After finishing his painting, Su Qingci felt no physical fatigue. He sipped the red date soy milk Pei Jingchen had just prepared.
Spring sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing him in warm radiance.
Pei Jingchen asked, “Want to go for a walk?”
The sky was clear, as if washed clean. Su Qingci recalled the rain from the previous night and remembered seeing someone post in their social feed: “A light rain on the city streets, soft as silk; the grass looks green from afar but disappears up close,” paired with a photo of a qipao silhouette, creating a perfectly atmospheric scene.
Su Qingci nodded.
Pei Jingchen smiled and asked, “How about we take a walk together?”
Su Qingci instinctively glanced at the wheelchair. Pei Jingchen asked, “Do you need to sit?”
Su Qingci shook his head. “No, I’ll walk.”
Pei Jingchen said, “We’ll just stroll around the neighborhood. We won’t go far. If you get tired and can’t walk, it’s fine—I’ll carry you back.”
Being carried might not look great, but it was far better than the wheelchair. People would just assume it was a little romance between friends or lovers, glance and move on. But in a wheelchair, he inevitably faced strange stares and whispers, curious onlookers chasing after him with questions: What’s wrong with your legs? Why are you in a wheelchair? How young you are, what illness brought you to this?
Pei Jingchen thought to himself: What a stupid question! Who would choose a wheelchair if they could fly?
Only those who’ve sat in a wheelchair and endured those stares truly understand the bitterness. Pei Jingchen had sat in one.
In his sophomore year of high school, a car accident led to a ruptured liver and surgery. After being discharged, he spent a little over two weeks at home in a wheelchair. And boy, was it a spectacle getting to and from school—more attention-grabbing than the Four Heavenly Kings of Hong Kong pop music gathering in the capital. Passersby stared, and curious old folks popped sunflower seeds while asking questions. At first, Pei Jingchen would explain. But explaining grew tiresome. For someone like him, confined to a wheelchair for only a short time, it was bearable. But for those whose physical conditions left them permanently bound to wheelchairs, the constant scrutiny was unbearable.
Having experienced it himself, he understood: those with physical disabilities are intensely sensitive. They guard their dignity carefully, unwilling to be the center of attention, much less have their privacy invaded under the guise of curiosity.
Su Qingci and Pei Jingchen walked side by side. Pei Jingchen asked if he was cold—this year’s late spring chill was particularly fierce. Su Qingci shook his head.
Pei Jingchen glanced at him again, his gaze tracing Su Qingci’s brow bone to his eyes, then down to his lips, jawline, slightly protruding Adam’s apple, shoulders, arms, and finally resting on the hand at his side.
This scene stirred memories in Pei Jingchen. Su Qingci had always been sensitive to the cold—his hands and feet grew icy in spring and autumn, and winter brought even greater chill. Yet he never wore gloves when they went out, deliberately leaving them bare so Pei Jingchen would warm them.
Pei Jingchen recalled Su Qingci’s once slightly foolish, stubborn, yet endearing ways, a bitter ache stirring in his heart. He reached out and took Su Qingci’s hand. Startled, Su Qingci, who had been focused on walking, asked him what he was doing. Pei Jingchen said nothing, simply warming the icy hand with his own fiery palm before tucking both hands into the pocket of his own coat.
Su Qingci looked at him, pressed his thin lips together, then averted his gaze.
Suddenly, his phone rang. Su Qingci froze upon seeing the caller ID. Pei Jingchen wondered what that expression meant—could it be Su Baidong? Then he watched as Su Qingci answered, speaking Russian.
Ten minutes later, a silver-haired, blue-eyed Russian girl in a qipao approached from afar. Bathed in sunlight, she glowed with an ethereal beauty like a fairy.
Pei Jingchen knew her, having met her briefly at a charity auction gala. Vivian, the heiress of the Pitt conglomerate, was Su Qingci’s WeChat friend “lucky”.
Su Qingci remarked to Vivian, “You really don’t mind the cold.”
Vivian spun around with a smile, accentuating her graceful waistline: “Pretty, huh?”
Su Qingci praised her from an artist’s perspective, making Vivian blush with embarrassment. When Su Qingci invited Vivian to come inside, Pei Jingchen felt a pang of jealousy. But then he thought, she’s here to visit a patient—how could he not invite a guest into his home? Was he supposed to stand out on the street talking?
