The violent shaking turned Su Qingci’s face deathly pale, while the suffocating grip at his throat gradually flushed his cheeks crimson.
The air grew thin, a tearing pain shot through his chest, and the world spun wildly.
Su Baidong roared something even more vicious, but Su Qingci could no longer make out the words. Only when Assistant Wang sensed something amiss and shouted, “Chairman Su!” did Su Baidong belatedly release his grip.
Su Qingci collapsed back onto the sofa, his forehead quickly coating with a fine layer of cold sweat. Suppressing the urge to cough, he lifted his striking black-and-white eyes and offered a dark smile. “Su Ge deserved it.”
Su Baidong raised his hand, nearly landing a slap.
Su Qingci laughed sarcastically.
“How will you face Vivian with a swollen face? Go wash up and change clothes.” With that, Su Baidong stormed out, radiating hostility.
“Young Master…” Secretary Wang extended both hands to steady Su Qingci, only to be shoved away. Watching him stumble into the bathroom, Wang heard the door slam shut with a loud bang.
The next moment, a heart-wrenching cough erupted from within.
Secretary Wang knocked nervously: “Young Master, are you all right? Open the door, Young Master?”
The sink was splattered with blood—a vivid, terrifying crimson.
Su Qingci gripped the sink rim so tightly his fingernails turned pale and white.
He heard Secretary Wang frantically calling out to Chairman Su, but the voice was muffled, distant, indistinct. Yet Su Baidong’s furious voice cut through him like a knife: “Better dead!”
Su Qingci laughed aloud.
His father’s father might speak with relish, but his heart wouldn’t let go. For no matter how much of a bastard Su Qingci was, he was still the union of Jiang Seru and Su Ge—Su Ge’s one and only bloodline, the sole heir of the Su family. The kind destined to inherit the throne.
He turned on the faucet, scrubbing the sink clean as if it were a crime scene. Wiping his face dry with a towel, Su Qingci opened the door to find Su Baidong, who had returned, making a phone call that mentioned Xiao Wen.
Wen Mengmeng was the director of a private hospital and had served as the Su family’s personal physician for over forty years.
“No need to trouble Dean Wen,” Su Qingci said. “I’m perfectly healthy.”
After three hours of styling by a professional team, he was transformed beyond recognition. From a moldy stray dog, he emerged as a handsome, refined young aristocrat from Beijing’s elite circles.
Su Baidong said that if the deal with the Pitt Group went through, Su Qingci would receive a three percent cut as compensation.
Su Qingci quickly calculated in his head: Oh, thirty million.
Su Qingci desperately wanted to retort, “I couldn’t care less about a measly thirty million—two paintings would cover that.” Even more, he wanted to say, “After you die, every penny is mine. Why would I fret over a paltry thirty million? What’s the rush?”
But he held back. Though the words “respect elders” didn’t exist in Su Qingci’s vocabulary, he still didn’t want to push his own father to the brink of a stroke or paralysis.
After all, this was Wu Lin’s business, the Su family’s enterprise. He bore the Su surname; it was only right he contribute his share.
Lanfei Sanctuary was the capital’s most opulent hotel, a must-stay for socialites and nobility. Many dignitaries had lodged there, and even foreign monarchs had held weddings within its walls.
Following Su Baidong up to the hotel’s eighteenth floor, Su Qingci arrived at the grand charity auction venue.
High society mingled over drinks, an internationally acclaimed symphony orchestra provided the entertainment, and media swarmed the event.
Su Qingci spotted Miss Vivian in her champagne-colored evening gown. Without needing him to initiate conversation, the vivacious Vivian chattered away nonstop, ensuring the atmosphere never grew stale.
This auction was unprecedented in scale, attracting titans from every industry—all either immensely wealthy or of noble birth. Fortunately, Su Baidong’s dazzling presence drew all eyes, allowing Su Qingci and Vivian to sit undisturbed in a corner, enjoying their quiet time.
Sipping Lafite wine, Su Qingci listened to Vivian’s enthusiastic descriptions of the auction items. Her words genuinely piqued his interest. As he asked a staff member for a catalog, he inadvertently scanned the crowd and caught sight of his destined calamity.
Damn it!
This glittering hall was packed with VIPs—at least eighty if not a hundred. Yet he managed to pick out the cream of the crop, locking eyes with Pei Jingchen in an instant that felt like an eternity.
Su Qingci’s eyes were like radar, effortlessly picking out Pei Jingchen, that sunflower, from the vast sea of people.
After being choked by a sip of Lafite, Su Qingci feigned blindness and turned to Vivian, saying, “Oh, sure.”
“Really? Great!” Vivian beamed, holding out her WeChat QR code.
Su Qingci: “…”
Pei Jingchen’s steps faltered slightly, his path blocked by the CEO of some conglomerate. His response was half-hearted.
The lights dimmed, signaling the official start of the charity auction.
Su Qingci followed Su Baidong to their seats. His peripheral vision couldn’t help but glance toward the four o’clock position behind them. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out anything. Oh well.
Under the auctioneer’s skillful guidance, the atmosphere grew feverish. Bored, Su Qingci flipped through the catalog of auction items as Su Baidong asked, “What do you think?”
A spotlight flashed across Su Baidong’s face, revealing his professional smile. Su Qingci admired his skill—he looked so kind and approachable that anyone watching might mistake them for a devoted grandfather and grandson, bound by blood.
Su Qingci replied coldly, “Didn’t you see it yourself?”
