The next morning, when he woke up, Pei Yusheng didn’t rush to get out of bed as usual. Instead, he held the boy curled up in his arms, listening to his light, steady breathing, quietly waiting for him to wake.
This time, though, the stillness of early morning was broken by a vibration.
Pei Yusheng’s phone was ringing.
Qi Ji hadn’t woken yet. Pei Yusheng hadn’t planned to answer, but when he saw the name on the screen, he paused—and still picked up the call.
It was his uncle.
Although Pei Yusheng had severed ties with the Pei family, that rupture was mostly between him and his father. With the rest of the elders, things were largely unchanged. Especially with this uncle—now a lieutenant general—whom Pei Yusheng had always deeply respected.
On top of that, Pei Xiaoying was perpetually busy and rarely called without reason, so Pei Yusheng didn’t delay.
And what the call was about was indeed no small matter.
Following Huashan Hospital in S City, Harmony Hospital in B City had also received reports concerning fatal familial insomnia. Even a man as resolute and restrained as his uncle couldn’t help lowering his voice when speaking of it.
“Yusheng, this is a hereditary family disease. Treatment is extremely difficult.”
After listening in silence, Pei Yusheng showed no particular reaction. He only gave a quiet acknowledgment, making his uncle start to wonder whether he had even understood.
But Pei Yusheng said calmly, “I understand, Uncle. In a couple of days, I’ll arrange to get myself checked.”
His uncle let out a sigh.
Checking himself—how could that be enough?
He said, “Moscow has sent over all of your great-uncle’s case files. Harmony has already assembled an expert team. You’re in S City—it’s still less convenient than being in B City.”
Whether to tell Pei Yusheng about this had taken his uncle a long time to decide. Pei Yusheng was young; he still had time to consider things. But his father, Pei Xiaolin, did not.
“Your father has already been hospitalized. I’ve postponed all his work so he can cooperate fully with the examinations. Yusheng—what about you?”
Pei Yusheng was silent for a moment, then said, “I’m not in a hurry, Uncle. Huashan has Grandpa’s people here too; the necessary tests can be done. And I can’t leave my work at Xinghai right now.”
His uncle didn’t press him. “Then go to Huashan today for an initial check. I’ll send a driver for you.”
At that point, Pei Yusheng couldn’t refuse. “Alright.”
“Your health comes first—work can’t outweigh that,” his uncle paused, then added, “I’ll speak to your mother’s side. You don’t need to worry.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” Pei Yusheng said. “You take care as well.”
The call ended. The screen went dark, reflecting Pei Yusheng’s expressionless face.
The boy beside him had already woken and quietly withdrew the arms that had been wrapped around him. Rubbing his eyes, his voice still soft with sleep, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
Pei Yusheng’s expression showed nothing unusual, as if nothing had happened at all. “Nothing. Sleep a little longer.”
But Qi Ji didn’t go back to sleep. He turned over and sat up, reaching for the sleep tracker he’d been thinking about all night.
Before he could finish checking last night’s data, Pei Yusheng received another call.
It was from someone his uncle had arranged. After hanging up, Pei Yusheng got out of bed. “I need to head out early today. The driver will take you to the subway later.”
Qi Ji looked surprised. “You’re leaving now? Not having breakfast?”
“Running a bit tight. I’ll eat on the way,” Pei Yusheng said.
He already had a packed schedule, and now with the extra examinations, time was even tighter.
Qi Ji walked him to the door. “Be careful on the road!”
“Alright.” Pei Yusheng ruffled his hair. “You too.”
Once outside, he got into the waiting car.
“Second Young Master,” the driver greeted respectfully.
“Let’s go,” Pei Yusheng said.
He seemed perfectly normal, as though he hadn’t just learned about a fatal illness with terrifying odds.
When it came to the possibility of illness, Pei Yusheng was unusually calm.
After so many years of insomnia, he had thought about this far more deeply than most people could imagine.
Through countless long nights, he had already considered the day this might come.
He didn’t care—but others did.
As soon as he arrived at the hospital, staff were waiting to escort him through an extensive and complicated series of tests.
Fatal familial insomnia was extraordinarily rare. In the past century, only a few dozen cases had been recorded worldwide, many without useful data. Because information was so scarce—and because it was easily misdiagnosed as ordinary sleep disorders or nervous exhaustion—most patients were only correctly diagnosed after the disease had progressed for quite some time. Experience with early screening was even more limited.
