As the New Year approached, the capital—the center of political and cultural life—grew desolate and quiet.
Passing by Wulin Café, Su Qingci was called over by Wu Lü, who happened to be taking out the trash. He decided to go in for a drink, settling on a steaming hot cocoa.
Wu Lü emerged with a paper bag and handed it to Su Qingci. ” “Since you’re here, could you return this to Xiao Chen for me? I’d hate to make the trip—it’s too far!”
Wu Lu explained he’d borrowed it from Pei Jingchen for a matchmaking event. Su Qingci followed up by asking how the mixer went. Wu Lu scratched his head in frustration: “I saw this cute girl and just went for it. Bowed first, then politely introduced myself. Then she said one thing to me.”
Su Qingci: “Huh?”
Wu Lü: “I’m not a lesbian.”
“…” Su Qingci couldn’t hold it in and burst out laughing on the spot.
Wu Lü chuckled along, shrugging his shoulders: “Total failure.”
Su Qingci encouraged him to try again next time. Wu Lü sincerely replied, “Bro, you look even better when you smile. Like an angel.”
Su Qingci froze, nearly scalding his fingers with the splashed hot cocoa.
Wu Lü: “What’s wrong?”
Su Qingci replied, “You’re a year older than me, right?”
Only then did Wu Lü catch on, feeling rather embarrassed. How to put it? It was all because Su Qingci had such a high social standing and such a powerful presence that calling him “brother” just came naturally.
Wu Lü asked, “We’re friends now, right?”
Su Qingci froze again, nearly scalding himself a second time. After a three-second silence, he replied, “No.”
When it was time to leave, Wu Lü walked him to the door, waving cheerfully as he said, “Come back soon, Su Su!”
Su Qingci nearly tripped over the curb.
The suit meant for delivery sat in the passenger seat for three days before Su Qingci remembered it.
He recalled Pei Jingchen specifically informing him earlier that he’d be traveling to South Korea for exclusive game licensing rights, requiring at least a fortnight away. By the timeline, he should still be there.
Which meant that if he went to deliver the clothes now, he wouldn’t run into Pei Jingchen, who was nine hundred kilometers away.
Deliver the clothes, and while he was at it, move the painting studio out of the second floor so it wouldn’t occupy someone else’s space. Plus, the door key he’d kept forgetting about but finally remembered.
Driving down the familiar road, Su Qingci turned off the overly helpful GPS navigation and nearly took a wrong turn—toward the roast duck restaurant Pei Jingchen loved.
As Su Qingci stepped out of the elevator, he took a deep breath and then chuckled at himself. Why was he so nervous? He wasn’t going to run into Pei Jingchen anyway. And he certainly didn’t need to worry about any door-opening surprises—no melodramatic clichés like finding a pair of red high heels by the entryway.
Su Qingci knew Pei Jingchen’s “loyalty” to him. During their three years living together, he’d never been ambiguous with anyone, much less strayed.
Pei Jingchen had emotional purity—focused and devoted. Even after their breakup, he wouldn’t rush into a new relationship. Not only was he too busy with work to even eat, leaving no energy for casual flings, but his private life was spotless—so pure that their first kiss belonged solely to each other.
Opening the door revealed neither surprise nor shock.
Regular cleaners maintained the spotless apartment; every item remained exactly where it had been. Su Qingci instinctively reached for the shoe cabinet, then remembered they were broken up—Pei Jingchen had probably tossed his slippers long ago. But glancing down, he saw his own dark brown slippers sitting right beside Pei Jingchen’s latte-colored pair, the two shoes pressed together.
Su Qingci changed his shoes.
Many items in the room remained exactly where he’d left them, creating an illusion that he’d never departed—as if he’d merely stepped out briefly to grab a bite or take out the trash. After a moment of dazed contemplation, Su Qingci tossed his suit onto the sofa and headed straight upstairs.
Opening the door to the studio, it remained unchanged from before he left, yet an inexplicable sense of dissonance lingered. Su Qingci couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It felt like a territorial cat sensing an unfamiliar intrusion into its domain.
Shaking his head, Su Qingci walked over to organize his art supplies.
He’d originally thought these things weren’t worth taking—he could just buy new ones. But the easel had been used for many years, and Su Qingci was sentimental; he didn’t want to replace it. As for the works on the floor, he didn’t particularly care for most of them, but a few paintings were pieces he was quite satisfied with. He intended to take them, so he lifted the white cloth covering them—only to be startled by the upside-down painting.
He pursued perfection and had mild OCD—paintings had to be displayed upright. Yet this seascape oil painting hung upside down. It certainly hadn’t flipped itself, and the cleaning staff never ventured upstairs.
