“We can basically confirm it’s idiopathic pulmonary arterial hypertension.” The doctor tapped the keyboard with practiced ease. “I’ll write you a referral. Go ahead and get admitted!”
Su Qingci picked up the report. “No need.”
Doctor: “?”
Su Qingci stood up and left the examination room, his departure clean and decisive.
Closing the door behind him, he left the doctor’s startled calls behind in another world.
Su Qingci took the elevator down, walking from the third-floor cardiology department to the outpatient building exit—a ten-minute journey. Feeling a bit tired, he scanned the QR code at the vending machine. His fingers habitually selected a canned coffee. Even though he suddenly remembered his “illness,” he didn’t switch to mineral water.
Snow fell today, blanketing the world in a gray haze. Su Qingci wrapped himself in his light gray down jacket and sat in his car for a long while, waiting for the icy, pale fingers to regain some color.
He stared blankly at the windshield for a moment. Setting down the coffee with his right hand, he picked up his iPad with his left and typed in a few keywords. The page loaded instantly.
IPAH, most commonly seen in young adults, has unknown causes, possibly linked to medication, viral infections, or genetics. It can lead to numerous complications like right heart failure, pulmonary infections, pulmonary embolism, sudden death, and more.
Treatment primarily targets vascular constriction, endothelial damage, thrombosis, and heart failure through targeted drugs or surgery.
Su Qingci exited the webpage, his finger tapping the search bar. The intelligent search engine instantly suggested related terms like “How long can someone with idiopathic pulmonary arterial hypertension live?” and “Is idiopathic pulmonary arterial hypertension curable?” for user selection.
Su Qingci ignored them, flinging his tablet onto the passenger seat.
When the disease strikes you personally, you grasp its reality.
He had contracted a rare, incurable terminal illness.
He detested crowded places. Had he not been coughing up blood violently just days prior, he never would have traveled dozens of kilometers from home to a public hospital for examination.
From undergoing tests, waiting for results, to receiving the doctor’s final verdict—it was impossible to claim he remained utterly indifferent throughout.
At just twenty-three, in the prime of his youth, with a privileged upbringing and a successful career, he was told his days were numbered.
Anyone else would have collapsed into their parents’ arms, weeping hysterically, then raged, “Out of eight billion people on this planet, why me?” Eventually, they’d have to accept reality—either fight it with all their might or give up entirely.
Su Qingci was different. He neither wailed nor sank into despair at this bolt from the blue. He even admired his own composure. Later, he realized it was probably because he’d never had a caregiver by his side.
He’d undergone the tests alone, heard the results alone. Without anxious parents or tearful lovers by his side, the atmosphere simply couldn’t build up the drama.
Su Qingci gave a self-deprecating chuckle, rubbing his sore, swollen eyes. They felt dry, devoid of tears.
After finishing a can of coffee, he pulled the crumpled ultrasound report from his pocket, flattening it out to make tearing easier. He stuffed the shredded paper into the empty coffee can, then tossed the empty can into the woven bag of a passing elderly scavenger.
Su Qingci drove home, deliberately taking a detour that added forty minutes to his trip to buy the beer-braised duck Pei Jingchen loved most.
By the time he arrived home, it was nearly six o’clock. The lights were off; Pei Jingchen hadn’t returned.
Su Qingci changed into his loungewear, washed his hands in the kitchen, and tested the still-warm roast duck through the takeout bag. He pulled out his phone to check the time, tapped the pinned chat, and typed four words: [Finished work?]
Within a minute, Pei Jingchen replied: [In a meeting.]
Su Qingci asked again: [When will you be done?]
This time, two minutes passed: [Seven o’clock.]
[Can you come back now?] Su Qingci paused, deleted the words, then typed: [Can you come back now?] He hesitated again and deleted it.
Pei Jingchen isn’t a corporate drone—he’s the boss. When meetings start and end is entirely up to him.
Su Qingci has repeatedly asked him to leave work early to spend time with him, even sternly ordering him home during meetings.
Pei Jingchen was a workaholic, burning the midnight oil without pause. He reveled in the thrill of conquering the business world, yet a love-struck ghost clung relentlessly to his side.
Su Qingci knew himself well enough to recognize Pei Jingchen didn’t like him—disgust was closer to the truth. Perhaps Pei Jingchen had harbored a flicker of affection for him at first, but it had been completely eroded by his relentless string of reckless antics.
Later, in high school, witnessing two boys kissing in a grove was like a bolt of lightning striking his mind. Clutching his own heart, which beat fiercely and wildly, he realized it was filled entirely with Pei Jingchen.
But in Pei Jingchen’s heart, there was no room for him—not even a standing ticket.
Su Qingci didn’t care about any of that. To win Pei Jingchen, he tried everything—soft approaches, hard tactics, threats, bribes, even unscrupulous means.
He succeeded in “dating” Pei Jingchen and moving in together. Even though Pei Jingchen treated him with icy coldness and utter disgust, he found it sweet as honey.
Pei Jingchen often asked him, “Must you persist like this?”
He would smile, wrap his arms around Pei Jingchen’s neck, and offer his collarbone to his lips—demonstrating through action his incorrigible nature.
