With nothing to do, Pei Tingsong felt utterly bored. Reading books no longer satisfied his craving. Lately, weighed down by worries, he secretly ordered a Sudoku book online, hoping to learn Fang Juexia’s unique emotional management techniques.
But as he began, he found himself completely lost, even considering searching online for tutorials. Unfortunately, his covert activity was spotted by He Ziyan.
“Oh, doing Sudoku, little philosopher?” He Ziyan held the Häagen-Dazs he’d bought, his headphones still around his neck.
Pei Tingsong didn’t know why he felt so guilty, but he quickly covered the puzzle book with his hands. “Aren’t you supposed to be writing songs? How come you’re slacking off instead?”
“Don’t change the subject.” He Ziyan teased him deliberately. “Come on, let me see how much you’ve filled in.”
“Get off my bed.”
“Wow, not only did you learn Sudoku, but you picked up the cleanliness obsession too.” He Ziyan grew more amused, opening the window to shout toward the neighboring balcony, “Teacher Fang, come over and tutor him on Sudoku!”
And just like that, everyone knew Pei Tingsong was doing Sudoku. Adopting a “what the heck” attitude, Pei Tingsong took his Sudoku book to Fang Juexia’s room. Ling Yi wasn’t there—it was just the two of them.
Fang Juexia had overheard He Ziyan’s words. Turning around, he wore a smile. “You’re doing Sudoku?” He held up the book in his hands for Pei Tingsong to see. “I’m reading this.”
His manner seemed to say, Look, I’m doing the same silly thing as you.
The frustration that had been building vanished at Fang Juexia’s open, endearing demeanor. Pei Tingsong placed the Sudoku book on the table, flopped onto his bed, and gazed up at him. “Teacher Fang, teach me.”
“What kind of student asks for help by flopping onto the teacher’s bed?”
Pei Tingsong raised an eyebrow. “I’m that kind of student.”
Fang Juexia choked on his words, afraid Pei Tingsong would keep teasing him on this topic. He could only concede. “Fine, fine, I’ll teach you.”
Pei Tingsong, still a student, had dyed his silver hair back to a subdued dark brown. The promotional period was over anyway, and now he looked much more well-behaved.
Fang Juexia pulled him up, fetched a chair for him to sit properly, and patiently taught him all his Sudoku tricks—explicit pairs, explicit groups, unique residue solutions, and more—explaining each one thoroughly.
He was incredibly patient, his voice soft and gentle, genuinely embodying the feel of a teacher. Every so often, he’d ask, “Do you understand this part? It’s really not that difficult.”
Pei Tingsong nodded, realizing Sudoku had so many little tricks and techniques. With Fang Juexia’s explanation, it didn’t seem so tedious anymore. He could even discern some connections to logic. No wonder many mathematicians throughout history were also philosophers.
He looked at Fang Juexia’s earnest profile and couldn’t resist leaning closer.
Pei Tingsong wondered if kissing him now would feel like sacrilege.
But he really wanted to kiss him.
Suddenly, the vibration of his phone disrupted his thoughts. He glanced down—it was his sister, who never contacted him seriously.
Just days prior, it had been his mother—a woman lost in debauchery—calling ten times a day, as if she’d suddenly remembered she’d once given birth to a son. But Pei Tingsong hadn’t bothered to respond, merely skimming her messages.
The concern was fake; the interest was real.
Now it was his sister’s turn. Pei Tingsong knew her motives were likely opposite his mother’s. Though this sister, seven years his senior, was usually cold and haughty, at least she treated him like a real person.
“Why aren’t you answering?” Fang Juexia asked.
Pei Tingsong thought for a moment. “My sister. She never calls for anything good.”
Fang Juexia knew his family situation was complicated and didn’t want to interfere. But seeing that Pei Tingsong wasn’t entirely unwilling to answer—it seemed more like a petty sulk—she gave him a gentle push. “It might be something important. Answer it.”
At his words, Pei Tingsong reluctantly answered. He put on his headphones, stood up, and walked a few steps toward the balcony. Speaking in English, he crouched before the lush green garden Fang Juexia had nurtured, fingering the pink clouds of blooms on the hibiscus bush before him.
