Wu Lu’s arms ached from carrying the bags: “Cherries from New Zealand, and Japanese Benikoi strawberries.”
These were the finest and most expensive imported fruits in his parents’ store. Giving them to Ling Yue’s CEO felt rather meager, but Wu Lu knew Pei Jingchen wouldn’t look down on them.
He set the items down, shed his down jacket, and dashed toward the bathroom, muttering as he went, “Where’s Su Qingci? Not home?”
Are you that close with him?
Pei Jingchen pressed his thin lips together, picked up the down jacket, and fell into deep thought, his mind elsewhere for a moment.
He rarely gave Su Qingci gifts—not because he was stingy, but because Su Qingci came from a wealthy family. He had everything he wanted, never lacking in clothing, food, or shelter. He wore Prada and ate Japanese Nara White Diamond strawberries.
That was one reason. Another was that Pei Jingchen genuinely lacked romantic sensibility.
He was a man of minimal material desires, neither envying others nor competing with them. He focused solely on himself and was a quiet, reserved person who placed little importance on ceremonial gestures.
In contrast, Su Qingci was deeply attuned to the importance of rituals. He insisted on organizing celebrations for holidays and festivals, creating festive atmospheres. Passionate about surprising others, he also craved surprises himself.
But Pei Jingchen simply wasn’t one to surprise anyone.
This down jacket was actually something Su Qingci insisted he buy. While shopping together, he spotted a business watch he liked. He immediately had him try it on, then pulled out his black card to pay the salesperson. He protested it wasn’t necessary—his drawer was overflowing with watches he’d never wear. Su Qingci seized the moment to disparage his old timepieces while lavishing praise on the new one, then dropped a pointed hint: “Things are never as good as new, but people are better when they’re old.”
Before he could respond, Su Qingci pointed to a light gray down jacket in the distance. “I like that one. Buy it for me.”
Only later did Pei Jingchen learn that their one-year cohabitation anniversary was just days away.
Was that even worth commemorating?
In Su Qingci’s calendar, countless dates demanded celebration—the first handhold, the first date, the first confession. He’d probably mark even their first conversation and first shared lunch for commemoration.
That night, Su Qingci lay panting in his arms. Behind his messy fringe, his eyes betrayed a resigned melancholy. “Gifts are supposed to be unexpected—that’s what makes them a surprise. Look at you—I always have to initiate it. It’s so boring.”
“Xiao Chen? Xiao Chen?”
Pei Jingchen snapped back to reality, meeting Wu Lübo’s large, luminous eyes. This fellow had been praised since childhood by neighbors for his bright, expressive eyes—larger than Xiao Yanzi’s in My Fair Princess. It was a pity he was born the wrong gender; otherwise, he would surely have been a great beauty.
The great beauty Wu asked him what he was spacing out about. Instead of answering, Pei Jingchen countered: Why are you wearing Su Qingci’s clothes?”
Mentioning this topic, Wu Lü became quite animated. He recounted the entire incident from being bumped by the brat, repeating every detail. His rambling was so extensive that by the time he got to “eating dumplings together,” Pei Jingchen had already finished washing the cherries and plating them.
Wu Lü finally got to the borrowed clothes: “Su Qingci is such a good person. I misunderstood him before, thinking he was gloomy and creepy. I never imagined he’d be so kind! I originally planned to dry clean the clothes and return them to him, but he said it wasn’t necessary and gave them to me.”
As he showed Pei Jingchen the chat history, Wu Lü added, “I couldn’t possibly accept that. I looked it up online—this down jacket costs twenty-three thousand eight hundred yuan. I’ll pay him back in installments. Consider it mine.”
Wu Lü cradled the down jacket in his arms, its exorbitant price evident in every cherishing touch of the fabric.
A strange emptiness filled Pei Jingchen’s heart. His thin lips murmured, reaching for something he couldn’t quite grasp.
Wu Lü gently patted the jacket, making it rustle softly. Pei Jingchen blurted out without thinking, “I’ll give you 23,800 yuan. Sell it to me.”
Wu Lü: “??”
“Never mind.” Pei Jingchen pressed his hand to his forehead, his face turning banana-green. “Forget I said anything.”
Wu Lü hurriedly popped a strawberry into his mouth to calm his nerves.
That evening, Pei Jingchen and Wu Lü found a hot pot restaurant for dinner. They ordered a spicy broth and cold beer. Wu Lü ate until sweat dripped from his forehead, while Pei Jingchen’s tongue went numb from the spice—though he maintained his composure. With alcohol, heat, and waves of steaming vapor, Pei Jingchen impulsively blurted out, “What’s Su Qingci been up to lately?”
Fortunately, Wu Lü was a naive sweetheart, completely oblivious to the fact that Pei Jingchen, as his bedmate, asking him such a question about a random stranger was practically asking for his head to be chopped off and boiled in the spicy broth.
“Field research?” Wu Lü took a big bite of beef tripe when his phone suddenly buzzed. Slurping away, he glanced at it—an automatic refund from a WeChat transfer.
“Su Qingci doesn’t take money,” Wu Lü fretted, turning to Pei Jingchen. “Should I transfer it to you? You can pass it on to him?”
Pei Jingchen gave a distracted “Mhm.”
