Li Jichuan’s palm pressed gently, cupping Su Pu’s small face—it was a little high, but even with his eyes closed, the exposed upper half of Su Pu’s face, the delicate bone structure, the refined lines of his brows and eyes, struck Li Jichuan like the tolling of a massive bell, resonant and deep.
The bell’s toll stretched across time, connecting Li Jichuan’s awkward, racing heart from eight years ago with his current shock and confusion.
Who was that silent boy in the high school changing room back then?
A persistent buzz from a phone pulled Li Jichuan out of the dense cloud of memories.
“Echo,” he muttered.
Su Pu slowly awoke with his voice, realizing he had been resting his head on Li Jichuan’s hand and recoiling in surprise, curling up on the bench.
Li Jichuan felt the chill of his palm, momentarily disappointed, though his thoughts were already caught halfway by the phone call.
“When did this happen?” he asked.
“Actually, the PR department detected the situation last week, but at the time you were busy with Director Li and couldn’t spare attention. The matter was taken over by Senior Director Li—your aunt, Li Shuwen—so the PR department purposely didn’t pass it on to you.”
Indeed, the issue hadn’t been resolved smoothly; it had escalated, and by the time it reached Li Jichuan, it threatened the reputation and standing of the Li Group.
Li Jichuan closed his eyes, pressing the bridge of his nose, his brow tight with tension.
“Understood,” he said quietly.
“Book me the next flight to Yunnan; I’ll leave straight from the hospital,” he instructed.
His secretary acknowledged, and Li Jichuan hung up.
Opening his eyes again, he met the curious gaze of the little mute, whose eyes were impossibly transparent, revealing every flicker of emotion.
Looking at those eyes eased a weight from his chest, letting him feel lighter, almost carefree.
“What are you staring at?” he feigned annoyance. “Never seen someone this busy every day?”
Su Pu shook his head, then nodded in affirmation—he had seen busy people, but never someone juggling so much at once.
Li Jichuan weighed his phone in his hand, feeling as if something was missing.
“I have to handle a labor dispute at one of the estates in Yunnan—it’s made the news and sparked negative public opinion. I need to go personally.”
Su Pu quickly took his hand, massaging it, cherishing the brief moments they could share—a subtle attempt to coax him.
“Pitiful me, huh?” Li Jichuan half teased, half serious.
Su Pu shook his head, pressing the fleshy part between his thumb and index finger, where tension from stress usually accumulated.
He just didn’t want to let go.
Uncle Wang had told him that after Li Jichuan’s accident, he had drastically reduced his outings; even within the same city, he rarely visited other companies, moving only between his apartment and the headquarters, occasionally visiting his grandfather.
Li Jichuan was such a strong-willed person! He hated being treated as fragile or different, wearing others’ pity or schadenfreude like a cloak wherever he went.
Yet now, with the sudden crisis, he had to shoulder the weight of running the company.
Since news of Li Peirong’s critical condition spread, the entire Li Group had been thrown into turbulence. This was exactly when Li Jichuan needed to steady the ship and fully take over the empire his grandfather had built.
The driver notified them that the car was waiting downstairs, signaling their parting.
Su Pu rose gracefully, waved to him, and pointed at the thermos he had brought—their lunch, meant for Li Peirong, who still could not eat independently.
He was silently telling Li Jichuan: Don’t worry, I’ll eat, I won’t go hungry even without you here!
Li Jichuan understood, a soft smile touching his lips.
“Take care of yourself…”
Su Pu nodded in acknowledgment.
There was nothing more to say; any further words would feel sentimental, and their relationship hadn’t reached that level yet.
Suppressing the lump in his throat, Li Jichuan steered the wheelchair and disappeared around the corner.
…
Su Pu entered the room, placed the thermos down, and caressed the old man’s frail hand. Li Peirong was still asleep.
He looked out the window and caught sight of Li Jichuan leaving the hospital, easing himself into the car.
The driver stowed the wheelchair, ran to the front, and the brake lights glowed red, though the car didn’t move immediately. Li Jichuan opened the door again, leaning forward slightly, and looked up.
Their eyes met unexpectedly, hearts igniting like fireworks.
They stared silently, both knowing the other had seen, felt, acknowledged.
Downstairs, one of them finally murmured the words they had wanted to say.
Su Pu’s eyes widened, nodded emphatically, and the other smiled, closing the car door with warmth in his expression.
Su Pu stood by the window, heart racing, then slowly overtaken by the fullness of happiness, a silent, giddy smile spreading across his face.
“Wait for me,” Li Jichuan said.