Though given Su Qingci’s temperament, such rudeness would be entirely within character. Like a wildcat in the jungle, he possessed fierce territorial instincts, refusing to allow strangers into his home. During their three years living together, only Annelise and Assistant Xu had earned the privilege of entering the house. Wu Lü was occasionally allowed in, purely depending on Su Qingci’s mood. Everyone else? No chance.
Yet this Vivian had become an exception—and not just once.
Why did she make Su Qingci repeatedly break his own rules? First the portrait, now letting her into the house. While Pei Jingchen stirred hot chocolate in the kitchen, his mind was in turmoil. When he brought it out, Su Qingci and Vivian were seated on the sofa. Vivian beamed like a flower, chattering away in Russian that was hard to follow. Su Qingci looked relaxed, listening with interest, occasionally responding with a few words that made Vivian burst into laughter.
How long had it been since Su Qingci laughed like this? Not just laughed—he hadn’t even shown such a relaxed expression!
Pei Jingchen clenched the handle of the cup tightly. Vivian was undeniably beautiful, yet in his eyes, her features twisted beyond recognition. Her laughter, once as clear as a silver bell, now grated like noise. Suddenly, he found her somewhat irritating. He didn’t know why, but he just did.
The cup landed on the coffee table with a crisp clink. Vivian turned her head and smiled, thanking him in Mandarin.
In that moment, Pei Jingchen felt an urge to vent, but vent about what? Vivian hadn’t done anything to him, yet he disliked her. Especially when she said, “Do you like hot chocolate? Oh dear, I like it too,” Pei Jingchen nearly couldn’t control his urge to snap back: What’s so great about liking hot chocolate? What’s the big deal?
In an instant, it hit him like a sledgehammer to the forehead: he was jealous.
Vivian could make Su Qingci laugh, while he couldn’t. Vivian could make Su Qingci look content and relaxed, while he couldn’t. Vivian could even have a normal conversation with him—asking questions, answering them, exchanging thoughts—while he certainly couldn’t.
Clearly, his relationship with Su Qingci was irreplaceable. Clearly, they had once been so intimate, like partners destined to be inseparable for eternity. Yet now, they shared the same bed but dreamed different dreams, becoming strangers to each other.
Pei Jingchen suddenly felt utterly ugly. He had once thought Su Qingci’s jealousy was inexplicably extreme, but now, looking at himself, he was even more absurd.
Mu Yao, at least, wasn’t truly naive. But Vivian hadn’t done anything wrong—yet she was caught in the crossfire of his dark jealousy and resentment. The blame fell from the sky. Where could Vivian go to seek justice?
Before leaving, Vivian had said something. Though fluent in six languages, Pei Jingchen, whose Russian remained rusty, couldn’t understand. After she departed, he asked Su Qingci.
Su Qingci replied, “She reminded me not to forget—she still owes me a meal.”
Pei Jingchen immediately asked, “What meal?”
Su Qingci replied, “Last time she invited me for dumplings, but ended up serving minced meat soup with noodles. She said that didn’t count and we’d reschedule.”
Pei Jingchen recalled seeing Vivian’s social media post. Back then, he’d guessed it was Su Qingci just from a single hand.
Sure enough, it was Su Qingci.
“When… is it scheduled?” Pei Jingchen asked while tidying the coffee table. “I’ll drive you there.”
Su Qingci replied, “I’ll let her decide.”
Pei Jingchen said nothing more, and Su Qingci turned to play a single-player game.
After dinner, with the news broadcast playing on TV, Pei Jingchen brought warm water and medicine. After supervising Su Qingci finish his dose, he remarked, “Vivian’s a model. She’s always flying around the world, visiting many places. She loves traveling and photography.”
Su Qingci looked at Pei Jingchen with confusion, wondering what on earth he was talking about.
“Did you chat about travel with her this afternoon?” Pei Jingchen asked.
Su Qingci answered without suspicion, “Yeah, she told me about the deserts and camels in Mauritania.”
Pei Jingchen suddenly smiled. “Do you want to go? Once you’re feeling better, I’ll take you…”
“No,” Su Qingci said.
Pei Jingchen felt a lump in his throat. Did he not want to go, or did he not want to go with him?
“Africa really is too far,” Pei Jingchen said with a smile. “Why not go to Dunhuang? There are plenty of beautiful places right here in China.”
Su Qingci looked at him, and their eyes met.
The room fell so silent you could hear a pin drop. When the weather forecast aired, the pure instrumental melody of “Fishermen’s Song at Dusk” flowed quietly through the living room.
