On a bright morning, almost simultaneously, Li Jichuan wiped his tears and began managing Grandpa’s affairs.
His transformation was sudden. Soon, Li Peirong’s close aides arrived to hear the lawyer read the will.
Li Jichuan had once thought Grandpa owned much.
But laid out item by item, it wasn’t that much.
Li Jichuan and Li Shuwen each inherited half of Li Peirong’s shares.
Li Shuwen feigned tears, but Li Jichuan could tell she was smiling.
With numerous group affairs pending, Li Jichuan took Grandpa Li’s ashes onto a plane, returning to the land his grandfather loved, burying him beside his parents.
Over the cemetery, clouds darkened and autumn rain drizzled.
The chill seeped to the bone.
The young heir, dressed in a black cashmere coat, held an umbrella in one hand over himself and the person he loved, staring blankly at the gravestone—
In that moment, Li Jichuan truly grew up, stepping into a new journey where he would stand on his own.
Yet.
Back in the car, when it was just the two of them, he would suddenly reach out his hand to Su Pu.
“You can hold my hand now.”
Su Pu, knowing how low-spirited he had been lately, grasped it gently, offering comfort.
Li Jichuan exhaled, savoring the touch, then entwined their fingers and emphasized:
“Su Pu, I’m chasing you, so I willingly let you take advantage of me—understood?”
He remembered the myriad people he’d encountered recently, both familiar and strangers, who, upon learning Su Pu was his partner, would come to shake his hand and offer condolences.
The thought made him uneasy—he always wanted to shield Su Pu.
He warned him again, “If anyone else holds your hand for more than two seconds, let go. Because they’re not chasing you…”
The driver in front couldn’t help chuckling.
Li Jichuan leaned back, holding Su Pu’s hand tightly, enjoying a brief rest—
After Li Peirong’s passing, Li Jichuan entered a peculiar state of composure. He didn’t cry or make a fuss; he calmly faced all regrets and storms.
Su Pu looked at the sleeping figure beside him, feeling a deep ache.
That afternoon, the moment Li Peirong passed, Li Shuwen could no longer wait to split the group’s assets and shares, determined to strike out on her own.
Counting on Li Jichuan being stretched thin, she quickly rallied most of the shareholders, ready to settle accounts once he returned to Yun City.
So, during those days, Li Jichuan spent the day handling his grandfather’s affairs and the nights pushing through meetings, lobbying shareholders and partners to consolidate his influence.
Su Pu carefully massaged his hand, hoping to bring him some comfort amid the darkness.
The rain poured on, blending with the night and thick clouds of southern Yunnan. Their plane pierced through the storm, heading toward a future full of uncertainties.
…
Yun City was a big city, filled with dazzling lights and ambitious people.
Li Jichuan was immediately whisked away by his driver to the company upon landing, while Uncle Wang stayed with Su Pu, scolding him for not seeing the psychologist for two weeks.
So much had happened that Su Pu barely had time to process his own feelings.
Perhaps out of avoidance—he hadn’t acted on anything the psychologist had previously advised.
He hadn’t fully conveyed his emotions, nor had he listened to his own heart. He felt like a small boat, powerless against fate, tossed by every storm.
But when he finally mustered the courage to face the counselor and admitted his helplessness,
He didn’t meet reproach, only the doctor’s comforting smile.
“It’s my fault for not explaining clearly. My advice isn’t an order; you don’t have to act immediately.”
“This is a long process, no need to rush. You’re already doing very well.”
Su Pu nodded timidly, sharing recent events with the doctor.
The doctor, reading the words he typed, grew curious.
“If someone you like confesses to you, why don’t you respond?”
Su Pu sighed helplessly: [Because I can’t move…]
“Can’t move?” the doctor asked, intrigued.
[Whenever I get too emotional, I become frozen.]
“Why is that?” the doctor asked gently. “When did this first happen? Can you share it with me?”
Su Pu thought for a moment, then shook his head in frustration.
It seemed it had started when he was very small, before he even knew what despair or fear was—he simply stopped resisting.
The doctor tried another approach: “Do you remember the earliest moment you clearly felt despair or fear? What was the scene like?”
Immediately, Su Pu thought of that snowy night, barefoot, rushing out to find someone to save his hysterical, self-harming mother.
It had been freezing; the ice and snow numbed his feet.
Even now, recalling it sent a chill through his bones, from the soles of his feet throughout his body.
After listening, the doctor asked, “So, what eventually happened that day?”
Su Pu gripped his phone but couldn’t type a word.
He had thought it was too painful to recall, but now, in a safe environment, he tried to remember what happened after that day. The pounding in his temples left his mind blank.
Only now did he realize he had completely forgotten what happened afterward.
When his memory returned, it was the next morning. He and his mother were lying in the hospital bed, with the impatient Su Fengxian beside them.
Soon after, Su Hui arrived…
That day was Su Pu’s first time meeting Su Hui. Zhao Qing had urged him to smile at his little brother, but Su Hui frowned.
“I don’t want an older brother, he stinks!”
The doctor listened, frowning slightly, looking at Su Pu.
“Xiao Pu, I understand you don’t want to revisit painful memories… but if you can remember events clearly before and after that day, why can’t you recall this segment?”
The doctor continued: “Are there other things you can’t remember?”
“Perhaps the things that truly scared you are hidden in those memories.”
“Our brains are like machines. If certain emotions are too complex or heavy, the brain can’t process them, so it temporarily offloads these memories and feelings from its operating system…”
He explained: “Like someone forgetting words when nervous—your thoughts are full, but you still draw a blank.”
“At that moment, your brain isn’t broken or inactive. It’s trying to soothe your body, telling it it’s okay, then slowly waking everything up…”
Su Pu opened his mouth.
[Waking the body?]
The doctor nodded. “When your body can’t act, maybe your brain is working hard to comfort it, keeping it alive. Don’t give up yet.”
Perhaps Su Pu’s memory loss wasn’t accidental—it was that his body had reached its physiological limit, and his brain was focused on keeping his organs functioning.
“Don’t worry. Both the mind and the brain are fascinating,” the doctor smiled. “Understanding yourself is a lifelong task. Take your time…”
“Once you understand yourself, you’ll accept and love yourself, and finally feel true happiness.”
…
Understanding oneself…
After the session, Su Pu pondered the doctor’s words and returned to work at the café.
But what had really happened that day?
Su Pu reflected and realized there were more gaps in his memory than just that one event.
“One iced Americano to go.”
The voice triggered an instinctive irritation. No need to ask—he knew who it was.
Su Hui had been busy lately, often coming downstairs to grab coffee, trying to take a breather.
Su Pu took the money, made the receipt, and turned to make the coffee—but his mind kept returning to it, annoyed.
Su Hui had just sent documents to Li Shuwen when a phone suddenly appeared in front of him.
[Do you remember our first meeting? That time at the hospital, when my mom and I were both admitted.]
Su Hui rolled his eyes and pushed away Su Pu’s phone. “Who remembers?! Crazy!”
Hearing this, Su Pu withdrew his hand, looking pitiful.
Su Hui took the coffee and left the shop, immediately texting his father:
[Dad, back when I was a kid, that time Su Pu and his mom were hospitalized—why was that?]