Fang Juexia sat quietly at the table, continuing to read the unfinished book. Whether it was his naturally keen hearing or his deep concern for Pei Tingsong, Fang Juexia could detect even the slightest shift in his tone.
He sensed some resistance.
The call wasn’t particularly long. After hanging up, Pei Tingsong remained crouched on the balcony. His gaze drifted from the hibiscus to the blue snowflake, finally settling on the most inconspicuous pot—the cactus.
He pulled the cactus pot from the corner and placed it before him, neither of them speaking.
Fang Juexia walked over, crouched beside him, and deliberately feigned alarm. “What’s wrong with my cactus? Why are all the spines drooping?”
“Enough with the drama.” Pei Tingsong knew he was teasing him and cut straight to the point. “My sister just mentioned that Mom’s new British boyfriend works in publishing. He’s been hinting around, pressuring Mom to hand over all my grandfather’s copyrights to him.”
Though he made it sound simple, Fang Juexia understood the gravity. “That’s impossible. What if he’s untrustworthy? That’s your grandfather’s life’s work.”
“She can’t decide. My grandfather’s will names me as the legal heir to all his copyrights.” At this, Pei Tingsong couldn’t help but recall the scene of his grandfather’s passing.
Chaos reigned as everyone’s greed lay bare before a solitary tombstone. At fifteen, he’d been at his most lost—violent, restless, pushing the world into opposition.
He didn’t want the inheritance. He just wanted his grandfather back. Yes, the thought was absurd.
Pei Tingsong picked up the small watering can and gave the cactus a tiny splash of water. “Just the other day, she was pestering me nonstop—calling, texting, emailing, even threatening to come find me herself. When I ignored her, she went to bother my sister. She must be losing her mind.”
“My sister asked me to go back and put an end to her hopes. I’ll also sort out the neglected copyright issues properly, so my grandfather can rest in peace.”
Fang Juexia’s mind suddenly slowed. He took the small watering can from his hand with deliberate slowness.
No more watering. He couldn’t ruin his little cactus.
“So you’re heading back to the States, right?”
Pei Tingsong nodded. “I’ll leave after tomorrow’s show. It should only take a few days to handle everything.” He ruffled Fang Juexia’s hair. “Want to come with me?”
He did want to see the place where Pei Tingsong grew up, but not under these circumstances. He needed to give Pei Tingsong space to be himself, not burden him with his own family affairs and disputes.
“Next time,” Fang Juexia offered a smile. “I want to come when you’re completely free of burdens, just like in your dream.”
Though he wouldn’t see the old man now, at least it wasn’t during a time of turmoil.
Pei Tingsong tilted his head, a smile curling his lips. “Will Teacher Fang take me back to Guangzhou then?”
Fang Juexia remained silent, extending only his pinky finger.
Instead of immediately hooking his finger, Pei Tingsong glanced behind him, then drew his hand toward him and kissed his pinky.
“I wanted to kiss it earlier,” he murmured softly before finally linking their fingers, sealing their agreement.
He didn’t know if Pei Tingsong would notice the annotations he’d secretly scribbled in the margins, but the feeling was satisfying. It was like cross-server chatting with a past version of Pei Tingsong, the thrill of uncovering an Easter egg.
Before they’d officially started dating, aside from mandatory work commitments, he rarely saw Pei Tingsong. It didn’t feel like anything special; each day simply passed by. Time flowed by objectively, day after day.
Later, when Pei Tingsong moved back, they were together almost every day, along with all the other members. Now, just a few days after Pei Tingsong left, Fang Juexia found it unbearable. He wanted to contact him, to know how he was doing on the other side of the ocean—if anyone was giving him a hard time, if he was eating properly.
But who would dare trouble someone like Pei Tingsong? His worries felt rather unnecessary.
Later, upon reflection, he realized there was no need for all that overthinking—he simply missed him.
