for patience.
"Lu Sicheng." Her voice was clipped, demanding, carrying the full weight of someone used to getting answers . "You had better tell me why you are suddenly digging up Xu Roulan's name before I make it my personal mission to visit the base every single day."
Sicheng pinched the bridge of his nose. She would do it. She would absolutely do it. And as if that wasn't bad enough, she doubled down.
"Or worse," she continued smoothly, "I will start scheduling PR events. Media interviews. Photoshoots. Perhaps even a mandatory team-building retreat. A full weekend of mindfulness exercises. Morning yoga. Wouldn't that be nice?"
Sicheng groaned quietly, already regretting everything. "Enough," he said, his voice low, firm. "I'll tell you."
A satisfied hum came through the line.
"Good."
Sicheng leaned back in the chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the desk as he gathered his thoughts. Then, keeping his voice measured, he said, "I found a photo of Xu Roulan."
Silence.
A long, heavy silence.
Then—
His mother's voice, sharp as a blade.
"Where?"
His gaze flickered toward the small frame on Yao's desk. "In Tong Yao's apartment."
Another pause.
Then—
"Her apartment—" A brief hitch in her breath, as if the thought had just struck her. "Wait."
Sicheng exhaled slowly, his voice dropping lower, as if saying it out loud would make it irreversible. "Tong Yao is Xu Roulan's daughter."
Silence. Not the kind that meant hesitation. The kind that meant something had just shifted.
His mother's voice, quieter now, but still firm.
"You're still at her apartment?"
Sicheng's fingers flexed slightly against the desk. "…Yes."
Another long pause.
Then, in a voice that carried something heavier than he expected—
"I need to see her."
Sicheng exhaled, already knowing there was no stopping this. "Not today." His voice was final. "She's sick. She needs rest."
Lan didn't argue. Didn't fight him on that. But when she spoke again, her words were absolute.
"Then as soon as she's better, you bring her to me."
Sicheng didn't answer right away. His fingers tapped idly against the desk, his sharp amber gaze flickering toward the framed photograph once more, his mind already working through the implications. Finally, his voice came, smooth but edged with calculated intent. "Before I decide on anything… how did you two lose contact?"
A pause.
A long one.
Then—
"Why?" Lan's voice was careful now, sharper, as if she sensed something beneath his words.
"Because I refuse to let Tong Yao become a target." Sicheng exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around his phone.
Silence.
Then—
"We didn't lose contact."
That made Sicheng pause. His grip on the phone tightened slightly. "What?"
His mother sighed, the sound quieter than he expected. "There was no falling out, no distance, no bad note. Xu Roulan and I remained in touch for years, even after she married and moved abroad." A pause. Then, softer, "She was my closest friend."
Sicheng's jaw clenched. "Then why the hell haven't I heard her name before now?"
Lan exhaled. "Because she passed away when Tong Yao was still a child."
Sicheng stilled. His fingers curled slightly against the desk as something cold settled deep in his chest. Not because he hadn't known, he had known Yao's parents had passed. But because now, his mother knew too. And that meant Yao… wasn't just a name to her anymore.
"She was supposed to come back to Shanghai," Lan continued, her voice measured. "She wanted to introduce me to her daughter, but then… she and her husband died in the accident."
Sicheng inhaled through his nose, steadying himself before speaking. "And you never reached out to her after?"
His mother hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. "I tried."
That answer didn't sit right with him. Lu Wang Lan was not someone who tried to do things. She did them. Which meant something had prevented her from reaching Yao.
Sicheng exhaled slowly, his thoughts already shifting. "If I bring her to you, what's your intention?" His voice was calm, but firm. "Because I won't let you overwhelm her, and I won't let you drag her into something she's not ready for."
A pause.
"I just want to see her."
Sicheng didn't answer immediately. Instead, his gaze lingered on the framed photograph, on the woman who had been so close to his mother and the girl sleeping just a few feet away, completely unaware of the connection they shared. Finally, after a long moment, he spoke. "We'll see." And then, before she could press him further, he ended the call.