Su Qingci pulled back all the white cloths. The positions matched exactly how he’d arranged them, except some paintings hung upright, some sideways, and some upside down. The culprit had tried to restore the scene after the crime, but the execution was sloppy and messy.
Su Qingci sighed helplessly. Forget it. Pei Jingchen’s mind was filled with code; he had no interest in paintings or calligraphy. It wasn’t so much that he was searching for the paintings as it was that he’d acquired a hamster and was moving these cumbersome paintings around in pursuit of the rodent hiding in some nook or cranny.
Su Qingci carried a painting downstairs when suddenly, the living room door lock beeped. As the door swung open, he was caught off guard, locking eyes with Pei Jingchen standing just over three feet away.
The air fell silent.
Su Qingci felt a wave of shame, like someone who’d declared a breakup with such bravado only to sneak back and get caught red-handed.
He wasn’t—he didn’t—he was wronged. He had to explain: “I came back for something.”
Pei Jingchen slipped off his suit jacket, uttering a faint “Hmm” that might as well have been silent. Su Qingci sensed his disbelief, imagining the mockery echoing in his mind. But it didn’t matter. In Pei Jingchen’s eyes, he’d always been nothing but a clown—a pathetic fool, deluded and ugly.
The room was too quiet, making Su Qingci uncomfortable. He broke the silence: “Back from your business trip?”
This time, Pei Jingchen’s “Mhm” was unmistakable.
“Back early?” Su Qingci asked the obvious. Pei Jingchen replied, “Everything went smoothly. We’ll finalize the contract before the New Year.”
“Congratulations.” Su Qingci genuinely felt happy for him. No wonder he looked so relaxed today, his eyes and brows brimming with joy.
“Will you be spending the New Year in the capital?” Su Qingci asked, then answered his own question, “That’s wonderful.”
Pei Jingchen glanced at the painting Su Qingci held—an interior scene depicting the living room through the front door. Su Qingci had said he loved watching him leave early and return late, the door opening as he went to work and closing again when he came home.
Pei Jingchen asked, “What do you mean?”
Su Qingci looked at him suspiciously and countered, “What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’?”
Pei Jingchen paused for a few seconds before saying, “Are you leaving?”
“Yeah. Here, take this back.” Su Qingci placed the house key on the coffee table. “I’ve packed up all my art supplies. The next time the cleaning staff comes, they can just throw them away. As for the paintings, you can handle them however you like—throw them out, burn them, whatever works.”
Su Qingci caught a fleeting flicker in Pei Jingchen’s eyes before it vanished. He couldn’t read what was going through his mind—was he silently accusing him of playing games?
Su Qingci hesitated whether to reiterate his resolve to break up. But he’d already said it countless times—his sincerity was clear. If Pei Jingchen still didn’t believe him, there was nothing more he could do. He didn’t blame Pei Jingchen’s stubbornness either, for in Pei Jingchen’s mind, the notion that Su Qingci was playing hard to get had become deeply ingrained.
Pei Jingchen learned his lesson the hard way and refused to fall into the same trap twice.
The last time Su Qingci had said goodbye was after they started dating but before moving in together. Su Qingci had attended Pei Jingchen’s university graduation ceremony. On stage, Pei Jingchen wore a crisp white suit, his nimble fingers dancing expertly across the black and white keys. The gentle, noble piano prince captivated the entire audience, leaving them spellbound.
Su Qingci, however, felt like he was sitting on pins and needles. His fingers dug into his thigh so hard that when he rolled up his pant leg later, his skin had turned blue and purple.
Piano playing—that was taught by Mu Yao.
At such a solemn occasion as graduation, on such a meaningful day, what else couldn’t Pei Jingchen have performed? Even a fast-paced rap, even smashing stones with his chest. Yet he chose to play the piano, as if paying tribute to Mu Yao, flirting across the Pacific with him far away overseas!
Su Qingci seethed with jealousy. Mu Yao had been his classmate for three years of high school, sharing every moment. Even if nothing had ever happened between them, even if Mu Yao had pursued Pei Jingchen from start to finish, it didn’t stop a thorn from lodging in his heart, making him so irritated he couldn’t swallow his food. Pei Jingchen’s actions felt like a direct response to Mu Yao’s unrequited love. Su Qingci’s jealousy boiled over, and that very night, he erupted in a heated argument with Pei Jingchen.
Fury clouded his judgment, and he blurted out the bombshell about Shuimu Fanghua. Seeing Pei Jingchen’s face finally change, he thought his tactic had worked and they were about to have a huge fight. But to his surprise, Pei Jingchen only gave a cold laugh and said nothing.
Su Qingci, enraged, blurted out, “Then let’s break up.”
