Liuxian was standing in the balcony doorway.
He had not raised his voice. He had not moved from the doorway. But his pheromones had filled the balcony in the space of a breath, dominant, cold and entirely controlled, the kind of pheromone output that did not ask anything of the room but simply informed it of the facts.
Shen Zihao's hand stopped.
He turned slowly to look at Liuxian.
The two men looked at each other across the balcony, and the air between them was the particular air of two people who had just established, without a single unnecessary word, exactly where they stood.
Liuxian's eyes moved from Shen Zihao to Guiying.
"Come here," he said quietly.
Guiying walked across the balcony toward him, the Louboutins steady and unhurried against the stone, and when he reached Liuxian's side Liuxian's hand came to rest at the small of his back with the calm, settled certainty of someone placing something back where it belonged.
Then he looked at Shen Zihao.
