Chapter 33

Su Qingci woke before five. Weak from major surgery, he’d fallen asleep quickly but woke early as usual. He resolved to endure afternoon drowsiness from now on.

He rose and stepped outside, turning left. By the time he reached the bathroom door, exactly thirty paces had passed. Su Qingci found himself glancing at his wristwatch again—thirty seconds. He couldn’t help but chuckle at Pei Jingchen’s uncanny prediction and his own pathetic stupidity. Fine, he really had become like a schoolchild.

Su Qingci took over twenty minutes to finish his morning routine, then walked back to the bedroom in thirty seconds before retrieving clothes from the wardrobe to change.

Every movement had slowed to a crawl. Staring at his reflection in the full-length mirror, Su Qingci felt increasingly like a clumsy old man.

Sitting on the bed for a moment, it took him a full hour from waking up to finally stepping out of the room. Su Qingci chuckled helplessly. Walking to the kitchen, he reached into the fridge for cocoa powder and couldn’t help but tease himself—like an old, neglected robot, each step a struggle, each turn of his neck accompanied by the creaking of rusty gears.

Su Qingci had intended to just have some hot cocoa, but upon opening the refrigerator, he found not only the vegetables and fruits Pei Jingchen had bought the night before, but also toast, bacon, sausages, and more. Looking further inside, he spotted several jars and bottles—strawberry jam, blueberry jam, chocolate spread, and peanut butter—all flavors Su Qingci loved.

Su Qingci had a small appetite in the mornings but transformed into a glutton come evening, his appetite fully unleashed. So for breakfast, a sandwich and a cup of hot coffee sufficed. He recalled when he lived with Pei Jingchen—Pei had stocked the fridge with several kinds of spreads, switching it up daily to keep things fresh. Of course, the main point was that no matter who made breakfast, whenever sandwiches were on the menu, one of them inevitably asked: Which spread today?”

After a simple breakfast, Su Qingci was washing cups at the sink when the door unlocked from the outside and Secretary Wang entered.

The lock was a combination lock, but it could also be opened with a key—a single key, with no spare. Secretary Wang must have secretly made a duplicate while he was hospitalized.

“Good morning, young master!” Secretary Wang stood immaculately dressed in a suit, his face beaming with a smile, followed by a line of people.

Su Qingci frowned. “What’s this about?”

Secretary Wang replied, “These are individuals I personally selected from the ancestral home. They will be responsible for attending to your daily needs—clothing, food, lodging, and transportation. Chairman Su stated that while you may decline to return to the ancestral home, you must retain these servants to care for you.”

Su Qingci’s slender fingers tightened around the cup handle.

Secretary Wang continued, “A nutritionist and chef will report for duty at nine this morning. They will collaborate to prepare your three daily meals. At noon, your personal physician will arrive to monitor your health around the clock.”

Su Qingci set the cup down. The ceramic clinked sharply against the tabletop. “All of you. Get out.”

Secretary Wang: “Young Master.”

Su Qingci: “I need no one!”

Secretary Wang awkwardly adjusted his glasses, then stood tall and declared firmly: “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

Su Qingci curled his lips into a cold smile: “It seems Secretary Wang came here specifically to provoke me.”

Secretary Wang’s hair stood on end at the remark, hastily shifting blame: “It’s your grandfather who cares about you. You…”

Su Qingci’s scornful snort silenced him, and he promptly kicked out both the secretary and the entire entourage of servants before dialing Su Baidong’s number. Without beating around the bush, he unleashed a torrent of “ingratitude” so intense, one could almost picture Su Baidong’s veins popping through the phone.

“Fine! Go rot in your room! I’m done with you!” Su Baidong bellowed before slamming the phone down.

Su Qingci exhaled, summoned the anxious Secretary Wang back, and announced Su Baidong had spoken—they could all leave.

The entire morning’s good mood was ruined. Exhausted, Su Qingci craved coffee to perk up. He rummaged through the kitchen cabinets but couldn’t find a single coffee bean.

The young master of Wulin Group couldn’t get his coffee?!

Su Qingci knew it without thinking—Pei Jingchen must have stolen it!

The coffee craving hit hard, and he couldn’t go without. Su Qingci considered ordering delivery on his phone but decided to go buy some himself instead.

The upscale chain supermarket wasn’t far. Su Qingci refused the wheelchair, determined to walk on his own legs despite moving painfully slow. Even a Poodle breezed past him, bounding ahead with ease. By the time Su Qingci reached the community gate, that Poodle had already returned from its walk with its owner.

The security guard, aware of Su Qingci’s serious illness and hospitalization, inquired about his health. After a brief exchange, Su Qingci laboriously made his way toward the supermarket.

From leaving for the supermarket, to shopping inside, to returning home, a full four hours had passed. Su Qingci walked a few steps, then paused to rest. He observed the crowd, gazed at the blue sky and white clouds, and found amusement in watching naughty children throwing tantrums. Whenever he spotted a beautiful scene, he sketched it in his portable sketchbook. The troubles of the morning vanished completely.

