Winter settled over the city in polished lights and controlled warmth, the kind that existed only in places where money insulated everything sharp and uncomfortable. The Christmas event was less a celebration and more a display—crystal chandeliers, imported florals, orchestral music drifting softly through a hall crowded with old families and newer power.

The Liu family arrived precisely on time.

They were not religious. None of them were. But tradition, influence, and visibility mattered, and so Christmas was observed the way mergers were: efficiently, elegantly, without sentiment. Liu Qingge appeared at his parents’ side in dark blue formalwear trimmed subtly in white, the Liu colors worked into every detail. Tall, broad-shouldered, composed to the point of severity, he looked exactly like what the media loved to call him—untouchable.

He had every intention of leaving early.

That plan had lasted until Liu Mingyan, smiling far too sweetly, had mentioned one small detail only after they were already on their way.

Shen Yuan would be there.

Liu Qingge had agreed immediately. Too immediately.

His parents had noticed. Of course they had. The exchanged glances, the quiet amusement, the faint pride in their expressions had been unmistakable. Mingyan had practically preened. Liu Qingge had pretended not to see any of it.

Now, trapped politely among greetings and nods and shallow conversations, he scanned the hall with the focus of someone searching a battlefield. Faces blurred past him—familiar surnames, unfamiliar heirs, clusters of wealth dressed in winter finery. He checked corners, balconies, reflections in glass.

Only after planning to text Shen Yuan did he realize he’d forgotten his phone.

An irritating oversight. He barely used it, but still. Mingyan had told him Shen Yuan would be there only after they’d already left the house.

The party dragged on.

Liu Qingge endured it with discipline, offering curt acknowledgments, standing where he was expected to stand, his attention never fully present. His gaze kept drifting, searching for green and white amid the blues and silvers of the room.

And then he saw him.

Shen Yuan stood near the long dessert table, framed by glass displays and soft golden lighting. The Shen family colors marked him immediately—deep green layered with white, winter tones that suited him unfairly well. The fabric caught the light when he moved, clean and elegant without excess.

Liu Qingge stopped walking.

For a brief, unguarded moment, he simply stared.

Shen Yuan looked… pretty. There was no other word for it, and the realization struck Liu Qingge with unexpected force. Not ostentatious, not sharp—just warm and vivid, like something alive among carefully curated objects. His posture was relaxed, attention focused on the spread before him, hands hovering thoughtfully as if choosing mattered.

The crowd shifted around Liu Qingge, unnoticed. Sound dulled at the edges. His chest felt strangely tight, as though something inside him had gone slightly off-balance.

Blue and white against green and white. Liu and Shen, separated by nothing but a few steps and a moment of courage.

Liu Qingge moved.

He adjusted his path instinctively, straightening, control snapping back into place even as his attention remained fixed ahead. Shen Yuan hadn’t noticed him yet, still absorbed in the table, unaware of the steady presence approaching from behind.

For the first time that evening, Liu Qingge forgot about leaving early.