Annalise felt utterly betrayed. It was no exaggeration to say her faith had been shattered! What about the promise not to paint portraits? What about the pledge not to take commissions?
You can paint and take commissions if you want, but why not take Joseph’s? Isn’t a house in Beijing’s Second Ring Road appealing enough??
“It’s different,” Su Qingci explained over the phone. “When I paint Vivian’s portrait, she can only keep it for herself.”
From distant Africa, Annelise protested, “But you’re painting Joseph’s fields! As your die-hard fan, he’d keep it for himself too!”
Su Qingci chuckled, “What if he goes bankrupt someday? Might he sell off my paintings? Especially after I’m gone, when their value skyrockets tenfold.”
Annalise was both speechless and heartbroken. What was wrong with this kid, always talking about death? It was so unlucky.
Su Qingci stared at the car ceiling, unfazed. “Vivian’s different. Her portraits? No one would buy them even if she tried. I’m not about to die and let those hypocrites profit off my death—the ones who claim to adore me but then put on that ‘sacrificing my beloved’ act when faced with skyrocketing prices, using my paintings to buy mansions, cars, and mistresses.”
Annalise: “…”
Su Qingci chuckled. “Joseph can paint me if he wants. I don’t mind his fleshy face and fat belly.”
A few words ended the contest. Annelise was utterly defeated, conceding defeat wholeheartedly.
Young Master Su’s temperament remained as elusive as ever.
The elusive Su Qingci stepped out of the taxi, about to enter the residential gate, when he suddenly heard a car horn.
Across the street, Su Qingci spotted the jet-black Koenigsegg. An instinctive urge nearly drove him toward it, but he resisted. Good. Progress, at last.
Su Qingci stood still, watching for three seconds before turning away in indifference.
“Su Qingci.” Pei Jingchen finally stepped out of the car himself, rather than honking and expecting him to come over.
Su Qingci thought to herself: Even if it was just wishful thinking, he should be the “young master” in this scenario—the one sitting in the car honking for Pei Jingchen to come. Why was this so different from the novels?
It wasn’t that Pei Jingchen was bossy; he simply found getting out of the car troublesome. He’d have to unbuckle his seatbelt, open the door, then get back in and rebuckle it—all that just to exchange a few words. It was easier and quicker to have the other person come to him.
Make no mistake—that was simply his nature. He meant no harm, yet his actions always seemed to be misinterpreted by the sensitive Su Qingci.
Sometimes Su Qingci felt exhausted by his own reactions. If he weren’t so sensitive and extreme, perhaps the distance between him and Pei Jingchen wouldn’t have grown. Maybe they could have truly made it work.
But then again, perhaps it wasn’t entirely his fault for being so sensitive. After all, the expectations for a friend differed from those for a lover. In the same situation, if it were Annelise, Su Qingci approaching her wouldn’t have been an issue. But with Pei Jingchen, he hoped his boyfriend would take the initiative without “finding it bothersome.”
Surely, it was the difference between love and indifference! What nonsense about low emotional intelligence, being too blunt, or not thinking enough—all excuses, excuses!
“What’s up?” Su Qingci asked, his tone neither warm nor cold.
Pei Jingchen handed him a bag that must have weighed at least three pounds. “For you.” He promptly added, “My dad told me to give it to you.”
Su Qingci caught the overwhelming scent of baked goods—like a kitten sniffing canned cat food—and instinctively reached out to grab it. By the time he realized what he’d done, the bag was already in his hands.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, you sugar-and-oil-soaked brain!
Su Qingci wished he could chop off his own paw. He shoved the bag back into Pei Jingchen’s arms. “Tell Uncle thanks for me.”
Pei Jingchen didn’t take it.
Su Qingci: “Take it, or I’ll toss it on the floor.”
Pei Jingchen, who deeply respected Old Master Yuan, couldn’t bear to see food go to waste. He took it.
Su Qingci turned to leave, but Pei Jingchen grabbed his wrist. “Su Qingci.”
Pei Jingchen’s way of addressing him was simple. Usually, he just called him Qingci. When he was in a bad mood or grew serious, he would use his full name. That was fine—it allowed Su Qingci to gauge Pei Jingchen’s mood from the way he addressed him.
In his memory, Pei Jingchen had only once called him “Xiao Ci.”
That was their first night together. Su Qingci could only describe it as chaotic. While other couples’ first time should be sweet and blissful, but theirs was frantic and lost, beginning with a conspiracy and ending in a scheme. He endured Pei Jingchen’s fierce thrusts, feeling as if he might shatter into pieces. Just as his consciousness began to blur and he was about to pass out, he heard Pei Jingchen lean down and whisper in his ear: “Xiao Ci.”
At that moment, Su Qingci wept with emotion, helpless tears slipping from his eyes into his hair.
Later, he reflected that Pei Jingchen’s “Xiao Ci” held no deeper meaning—it was certainly not the name one whispers to a lover in the heat of passion. Even casual partners might unconsciously utter their companion’s name during intense moments—it was simply a way to heighten the experience, no different from shouting “Goal!” while watching a soccer match.