That was why the tests Pei Yusheng faced were so complex and drawn-out, requiring multiple rounds of verification to ensure accuracy.
At first, he cooperated without complaint. But as the repetitions piled up, irritation slowly set in.
For potential patients, such examinations weren’t just physical tests—they were psychological torment. As more cases accumulated and evaluations deepened, the sheer horror of fatal familial insomnia revealed itself more and more clearly.
High heritability. High mortality. Irreversible degeneration. No effective treatment—not even a way to ease the symptoms.
Those words alone were enough to chill anyone to the bone.
And no matter how empathetic one tried to be, no outsider could truly understand. Only someone who had long been tortured by insomnia could grasp the disease’s cruelty.
Even if Pei Yusheng claimed not to care, he wasn’t made of steel.
Over the years, he’d lost count of how many nights insomnia had ravaged him. If not for that, he wouldn’t so often have gone to the seaside in the dead of night to watch the ocean.
Lian Qing and the others had once mistakenly believed he went because of Wen Chuming’s death at sea. That wasn’t the truth. The real reason was simply that sleepless nights were too unbearable, and the ocean was the only place that could quiet his mind.
In the endless dark, only the rise and fall of the waves could wash away a little of the gloom.
And no matter how severe his insomnia had been, it never lasted more than a month. Even at his worst, he would eventually collapse into sleep from sheer exhaustion.
But in those stark case reports, patients went half a year—or longer—without sleep. By the end, they were hollowed out, sallow and gray, like walking corpses.
For them, death was almost a release.
To most people, the cases were terrifying in the abstract. After all, even two sleepless nights could drive an ordinary person to the brink—how could they imagine months, even a year, without rest?
But Pei Yusheng knew the taste of insomnia better than anyone. Just reading the clinical descriptions was enough for him to vividly picture that horror.
No one is unbreakable.
Even the strongest are still flesh and blood.
As the examinations progressed, the psychological strain steadily eroded his defenses. If Qi Ji hadn’t already eased his insomnia so much, Pei Yusheng couldn’t imagine what state he’d be in now.
Work—and the preparations he’d quietly made for Qi Ji’s future—were the only ways he had left to steady himself.
But as the tests continued, another kind of pressure became impossible to ignore.
Pei Xiaolin had been hospitalized. Worried about accidents, the Pei family wanted Pei Yusheng to return to B City for treatment, where the best medical resources were concentrated. Pei Yusheng refused to go back to that suffocating environment, and repeated attempts failed to persuade him.
So the Pei family compromised, sending more and more people to watch over him instead.
Public hospitals were still the strongest domestically, so the examinations and follow-up care remained under the Pei family’s control. The Xu family wanted to help, but could only assist on the sidelines, unable to stop the Peis’ overwhelming mobilization.
And since it concerned Pei Yusheng, the Xu family was just as anxious.
Watched over by both families, he was followed everywhere by large entourages, afraid he might suffer any mishap. Over time, the constant presence began to grate on him.
Pei Yusheng had never cared much about others’ opinions. He’d even played the role of a spoiled heir before; at the height of it, plenty of people were afraid of him.
But this was different.
The brutality of the illness had left its mark. He grew increasingly fed up with everyone’s excessive caution. Because he refused hospitalization, the Pei family’s people shadowed him around the clock. In that suffocating protection, everyone treated him like someone already terminally ill.
What he found most unbearable was the inadvertent pity in the eyes of those who knew.
He was far too proud to tolerate being pitied.
As the irritation built to a breaking point, one day—after signing a contract under the full escort of bodyguards—Pei Yusheng returned to his office, intending to have his assistant notify the executives for a meeting. But when he picked up the phone, it automatically connected to a therapist, who immediately advised him to rest.
That was the moment Pei Yusheng snapped.
The desk phone flew across the room, smashing into the sofa and falling to the floor, the receiver emitting a harsh, endless beep. Pei Yusheng stared coldly at the bodyguards who rushed in at the noise.
“Remove the surveillance. Everyone, get out.”
The assistant tried to explain, but Pei Yusheng didn’t want to hear a word.
“Even if I really am sick, I’m not dead yet.”
Each word was ice-cold.
“Get out.”
Even if he were diagnosed, that was his own business. All these years, he’d never once complained. Even at his lowest, he’d simply sat by the sea through the night.
Who were these people to stand above him in pity, claiming it was all for his own good?
Overawed by his presence, the assistant and bodyguards retreated.