It was a rash, impulsive threat, and he regretted it the moment the words left his mouth. Yet he stubbornly kept his head high, watching Pei Jingchen’s reaction, hoping to catch a flicker of panic or reluctance in his eyes.
But he was disappointed. All he saw was surprise at being dumped. Nothing else.
He vanished for two days, like a girl sulking back to her parents’ house, hoping her soft-hearted boyfriend would come pick him up.
But he was disappointed again.
Two days later, Su Qingci sought out Pei Jingchen himself. It was humiliating, but who could blame him? He was the one who loved deeper! He’d come to terms with the reality: he was the one clinging to Pei Jingchen, using the threat of breaking up to his advantage. Only if Pei Jingchen’s brain had been pickled in formaldehyde would he try to hold on!
It didn’t matter if he didn’t try to keep him—as long as he didn’t let go.
He said, “Breaking up is impossible. I’m going to haunt you forever.”
Pei Jingchen stared at him, his chiseled jawline a cold, hard line. A frozen emotion lingered in his expression, like a trapped beast.
After that, they moved in together—Su Qingci had suggested it, and Pei Jingchen hadn’t objected. He simply had no right to object.
With that precedent, how could Pei Jingchen fall for it again? Su Qingci had also vowed to haunt him forever. He’d said it with such passion, though his face wore a playful smile, his heart nearly drowned in tears.
Looking back now, those words sounded eerily unsettling, like the relentless haunting of a vengeful spirit. No wonder they left a psychological scar on Pei Jingchen.
No further explanation was needed. To Pei Jingchen, nothing Su Qingci said was trustworthy.
Pei Jingchen picked up the keys from the coffee table without a word. Su Qingci reminded him, “Remember to delete the registered fingerprints.”
Pei Jingchen paused, lifting his eyes to meet Su Qingci’s. “Is that really necessary?”
Su Qingci’s heart tightened. Sure enough, Pei Jingchen was thinking exactly what he’d always thought: Su Qingci was putting on a tough front about breaking up, and while it was admirable he’d lasted this long, it was only a matter of time—three months at most—before he’d be begging to get back together.
All this coming back for paintings, delivering clothes, returning keys—it was all just a show. Deleting fingerprints? Was that really necessary? When he came back, wouldn’t he just have to re-register them anyway?
Su Qingci suddenly felt utterly powerless—his pride and over a decade of deep affection trampled underfoot, discarded with utter contempt.
All his anguish, his heart-wrenching struggle to let go, his constant fear of losing what he cherished—to Pei Jingchen, it was worthless. It seemed like nothing more than him making a fuss over nothing, suffering self-inflicted pain.
Yes, self-inflicted suffering. They had never been on the same wavelength from the start—how could he expect “equality” or “empathy”? Though love couldn’t be forced, and not loving meant not loving, Su Qingci felt unbearably miserable, exhausted like never before.
Su Qingci finally understood what Pei Jingchen meant when he came looking for him that snowy night.
It wasn’t about jealousy at all.
It was more like, “Have you had enough of this?” and “Painting Vivian’s portrait is just another new trick to make me jealous, isn’t it?”
Su Qingci let out a bitter laugh. He was so tired, utterly exhausted, his eyes heavy with fatigue. Staring at Pei Jingchen’s face—so gentle and patient with everyone else, yet icy cold toward him alone—Su Qingci felt even more drained.
Had he been living in constant fear? Had he never known a single day of sweetness or happiness with him? Su Qingci desperately wanted to shake his shoulders and ask, Not even one day?
The intense heartache tore at Su Qingci’s chest like a knife, unbearable. He clutched his chest, unable to endure it. To his surprise, Pei Jingchen moved, reaching out a hand to support him as he asked something.
Su Qingci hadn’t heard clearly, nor did he care to listen anymore. How strange—his concern for Pei Jingchen seemed to matter little now. The thing he’d once longed for so desperately felt hollow, like quicksand slipping through his fingers, vanishing bit by bit into the wind.
He had naively believed he could bring Pei Jingchen happiness and joy. He thought that if he persisted relentlessly, showering him with his fervent passion and overflowing love—pouring it out in generous handfuls—one day, he would surely win him over.
Su Qingci shook his head, filled with sorrow and self-mockery.
Looking at Pei Jingchen again, he was still the same person, yet somehow different.
He remained his sunflower, his salvation, his earthly warmth—yet he no longer lingered.
Sealing his heart, locking away love—it seemed to happen in an instant.
“Pei Jingchen,” Su Qingci said, “You needn’t fear. I have no hidden plans.”
Su Qingci broke free from Pei Jingchen’s support, stumbled back two steps, and leaned against the wall. “Don’t worry. Time will prove everything. At most a year—no, perhaps half a year will suffice.”
“Just endure another half year. After that, you’ll be completely free of me.”
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