Having navigated the business world for decades, Su Baidong kept his eyes and ears open everywhere. He could simultaneously clink glasses with three executives while secretly monitoring Su Qingci and Vivian exchanging WeChat contacts—you had to admire his skill.
Su Baidong raised his paddle, and the auctioneer on stage immediately called out the bid. Su Baidong asked, “Anything catch your eye? Take a look at the oil painting on page seven.”
Su Qingci sneered maliciously, “Are you rewarding a little dog?”
Su Baidong wore a cheerful smile for others to see, but his tone was icy cold for Su Qingci alone: “Do you realize how twisted your personality is? You can’t tell good from bad.”
Su Qingci’s fingers dug into the catalog, crumpling it into an even more twisted mass. He sneered, “Like father, like son.”
Ignoring Su Baidong, Su Qingci smoothed out the crumpled catalog. As he flipped through it, his gaze flickered, lingering for a few seconds on a landscape painting. He turned the page and stood up.
Su Baidong immediately asked where he was going. Su Qingci replied, “Restroom.”
As he passed rows of seats, people sitting there greeted him. Once Su Qingci was out of earshot, one muttered, “What the hell? That guy’s face is so sour.”
Zhang Haonan remarked, “His face might be sour, but it’s handsome.”
The other made a gagging motion. “I know you like guys, but don’t settle for just anyone! Su Qingci’s looks, charisma, and talent are undeniable, but he’s a lunatic. You won’t last.”
Zhang Haonan shrugged dismissively. “That’s what makes it challenging. Lambs are boring.”
His friend pleaded earnestly, “You know his mother’s mentally ill, right?”
Zhang Haonan shrugged it off with a laugh, “The whole internet knows. So what? She went crazy after giving birth to him. It didn’t run in his genes.”
“Then you know she killed his father?”
Zhang Haonan’s smile vanished instantly. “What?”
His friend cupped his hand around his mouth and leaned close to Zhang Haonan’s ear: “His mom had a psychotic episode and killed Su Ge. She stabbed him over a hundred times. He died instantly. It was bloody and brutal.”
Zhang Haonan looked utterly horrified: “Impossible! Su Ge clearly died of illness. Sudden cardiac death. That’s what the official reports said.”
“You said ‘official,’” his friend rolled his eyes. “My uncle works at the news agency. Trust me, back then, Su Baidong pulled some serious strings to bury this story. Think about it—a daughter-in-law going berserk and killing her son? That kind of earth-shattering scandal would tank the group’s stock.”
Zhang Haonan was too stunned to speak.
His friend whispered mysteriously, “And this is just hearsay from my uncle—keep it to yourself.”
Zhang Haonan: “Cut the suspense.”
His friend lowered his voice: “Su Ge was violent. Jiang Seru was driven mad by him.”
Zhang Haonan stared in disbelief.
The friend continued, “His mother was mentally ill, and his father had violent tendencies. Think about it—the offspring of such parents must be a dangerous individual. As the saying goes, ‘When the upper beam is crooked, the lower beam follows suit.’ Don’t be fooled by his outwardly cool and aloof demeanor, that elegant and refined artist persona. I’ve heard he has an extreme, radical personality—basically, he’s terrible.”
His friend earnestly warned him not to covet Su Qingci, lest he bring trouble upon himself. Zhang Haonan responded distractedly, utterly stunned by the hidden secrets of the wealthy elite.
Zhang Haonan’s mind was in turmoil. Just as he was about to ask more, his friend suddenly fell silent: “Shh.”
The subject of their conversation had returned.
Su Qingci hurried past, trailing a refreshing breeze that carried the scent of lavender.
Su Qingci endured until the auction concluded perfectly, finally able to head home. He intended to take a taxi, and Su Baidong hadn’t planned to see him off.
Since Su Baidong had dragged him out of the house, Su Qingci had only drunk red wine and eaten nothing. A burning pain surged in his stomach, quickly turning into nausea. Just as he felt like vomiting, he collided head-on with Pei Jingchen. Well, that was that. The stomachache and nausea vanished, leaving only a flood of grievance stinging his eyes until they burned.
How to explain it? It was like working alone in a big city, bullied by mean coworkers, exploited by a terrible boss, exhausted like a dog, filled only with anger. But then your parents called from home, saying, “Did you eat? Don’t starve yourself,” and it completely broke you. All that anger turned to hurt, and you just burst into tears.
Su Qingci wouldn’t cry. All his tears had dried up on that rooftop long ago.
He wanted to call out to him, but then remembered their current relationship—calling him by his first name felt inappropriate, while using his full name felt disrespectful.
The issue of nicknames had genuinely bothered Su Qingci for quite some time.
Pei Jingchen’s parents and childhood friends called him “Xiao Chen.” Su Qingci didn’t want to use that, as it felt like mimicking them. He was particular about such things, wanting a unique nickname between lovers. Calling him “baby” or similar terms felt too cloying, and Pei Jingchen would surely dislike it.
Eventually, he settled for calling him “Jingchen.” When happy, he’d say “Chenchen”—a unique variation.
Now… Su Qingci deliberated for a few seconds before finding the most fitting title: “Mr. Pei.”
Pei Jingchen’s expression froze, like a precision instrument experiencing a minor glitch that couldn’t overshadow its perfection. Just as he was about to speak, a voice called out from the end of the corridor: “Qingci.”
Pei Jingchen turned to look, and Su Qingci glanced over too. After a moment’s thought, he realized it was probably Zhang Something-North or East.
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