Pei Jingchen had to go on a business trip to Japan and couldn’t stay home for the New Year. He’d considered booking Pei Haiyang on a tour group, but the old man, as a true Chinese patriot, felt deeply attached to celebrating the Spring Festival in his homeland.
Pei Haiyang retorted, “Besides, my shop’s busiest during the holidays. I’m swamped with orders. How could I abandon my regular customers to go sightseeing?”
Pei Jingchen conceded and teased, “Abandoning Aunt Zhou would be pretty inconsiderate.”
Pei Haiyang’s neck flushed crimson with anger. “Stop talking nonsense! Aunt Zhou and I have nothing going on!”
Pei Jingchen was in Japan for business negotiations, which inevitably involved endless rounds of drinking at banquets. Days blurred into nights, but fortunately, Assistant Xu was there to support him. Pei Jingchen genuinely admired his work ethic and decided to give Assistant Xu a raise to mark the new year. Assistant Xu cheered jubilantly, and with the generous pay increase, he worked even harder.
Massaging his temples throbbing from the hangover, Pei Jingchen suddenly remembered something. “What day is it today?”
Xu answered instantly. Pei Jingchen paused, then Xu meticulously added, “The second day of the Lunar New Year.”
Pei Jingchen froze. “It’s already the second day?”
Xu’s heart skipped a beat. What did “already” imply? Had he carelessly overlooked some other arrangement Mr. Pei had planned? Holy crap—he was just about to raise his salary!
Pei Jingchen opened WeChat and found Su Qingci. The last message he’d sent was a single period, which had been rejected because he’d been unfriended.
Pei Jingchen instinctively scrolled up. His time was precious—piles of documents awaited his review—yet he couldn’t resist checking his phone.
Pei Jingchen suddenly realized that over the past three months, his chat frequency with Su Qingci had noticeably decreased. Scrolling back three months earlier, they had communicated daily. As he scrolled, he finally found what he was looking for: last year, at exactly 00:00:00 on New Year’s Eve, Su Qingci had sent him a Happy New Year message right on the dot.
At that very moment, he had been sending his own New Year greetings to others—as a businessman, many social relationships required diligent cultivation. During such times, his phone and communication devices were always the busiest. Congratulating this CEO, wishing that chairman well—all for work, for Lingyue.
Su Qingci had once complained to him, saying his mind was filled only with work, work, work. Your punctual greetings never reached me. Am I unworthy?
Before Pei Jingchen could respond, Su Qingci muttered to herself, “Never mind, just venting.” Then she’d curl up in his arms like a kitten, soft yet assertive: “Work comes first. Seeing you so triumphant after signing a contract—you look incredibly handsome and dazzling. Chenchen, I adore you to bits.”
Seizing every chance to confess—that was Su Qingci for you.
Most of the time, Su Qingci could be so unreasonable and petulant that it drove everyone mad. But at other times, he’d become remarkably sensible. For instance, no matter how much he threw a tantrum, it never interfered with his work. No matter how unreasonable he got, he’d wholeheartedly support his career.
Pei Jingchen stared blankly at his phone.
Xu, the assistant, drenched in sweat and trembling with anxiety, mustered his courage and cautiously asked, “Mr. Pei, is something wrong with Chu Er?”
Pei Jingchen snapped back to reality. “Nothing.”
Su Qingci had mentioned more than once how incredibly handsome and dazzling he looked whenever he closed a deal. In truth, he also wanted to say that Su Qingci looked utterly beautiful and captivating whenever he finished a painting, radiating that rebellious, carefree charm.
After wrapping up the Japan leg of their trip, Pei Jingchen led his team, headed by Assistant Xu, from Tokyo Airport to Seoul.
This visit was to formally sign a contract with Narui Games.
As the plane landed and Pei Jingchen emerged from the VIP exit, he suddenly heard someone calling his name.
Pei Jingchen turned, his gaze instantly turning cold.
Ten meters away, Mu Yao, dressed in a stylish little suit, made his way through the crowd, approaching him in small steps.
Assistant Xu, ever the considerate one, said to Pei Jingchen, “Mr. Pei, we’ll take our leave first.” He then called out to the team behind him, and they shuffled off ahead.
Mu Yao stopped three paces away, one hand dragging his suitcase while the other absentmindedly flicked his bangs. His expression carried a hint of urgency. “Jingchen, it’s been a while.”
Pei Jingchen simply walked around her.
Mu Yao hurriedly protested, “Pei Jingchen, can’t we even be friends anymore?”
Pei Jingchen replied flatly, “No, we can’t.”
Mu Yao’s eyes reddened with hurt. “Don’t you think this is unfair? I only tried, but failed. Yet you’ve cut me off completely. But Su Qingci both tried and succeeded, and you’re dating him and living together.”
Pei Jingchen: “It has nothing to do with you.”