The time difference was significant, but Pei Tingsong would call him every morning or evening. Most times, Fang Juexia was still under the covers—either not yet awake or not yet asleep. Listening to Pei Tingsong talk for a while would only leave him either more sluggish to get up or more restless to fall asleep.
To fill his days, Fang Juexia resumed his practice-obsessed routine—dancing, vocal training, and songwriting daily. When he arrived that day, two trainees were dancing in the studio. They seemed a bit intimidated by him and moved aside the moment they saw Fang Juexia.
Am I really that intimidating? Fang Juexia began reflecting on whether he was too aloof in his daily interactions. He also took a moment to observe the young trainees dancing. One child fell to the floor while attempting a rise-up movement, struggling to get back up several times.
“You’re not engaging your core here,” Fang Juexia stepped forward to instruct him personally. “Keep your core tight. If it’s loose, you won’t be able to rise.”
The young trainee was flattered and surprised. He hadn’t expected such an approachable senior artist, who was currently a big star at the company, to be so down-to-earth—especially since he rarely smiled.
Fang Juexia had trained extremely hard during his own trainee days. He’d made many mistakes and learned from them, which gave him valuable experience when teaching others.
“Right, you need to practice your control. Otherwise, your turns won’t look good.”
“Good. That turn was steadier than before.”
Before they knew it, the group had spent the entire night in the practice room. It was already late. The two youngsters offered to treat Fang Juexia to a meal, but he declined. “How could I let you pay?”
The streets were nearly deserted. Watching the two children walk away together from the company building, Fang Juexia turned toward the underground parking garage, intending to drive back to the dormitory.
The parking garage wasn’t well-lit. Dim white light fell straight onto the gray concrete floor, everything quiet and lifeless. Fang Juexia squinted as he walked toward his car. Night blindness made it hard to see, and he struggled to find his vehicle. Just as he was about to open the door, he suddenly heard footsteps.
That long-forgotten feeling of being followed returned.
His heart leapt into his throat. Even with heightened alertness, he didn’t turn around in time. Someone slammed him hard against the wall from behind. His lower back throbbed, his forehead colliding with the white surface. Instantly, dizziness and a foggy haze clouded his mind.
This couldn’t be a private investigation.
Fang Juexia braced himself against the floor, his brow furrowed in pain. In that split second, he caught a glimpse of a shadow on the wall—a human silhouette clutching a slender object, poised to strike him. With lightning reflexes, Fang Juexia darted to the side, his instincts propelling him to turn around.
Clang! A steel rod clattered to the ground, rolling to his feet.
To his surprise, another tall figure emerged from behind. With crisp, decisive movements, he subdued the assailant who had just attacked him from behind—the one who’d been poised to knock him unconscious with the steel rod—pinning him against the car.
“Mr. Fang, hello. To avoid misunderstanding, let me explain first,” the tall man spoke first. “I am the bodyguard assigned to you by Young Master Pei. I am also the one entrusted by him to investigate the matter of you being followed.”
Hearing the name Pei Tingsong, Fang Juexia finally exhaled in relief. His throat felt parched, tinged with the faint taste of blood.
“This man had been following you for quite some time. He lingered near your car earlier and was finally caught. I deeply apologize for the injury you sustained.”
Fang Juexia steadied himself against his back, struggling to rise. “It’s fine.”
Fortunately, Pei Tingsong had arranged for someone to follow him. Otherwise, he dared not imagine what might have happened next. Yet he couldn’t fathom who could be so vicious.
“Take a look. Do you recognize this man?” As he spoke, the private bodyguard twisted the assailant’s arms behind his back and dragged him to face Fang Juexia.
Fang Juexia’s vision was poor, so he tried to get closer, taking a step forward.
“Let me go!”
But upon hearing that voice, his foot froze. His entire body stiffened in place, unable to move.
He too saw the man’s face clearly now—aged, emaciated beyond recognition—yet he still knew him.
“Didn’t you hear me tell you to let go? I’m his father! See if he dares touch me!”
Fang Juexia would never forget how this man had once pointed at his face—at the birthmark there—declaring with absolute certainty, “You’re a natural-born failure.”
