When Su Qingci woke up early, he saw Wu Lü wishing him a Happy New Year on WeChat.
Only then did Su Qingci realize today was New Year’s Eve.
The New Year signified family reunions—four words that held no meaning for Su Qingci. That’s why he hated the holiday. On this day when every household gathered in harmony, his solitary existence felt excruciatingly lonely.
Before adulthood, he always spent New Year’s Eve at his ancestral home with his grandfather—a situation he’d have preferred to endure alone! After coming of age, he finally got his wish to celebrate by himself. To avoid the glare of countless festive lights back home, he’d travel abroad days in advance, staying until the seventh or eighth day of the Lunar New Year when the festive atmosphere had completely faded before returning.
Even after moving in with Pei Jingchen, Su Qingci maintained this habit—though admittedly, it was out of necessity.
Pei Jingchen’s mother, Mrs. Fang, had built a new life with her new family. But his father, Pei Haiyang, had lived alone since the divorce. While ordinary holidays could be overlooked, it felt wrong to leave an elderly man all alone during the New Year.
The Spring Festival held special significance for every Chinese person. Though Su Qingci prided himself on being willful and self-centered, he found it difficult to selfishly monopolize Pei Jingchen during this time.
It was fine to monopolize him on New Year’s Eve, but during the Spring Festival, it was better to return him to his family.
Though Pei Haiyang had invited him to join them, Su Qingci declined every time. How to put it? In front of Pei Haiyang, the self-assured young master Su always felt a tinge of self-loathing. Strangely enough, he could be thick-skinned with Pei Jingchen, yet couldn’t meet Pei Haiyang’s warm smile without flinching.
Using his kindness to force your son to love me, even going so far as to drug your son—though Pei Haiyang never knew about the drugs—Su Qingci, guilty conscience gnawing at him, still felt utterly ashamed in front of this uncle who’d done him a favor.
Thus he rarely visited the bakery, deliberately avoiding Pei Haiyang. Besides, after tethering Pei Jingchen day and night, shouldn’t he grant him a “holiday break” to savor freedom without Su Qingci hovering? Following him during the New Year festivities—how annoying and tiresome!
Su Qingci turned on the morning news as background noise. This year, his health wouldn’t let him escape overseas, and it had been years since he’d spent the New Year in China.
The doctor forbade him from drinking coffee, which stimulates the sympathetic nervous system and increases heart rate. Instead, Su Qingci carried his recent obsession—hot cocoa—into the studio. After two hours of painting, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID: Secretary Wang. Ignored.
Two minutes later, it rang again. Su Qingci still ignored it. Another five minutes passed before Su Baidong called personally.
Su Qingci mused that since falling ill, his outlook had improved and his temper had mellowed. In the past, if someone repeatedly interrupted him while painting, he’d have blown his top without hesitation—even if it were his own father.
He set down his brush and answered. Su Baidong ordered him to return to the ancestral home.
Su Qingci knew the old man’s temper—he wouldn’t tolerate anyone defying his decisions. If he didn’t comply, within half an hour at most, Secretary Wang would arrive with a squad of bodyguards to “invite” him.
Hah, a palanquin ride awaited—why not? Su Qingci tossed his phone aside and resumed painting.
Thirty-four minutes later, Secretary Wang led a squad of burly men crashing through the door. While addressing him respectfully as “Young Master,” his subordinates barked orders for the bodyguards to carry him out.
Su Qingci lay there like a flopped-out fish, completely compliant—neither screaming nor sniping sarcastically. He slid into the stretch Lincoln, where even his seatbelt was fastened by Secretary Wang, before they sped back to the ancestral home.
The ancestral home was built in the traditional Huizhou style. When not at work, Su Baidong eschewed tailored suits for a classic Tang-style robe with a stand-up collar and front-opening design, paired with a pair of reading glasses, giving him the air of a refined scholar.
His grandfather was quite the aesthete, fond of tea ceremonies and calligraphy. In his leisure hours, he practiced brushwork and played Go. Thus, when Su Ge fell head over heels for the guzheng virtuoso Jiang Seru, Su Baidong wholeheartedly approved of the match, pleased with Jiang Seru’s refined and elegant demeanor.
Su Qingci thought to herself that Su Baidong wasn’t entirely without merit—for instance, he held no snobbery about family background. Though Jiang Seru’s parents came from a scholarly lineage, that was the extent of it. They couldn’t compare to the formidable Wulin Group. Yet Su Baidong never looked down on her for being of lower birth, deeming her unworthy of his son.
Everyone envied Jiang Seru for marrying into such a wealthy family, with a husband who was not only a brilliant industry leader but also handsome, gentle, refined, and devoted to his family. It seemed like a blessing earned over several lifetimes. Of course, no one said this to Jiang Seru’s face. Several lifetimes? More like eight lifetimes of bloody bad luck!
In truth, Su Ge’s twisted nature showed early signs. Soon after marriage, he began meddling in Jiang Seru’s social life—first under the guise of jealousy, forbidding her from interacting with too many men, then gradually cutting off even her female friends. He even orchestrated events to drive a wedge between her and her parents. After several heated arguments, her parents stormed off overseas in anger. Jiang Seru never contacted them again.