Opening the door to his home, he was startled to find a pair of leather shoes in the entryway. Su Qingci froze, his eyes wide with shock.

Pei Jingchen emerged from the house wearing a British-style waistcoat over a suit jacket, tailored trousers, cotton slippers, a cream-colored apron with a fresh floral pattern around his waist, and cartoon-patterned arm warmers on both arms. In his left hand was a rag, and in his right, dish soap.

Su Qingci’s mind went blank. The first words out of his mouth were, “How did you get in?”

Pei Jingchen replied, “The password.”

Su Qingci: “?”

“I guessed it on the first try,” Pei Jingchen said with a faint smile. “You used my birthday. It was pretty easy to figure out.”

Su Qingci: “…”

He’d been careless!

How could he have forgotten that detail! But thanks to Pei Jingchen’s reminder, he’d reset all his passwords—embarrassed, he realized every single one had been Pei Jingchen’s birthday.

Pei Jingchen snatched the shopping bag from Su Qingci’s hands and made a move to help him take off his coat.

Su Qingci stepped back, removing his coat himself. Before he could take another step, Pei Jingchen grabbed it and hung it on a nearby coat rack.

Su Qingci felt like laughing, but no sound came out. It felt like a mirror world. Before, he’d always be the one scurrying to the door, asking, “You’re back?” Then he’d take things from Pei Jingchen’s hands, help him with his coat, hang it up.

Now everything was reversed.

It felt as if the entire world had turned upside down the moment he awoke in the ICU.

Su Qingci’s mind raced with wild thoughts: Could it be that he was still lying in a deep coma on that ICU bed, and everything he saw now was an illusion, just a dream? Or perhaps he had actually died long ago.

Pei Jingchen placed slippers on the floor for Su Qingci to change into. Su Qingci snapped out of his wild fantasies, dodging Pei Jingchen’s instinctive reach to support him. Like a little hamster, he scurried along the edge of the room.

Pei Jingchen couldn’t help but chuckle: “Where’d you go? Why aren’t you using the wheelchair? What if you get tired?”

Su Qingci’s tone was cool: “I don’t want to.”

Pei Jingchen wasn’t trying to peek; it was a natural reflex—glancing down at the contents of the shopping bag. He’d bought so much yesterday, his phone’s document filled with over two thousand characters of items listed. Logically, there shouldn’t be anything missing that needed Su Qingci to go buy again…

Coffee beans?!

Pei Jingchen’s expression tightened, but his words weren’t scolding or lecturing—just matter-of-fact: “Want some water?”

Pei Jingchen asked while his hands moved, pouring a cup of warm water and setting it on the coffee table.

Su Qingci didn’t drink it, swallowing the dryness in his throat. “Are you deep cleaning?”

Pei Jingchen nodded. “Yes.”

Su Qingci didn’t know what to say. There were simply too many points to nitpick, and he couldn’t keep up with the criticism. He rested his head on the pillow, which carried the fresh scent of lavender wash—Pei Jingchen had washed and dried it.

Su Qingci didn’t want to get angry, nor did he have the energy to argue. He took a deep breath and said, “What did I say yesterday?”

Pei Jingchen’s thin lips parted slightly, his gaze flickering. “We broke up. We’re even.”

Su Qingci sneered coldly, “So you’re not deaf after all.”

Pei Jingchen removed his sleeves. “You also said we were nothing. What right or reason did you have to look after me?”

Su Qingci was satisfied with Pei Jingchen’s memory, sparing him the trouble of repeating himself: “Word for word.”

Su Qingci stared straight at Pei Jingchen, his eyes cold and unyielding. “You had no answer, so I told you to get lost.”

Pei Jingchen smiled instead. “I came today because I have an answer now.”

Su Qingci froze, instinctively pressing, “What?”

Pei Jingchen: “I’ll take care of you as your ex-boyfriend.”

Su Qingci stared in disbelief, feeling like he didn’t recognize Pei Jingchen anymore: “On what grounds?”

Su Qingci demanded: “What’s your justification? I’ll repeat myself—on what grounds do you think you should take care of me, and on what grounds should I accept your care?”

Su Qingci had never been a forgiving or patient person. All his gentleness was reserved for Pei Jingchen—and only Pei Jingchen. To outsiders, including Annelise, he was sharp-tongued, caustic, and relentlessly confrontational.

Pei Jingchen silently mocked himself for being spoiled by Su Qingci, never having truly experienced the young master’s temper. Now he understood—it was relentless, searingly painful.

Su Qingci had last confronted him like this on the very day he painted Vivian’s portrait. Pei Jingchen waited outside the compound. Standing beneath a streetlamp in the falling snow, Su Qingci wore a dark down jacket that made his pupils appear even darker and more profound. His nose tip was frozen bright red, his face a startlingly pale. He asked, “Are you angry that I broke my promise, or jealous that I painted someone else?”

That single sentence haunted Pei Jingchen for three days of nightmares.

