Wu Lü stood before the full-length mirror in his suit: “Is it a bit too big?”
Pei Jingchen replied, “Your frame is too small. Try that one.”
Wu Lu changed into it, but it still didn’t fit right. After all, it was Pei Jingchen’s suit, and their builds differed by a size.
The reason was that Wu Lu needed to attend an event and wanted to wear a suit to look presentable, appear more formal, and show respect for the hostess. Wu Lü didn’t own one and planned to rent one for the occasion. When Pei Jingchen heard this, he dismissed the idea, pointing out that his closet was filled with suits—Wu Lü could take whichever one he liked.
What greeted Wu Lü’s eyes were designer suits worth several times more than his entire savings. He dared not be picky; having one to wear was already fortunate.
Pei Jingchen glanced at the selection and found it a bit plain. Wu Lü recalled Pei Jingchen’s distinguished appearance in financial news segments and asked if wearing glasses would make him look more refined. Pei Jingchen replied that it depended on the person: “I look more refined with glasses, but it depends on the person.”
Pei Jingchen glanced at them, finding them a bit plain. Wu Lu recalled Pei Jingchen’s distinguished image in financial news reports and asked if wearing glasses might make him look more scholarly. Pei Jingchen replied that it depended on the person: “When I wear them, I become a refined, scholarly scoundrel.”
Wu Lü: “What about me? What about me?”
Pei Jingchen: “The foolish son of a wealthy family.”
Wu Lü: “…”
Pei Jingchen pointed to the middle drawer on the left. Wu Lü opened it to find an array of brooches displayed inside.
“Huh, this one’s really unique.” Wu Lü picked up a sunflower brooch, only for Pei Jingchen to snatch it away the next second.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Pei Jingchen replied. “Just look at the others.”
Wu Lü couldn’t help but admire the brooch’s distinctive pattern and novel design. The craftsmanship—well, to his untrained, provincial eyes, it could be summed up in three words: absolutely stunning.
Seeing how nervous Pei Jingchen was, it must be something dear to him. Who gave it to him? Definitely not Su Qingci. As Pei Jingchen’s childhood friend who grew up with him, he knew that although Pei Jingchen had lived with Su Qingci for three years, there was no affection involved, let alone love. If he had to put a name to it, it was a sense of duty.
Wu Lü selected a rose brooch and pinned it on: “From Mu Yao?”
Pei Jingchen had been staring blankly at the brooch when this question suddenly startled him. He looked utterly shocked: “Stop making things up.”
Wu Lü replied, “How many years has it been since you last spoke to Mu Yao? Weren’t you two super close back in high school? Every time I came over to hang out with you, he’d be tagging along, getting in the way.”
Pei Jingchen lifted his eyes. “You don’t like him?”
Wu Lü’s face flushed with the realization he’d slipped up. Scratching his scalp awkwardly, he stammered, “Don’t blame me for badmouthing your friend, but honestly, I can’t stand him. He’s so fake, so pretentious. Doesn’t he never say anything bad about anyone around you? Especially Su Qingci—he just gushes about her, right? He’s so fake. Unlike Su Qingci, who lives authentically—loves what he loves, hates what he hates, and confronts anyone who pisses him off. You don’t have to worry about him smiling at you while secretly calling you an idiot.”
Pei Jingchen froze. It was true. Countless times, Su Qingci had openly badmouthed Mu Yao to him, speaking with righteous indignation and complete candor.
Pei Jingchen clarified, “Mu Yao isn’t my friend. We’re no longer on speaking terms.”
Wu Lü was so startled he nearly dropped the brooch, urgently demanding an explanation. Too weary to explain, Pei Jingchen simply promised him, “Next time. Next time for sure.”
Wu Lü lingered, glancing back every few steps as he reluctantly walked away.
The sunflower brooch had been preserved for five years, still gleaming like new, its brilliance dazzling. Pei Jingchen had never worn it once.
When he’d tossed it out the window back then, it had been in its box, and it was only the height of the seventh floor. When he retrieved it from the lawn afterward, the brooch was perfectly intact, not a scratch on it.
He stood holding the brooch for nearly an hour before returning to Shuimu Fanghua. He asked the staff to check the surveillance footage, claiming he’d lost something.
In the footage, Pei Jingchen saw Su Qingci and Mu Yao leave the private room one after the other to use the restroom.
After all, Shuimu Fanghua was a private club catering to the pleasure-seeking elite. While surveillance equipment was comprehensive, certain areas were deliberately left blind spots to accommodate the thrill-seeking desires of its VIP patrons.
Mu Yao entered the blind spot, while Su Qingci stood boldly within the camera’s range. He knew exactly what Mu Yao was doing—and was utterly stunned. Later, Mu Yao emerged from the blind spot, followed by the club manager.
Though the footage was incomplete, the general outline was clear. No wonder Mu Yao insisted on hosting, no wonder he chose the upscale Shui Mu Fang Hua for the gathering.
Mu Yao harbored ill intent, yet chickened out at the last moment. As for Su Qingci, he merely played dumb and went with the flow—neither supporting nor encouraging, yet offering no resistance either, simply reaping the rewards.