Emotionally manipulated, Jiang Seru remained utterly blind to the fact that Su Ge was the root cause of all her problems.
The most sickening part was that Su Ge would beat and berate Jiang Seru relentlessly, all while professing his love for her! Even after being stabbed by Jiang Seru, he clutched his bleeding abdomen and gazed at her with love-filled eyes, whispering, “I love you.”
Su Qingci clutched his stomach, fighting back the urge to retch.
Su Baidong asked him what was wrong—was the lavish New Year’s Eve feast not to his taste? The chef who brought the dumplings to the table bowed apologetically, visibly flustered.
Su Baidong personally picked up a dumpling and placed it in Su Qingci’s bowl, saying gently, “It’s stuffed with zucchini and egg. Eat up.”
Zucchini and egg filling—Su Ge’s favorite.
Su Qingci’s knuckles clenched so tightly he nearly snapped his chopsticks in two.
Why had he suddenly decided to bring his grandson back to the ancestral home for the New Year? Certainly not for any laughably worthless grandfather-grandson bond, but to sit here, lost in thoughts of his son!
Earlier, Su Qingci had merely been unable to swallow his food. Now, nausea churned in his stomach, especially since Su Baidong possessed the exact same baby face as Su Ge. Through this old man before him, he could almost see Su Ge growing up healthy and aging gracefully.
Su Qingci flipped the entire plate of zucchini and egg dumplings onto the table. Staring at the stunned Su Baidong, he sneered coldly, “He’s dead. Even his bones have rotted away.”
Saying such things to an elderly grandfather who had lost his son on New Year’s Eve—wasn’t that utterly despicable?
Su Qingci felt it still wasn’t enough!
“Sit down,” Su Baidong ordered the chef with a dark expression. “Bring some double-skin milk.”
Su Qingci found it laughable.
His grandfather hated the murderer’s blood flowing through his veins, yet ached over the half of Su Ge’s blood still within him—a love-hate relationship. Truly a family trait, all three generations twisted in character.
Su Baidong wished Su Qingci dead, yet he showered him with lavish gifts—piles of money, a life of luxury and abundance. Was this a grandfather’s affection for his grandson? Of course not. Just like those zucchini and egg dumplings and the double-skin milk, Su Qingci eating them was like Su Ge eating them.
So Su Qingci despised Su Baidong’s kindness toward him. It felt like that demon had resurrected within him, clinging like a bone-gnawing maggot, sending shivers down his spine.
Su Qingci wanted to flip the table, but he held back. First, his body was weak and limp, lacking the strength. Second, he didn’t want to become an emotionally unstable hothead like Su Ge. He stared at the kindly-looking old man, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “Is this amusing?”
Su Baidong said, “I know. What are you? How could you ever compare to my son?”
“Good to know,” Su Qingci sneered. “Thank goodness my mother rid the world of that menace. Otherwise, who knows how many more people your precious son would have ruined.”
Su Baidong roared, “Su Qingci!”
Su Qingci stood to leave. Su Baidong called him back sharply. Seeing him pause, he took several deep breaths to suppress his boiling rage, forcing himself to speak calmly on this New Year’s Eve: “Come back. Sit down and eat.”
Su Qingci headed toward the living room. “I won’t sit. I’m afraid I’ll say something even more offensive later and upset you, Grandfather.”
Su Baidong strode out after him. “Can’t we just get along like a normal grandfather and grandson?”
Su Qingci seemed jolted awake, genuinely amused by the question. “Are you joking?”
Su Baidong closed his eyes briefly: “Do you hate me?”
“Yes.” Su Qingci answered without hesitation, his tone unwavering. Su Baidong wasn’t surprised, but his expression grew heavy with resignation.
Su Qingci continued, “You knew Su Ge was twisted. He imprisoned us, monitored us, even abused me and my mother. Yet you turned a blind eye, doing nothing. When Su Ge nearly blew his cover multiple times, you covered for him, didn’t you?”
Su Baidong hesitated, his eyes filled with the struggle of being powerless: “You don’t understand.”
Su Qingci smiled coldly. “I understand perfectly. For the sake of his reputation, for the sake of Wulin’s stock market, you, his own grandfather, let your own grandson be abused. If Su Ge had actually killed me, would you have helped cover it up too?”
Su Baidong stammered, “I—”
“Don’t delude yourself into thinking you’re innocent. As if by not getting involved, you remain clean. Su Baidong, remember this: you’re a despicable accomplice!” Su Qingci spat out these words before turning to leave.
Su Baidong lunged forward, grabbing Su Qingci’s wrist and roaring uncontrollably: “So what if I did! Was your mother innocent? If she hadn’t been entangled with her first love, my son wouldn’t have been so tormented, so terrified he went mad! It was your mother who wronged Su Ge. She killed him. I lost my son—my only son!”
Su Qingci couldn’t withstand such an impact. At the same time, he shouldn’t have let his emotions run wild. Whether extreme joy, sorrow, or rage, any intense feeling was deadly for him.