But after the meeting ended, when Pei Yusheng returned to his office, he found two doctors waiting in the freshly tidied reception area, carrying large bags.
Afraid he might refuse that day’s examination, the Pei family had simply sent doctors directly to him.
Pei Yusheng almost laughed in anger.
After the examination came another business meeting. By the time he returned to the villa, it was already past nine at night.
For someone who had been running nonstop for days, it wasn’t particularly late. Between medical tests and work, he hadn’t been home at all.
He hadn’t said whether he’d return today. After several days away, he’d assumed Qi Ji would be staying at his own place to look after his brother. Instead, as the car approached, he saw the villa lights glowing.
The cleaning staff and gardener didn’t live there. At this hour, the only one who would have the lights on was Qi Ji.
Standing by the car, gazing at the warm yellow glow, Pei Yusheng was silent for a long moment.
Finally, he raised a hand and rubbed his temple.
He hadn’t come back these past days not only because he was busy, but because he hadn’t sorted out his thoughts.
Just like his recent calls with his mother—short, perfunctory, quickly ended.
As the strain deepened, he found it harder to be at ease in front of the person he cared about most.
And yet, seeing Qi Ji waiting for him still soothed him more than he expected.
Qi Ji gave him more strength than he’d imagined.
Pei Yusheng pushed the door open. The living room was empty, but sounds drifted from the open kitchen.
After changing his shoes, he saw Qi Ji come out, having heard the door.
The boy wore soft yellow loungewear and fluffy slippers—like spring arriving in the dead of winter.
Something gently struck Pei Yusheng’s chest.
Qi Ji looked surprised. “Mr. Pei?”
Pei Yusheng took off his scarf and walked inside. “Mm. I’m back.”
Seeing the apron around Qi Ji’s waist and the chopsticks in his hand, he asked, “Just eating?”
“I already ate…” Qi Ji said nervously, gripping the chopsticks. “I was… cooking noodles.”
Pei Yusheng raised an eyebrow. “Late-night snack? Nothing ready-made at home?”
Qi Ji shook his head. “I—I was practicing.”
“Practicing?” Pei Yusheng stepped into the kitchen.
On the counter were various lengths of uneven noodle dough—clearly failed attempts. The pot was still on, boiling white strands. Two bowls sat nearby, filled with what looked like paste.
He moved closer and realized the pot held noodles—unevenly thick, half-cooked, some stuck together. The bowls weren’t batter either, but overcooked noodles that had absorbed all the water and turned into a solid mass.
Qi Ji hurried over, even more embarrassed, and turned off the stove.
“This is hand-pulled noodles I learned from Aunt Lin. One bowl, one noodle. But I don’t think I’m very successful yet…” He looked flustered. “I’ll clean this up—it won’t take long.”
He rushed to destroy the evidence, only to be pulled into an embrace from behind.
The man’s chin rested against his neck.
Qi Ji froze, then relaxed, listening to the soft breathing near his ear.
After a while, he asked quietly, “Are you tired, Mr. Pei?”
The man shifted, finding a more comfortable position. “Not too bad.”
Qi Ji covered the hand around his waist. “Try to rest early tonight.”
Pei Yusheng murmured, “Mm.”
Qi Ji hesitated, then said softly, “Dr. Zhao said you weren’t in a very good mood today.”
The doctor who’d come earlier was from Zhao Mingzhen’s team.
Pei Yusheng didn’t respond—tacit acknowledgment.
Qi Ji hesitated again.
He didn’t really know how to comfort someone; he’d never been good at it. He knew Pei Yusheng disliked excessive attention—but Qi Ji himself was part of that attention.
He didn’t want Pei Yusheng to misunderstand, to think he was being extra kind only because of the illness. Qi Ji knew how strong he was, but sick people were vulnerable and needed careful care.
At a loss for words, Qi Ji poked at the unrecognizable noodles in the pot and said,
“Maybe a lot of things will change—people’s opinions, future designs… The world keeps moving forward. But some things won’t change. Like how my cooking is always terrible…”
Pei Yusheng laughed softly, warm breath brushing Qi Ji’s neck.
Qi Ji gathered his courage for one last line.
“Like how you’ll always be the most amazing Mr. Pei.”
The word “sir” barely left his lips before it was swallowed by another’s breath.
Pei Yusheng said nothing.
He kissed him.
Outside, the night wind howled. Beneath the pitch-black sky, crystalline snowflakes began to fall.
The first snow of winter.
A lucky omen for a bountiful year.