They were evenly matched, equally matched, two of a kind.
Mu Yao’s face turned ashen. His image had always been one of gentle purity and ethereal grace—this was the first time he shattered that persona, unleashing a torrent of unrestrained curses at Su Qingci.
Yet barely had he begun his tirade when Pei Jingchen instinctively snapped, “Shut up!”
Mu Yao pouted, tears welling up in his eyes. But all Pei Jingchen felt was irritation and a sickening disgust, as if his skin were crawling with cockroaches. He declared that was the end of it—they would never see each other again.
Mu Yao retorted fiercely: “I’m despicable and shameless, my methods are treacherous—but what about Su Qingci? Is he any better? I may have acted, but I backed down at the last moment and didn’t succeed! I pulled back from the brink and avoided a major mistake. Su Qingci, however, knew exactly what he was doing and went through with it! How dare you only blame me and not condemn him!”
Pei Jingchen’s expression remained impassive. “And so? Does Su Qingci’s ruthlessness somehow make you appear kind and innocent?”
Mu Yao fell silent. Pei Jingchen had made it clear that his affairs with Su Qingci were none of Mu Yao’s business, and he had no right to meddle.
Mu Yao’s rage dissolved into uncontrollable sobbing. “You like Su Qingci, don’t you?”
Of course not. Pei Jingchen mentally dismissed Mu Yao’s wild accusations.
He had actually pondered this question before—what exactly were his feelings toward Su Qingci? Initially, Su Qingci was merely a pitiful child living in the villa to him. He felt sympathy and pity for him, naturally offering warmth and assistance. Later, that concern evolved into lingering thoughts. He’d occasionally remember Su Qingci during meals or sleep. After school, he’d deliberately take a one-hour detour, switching buses twice, just to catch a glimpse of the villa’s exterior through the window.
When Pei Haiyang asked why he was coming home later and later, he said he was playing basketball with friends. His friends asked why he passed his own home without entering, taking such a long detour back. He said it was exercise.
Curious friends walked with him and noticed he kept staring at the distant villa. They teased him, asking if he thought the house was beautiful, but it was a shame they couldn’t live there and could never afford it in their lifetime.
Pei Jingchen stared blankly: “Is there any crying?”
His friend looked utterly confused. Pei Jingchen muttered to himself, “As long as there’s no crying.”
His friend declared he was possessed, completely baffled. He told him to stop staring longingly and dreaming. Even if someone gave him a free mansion to live in, they couldn’t afford the property management fees.
Pei Jingchen now lives in one, has bought one, and never misses a property fee payment.
Su Qingci knew his place and never asked, “Do you like me?”—that would be courting misery. But one day after Shuimu Fanghua, perhaps on a whim, perhaps after bottling it up too long, he asked: “Chenchen, if it hadn’t been me with you back then, but someone else… what would you have done?”
Pei Jingchen didn’t answer, and Su Qingci didn’t press further. Shuimu Fanghua remained a taboo between them—an unspoken understanding never to be revisited.
Pei Jingchen wondered: What would have happened? What could have happened? Men are creatures driven by their lower halves, especially when drugged. Su Qingci clearly understood this too, sparing himself the embarrassment. Why dwell on so many “what ifs”? What if it had been someone else instead of Su Qingci? What if Su Qingci had been more upright and not made him drink that cup of wine? What if they had never met, never known each other…
Pei Jingchen had fallen asleep leaning against the sofa when he saw Su Qingci. He knew he was dreaming.
Su Qingci’s face was shrouded in shadow, indistinct, but he recognized it as hers. Driven by the dream’s force, he rolled onto his back. In the dream, he felt unbearably uncomfortable and hot, a sensation of his mind being scrambled by drugs—utterly miserable yet strangely liberating, like unleashing a wild frenzy.
His thoughts grew chaotic, his heartbeat quickened, and his body grew increasingly restless. Su Qingci wasn’t the passive figure from his memories, waiting for him to make the first move. Instead, he threw himself into his arms, leaning toward him as if his body had lost all bones.
When the face emerged from the shadows, it wasn’t Su Qingci’s. It resembled Mu Yao, yet it wasn’t hers.
Pei Jingchen’s pupils suddenly contracted. His heart skipped a beat, his body instantly turning as cold as ice!
As he shoved Mu Yao away violently, Pei Jingchen jolted awake from the nightmare, drenched in cold sweat.
“Chenchen, if it hadn’t been me with you back then, but someone else… what would you have done?”
Pei Jingchen rubbed his face, ruffling his hair into a messy nest. He sat alone in the living room for a while, reaching for his phone to occupy himself with something—anything. But with nothing urgent to do, he found himself tapping into WeChat, clicking on the familiar profile picture, and then seeing that line: Su Qingci has enabled friend verification. You are not yet his/her friend…
Before he could react, Pei Jingchen had dialed Su Qingci’s number. He fumbled to hang up, his fingers hovering over the red button but never quite pressing it. Instead, the phone announced: The number you dialed is turned off.
