By then, he too would be free.
One in heaven, one in hell—our paths diverged long ago. Why force what cannot be?
Looking back, it was all wrong. Everything was wrong.
“Qingci, what’s wrong?” Pei Jingchen grabbed Su Qingci’s wrist, his other hand fumbling for his phone in his pocket.
Su Qingci shook off his hand, his gaze mocking as she glanced at his phone. “You still believe that? You haven’t grown at all.”
He saw Pei Jingchen stiffen, a layer of icy coldness clouding his eyes.
Pei Jingchen didn’t stop dialing. “Go to the hospital.”
Su Qingci felt a flicker of panic and snatched the phone away. “I’m perfectly fine. Why go to the hospital?”
“Su Qingci.” Pei Jingchen’s voice dropped, taking on that oppressive tone he reserved for reprimanding errant employees.
Su Qingci raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been hitting Shuimu Fanghua a lot these past few days. Just drank too much, got a stomachache. No big deal.”
She emphasized the words “Shuimu Fanghua.” As expected, Pei Jingchen’s expression shifted dramatically. The rare concern that had flickered in his eyes earlier froze instantly, crystallizing into bone-chilling frost.
Su Qingci dropped his line and walked away, instinctively reaching for the painting before abruptly halting. She ultimately withdrew his hand.
“Forget it.” It sounded like she was dismissing the painting, yet it also carried the weight of something else.
Su Qingci tossed out one last sentence before walking away. He instinctively reached for the painting, then abruptly stopped, ultimately withdrawing his hand.
“Forget it.” It sounded like he was talking about the painting, yet it seemed to refer to something else entirely.
Pei Jingchen instinctively wanted to chase after him, but his phone suddenly rang. It was his assistant calling: “Mr. Pei, those Koreans are going back on their word!”
*
Su Qingci switched off his phone, cutting herself off from the world for seven days.
On the eighth day, security called the villa’s system, reporting a mixed-race woman named Annelise requesting an audience and asking for permission to grant her entry.
Ten minutes later, Annelise rang the doorbell. Su Qingci told her the door was left open. Annelise clicked her high heels “clack-clack-clack” all the way inside, muttering as she walked: “When did you move? My phone was off, so I had to come find you. No one was home, so I had no choice but to call Pei Jingchen. He’s still abroad—he was so hard to reach! Only after asking him did I find out you were staying here.”
Annalise tossed her leather handbag onto the sofa and plopped down. “What happened? Did you fight and separate?”
Su Qingci: “We broke up.”
“Huh?” Annalise blinked. “Oh.”
This sister of his had lived a colorful life, her romantic history stretching far beyond most. No exaggeration—she was the female version of a gangster boss, switching men more often than she changed her manicure. Nightclubs were her playground, where she’d hook up with anyone who caught her eye in the blink of an eye. To her, young people dating, breaking up, and getting back together was nothing special—hardly worth mentioning.
Moreover, Su Qingci and Annelise had collaborated for years, but Su Qingci was adept at guarding her privacy, and Pei Jingchen wasn’t the type to blab about everyone he met. So Annelise knew little about the tangled web of their past.
“Any new pieces?” Annelise’s eyes lit up with eager anticipation.
Su Qingci told her to go see for herself in the studio. Annelise dashed off eagerly, her excitement palpable. Seconds later, a high-pitched squeal from the Sino-French girl echoed through the studio. A minute later, she emerged, arms flailing, nearly tripping over her own excitement.
“Are you painting ‘The Lavender’? That’s amazing! Absolutely amazing!”
“The Lavender” was a piece Su Qingci had been working on since he was fourteen, and it remained unfinished to this day.
Slow and steady wins the race. Annelise was both impatient and not impatient, but she often asked him how much longer it would take. Monet spent thirty years painting his “Water Lilies”—did he plan to challenge himself to forty?
“Half a year,” Su Qingci said, holding his hot cocoa. “Half a year at most.”
Annalise froze. Every time she asked, Su Qingci had given her a sentence of indefinite imprisonment. This time, it was suddenly finite—just half a year, six months.
This meant that in just over 180 days, the masterpiece Lavender, destined to shock the art world, would be unveiled!
Annalise’s hair quivered with excitement as she beamed, “Thank you for your hard work, Teacher Su. Master Su, remember to balance work and rest—don’t overdo it.”
Su Qingci glanced at her. “From now on, I won’t paint anything else. Only ‘Perfume Robe’.”