Pei Jingchen released his grip and asked calmly, “How much longer do you plan to sulk?”
Su Qingci’s expression went blank, unable to process the question. Meeting Pei Jingchen’s lukewarm, almost frigid gaze, Su Qingci finally realized he’d come all this way likely to “take him home.”
But once bitten, twice shy. Su Qingci felt he was overthinking again. Perhaps Pei Jingchen was simply impatient, here to confront her. What was he thinking? The young master is such a handful. Can’t he just settle down? He’s been causing trouble for a whole month now. When will it end? Fine, you’ve shown some backbone this time. Stop this nonsense and go home. I’ve given you a way out. Satisfied?
“Mr. Pei, wasn’t I clear enough that day?” Su Qingci’s tone turned cold. “If not, I’ll get in the car and we can reenact it.”
Su Qingci often wore a cold expression, but that was for others. With Pei Jingchen, he’d never been this icy. When angry or sulking, he was passionate—fundamentally different from this.
Thus, Pei Jingchen found himself caught off guard, as if the situation had slipped from his grasp. He could see the unwavering resolve in Su Qingci’s expression and the sincerity in his words. If this were an act, it was an exceptionally convincing one.
Su Qingci truly intended to break up with him.
Impossible.
It wasn’t that Pei Jingchen fancied himself irresistibly charming, but rather that he knew Su Qingci well enough. Back then, she’d stopped at nothing to be with him. Over the years, she’d gone to extreme lengths to capture his attention, becoming so obsessed that friends teased, “Your man’s like a vengeful ghost—he just won’t let go.” Someone like that wouldn’t let him go easily.
Su Qingci: “I’m not playing hard to get. Trust me, I’ve genuinely decided to let you go.”
Su Qingci felt a slight urge to laugh—not for any particular reason, just an emotional impulse. Once, he’d chased after Pei Jingchen relentlessly, exhausting himself, yet always falling short. Now that he’d given up, Pei Jingchen—who’d always turned his back on him—had turned around instead, seeking him out time and again.
Su Qingci thought of something, a pang of bitterness in his heart. “You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “If anyone owes, it’s me who owes you.”
He noticed Pei Jingchen’s outfit—a serene, fresh powder blue that suited him perfectly. When they first met, Pei Jingchen wore a warm yellow hoodie, the color of sunflowers. The second time they met, it was powder blue. Fourteen-year-old Su Qingci had stood in the corner of the living room, peeking at Pei Jingchen outside the door. Pei Jingchen had seen him.
In that moment of eye contact, he saw hostility in Pei Jingchen’s eyes.
Their relationship was always filled with coldness and distance. Even if there had been warmth and romance, it paled in comparison to the rifts between them.
Su Qingci said, “Aren’t you busy? Don’t come anymore.”
Pei Jingchen replied, “I’m traveling to South Korea for work at the end of the month.”
Suddenly irritated, Su Qingci snapped, “None of my business,” and turned to leave.
Pei Jingchen had casually mentioned his plans, perhaps out of habit. After moving in together, Su Qingci had sternly demanded that Pei Jingchen “always inform him before leaving.” He declared that from that moment on, he was a man with a family. Whether going out for gatherings or traveling abroad for business, he had to tell her, his boyfriend. Logically, this was basic respect, but Su Qingci was unique—even reasonable requests got twisted into accusations of possessiveness and controlling behavior.
Su Qingci lay on the floor, trying to sleep but unable to. He opened his eyes to check the time: 9:30 PM. What should a normal young person be doing at this hour? Su Qingci could only reference Annelise’s social media feed—hanging out with friends, grabbing skewers, clubbing, dancing wildly in bars?
The nightlife was just beginning, and suddenly Su Qingci felt the urge to let loose too.
Shuimu Fanghua—a notorious den of iniquity in Beijing’s elite circles, a private members-only club.
Su Qingci had only been here once before. After that, it became a forbidden zone neither he nor Pei Jingchen would ever mention again.
The manager bellowed, “A rare guest! A rare guest!” following Su Qingci with enthusiastic hospitality. He professionally inquired if Young Master Su was alone, while the handsome hosts and beautiful hostesses milling about nearby were equally professional, batting their eyelashes at him with a teasing, reluctant-yet-welcoming charm.
Su Qingci needed no introduction. He sat down at the bar and ordered a cocktail from the bartender. He’d barely taken a sip when he heard a voice he didn’t want to hear and saw a face he didn’t want to see.
“Su Qingci, what are you doing here?” Zhang Haonan approached with a cheerful grin.
Well, running into this mirror of truth here was about as predictable as it got. No exaggeration—this fellow had slept in every single room at Shuimu Fanghua.
Su Qingci couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge him. But when he recognized the friend trailing behind Zhang Haonan, his pupils suddenly contracted.
Mu Yao.
The poisonous thorn wedged between him and Pei Jingchen—the very instigator who had driven their relationship into an irreparable tailspin.
Su Qingci had a temper, but he never resorted to violence.
Only Mu Yao—seeing him again after all these years still made him want to charge over and blast him with an electric cannon.
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