Pei Jingchen sat in the living room for a long time before rising to go upstairs to the studio. He remembered Su Qingci had painted numerous portraits of him—the exact number impossible to estimate, but easily a hundred or two hundred paintings.
So many paintings, taking up considerable space. Yet after rummaging through everything for ages, Pei Jingchen couldn’t find a single one.
Not a single one.
Almost instinctively, Pei Jingchen pulled out his phone and dialed Su Qingci’s number again without thinking.
This time, it actually connected.
“Hello?”
Su Qingci hadn’t even glanced at the caller ID. His left hand held a palette, his right a paintbrush, with the phone on speaker beside him. He couldn’t care less who was calling—it was either Secretary Wang or Annelise.
“Whose call is it?” Vivian asked.
Su Qingci finished a fluid stroke before glancing down at the phone screen. The name “Pei” flashed briefly before the call interface reverted to the desktop.
Su Qingci froze, setting down his brush to check the call log. Indeed, it read “Pei Jingchen.”
Probably a wrong number.
Su Qingci paid it no mind, tossing the phone aside to avoid distracting his creative flow. When Vivian offered to let him handle any urgent matters and finish the painting another day, he simply told her to sit tight.
Seven hours later, Vivian in the Snow was born. As Su Qingci applied the final gloss, Vivian’s eyes brimmed with tears of excitement, her praise flowing freely.
Vivian insisted Su Qingci had worked hard. Seeing the obvious weariness in his expression, she invited him to stay for dinner: “I learned to make dumplings from a Chinese chef. Please, try them.”
Su Qingci should have declined, but his body was genuinely exhausted. He feared driving while fatigued might cause another accident—harming himself was one thing, but endangering others was another matter entirely. Staying to rest without eating dinner felt wrong too, so he joined her in sampling her culinary skills.
The dumplings looked quite presentable when wrapped, but in the pot they transformed into wontons, then into a soup of minced meat and noodle shreds. Vivian felt utterly humiliated, her face flushing crimson as she covered her forehead, declaring she was hopeless and suggesting they order takeout instead.
Su Qingci suddenly recalled how Pei Jingchen constantly reminded himself that “every grain is hard-earned.” He called Vivian over, sat down, and ate the minced meat and noodle soup she’d made with all her effort. Though its appearance was pitiful, the taste was surprisingly good. Vivian felt terribly ashamed, insisting this didn’t count and promising to treat Su Qingci to something proper next time.
Driving home, Su Qingci idly scrolled through his phone at a red light and spotted Vivian’s social media update.
A selfie showed Vivian holding a bowl of messy dumpling soup, captioned with self-deprecating humor: “First attempt at dumplings ended in disaster, but luckily my idol doesn’t mind [heart emoji].”
*
Pei Jingchen signed the documents and handed them to his assistant, asking, “The materials needed for the flight to South Korea the day after tomorrow…”
Assistant: “Rest assured, Mr. Pei. They’ve been prepared long ago.”
Pei Jingchen nodded and dismissed him. Three minutes later, the assistant returned, bringing him a cup of warm Fog Rain coffee.
Pei Jingchen paused, muttered a habitual thank you, and began sipping the coffee.
While sipping, he logged into his social media for the first time in ages. His feed was always bustling—with so many friends, he inevitably encountered chatterboxes.
Scrolling through, he noticed a Weibo post liked by CEO Li. The user, Vivian, was listed as Russian with an IP in Beijing.
In the selfie, Vivian dominated the frame, revealing only a sliver of the table behind her. A bowl sat on the table, its edge framing a pale, slender hand with distinct knuckles. That hand held a spoon, from which wispy steam rose like smoke or mist, creating an atmospheric vibe.
Without needing to read Vivian’s caption, Pei Jingchen could identify the hand’s owner as Su Qingci just by looking at it.
To be blunt, the most beautiful aspect of any profession or place is what it excels at. For instance, a star’s most beautiful feature is their face, a model’s is their figure, a businessman’s is their mind—and what captivates most about Su Qingci is the pair of hands that paint the “world.”
Pei Jingchen never judged beauty by outward appearance but by the essence within. To him, Su Qingci’s most beautiful feature was his hands—timeless and immortal. Even if one day Su Qingci grew old and frail, or was ravaged by illness until emaciated and gaunt, he would still be beautiful.
Of course, essence aside, Su Qingci’s hands were undeniably beautiful—embodying everyone’s fantasy of an artist’s hands. Pale and delicate, they bore no birthmarks, moles, or scars, like natural jade meticulously sculpted into a work of art.
Pei Jingchen suddenly realized that every time he slept with Su Qingci, he ended by kissing his fingers—it sounded like some kind of quirk.
After finishing the last sip of coffee, Pei Jingchen logged into Su Qingci’s account. Heis latest update was still about the New Year’s Day art exhibition.
He had called Su Qingci earlier that day, and the female voice he heard was indeed Vivian’s.
Su Qingci had painted portraits for others after all.
Su Qingci had clearly said she’d only paint him.
Pei Jingchen slammed down his coffee cup, stood up, grabbed his coat, and left.
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