Ten minutes later, the two of them were at the dining table, enjoying what Su Pu proudly called “Su Pu’s Soup Noodles.”
Steam still rose from the bowl. Li Jichuan blew on it twice before hastily putting a mouthful in, only to hiss from the burn.
“Delicious! Really good!” he praised.
Su Pu’s mood brightened—at least he had proven he still had some worth.
Though not very hungry, he picked up a few noodles and ate them.
Perhaps it was because he was eating with someone he liked—suddenly, even noodles that had once made him want to gag now carried a unique flavor.
He ate, unconsciously rubbing his cheeks with delight.
Li Jichuan watched this, feeling something like feathers brushing across his heart, bringing a gentle, springlike warmth.
After finishing his own bowl, Li Jichuan generously helped himself to the remainder of Su Pu’s noodles, finally filling his stomach.
To be honest, it had been a long time since he had eaten his fill.
Ever since the car accident, maintaining his physique had been extraordinarily difficult; he had to be stricter with himself than ever before.
But lately, he had been loosening the reins a little, tasting many flavors he’d never tried before—grilled squid, cold noodles, meat skewers, and even a kind of sour-spicy vermicelli…
And now, Su Pu’s homemade soup noodles, a first for him.
Li Jichuan leaned back in his wheelchair, completely satisfied, thinking that experiences like this—he had never imagined them before this marriage—were perhaps one of life’s little surprises.
He had been “Li Jichuan” for too long; Su Pu, however, had found in him the faint, lingering presence of “Lee,” the man beneath the mask.
Just as Li Jichuan was reveling in his fullness, Su Pu quietly stood up, clearing the bowls and utensils, placing the pot in the sink, intent on “erasing the evidence.”
Moments later, the sound of running water woke Li Jichuan, and Su Pu gestured for him to return to bed.
Li Jichuan refused, gliding his wheelchair between the kitchen and living room—feeling guilty for not helping, yet offering what little company he could.
The dishes were easy to wash; soon, Su Pu had cleaned the last bowl and cleared the sink, disposing of leftover noodles.
Turning, a sharp object shot toward him, stopping just inches from his throat.
“Sorry…”
Behind it was Li Jichuan, grinning mischievously.
It was the first time Su Pu had seen that boyish, spirited smile—a kind of vibrant, powerful energy.
Looking closer, Li Jichuan was holding a fencing sword.
The blade was thin, more like an iron rod. Su Pu had only ever seen such things on TV.
“This is a foil. Before the accident, I trained every week…” Li Jichuan’s expression held no regret, only fond reminiscence.
“Don’t let my current state fool you—I was very skilled!”
Su Pu nodded sharply; of course he believed him. Li Jichuan was the type who excelled at everything he tried.
Suddenly, the man on the wheelchair flicked his wrist; the sword hilt pointed straight at Su Pu.
“Wanna try?”
Su Pu shook his head. He didn’t know how.
Even though he had attended a so-called “prestigious school” in high school, Su Fengxian had only covered his tuition; all other expenses came from the allowance he managed himself.
So even if the school offered fencing lessons, it had never been an option for him.
Now, Li Jichuan’s wheelchair retreated into the shadows, leaving only the foil illuminated by the light, gleaming.
“Hold it and try. I’ll teach you.”
He added quickly, “Besides, after eating so much midnight snack, I’m not sleepy anyway.”
Su Pu didn’t hesitate; he had always been interested in physical activities.
He felt Li Jichuan’s warmth lingering on the handle as he gripped the sword, sensing its weight—it was actually a bit heavier than he imagined.
Li Jichuan’s wheelchair moved further back, leaving Su Pu standing alone in the light, holding the sword.
“Now, listen to me. Relax your wrists, hold the sword level.”
Su Pu obeyed.
“Left foot forward, right foot back, shift your body, and take a stance.”
He tentatively positioned himself.
A quiet laugh came from the dark.
“Good, talented indeed…”
Li Jichuan continued: “Now, you’re in position—En Garde!”
Su Pu didn’t know what it meant, but hearing the phrase energized him; he focused entirely on the darkness where Li Jichuan stood.
“Good. Now, use your left leg to push forward. I’ll count, and you step forward.”
Su Pu nodded.
“Advance!”
He stepped with his left leg, moving toward the light.
“Advance!”
He continued to the edge of the illumination.
“Advance!”
He hesitated, unsure if he would accidentally strike Li Jichuan.
At that moment, another sword shot toward him.
Instinctively, Su Pu stepped back, retreating to the far side of the light.
Li Jichuan laughed, then slowly said, “Su Pu… you lost.”
“Fencing is a battle of minds. Constant attack or retreat will leave you at a disadvantage.”
“The true victor conceals their intentions, responds to their opponent, unafraid to advance, unashamed to retreat…”
Su Pu blinked, pondering Li Jichuan’s words.
“You excel at retreating, but sometimes, taking the initiative to attack is also a way to protect yourself—like just now.”
Just now? Su Pu remembered the sword in the dark, like a silent, coiled roar.
Could he also possess such silent yet powerful strength?
“And fencing requires total focus. If your mind wanders, even a second, your opponent will seize the advantage.”
Su Pu: ?
Li Jichuan suddenly appeared in the light. With a flick of his wrist, Su Pu’s sword fell to the floor.
The tile clinked sharply—
From somewhere in the hallway came a faint sound. Li Jichuan grabbed Su Pu’s wrist, pulling him onto his lap.
Then, before a door opened, they switched off the lights above.
They were completely hidden in darkness.
Footsteps approached, circled the living room, paused near the kitchen.
A light sigh, and the footsteps retreated, leaving nothing.
In the dark, their breathing intertwined. Su Pu couldn’t see Li Jichuan’s expression, only hearing the deafening rhythm of his pounding heart.
Thump. Thump.
He wished his own heart would stop.
Yet, in that distraction, he felt another powerful heartbeat.
…
The next morning, Su Pu awoke to find Li Jichuan already gone.
As usual, Mantian brought breakfast to their bedroom, attending to her patient as standard.
Su Pu smiled wryly—he was clearly well now.
“Try it…” Mantian said excitedly, indicating he should enjoy today’s meal.
But… dumplings again?
“Just try it! They might be extra delicious!” Mantian beamed.
Skeptical, Su Pu tasted one.
It wasn’t particularly special—similar filling, similar texture to yesterday.
Only this dumpling had a strange, awkwardly cute shape.
Mantian smiled teasingly: “Hehe, Pu’er, savor it well!”
Su Pu frowned slightly but ate two more, caught up in the fun.
By the afternoon, he had returned to his routine, working at the café as usual.
Close to afternoon tea, someone came for him—it was Li Jichuan’s driver.
“Mr. Su, please come with me.”
The driver’s face was grave.
“Master Li… he… he might not make it…”