Su Pu twirled on his toes with a light heart.
Of course!
…
That evening at eight, Li Jichuan sent a message: he had safely arrived in Yunnan but would be busy, likely unable to stay in frequent contact.
Su Pu replied understandingly, asking if he had eaten dinner. Only the next day at noon did Li Jichuan respond, simply: “I’ve eaten,” leaving Su Pu to wonder whether that even counted as dinner…
Life without Li Jichuan felt incomplete, a missing piece. Su Pu’s longing grew each day, though he dared not disturb him—he must be very busy.
Fortunately, Li Peirong’s health had improved. Doctors allowed him some soft foods, and thanks to the family nutritionists, he had gained two pounds, his energy gradually returning.
One afternoon, Su Pu brought freshly brewed pour-over coffee from his café to visit.
The moment Li Peirong smelled it, his eyes lit up.
Uncle Wang teased him, scooping a few spoonfuls into his lips. Li Peirong squinted, savoring each sip.
“You see, Li Jichuan probably inherited his love of coffee from his grandfather,” Uncle Wang chuckled.
Su Pu was surprised: “Grandfather liked coffee too?”
“Absolutely!” Uncle Wang exaggerated. “Before hospitalization, he’d drink three to four cups daily. And Li Jichuan—he outdid him—four to five cups a day! The two of them would compete to see who drank more!”
Li Peirong listened, embarrassed, smiling shyly.
Seeing Su Pu’s interest and Li Peirong’s good spirits, Uncle Wang fetched two thick photo albums from the room’s cabinet.
“Want to see Xiao Chuan’s old photos?”
Li Peirong and Su Pu both nodded eagerly.
Su Pu’s anticipation grew; he wanted to know the past of the person he cared for.
They began from Li Jichuan’s birth, flipping through childhood and teenage photos.
“This one was his first month; we did the ‘Zhua Zhou’ ceremony.”
Su Pu asked, curious: “What did he catch?”
Uncle Wang and Li Peirong exchanged smiles.
“His eyes rolled around a few times, but he didn’t catch anything in the end, haha.”
Su Pu laughed; it was so unique.
“Grandma explained that Xiao Chuan’s world was always broader, freer, and bigger than these little things—that’s the meaning of ‘embracing all rivers’.”
Li Peirong nodded weakly.
As they flipped through more, Uncle Wang pointed to a photo.
“This was his first kindergarten trip to an amusement park. Other kids cried on the spinning planes, but Xiao Chuan stayed stoic, no expression.”
“Teachers thought he wasn’t scared, but when we picked him up that evening, his little face was all scrunched up, crying the moment he was held!”
They realized then how strong-willed he was, hiding fear instead of letting it show.
Su Pu gently touched the little boy’s face in the photo, feeling more admiration than pity—he was strong, resilient.
Thankfully, this once-strong Li Jichuan now had a safe space to release his emotions, wrapped in a warm embrace.
They flipped through several more pages, laughter mixing with heartfelt awe at Li Jichuan’s cuteness.
Finally, the first album ended. Li Jichuan had grown into a small boy.
“This is around third or fourth grade; the school organized a field trip to a guesthouse in the nearby hills.”
Uncle Wang’s voice grew somber, looking at the child in uniform, carefully petting a cat.
“That day, the group left in multiple vehicles. They accidentally left him behind. But the boy stayed calm, borrowed a phone from locals, and waited for us to pick him up.”
“This photo was taken by a freelance photographer on that trip. The composition was beautiful and clean; just looking at it warms your heart.”
Su Pu, still eager, asked: “Are there more childhood photos?”
Uncle Wang shook his head.
“That day, Li Jichuan’s parents came to pick him up, but they had an accident. After that, he resisted being photographed and rarely smiled so freely again.”
Su Pu hadn’t expected Li Jichuan’s joyful childhood to end so abruptly.
Afterward, Li Peirong recounted events, explaining that this was a wound he would carry until the end of his life, unable to forgive himself.
Li Jichuan lost his parents so young; Li Peirong, protective yet impressed by his grandson’s talent, began an extremely strict upbringing.
While other children enjoyed carefree exploration, Li Jichuan’s path had been ruthlessly set—requiring sacrifice of his happiness and freedom for achievement.
A quiet, persistent ache spread through Su Pu’s chest, enveloping his whole body.
If Li Jichuan had asked a few days ago, “Su Pu, do you feel sorry for me?”
This time, Su Pu would nod without hesitation, wrapping him in a hug, enclosing all his pain.
After all, the beginning of liking someone is the feeling of wanting to protect and care for them.