Chapter Text
A promise at twelve
September 2008, Beijing
The apron slipped a little too low on his small frame, its strings tied in an uneven bow at the back. Chengyu didn’t mind. His hands, stuffed into tiny oven gloves, trembled slightly not from the heat, but from excitement as he carefully lifted the box of muffins his mother had taught him to bake. He ran all the way to the garden, where Chi Cheng was waiting on their usual bench, autumn leaves scattered at their feet. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, turning everything warm and golden.
“I baked muffins for you,” Chengyu said, breathless, holding out the box as if it were a treasure. Chi Cheng’s eyes lit up. He didn’t hesitate for even a second. Pulling one out, he stuffed it into his mouth, chewing eagerly, crumbs threatening to fall as he savoured the taste like it was the best thing he’d ever eaten.
“It’s so good,” he mumbled around a full mouth. Chengyu beamed.
“Guo Zi,” Chi Cheng said softly, using the nickname only he ever used, “if you stay with me forever, I’ll get to eat your muffins all the time.” He paused, his voice turning unusually serious for a boy his age. “And I’ll protect you. From your father. Always.” He meant it. Even at twelve, Chi Cheng understood the bruises Chengyu tried to hide, the fear that lingered in his eyes whenever footsteps sounded too loud at home. His words were clumsy, innocent but sincere.
Chengyu didn’t hesitate, “Promise,” he said, instantly stretching out his hand. He believed Chi Cheng without question. In his world, Chi Cheng was safety. “Promise,” Chi Cheng replied, placing his hand over Chengyu’s small one. Their fingers curled together, sealing a vow neither of them understood the weight of it yet.
* * *
September 2024
“Ladies and gentlemen, We will be landing shortly” The cabin crew’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the aircraft, pulling Chengyu out of a restless half-sleep. He blinked, disoriented, then rubbed his eyes as a familiar tightness settled in his chest.
Beijing!
Outside the window, the city he had fled eight years ago waited beneath the clouds unchanged, unforgiving. So I’m back, he thought. After eight years.
He spotted Liwang almost immediately. The placard with his name stood out in the sea of arriving passengers, held aloft by a familiar broad hand. Liwang,his father’s bodyguard, loyal to the point of being called a yes-man by those who knew better. Chengyu had asked for him specifically. Liwang had been around since Chengyu’s high school days, joining his father’s side when he himself was barely more than a boy. Some faces, it seemed, were immune to time. Once inside the car, Chengyu leaned back against the seat, the leather cool beneath his palms. A strange discomfort settled in his chest as flashes of his teenage years surfaced without warning, late nights, silent corridors, the unspoken weight of his father’s presence. He glanced sideways. Apart from a few added pounds, Liwang hadn’t changed much. The same easy smile. The same respectful posture. Even his mannerisms were identical, as if the years had merely passed over him instead of through him. Unexpectedly, Chengyu felt himself relax.
“Take me to the office ,” he said quietly. Liwang nodded and pulled the car into traffic.
At that moment the phone rang. Chengyu’s fingers stilled when he saw the name on the screen.
Father!
For a brief second, he considered letting it ring. Then he answered.
“Have you landed?” his father asked, his voice clipped, businesslike.
“Yes. I’m in the car.” Chengyu kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Now that I’ve kept my promise, you need to keep yours. Stay out of Chi Cheng’s business.”
A pause crackled on the line.
“I will,” his father said coolly, “as long as you plan to stay here.”
Chengyu’s hand tightened into a fist, anger rising hot and familiar in his throat,“See you at the office,” he said and ended the call.
He closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathing slowly. He had said his father to stay away from Chi Cheng but he had no idea how he himself was supposed to keep his distance from him.Around eight years had passed since they last faced each other. Chengyu didn’t even know if Chi Cheng would acknowledge his existence anymore.
Liwang glanced at him from the corner of his eye, uncertain how to respond. “Boss,” he said carefully, “would you like to have some coffee before heading to the office?” He knew that look on Chengyu’s face all too well. With that temper, a meeting with the Chairman could easily turn into a full-blown confrontation something that would never end well. Liwang had always felt a brotherly affection toward Chengyu, ever since he joined his father’s side. He had worried endlessly the day Chengyu disappeared without a word. Seeing him back now, Liwang felt a quiet relief. To him, Chengyu was less a boss and more a younger brother.
“No,” Chengyu replied, his tone softer than before. The car took a right turn
Thud💥
The impact jolted them both forward as another car rammed into the front. Liwang slammed the brakes, bringing the car to a halt.
“What the hell?” Chengyu snapped. From the opposite car, two boys could be seen in the front seats, one gripping the steering wheel, pale and shaking, the other looking equally panicked. It was obvious one of them was learning how to drive. Liwang got out immediately, his voice rising as he confronted them. The other boy, the one who seemed to be teaching stepped out as well, loudly blaming Liwang for not being careful.
That was the last straw. Already running late, already simmering with anger, and now staring at the dent on his car, Chengyu had had enough. He stepped out. Without a word, he walked straight to the driver’s side of the other car, yanked the door open, and pulled the boy out by his arm.
“Hey,” Chengyu said coldly, his voice sharp as a blade. “Whoever you are, you know you’re the one who hit us. So take responsibility.” The other boy opened his mouth to protest, but Chengyu raised his hand slightly. The gesture alone silenced him. Chengyu turned back to the trembling driver. “Give me your phone number. We’ll sort this out later. I’m in a hurry.”
The boy fumbled with his phone, stammering as he dictated the number. “And your name?” Chengyu asked.
“J-Jiang Xiao Shuai,” the boy replied.
Chengyu repeated the name silently, committing it to memory unaware that this brief collision would tie their lives together in ways far more complicated than a damaged car.