The metallic taste of rust rose in his throat. That familiar sensation returned. The instant a mouthful of blood choked him, he saw Su Baidong’s face go blank with shock. Suddenly, a strange excitement washed over him.
A twisted, sadistic delight murmured within him.
Perhaps dying young from a terminal illness wasn’t such a bad thing after all—perhaps it was a gift from Heaven’s mercy. Let Su Ge’s bloodline be utterly extinguished! Let Su Baidong search high and low for a replacement and find none!
Su Qingci’s coughing fit lasted only half a minute before subsiding, and the blood loss was minimal. He wrenched free from Su Baidong’s grasp and staggered backward two steps. “I told you, Su Ge deserved it!”
Su Baidong’s grip on the phone tightened violently. Su Qingci caught a fleeting glimpse of the name “Wen Mengmeng” on the screen and let out a bitter laugh. He shoved aside Secretary Wang, who tried to block his path, and stormed out the door.
Driving away from the Su family’s ancestral home, Su Qingci pulled over by the roadside half an hour later.
The biting wind swirled the remnants of firecrackers across the ground, making them dance in circles around the base of a streetlight.
Leaning back against the seat, Su Qingci felt an unprecedented exhaustion that made even breathing feel like a struggle.
Through the rearview mirror, he watched the occasional passersby on the street—young couples in red clothing arm-in-arm, families of three strolling after their New Year’s Eve dinner. The young lovers chatted and laughed, teasing each other playfully. The family radiated warmth; the child, adorable in festive attire, was bundled like a steamed bun. When he smiled, his little fangs made him resemble a freshly steamed, piping-hot bun.
Su Qingci couldn’t help but smile.
The next instant, a mouthful of blood surged from his throat, splattering grotesquely across the steering wheel.
Su Qingci hunched over, his body convulsing in a wrenching cough. He’d thought he could control it—after all, he’d managed before—but this was the worst episode yet. He watched helplessly as gushes of blood surged from his throat. Every attempt to speak ended in a spurt of blood; he couldn’t utter a single word, not even a single syllable.
Su Qingci felt as if he were dying.
No panic, no helplessness, no fear. Only a desperate desire for it all to end—to be done with it once and for all—because it was too ugly, too unbearable.
He heard the child’s bouncing laughter, and at the same moment, a dazzling streak of light shot toward the heavens, causing the vast night sky to burst into a profusion of magnificent sparks.
The light illuminated the utter chaos inside the car—a blood-red spectacle that was truly shocking to behold.
It was New Year’s Eve. The fireworks were truly beautiful.
Su Qingci clutched his chest, feeling as though his lungs were about to burst and his heart would explode under the strain. Instead, a suffocating sensation of thin air took hold. Every ounce of strength was being drained from him, each breath a desperate struggle against death.
It was bitterly cold, as if he stood naked in a frozen wasteland. The chill made his bones tremble. Su Qingci stared blankly at the child, crimson blood trickling from his pale lips.
“Daddy, Mommy, it hurts so much.”
“Peijingchen, I’m so cold…”
On New Year’s Eve, every household was lit up, each lamp representing a warm home. Su Qingci struggled to reach out, desperate to grasp even a tiny spark of warmth. But when he clenched his fist, there was nothing. He let it fall limply.
Would he die? Die on New Year’s Eve, when families were reunited, die in this iron box, unnoticed.
As the fireworks faded, Su Qingci felt it was time to end. In this moment, he didn’t want to call anyone, nor was there anyone he could call.
So he was going to die in the next second, without even needing to write a suicide note in the last.
Su Qingci slumped over the steering wheel. His phone slipped from his palm. He wanted to pick it up, but it was merely a thought he could entertain with his last ounce of consciousness. He wanted to call an ambulance, to die properly on an operating table, not by the roadside, bringing bad luck to passersby on New Year’s Day.
It turned out he really was a curse—even as he died, he still annoyed others.
Sorry, this time he really, truly didn’t mean it.
Regrets? Plenty. But what could he do? As his eyelids closed, leaving only a sliver of light, he suddenly saw the phone screen illuminate. It was the alarm he’d set, scheduled for 11:58 PM.
Su Qingci remembered.
He’d set it last New Year’s Eve.
Though they spent every New Year apart, every Eve he’d wait by the clock, sending Pei Jingchen a Happy New Year message at midnight sharp. Last year he was in Paris. After sending it on the dot, he felt utterly satisfied and set the alarm for the following year. Seeing “Next alarm in 354 days XX hours XX minutes” made him smile foolishly.
If Pei Jingchen ever found out, he’d definitely rant about how crazy he was. Who sets an alarm a whole year in advance?
It’s okay. This is the last time.
Pei Jingchen, Happy New Year.
*
“Mom and Dad, there’s a noise coming from the car.”
“Let me see… Hey, is the driver passed out on the wheel? Sleeping with the heater on? He’s got no fear of death!”
“Honey, go knock on the window and wake him up!”
“This guy has zero common sense! How reckless… Blood?! Hey, young man, are you okay? Wake up! His wife, call the police! Call an ambulance!”
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