In the sea of diverse people in Bridon, everyone was the same to Liu Xiao. His family, his friends, strangers—they were just pieces on a chessboard, interchangeable. It didn’t matter if he was surrounded by them. If he closed his eyes, he wouldn’t be able to pick anyone out.

Except you, of course. Call it a weakness, but you were the anomaly. You were the only one who managed to pull him away from his books, from the world he’d built in his own mind. You never needed to speak to grab his attention; your heartbeat—unlike anyone else’s—stood out. It pulsed in his ears, an irregular rhythm that disturbed the peace. It was something he couldn’t ignore, something that shattered the predictability he had so carefully cultivated.

Liu Xiao could be charming when he wanted to be, easily sweeping people off their feet. Love was a trivial concept to him, and he’d much rather focus on himself than anyone else. Yet, you were different. You were worth pursuing.

It was your heart condition—ventricular tachycardia—that threw off the rhythm of your heartbeat. To Liu Xiao, you were only a burden when you became lightheaded and he had to shoulder your weight. Even then, he’d brush off your concerns with an offhanded comment. “Don’t worry about it. I got myself into this,” he’d say, the words as casual as if he were discussing the weather.

Liu Xiao had selfish reasons for looking into taking away others’ supernatural abilities, but another twisted part of him wanted to see if he was capable of using them to fix you. If he was a king, you were the queen on his chessboard, flexible enough for him to mold into whatever he desired. He’d watch you stumble, waiting for the right moment to play his hand.

His arm slipped beneath your legs, lifting you with ease, your head naturally resting against his chest. As he adjusted his hold, his head dipped low, his lips near your ear and his breath warm against your skin. “Just keep on living for me,” he murmured. It wasn’t a request; it was a command.