Annalise laughed. “I understand, I understand. Trust my judgment and trust your talent. This painting will become your masterpiece, immortalized for all time.”
Su Qingci smiled faintly.
That fleeting smile etched itself into Annelise’s eyes, unexpectedly carrying a heart-stopping sense of shattering. Annelise felt inexplicably flustered and couldn’t help but call out to him.
Su Qingci turned his head and asked her what was wrong.
Annelise’s lips trembled, hesitating to speak. What’s wrong? There was a kind of fireworks-like intensity—a desperate, blinding brilliance that seemed to consume its very life force, followed by a profound, lingering melancholy.
Annalise didn’t know how to articulate it, so she tentatively ventured a playful tone: “It’s like trying to leave something behind with all your might before life ends.”
Su Qingci’s heart fluttered. Wealth is easy to come by, but a true soulmate is rare. That’s why he could collaborate with Annelise for so many years—in art, she understood him through his work.
“Annelise.” Su Qingci lowered his eyelashes, his voice elegant and gentle. “Thank you for these years. Truly.”
Annalise shuddered. “Don’t, don’t do that. It scares me. Qingci, don’t let heartbreak over a breakup make you…”
“What are you thinking? Care for a cup?” Su Qingci cut her off with a smile, offering her some hot cocoa. He’d been obsessed with it lately.
The sugar kick lifted her spirits, but Annelise still sensed something off about Su Qingci.
Why? Oh right—because Teacher Su was being too gentle. So gentle it wasn’t like him at all. He should be snapping at the world, sniping at thin air. He should be spewing sarcasm and barbs, unleashing his twisted, dark personality!
Annalise realized it: she just wasn’t used to not being snapped at by Su Qingci for a single day.
Was she really asking for it?
Annalise: “Fine, I admit it. I just like it when you don’t give me the time of day.”
Su Qingci: “…”
*
Annalise asked him how many days he hadn’t left the house and suggested he go out to soak up some sun, looking like a vampire. Then she handed him two tickets to an art exhibition.
Su Qingci initially didn’t want to go, but upon learning a certain master’s work would be featured, he couldn’t resist and visited on Sunday.
Before heading out, he stopped by the hospital to get his targeted medication refilled. At least until he finished painting Incense, he had to take his medicine on time and actively pursue treatment to ensure he could complete this final work.
The gallery bustled with visitors. The master’s paintings were indeed masterpieces, and Su Qingci feasted his eyes. Some connoisseurs lingered before the works, critiquing them, while others—obviously untrained—declared, “What the hell is this? I don’t get it. It’s more Picasso than Picasso!”
The voice sounded familiar. Su Qingci glanced over. Damn it, he wished he hadn’t looked.
Chen Cancan sneered, “Is that even a human face? Why so distorted? Who looks like that? I don’t get how kindergarten-level stuff becomes ‘masterpieces’!”
“What do you know? This depicts the struggles of society’s underclass, showing the helplessness and pain of us corporate drones. It’s got real Picasso flair—truly beautiful.” ” Fortunately, his friend saved Su Qingci’s mammary glands—yes, men have mammary glands too.
The friend grumbled, “I shouldn’t have dragged you to this art show. You have zero taste. Shut up already, you’re embarrassing me.”
Chen Cancan rolled her eyes at her bestie: “I shouldn’t have come with you to this stupid art show. The only decent piece was that Stone Bridge painting—it felt real.”
Friend: “Of course realism is real! These are masterpieces, seriously impressive. I prefer Impressionism though—Su Qingci’s work is my favorite. That brushwork, that atmosphere… absolutely mind-blowing.”
At the mention of that name, Chen Cancan froze, then let out a cold snort through her nostrils. She turned her head by chance and locked eyes with Su Qingci himself, standing three meters away.
“Holy shit!” Chen Cancan gasped in shock. Her friend asked what was wrong, but she said nothing.
Su Qingci made no fuss either. After viewing the paintings, he left. As he exited the museum, he spotted Chen Cancan waiting by the greenery outside. His friend had vanished—likely gone already.
Su Qingci ignored him and walked straight past. Chen Cancan called out, “Hey!”
Su Qingci: “My name isn’t ‘Hey’.”
“…” Chen Cancan’s face turned cold as she followed him, blocking Su Qingci’s path. She tried to adopt a condescending, superior stance, but her height fell far short of Su Qingci’s, making her look rather feeble. “Stop bothering my brother, got it?”