Three days later, he understood. He was certain. He had to admit the real reason he’d stormed over to Su Qingci, dodging his questions and beating around the bush—he’d come to confront her.

He was truly jealous.

Jealous that Su Qingci had “betrayed” him. He had sworn his eyes were only for him, yet in the blink of an eye, he painted someone else.

Truthfully, he had no right to concern himself with whom Su Qingci painted. Whether he drew Vivian for work or as a simple gift of friendship, he had no authority to interfere.

But Pei Jingchen couldn’t control it. It felt like a thorn lodged in his heart—impossible to pull out. Ignoring it only made it dig deeper, until one day it would fester and rot. Pei Jingchen suddenly realized he possessed such intense jealousy and possessiveness. He envied Vivian, seething at this woman who’d suddenly appeared and effortlessly shattered Su Qingci’s boundaries. He wanted to selfishly claim Su Qingci’s brush, to make him the sole subject within the realm of portraiture—to paint only him.

Pei Jingchen had once disliked Su Qingci’s jealousy and possessiveness, yet now that he felt jealousy himself, he was hardly any different. Wasn’t this the same unreasonable, overly sensitive, and extreme behavior?

Jealousy presupposes care. Pei Jingchen admitted he cared about Su Qingci. After all, they’d known each other since youth and lived together for three years. Even roommates shared some bond. Su Qingci had promised to paint only him, so he believed it wholeheartedly and accepted this “rule” as natural. Breaking it was simply unbearable.

This was how a bewildered Pei Jingchen analyzed it.

It wasn’t until returning from signing contracts in Korea that he learned Su Qingci had been admitted to the ICU. He hadn’t expected his reaction to be so intense—the world seemed to shatter, his body grew numb with cold, sleep eluded him, and he felt as if plunged into an abyss. It felt like something had been forcibly torn from his body. Was it what novels and dramas often called the soul?

Pei Jingchen didn’t know, nor did he dare recall that terror so extreme it could be described as unbearable agony.

When Su Qingci awoke, he was both ecstatic and utterly unprepared. His nearly withered heart began beating wildly again, driven by the anxiety of what he might say.

It turned out Su Qingci had long taken root deep within his soul. When the tender sprout thrived, his heart pulsed with vitality; when it withered, his heart dried up. As for what kind of majestic tree those sprouts would grow into, Pei Jingchen couldn’t fathom. But when Su Qingci uttered those words—“We’re done. We’re even now”—Pei Jingchen knew for certain: it would be no scrawny sapling.

Especially that line… “We’re nothing.”

Those words—We’re nothing—came from the lips of someone who once vowed, “I’ll entangle you forever and ever.”

*

So why should you care for me?

Pei Jingchen crouched before Su Qingci, his gaze intense. “Because I want to keep being entangled by you.”

Su Qingci thought he’d heard wrong.

Good heavens, what’s wrong with this world? Could it be that his original self really is in a deep coma in the ICU?

Su Qingci pressed his hand to his forehead: “Pei Jingchen, you know I’ve been in the hospital for nearly two months. All those sedatives have messed with my brain. Could you be a bit more subtle?”

Pei Jingchen mocked his own evasiveness. “I can’t let go of you.”

“Just because you can’t let go, I have to play along?” Su Qingci scoffed. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Just like he used to be.

“Yes.” Pei Jingchen admitted.

Su Qingci parted his lips, then closed them again. Perhaps Pei Jingchen would assume that hearing these heartfelt words would make him feel as though the clouds had parted to reveal the moon, leaving him deeply moved and overflowing with emotion—regaining hope and vigor for life. But sorry, no. Not at all.

He was going to disappoint Pei Jingchen’s earnest efforts.

He had spent half his life pursuing Pei Jingchen, obsessed with him, his eyes, heart, and soul consumed entirely by him. Yet, despite that half-life of pursuit, he had never received a single positive response from Pei Jingchen. He didn’t demand a hundred percent return. He only wanted Pei Jingchen to give just a little, to take one step forward. The remaining ninety-nine steps, he would take himself.

But no! Pei Jingchen didn’t have him in his eyes, his heart, or his soul. No love meant no love. Su Qingci had come to terms with it. If blame was to be placed, it was on his own crooked heart, on using dirty tricks like drugging to push Pei Jingchen away completely.

Su Qingci asked himself: What if he could go back to last December? No… January would do, or even the day he went to Pei Jingchen’s house to retrieve the painting. Had Pei Jingchen spoken these words before then, Su Qingci might truly have been overjoyed, dying without regret.

“Are you just stringing me along with pretty words because you know I’m terminally ill and won’t live long?” Su Qingci laughed lazily. “There’s no need.”

Pei Jingchen protested urgently, “Absolutely not.”

“Then what? Did you suddenly have an epiphany, like your meridians opened up, and realize being stuck with me isn’t so bad?” Su Qingci’s smile deepened. “Honestly, I’m a bit confused. I can’t tell if you genuinely love me, or if you’re just used to having someone pour their heart out for you.”