After the hot pot, Pei Jingchen dropped Wu Lu off at his place first. He then asked the taxi driver to slow down, using the backseat to catch his breath. He pulled out his phone—a rare moment of leisure. Even his pinned assistant contact was as quiet as a mouse. He scrolled down instinctively, scrolling and scrolling. With so many contacts, it took forever to find Su Qingci.
Their last chat had been a week ago, ending with Su Qingci forwarding a clever tip.
Pei Jingchen tapped to read the full article. When he exited, he wanted to send something but couldn’t decide on the right words.
Counting from before New Year’s Day, Su Qingci had been gone for over ten days—an unprecedented record.
Whether genuine or playing hard to get, Su Qingci’s endurance—not a single call, text, or even a subtle hint via social media—deserved his full attention.
After much deliberation, Pei Jingchen sent a single period.
Following Su Qingci’s clever tactic above, this period served as the most appropriate acknowledgment of receipt.
Su Qingci had enabled friend verification. You’re not his/her friend yet…
Pei Jingchen froze, instantly sobered by the realization.
He deleted me?!
*
Su Qingci deleted Pei Jingchen the day after New Year’s Day.
Since they had no future connection anyway—no chance of contact, let alone meeting again—keeping him on his friends list served no purpose beyond tormenting him. If he was cutting ties, he would sever them completely, leaving no room for lingering thoughts or regrets.
Su Qingci had always been this way—all or nothing. As sharp-tongued and ruthless toward others as he was toward himself, he refused to leave even a shred of sentimental attachment.
Ten years—no, eleven years—of unrequited love, once pursued relentlessly, were now being uprooted by his own hand.
Though it left him raw and bleeding, tearing his heart apart.
Su Qingci curled up on the sofa, sleepless through the night. He stared blankly until dawn, rising like a hollow shell only when his stomach demanded sustenance. He shuffled over and dry-chewed a bucket of instant noodles.
Simply too lazy to boil water.
He must have looked utterly wretched—no mirror needed to guess the expression that would make even fierce ghosts kneel and call him “senior.” But it didn’t matter. No one saw him. In the dark corner, he could rot and mold freely.
After filling his stomach, Su Qingci felt bored. He found a movie to watch, but halfway through, he wished he hadn’t bothered—it was even more tedious. He couldn’t be bothered to turn it off either. It served as decent background noise, lulling him into drowsiness.
Just as Su Qingci’s eyelids grew heavy and he was about to drift off, the doorbell rang like a sudden storm, its clamor making his heart thud uncomfortably.
Su Qingci didn’t move an inch.
The doorbell persisted, and Secretary Wang’s voice echoed from outside: “Young Master, open the door quickly! Chairman Su is here!”
Su Qingci ignored it completely. Even if it were his great-grandfather outside, he wouldn’t have bothered to answer.
The doorbell soon fell silent. Just as Su Qingci thought the old man had left, Su Baidong’s deep, ominous voice echoed from outside: “Are you dead in there? If you don’t open the door, I’ll have someone break the lock.”
Su Qingci imagined the scene of security guards and locksmiths swarming into the room, neighbors gathering to gawk—utterly infuriating. Reluctantly, he rose to open the door.
As he pushed the door halfway open, the sunlight was too blinding, and Su Qingci shielded his eyes with his hand.
Su Baidong froze for a moment, then frowned and snapped, “What are you doing? Look at yourself!”
Su Qingci stood firmly in the doorway, showing no intention of inviting anyone inside.
Su Baidong shoved him aside, strode inside, and scanned the living room with hawk-like eyes. His expression softened slightly. His grandson might be living like a dog now, but his place wasn’t a doghouse. With his cleanliness obsession, the apartment remained spotless and tidy.
Su Baidong snatched the suit from Secretary Wang’s hands and tossed it at Su Qingci: ” Go get yourself together. Seven o’clock tonight, Lanfei Sacred Land Hotel.”
Su Qingci tossed the suit aside and flopped onto the sofa: “Not going.”
Su Baidong closed his eyes briefly, forcing patience: “Add Vivian as a friend. I’ll introduce her to you.”
“Not adding her.”
“Su Qingci!” Su Baidong roared, his anger boiling over. “Have I been too lenient with you?”
Su Qingci sneered in response: “I’ve never lived under your breath. What exactly have you been lenient about?”
Su Baidong’s face darkened alarmingly, but Su Qingci ignored it, pouring fuel on the fire: “Right now, you need me. You want to use me to deal with the heiress of the Pitt Group, don’t you? If that’s the case, then please show the appropriate attitude.”
Su Baidong’s pupils suddenly contracted: “Close your eyes! Don’t look at me!”
Su Qingci defiantly did the opposite, fixing him with an intense stare.
His eyes, carved from the same mold as Jiang Seru’s, bore into him.
Su Baidong lunged forward, nearly losing control. “Su Qingci! What you owe me, what you owe the Su family—and you have the nerve to bargain?!”
Su Qingci dismissed him with disdain: “None of my damn business.”
Su Baidong, pushed beyond endurance, yanked Su Qingci by the collar, hauling him violently off the sofa: “Your mother killed my son! You’re the bastard offspring of that madwoman! You owe me my son!”
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