After Pei Jingchen’s parents divorced, his mother, Ms. Fang, sought a second chance at love. She soon became pregnant and gave birth to Chen Cancan, Pei Jingchen’s half-brother from the same mother but different father.
Pei Jingchen didn’t have a good relationship with Ms. Fang, but he got along well with Chen Cancan. Chen Cancan idolized his older brother and had clung to him since childhood.
So yeah, he was another target of Chen Cancan’s jealousy back then. Even though he was her own brother, even though their bond was purely familial, jealousy still flared. If a mother-in-law can resent her daughter-in-law for stealing her son, then hating Chen Cancan for having Pei Jingchen as a brother is understandable, right?
Su Qingci’s impression of Chen Cancan could be summed up in four words: dumb and mean.
About five years ago, when Chen Cancan was still in middle school, she teamed up with some street punks to ambush Su Qingci with a sack over his head, all to get back at Pei Jingchen.
The foolish little brother likely didn’t know that the sons of wealthy families always had bodyguards when they went out—retired special forces soldiers, no less. Those punks got beaten to a pulp. Before they could even be tortured, they spilled everything about Chen Cancan.
Of course Su Qingci complained to Pei Jingchen, and he wasn’t about to let it go. With a mischievous grin, he deliberately let one of the punks hit him, then lifted his bruised knee for Pei Jingchen to see: “I almost got crippled. Will you support me for the rest of my life?”
Since he was her real brother, cleaning up his mess was only fair, right? Su Qingci feigned a limp from his injury, demanding Pei Jingchen carry him around with righteous indignation. Then he took photos and sent them to Chen Cancan in detention.
Hah, just wait till you see this!
Chen Cancan was young and inexperienced, just a high schooler. Su Qingci didn’t take the kid seriously.
He walked around Chen Cancan to the car, opened the door, and got in. Chen Cancan chased after him relentlessly, clinging to the window and shouting, “Stay away from my brother!”
Su Qingci sneered coldly, “Is that a threat or a plea?”
Chen Cancan’s face flushed crimson with rage. Su Qingci felt a rush of satisfaction as she started the engine. Just then, Chen Cancan, overcome with fury, dashed around to the passenger side, yanked open the door, and slid right in.
Su Qingci: “Get out!”
Chen Cancan: “You sick psychopath! You forced my brother, tormented him, made him live in hell, worse than death itself! Don’t you fear karma?”
Su Qingci’s body trembled. The words he’d been about to speak caught in his throat, like a knife slicing through his windpipe.
Hell on earth, worse than death?
Had these years with Pei Jingchen been worse than death?
Su Qingci swallowed his words, staring at the windshield ahead. “I broke up with Pei Jingchen.”
Chen Cancan froze, taking a long moment to confirm she hadn’t misheard. “You’re the type to let go?” she asked incredulously.
Su Qingci snapped impatiently, “Believe it or not, get out!”
Chen Cancan, stung and angry, retorted, “Who asked to ride in your car? My brother isn’t—”
Her lower back ached sharply. Chen Cancan reached back to touch it—a bag of medicine.
Before she could get a clear look, Su Qingci snatched it away and flung it back onto the rear seat.
Chen Cancan was bewildered. “Are you sick?”
Su Qingci replied expressionlessly, “Didn’t you curse me daily, wishing retribution and a miserable death? As you wished—idiopathic pulmonary hypertension.”
Chen Cancan froze, unable to process it. Is this real? she thought. True, I do hate you, but I only cursed you occasionally—not every single day.
Su Qingci’s frame was gaunt. The veins on the back of his hand, clenched tightly around the steering wheel, stood out starkly, making the sight all the more harrowing. His face was pale, his expression weak. His thick, slightly trembling eyelashes accentuated his gaunt, exhausted appearance. He truly looked ill.
Before Chen Cancan could ask more, Su Qingci barked, “Get out.”
“Why are you being so mean?!” Chen Cancan slammed the door and got out. After walking a distance, she couldn’t help but look back. Su Qingci sat in the car, one hand covering his mouth and nose as he coughed violently. The force shook his thin shoulders.
Chen Cancan watched, transfixed, until a large truck pulled up at the red light, blocking her view. By the time the light turned green and the truck moved on, Su Qingci was gone.
Chen Cancan felt uneasy. She pulled out her phone and, as if compelled, dialed a number: ” Bro. It’s me. Nothing big, yeah, I finished that homework ages ago! There’s something… Bro, did you know Su Qingci is sick?”
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