Mu Yao laughed bitterly: “It’s just that I gave you a blood transfusion! If my blood type had been Rh-negative AB, I could have given you one too!”
Pei Jingchen turned to face him directly for the first time since their falling out: Mu Yao, there was never anything between us back then. We were just friends—a bit closer than high school classmates, but nothing special. I have many friends like that. You weren’t unique.”
Mu Yao froze. After a long moment, he forced a weary smile: “Pei Jingchen, you sure are blunt.”
“Straightforward” to the point of reckless disregard, deeply wounding others without realizing or caring. Everyone called Pei Jingchen a warm-hearted guy, and Mu Yao believed it too. He never lost his temper, never threw things or cursed, always polite and courteous, always willing to help. But when he turned ruthless, his words cut to the bone, utterly merciless.
Pei Jingchen said, ” There’s no need for subtlety in matters like this.”
Mu Yao took a deep breath, his expression half-smiling, half-sarcastic. “Is that so? Should I say you’re sincere in matters of the heart, a gentle and decisive man? Or that you’re utterly cold and heartless, so much so that even Su Qingci’s years of unwavering pursuit couldn’t warm your stone-cold heart?”
Pei Jingchen’s pupils flinched slightly. Mu Yao chuckled, “Don’t misunderstand. I’m not taking Su Qingci’s side. I just suddenly remembered him and felt compelled to speak.”
Mu Yao crossed his arms and pressed, “By the way, is Su Qingci feeling any better?”
Pei Jingchen froze. “What?”
“You didn’t know?” Mu Yao looked surprised. “I heard it from Zhang Haonan. He ran into Su Qingci at Shuimu Fanghua before the New Year. Su Qingci got into a fight with some Min family playboy. I think it was stomach bleeding? Su Qingci was sent to the hospital, but seeing you still have the energy to go on business trips and sign contracts, I assume he’s already recovered.”
Pei Jingchen’s expression darkened. “What gastric hemorrhage? When did this happen?”
“You’re asking me?” Mu Yao blinked in confusion, then found herself amused. He chuckled before shaking his head with shared understanding. “Pei Jingchen, you really are gentle and considerate—but only toward those you care about and love. People like me and Su Qingci? We chase after you our whole lives only to end up humiliating ourselves like pathetic lapdogs.”
Pei Jingchen froze.
“Goodbye.” Mu Yao dragged his suitcase away, muttering to himself as he walked, “Su Qingci, I suddenly feel a bit sorry for you.”
Pei Jingchen called Su Qingci, but the call went straight to voicemail.
Su Qingci often turned off his phone when immersed in his work. But this time, for reasons Pei Jingchen couldn’t fathom—perhaps because Mu Yao’s message had been too shocking—he felt an inexplicable unease. A sense of foreboding stirred within him, leaving him restless and anxious.
Even more inexplicably, he couldn’t shake the memory of the day Su Qingci returned home, clutching his chest as if in terrible pain. And long before that, when he’d stood beneath a streetlight confronting him, his body unusually thin and desolate. Though his lips curved in a faint smile, his expression was etched with sorrow, as if he were on the verge of shattering.
Sometimes you couldn’t help but believe in the supernatural. The same memories that once seemed ordinary now, with events unfolding so coincidentally, felt increasingly unsettling, as if there were signs of something amiss.
Pei Jingchen didn’t know if he was overthinking and reading too much into things, or if there really had been early warnings that he’d deliberately overlooked.
On the way to Narui Corporation, Assistant Xu asked Pei Jingchen what was wrong—had something happened at home?
Pei Jingchen gave a distracted “Mhm.” Assistant Xu reassured him, “The signing will be quick. We’ll catch tonight’s flight and be back in the capital tomorrow.”
True, it was only a matter of a dozen hours or so. Pei Jingchen felt slightly reassured. The signing ceremony was crucial; there could be no mistakes. He needed to clear his mind of distractions and focus entirely on the task at hand. He would deal with Su Qingci’s matter after returning to the country. Upon arrival, he wouldn’t go home first. He’d take a taxi from the airport straight to Su Qingci’s place…
The signing ceremony with Nari Corporation was grand and solemn. The powerful collaboration between Nari and Lingyue drew attention from both industry insiders and outsiders in both countries. The venue was swarming with media. Under the scrutiny of reporters and cameras, Pei Jingchen and Nari’s CEO signed the agreement, shook hands, and posed for photos.
From the audience, a heavyweight in the gaming industry murmured, “Pei Jingchen is only twenty-six, right? Young talent is truly formidable.”
This game, beloved by players worldwide, would bring Lingyue at least fifty billion in revenue.
Domestic financial news outlets were abuzz, hailing “Chairman Pei” as the force behind the city’s soaring GDP year after year.