Su Qingci spoke up: “Pei Jingchen, are you being a little…”
He couldn’t find the right words to describe Pei Jingchen’s unusual behavior.
Flattery? A sycophant?
No. If anyone was a sycophant back then, it was Su Qingci himself, the humble, devoted one. What Pei Jingchen was doing now was, at most, trying to cheer up a sick person.
Su Qingci chuckled inwardly. Pei Jingchen was truly overdoing it. Only those with hope had meaning in envisioning the future. For someone like him, burning the last of his oil, half-buried in the earth, there was no future to plan. He didn’t want to go anywhere. He only wanted to finish painting that “Fragrant Cloth” within his limited time. Once it was done, he would have no regrets.
Su Qingci chuckled. “No need to dangle carrots in front of me. That kind of motivation—like parents promising a sick child, ‘Take your medicine, and when you get better, we’ll take you to Disneyland and KFC’—isn’t necessary. Aren’t I doing just fine right now?”
Pei Jingchen replied, “It’s not a carrot. I genuinely want to travel with you.”
Su Qingci retorted, “Mr. Pei, don’t you have meetings to attend, business trips to take, contracts to sign, and a company to grow stronger and stronger? With your busy schedule, when would you possibly have time to go out and play with me?”
Pei Jingchen’s throat tightened. After a long pause, he said hoarsely, “I’m sorry.”
Su Qingci froze. His words were merely stating facts, yet they sounded like a complaint. Well, if it was a complaint, so be it. He truly had a bellyful of grievances. In the past, he’d held his tongue to spare Pei Jingchen’s feelings. Now that things had come to this, if he didn’t speak his mind now, would he turn into a ghost after death, haunting Pei Jingchen’s bedside with endless nagging?
“What are you apologizing for? Working hard and striving for progress is a good thing. It’s me who always has to accompany you, trying to make you skip court duties and become a Su Daji who brings ruin to the nation.” “ Su Qingci gave a self-deprecating laugh. ”Don’t feel regret. Your work took you to many countries, letting you see countless sights. My ‘vacations’ for you meant I traveled to many countries during the holidays, seeing all the same sights. I’ve seen everything you’ve seen—just not together. It’s fine.”
“I did get angry at times, but I eventually consoled myself: If you couldn’t even spare time to accompany me to the New Year’s Eve light show, how could I expect you to take me to Africa to see camels or to Iceland to witness the Northern Lights?”
Pei Jingchen’s voice sounded as if he had razor blades in his throat—every word cut like a knife.
Su Qingci looked away. The living room lights were blinding, stinging his eyes.
It wasn’t about being too busy. When someone truly cares, “no time” is just an excuse. He knew this all along and had long since grown accustomed to it.
Once, Su Qingci had waited eagerly every day for Pei Jingchen to be free. They’d travel together—if abroad seemed too far, they’d explore China. Its landscapes were beautiful enough! Now, he didn’t need it. He couldn’t even walk. Just going to the bathroom in his own home left him breathless. Travel? Out of the question.
Su Qingci sneered inwardly, suddenly feeling a vindictive thrill. Pei Jingchen, do you regret it?
But this revenge was a double-edged sword. Su Qingci, do you regret it?
*
Su Qingci lay on the left side of the bed, Pei Jingchen on the right. The gap between them could easily fit another person.
Pei Jingchen felt no sleepiness. His eyes remained open, watching the seconds tick away into the darkness.
Back in school, classmates called him the top dog—constantly breaking his own records. He’d already pulled so far ahead that second place had no chance. If he’d just eaten and drank without studying, everyone could have ignored him. But no—he flipped through books after class, while walking, during meals, even while using the restroom. Did this studious nerd fear he wasn’t rubbing it in enough?
As a child, his relentless studying boosted the entire class’s grades. As an adult, he continued pushing himself to the limit, driving up the city’s GDP.
Relatives say he didn’t inherit his father’s easygoing nature but took after his mother’s fierce competitiveness.
Pei Jingchen was indeed competing—not for anything else, but to prove he wasn’t inferior to Chen Cancan, whom Fang Qiong cherished like a precious treasure. Later, Pei Jingchen fought even harder than in his school days—forgetting sleep and exhausting himself. Not for money, but to bridge the infinite gap between himself and the limitless power of Wulin Group through finite numbers. To prove to the world, including himself, that he deserved to wear that one-of-a-kind sunflower brooch.