Su Qingci admitted his character was vile, utterly despicable.
He was stubborn, extreme, sharp-tongued, selfish, and possessive. In Pei Jingchen’s eyes, he probably also deserved the label of “shameless scoundrel.”
No ice three feet thick forms in a single day. Su Qingci’s image in Pei Jingchen’s mind had long been riddled with holes. Since it couldn’t be salvaged, he might as well throw caution to the wind and embrace his wilfulness to the fullest.
Whether they hurt each other or his own recklessness boomeranged back to stab him countless times, he was beyond redemption anyway. As long as he could “date” Pei Jingchen, as long as they still shared the same bed, that was enough.
As for Pei Jingchen’s heart? There was plenty of time. If he could win it over, great. If not, so be it. All that mattered was keeping him chained to his side—bound for a lifetime.
Su Qingci had once arrogantly believed that as long as he didn’t let go, no one could tear him away from Pei Jingchen. No one could ever separate them.
His fingers clenched the phone so tightly his knuckles ached.
Was this what they called karma?
Even the heavens couldn’t stand seeing the exemplary Pei Jingchen entangled with a lunatic like him.
Su Qingci recalled a proverb: What goes around comes around.
The electronic chime of the fingerprint lock jolted him awake. He’d fallen asleep slumped in the recliner: “You’re back.”
It was a pointless remark, so Pei Jingchen ignored him.
Su Qingci tried to rise as usual to greet him at the entrance, but a sudden wave of dizziness forced him back into the seat. Blood surged against his temples, pounding violently as darkness clouded his vision.
Fearing Pei Jingchen might notice something amiss, he hurriedly said, “I bought your favorite roast duck.”
Pei Jingchen slipped off his suit jacket, casually draping it over the coat rack. He bent to remove his dress shoes, placing them in the shoe cabinet with his left hand while slipping into slippers with his right.
Su Qingci felt deflated.
Notice my ass. The guy hadn’t even looked at him.
Su Qingci wasn’t one to flatter himself, yet whenever he was around Pei Jingchen, he kept repeating the same mistake, humiliating himself over and over.
The dizziness quickly faded. Su Qingci went to the kitchen. The roast duck had gone cold, so he put it in the oven to reheat.
Wearing oven mitts, he carried it out just as Pei Jingchen descended the stairs.
Su Qingci smiled. “I snagged the last roast duck at the shop.”
A normal person hearing this would cheerfully reply, “How lucky!” or “You’re amazing!”
Su Qingci didn’t expect an enthusiastic reaction from Pei Jingchen—a simple “Is that so?” would suffice. After all, it was something he loved, and she’d gone out of his way to buy it.
“You eat it. I’ve already had dinner,” Pei Jingchen said, settling onto the sofa with his laptop cradled in his arms. His gaze remained fixed on the screen, not even sparing him a glance.
Su Qingci: “What did you eat?”
Pei Jingchen: “Boxed meal.”
Su Qingci placed the roasting pan on the coffee table: “Is it as good as roast duck?”
Pei Jingchen remained completely absorbed in his documents.
Su Qingci said: “I bought it specially for you. I went to the store, didn’t order delivery.”
Pei Jingchen finally lifted his eyes to Su Qingci.
He stood silhouetted against the light, his snow-white skin glowing brighter than the snow outside the window. This contrast made his almond-shaped eyes appear even darker and more profound, like the clear, lonely moon of late autumn, radiating a pure, icy chill.
Pei Jingchen replied, “I never said I wanted to eat.”
Though he hadn’t laid a finger on him, Su Qingci felt as if he’d punched him square in the chest.
I never said I wanted to eat—you bought it yourself.
I certainly don’t like you—you’re the one clinging to this one-sided, desperate obsession.
Su Qingci felt furious, unsure whether to blame Pei Jingchen for his ingratitude or resent himself for being so weak, day after day pressing his warm cheek against his cold shoulder.
Then he thought, why get angry? This was all his own doing.
Su Qingci didn’t believe Pei Jingchen could possibly be stuffed from eating boxed meals. There had to be room in his stomach. The only reason he ignored food he loved was because…
Su Qingci bought it.
He wasn’t refusing Peking duck; he refused Peking duck bought by Su Qingci.
It wasn’t the first time. Earlier, there had been stir-fried seafood noodles. Pei Jingchen had adopted the same attitude, so Su Qingci, in a fit of anger, dumped the entire dish and declared he wouldn’t eat it. He vowed never to eat it again. Consequently, noodles vanished from their dinner table for two years.
Noodles were merely something Pei Jingchen usually liked, whereas Peking duck wraps were something he absolutely loved. Su Qingci couldn’t treat the duck the same way he treated the noodles.
He said, “Then we’ll eat it tomorrow.”
Su Qingci knew this plate of duck would eventually find its way into Pei Jingchen’s stomach.
Pei Jingchen came from humble beginnings. Even though he was now quite wealthy, the virtues of diligence, frugality, and avoiding waste were deeply ingrained in his character. He would finish the roast duck before it went bad, even if he ate it reluctantly. It didn’t matter—as long as he ate it, Su Qingci would win.
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