Two handsome young men approached Zhang Haonan in succession, only to be coldly dismissed by him.
His friends knew what troubled him—apparently, several projects he was handling hit snags at the last minute. His father berated him, pointing his finger at Zhang Haonan’s nose and yelling, “What the hell are you doing?” He was scolded for nearly two hours in front of several company executives. The once-glorious Young Master Zhang was utterly humiliated. For days, he drowned himself in the Waterwood Splendor bar, refusing company, Drinking alone, he’d slur drunken threats to grab a knife and storm Lingyue to settle scores with Pei Jingchen.
Zhang Haonan’s projects had been snatched away by Pei Jingchen, who’d “broken the rules of the underworld.”
In business, making money is all that matters—what rules of the underworld? Projects being poached or intercepted is commonplace.
But some outsiders genuinely couldn’t fathom what Zhang’s company had done to offend Lingyue. Why was it being targeted by Pei Jingchen, renowned in the industry as an “honest, upright businessman”? If the project had been a big deal, fine. But it was just a minor venture—barely worth Ling Yue’s attention. Was it really worth fighting over?
Besides the Zhang family offending him, no other reasonable explanation came to mind.
A friend nudged the drunken Zhang Haonan: “On the charity auction day, didn’t you hit on Su Qingci?”
Zhang Haonan jolted upright: “What?!”
When someone asked what was going on, Min Gongzi—whose uncle worked at the news agency—said: “You don’t know? How long have Pei Jingchen and Su Qingci been together? You playboys only have one thing on your minds—the size of pretty boys’ lower halves, right?”
“With Su Qingci? Holy shit, someone actually loves a freak like Su Qingci?”
“Love my ass. Rumor has it Su Qingci donated blood to Pei Jingchen, and now he’s repaying the favor.”
“I haven’t met him in person, but I’ve seen his photos. Pretty handsome and elegant, got that distinct artist vibe.”
Min burst out laughing, hooking his arm around his innocent friend’s shoulder. “Got fooled by his looks and aura again, huh? Artists aren’t automatically elegant. His dad’s a university professor—highly educated, right? Sounds impressive, but he’s a beast in human form, a domestic abuser. You’d be shocked if I told you the details.”
The others immediately chimed in with questions.
Su Ge was handsome, refined, and aristocratic. Brilliant, he graduated from a prestigious overseas university with an impressive academic background, becoming a professor before turning thirty. Crucially, he never carried the arrogance of an academic genius nor felt superior due to his distinguished family background. Gentle and easygoing, approachable and smiling at everyone, he was famously humble and polite—a model gentleman.
Later, he met zither virtuoso Jiang Seru and fell in love at first sight. Their early marriage shattered the dreams of countless young women. Then, he died suddenly of cardiac arrest. The university mourned deeply, and the business community lamented his loss.
Any dirt? Spill it!
Min Gongzi, also drunk, blurted out: “There’s a saying: You can’t judge a book by its cover! He was twisted inside, a paranoid psychopath. He constantly suspected his wife of cheating, so he abused her, beat her, stalked her, spied on her, installed hidden cameras and stuff like that. He drove her insane. In the end, she hacked him to death with a knife.” Hey, there’s this TV drama—the male lead is called An Jiahe. Pretty much the same story.”
Everyone stared in shock, the description alone sending chills down their spines.
“What kind of son could such a controlling man possibly raise?
See what Su Qingci did to Pei Jingchen—scheming, manipulating, using both carrot and stick. Rumor has it he even did ‘check-ins’—demanding to know who Pei Jingchen was with, throwing fits if he came home late, and forbidding him from seeing anyone. Look at what Su Qingci did to Pei Jingchen—manipulating him, using both soft and hard tactics. I heard he even checked up on him, demanding to know who he was with and throwing fits if he came home late. He wouldn’t let him have friends, forcing him to be with him all the time. Ha! Another lunatic. What’s that saying again? Oh yeah—like father, like son!”
SMASH!
The wine bottle crashed violently to the floor, shattering into pieces. Crimson liquid spilled everywhere like scalding blood.
Everyone froze and turned around. Young Master Min sobered up halfway instantly—Su Qingci?!
Gossiping behind someone’s back is one thing, but hearing it from the person themselves is another story. Faces paled as they scrambled backward. His mother was a psychopath who’d stabbed her husband over a hundred times. His father was a psychopath who deserved to die. Their son, now holding the broken half of the bottle, radiated pure malice as he strode toward Min Gongzi with murderous intent.
Young Master Min nearly scared himself to death: “Su Qingci, don’t you dare…”
The wine bottle was tossed aside as Su Qingci swung his fist, smashing it into Young Master Min’s face!
“Ah!”
Min Ying screamed like a slaughtered pig. Though his opponent was lean and frail, fighting bare-handed, Min Ying dared to retaliate. But before he could land a single punch, he was pinned to the ground and pummeled with ten consecutive blows.
Chaos erupted throughout the hall. The manager rushed over to break up the fight, while Min Ying’s friends scrambled to distance themselves, none wanting to get caught in the crossfire.
Su Qingci’s fists fell like a storm, beating Min mercilessly. He knew how utterly disfigured he must look right now. To everyone else, he resembled a rabid dog—a combination of a lunatic and a psychopath.
The phrase he hated and feared most in his life was: Like father, like son!
That bastard Min dared to compare him to Su Ge?!
“Stop it! Stop it!” The manager had expected to need all his strength to pull Su Qingci away, but to his surprise, he came loose with a single tug—far weaker than he’d imagined.
