MORNING FAREWELL

The first light of dawn seeped through the thin curtains of their small room, painting the walls in pale gold. Xiao Zhan stirred quietly, careful not to wake his mother.

She lay on the bed, frail and pale, curled beneath a threadbare blanket. Her breathing was shallow, but even in sleep, her hand twitched as though reaching for him.

Xiao Zhan bent down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. His fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary, memorizing the lines of her face—the small scar near her temple, the gentle curve of her cheek.

“Mom,” he whispered, voice hoarse from lack of sleep, “I’m leaving for work.”

Her eyes fluttered open, dim with fatigue, but lighting up slightly when they found him.

“Already?” she murmured, voice weak.

“I have to,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her hand. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

She tried to smile, but it faltered. “Don’t work too hard, Zhan… you’re too thin to carry all this on your own.”

Xiao Zhan swallowed hard. “I don’t mind. As long as you’re okay.”

She reached up, touching his cheek lightly. Her fingers were cold. “You’re all I have… my brave boy.”

He nodded, blinking back the exhaustion and worry that weighed him down.

“I’ll bring breakfast,” he said, even though it was empty reassurance; most mornings, he returned home with nothing but his tired body and aching hands.

He straightened his thin frame, tying back his long hair carefully into a loose ponytail. He adjusted his worn jacket, checked the small bag slung over his shoulder, and gave her hand one last squeeze.

“Goodbye, Mom,” he said, his voice catching.

“Goodbye… my Zhan,” she whispered. “Come home safe.”

He lowered his head, not trusting himself to speak, and stepped toward the door. The sunlight fell over him as he opened it, casting a long shadow across the small room. He paused, looking back once, memorizing her sleeping form.

Then he slipped into the streets, blending into the city’s early bustle—the boy in the shabby clothes, carrying heavy responsibilities, unaware that someone far above, in a palace of glass and steel, had already seen him.

The bell above the door jingled as Xiao Zhan entered the cramped restaurant.

The place smelled of oil, soy sauce, and the faint, unwashed scent of hard work. The walls were chipped, paint peeling in long strips, and the fluorescent lights buzzed weakly overhead. The tables were sticky, some covered with mismatched cloths, and the chairs wobbled under the weight of years.

He moved behind the counter, slipping on his apron over his thin jacket. His hands were already rough from scrubbing pots and carrying heavy trays. There was no time to pause; the lunch crowd would arrive soon.

“Xiao Zhan! Hurry up with the noodles!” a cook shouted from the far side of the kitchen.

“Yes, Chef!” he answered, voice steady, though his body ached.

He washed his hands quickly, then lifted the first pot of boiling broth, careful not to splash himself. Steam rose around his face, sticking to the strands of hair that had escaped his ponytail. His large eyes scanned the cramped space, checking orders, keeping track of every detail. Every tray, every plate, every customer—he remembered it all, because if he didn’t, chaos would fall, and he couldn’t let that happen.

The other staff moved around him like he wasn’t there—just another worker, invisible, unnoticed. And Xiao Zhan didn’t mind. He was used to being overlooked.

Yet, even as he chopped vegetables and stirred sauce, the memory of yesterday’s quiet moment lingered—a fleeting thought that someone had watched him, someone far above, far away. He shook it off. He couldn’t allow himself to indulge in daydreams. The world wouldn’t wait for dreams.

A customer stepped up to the counter. Xiao Zhan looked up, smiled politely, and took the order with precise movements.

“Two bowls of noodles, extra vegetables,” the man said.

“Yes, sir,” Xiao Zhan replied, jotting it down. He handed over a steaming bowl, bowing slightly. His movements were careful, polite, practiced—a Beta who had learned early that respect, even without acknowledgment, was everything.

The lunch crowd grew. Orders clattered. Pots hissed. Customers complained. And through it all, Xiao Zhan moved like a shadow: quiet, efficient, completely absorbed in the work.

From across the street, Wang Yibo watched from a distance, hidden by the shadows of the early afternoon.

He did not step inside.

He did not speak.

He only stared.

The slim boy with the long hair. The big, expressive eyes. The quiet dignity in a world that ignored him.

Something deep and unyielding stirred in the King.

He could feel it already: he needed to know everything about this boy.

And slowly, silently, without anyone knowing, the gears of fate began to turn.

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