Zhang Haonan suddenly screamed, “Blood! Call the police—no, an ambulance!”
Caught off guard, the manager watched helplessly as Su Qingci hunched over, coughing violently and spitting out mouthfuls of blood!
Min Gongzi froze in shock. He thought to himself, I only pushed back but didn’t even hit Su Qingci. What’s going on? Is this a staged accident?
Su Qingci pushed them away and retreated into the restroom. The door rattled as the manager pounded on it, his cries laced with tears. Su Qingci replied, “I’m fine,” his voice flat and emotionless. He cupped his hands under the tap and rinsed his mouth.
Only after calming down did he realize impulse was the devil. But he hated that phrase—Su Ge was Su Ge. Even if he was his biological father, it didn’t mean he’d inherit his demonic blood.
He also feared that phrase, especially if someone said it in front of Pei Jingchen.
Su Qingci clenched his fists.
No, he wasn’t a control freak. While possessive, he maintained boundaries and never crossed the line.
He wasn’t a psychopath. He’d never dream of turning Pei Jingchen into a puppet. He was different. He wasn’t Su Ge! He hated Su Ge, wished him to rot in hell for eternity! He would never, ever become someone like Su Ge. Absolutely never!
The ambulance arrived quickly, taking away the clean and unblemished Su Qingci alongside the badly beaten Min Gongzi.
Su Qingci had cleaned himself up in the bathroom and had stopped vomiting blood. Compared to Min Gongzi, whose face was swollen like a pig’s head, Su Qingci looked far less terrible.
At the hospital emergency room, Su Qingci sat on the bed and declared, “I’m fine. I can leave now.”
The doctor insisted that vomiting blood couldn’t be ignored—gastrointestinal bleeding was serious. Su Qingci sighed helplessly, “I have idiopathic pulmonary arterial hypertension.”
The doctor’s eyes widened instantly. Now he absolutely forbade Su Qingci from wandering off. Tests and examinations dragged on from evening until dawn. Staring at the results, the doctor nearly exploded with rage: “You’re this sick and you still push yourself? Don’t you want to die faster?!”
The doctor’s words were harsh, but Su Qingci didn’t dislike him. He politely and patiently declined hospitalization.
The doctor nearly spat fire, scolding Su Qingci fiercely until he was reduced to a trembling mess. Su Qingci merely smiled: “Do I need to sign a refusal of treatment form? Where do I sign? Lend me a pen.”
In high society circles, brawling was the lowest form of entertainment. Everyone tacitly agreed not to involve the police, settling disputes privately. Thus, Su Qingci faced no trouble. Besides, Zhang Haonan had only superficial injuries. Moreover, Zhang Haonan felt guilty and feared Su Qingci might turn the tables and sue him for compensation. He preferred to swallow his pride, keep his distance, and avoid provoking someone he couldn’t handle.
Su Qingci was kept under observation for a day. The bed to his left held a young girl who’d overdosed after a breakup. After having her stomach pumped, she cried incessantly. Her parents, both angry and heartbroken, scolded her while one watched her IV drip and the other tucked her in. On the right lay a young man with a broken leg, grinning broadly despite his heavy cast. His friend joked, “See what happens when you show off? Joy turns to sorrow now.”
A nurse passing by asked suspiciously, “Where’s your caregiver?”
Su Qingci replied, “I don’t have one.”
Nurse: “Parents, grandparents, friends, coworkers, significant other—how could you be alone in the ER?”
Su Qingci: “None of them.”
“…” The nurse walked away speechless.
Su Qingci turned off the bedside lamp and lay down.
He dreamed he was at an easel, sitting on someone’s lap.
He instinctively turned his head to see Su Ge wearing a white shirt and a dark V-neck sweater. From his angle, he could see Su Ge’s clean-shaven chin, not a trace of stubble. Jiang Seru had remarked more than once that his skin was flawless, like the jade scepter used by the Imperial Consort.
“Xiao Ci, you’re such a talented artist.” ” Father’s lips landed on his forehead, wet and soft.
He blinked, about to speak, when suddenly Suge’s expression darkened. He grabbed Jiang Seru’s arm and threw him hard onto the floor. “Bastard!”
“That delivery guy has come to our house three times. Is he your real father?”
“Your mother exchanged a few words with the neighborhood security chief today. Are they having an affair? Tell Daddy, and I’ll reward you.”
“Did your mother hit you again? She hates you and despises you. Since that’s the case, just disappear! I love your mother. No one in this world can make her cry—not even my own son.”
His throat was clamped in a chokehold. The man’s towering frame blocked out the sky, his face contorted like a deep-sea vortex devouring everything.
Su Qingci jolted awake, the suffocating despair from the dream spilling into reality, his body trembling uncontrollably.
Like a fish flung ashore by waves, he thrashed desperately, repeatedly slapping his own body as he stumbled toward the water—Su Qingci instinctively reached for his phone, just as he had every night for the past three years when Pei Jingchen stayed out all night, “checking up” on him!
Just before dialing, Su Qingci snapped back to clarity.
He used to have nightmares every night, but after meeting Pei Jingchen, the frequency decreased. After falling in love and moving in with Pei Jingchen, he hardly had any nightmares at all.
Even if he occasionally had one, he wasn’t afraid, because he knew his salvation was right beside him.
Su Qingci lay back on his pillow, the bone-chilling cold making his teeth chatter.
They’d broken up. He could no longer call Pei Jingchen out of fear.
Su Qingci stared at the name “Pei Jingchen” in his contacts, pressing the phone against his chest.
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