In the business class cabin of the flight back home, the man seated next to Pei Jingchen recognized him and struck up a conversation, introducing himself as the CEO of XX brand. Having heard of him before, Pei exchanged business cards, and they proceeded with the expected mutual business flattery.
The CEO gazed at Pei Jingchen’s hand and remarked, “That’s a beautiful brooch.”
Pei Jingchen replied, “Thank you,” and tucked the sunflower brooch into his pocket. The CEO exclaimed in surprise, “Such an exquisite piece—why aren’t you wearing it?”
Pei Jingchen’s tablet screen displayed the noon news—Lingyue’s signing ceremony with Nari. A high-resolution photo captured him shaking hands with the other company’s CEO. He wore a bespoke white suit that perfectly complemented the sunflower brooch. Had he worn it then, it would have added even more luster to the occasion.
“The time isn’t right yet,” Pei Jingchen replied.
The CEO smiled, asking what he meant. Pei Jingchen looked at him, then shifted his gaze out the window to the vast, rolling clouds. “I’ll wear it when Lingyue successfully goes public.”
“Seems it holds special meaning for you,” the CEO remarked with a smile. “Mr. Pei, you’re quite the stickler for ceremony.”
Pei Jingchen paused, amused yet slightly exasperated.
Su Qingci had often called him a dullard—unromantic, incapable of surprises or gestures of affection, utterly boring.
Pei Jingchen agreed wholeheartedly, aware of his own casual nature and indifference toward holidays and anniversaries. He figured since they lived together day in and day out, sharing the same bed under one roof, why fixate on commemorative dates? It wasn’t like they were in a long-distance relationship needing to seize every special occasion to be overly affectionate.
Didn’t he and Su Qingci already spend every day being affectionate?
After disembarking the plane, Pei Jingchen took a deep, satisfying breath of Beijing air. He waved off Assistant Xu and the others, promising generous bonuses and a mandatory two-week vacation for their grueling trip through Japan and South Korea. The team erupted in enthusiastic cheers. Serving Lingyue, working for President Pei—they’d dedicate themselves to a brighter future for both the company and themselves!
As the crowd dispersed in lively commotion, Pei Jingchen hailed a taxi and gave his residential address.
He visited every few days, and the security guard with the eight-pack abs recognized him immediately: “Hey, young man, here to see Teacher Su again?”
Pei Jingchen nodded with a smile. The guard’s heart skipped a beat. He thought to himself, He really looks like that actor whose name I can’t recall—he’s incredibly handsome. After thanking him, Pei Jingchen entered the complex, walking past rows of detached villas until he reached Su Qingci’s door. He pressed the doorbell. No answer. He pressed again. Still no response. He pressed a third time, patiently, while dialing Su Qingci’s number.
The door remained unanswered. The phone went unpicked up.
Pei Jingchen suddenly felt a bit flustered.
Su Qingci was unreachable. At this time of day, on this particular date, could he be traveling abroad, somewhere with no signal reception? His phone was turned off. A person living a normal life wouldn’t let their phone battery die for over twenty-four hours. Could it be that he was somewhere extremely cold, where the low temperatures caused his phone battery to freeze and die?
Pei Jingchen scrolled through his phone’s contact list, which stretched on for ten minutes without reaching the end, suddenly feeling helpless.
He abruptly realized that if Su Qingci disappeared one day, he’d have nowhere to look. It wasn’t that he lacked connections, but Su Qingci had no social life—no parents, no relatives, no friends. He existed in this world yet seemed rejected by it.
Pei Jingchen suddenly recalled the day before Su Qingci vanished for the first time. The weather had been terrible—wind, thunder, and torrential rain. Su Qingci sat on the beanbag chair, staring blankly at the sky, and suddenly asked him, “If I disappeared, would you look for me?”
He answered while chopping vegetables in the kitchen, “Where would you disappear to?”
Su Qingci couldn’t say where either, repeating with a smile, “Would you look for me?”
Pei Jingchen looked at him. Wasn’t that obvious? If someone you lived with suddenly vanished, of course you’d search. Even a pet cat or dog wouldn’t be abandoned without a second thought, right?
He said, “I would.”
Su Qingci blinked. “I don’t believe you.”
The next day, Su Qingci vanished.
Pei Jingchen remembered his phone going unanswered. He drove around places Su Qingci might be, searching for nearly half a day before finally finding him lurking in the neighborhood garden.
Pei Jingchen was furious, but he didn’t raise his voice. Instead, he frowned darkly and said coldly, “Have you had enough fun?”
Su Qingci smiled. Even though he’d done something wrong, he still had the nerve to laugh.
Before Pei Jingchen could scold him further, Su Qingci suddenly stepped forward, spread his arms wide, and hugged him tightly. “You really would come find me.”
“Su Qingci, don’t ever use this as an excuse for nonsense again. I won’t indulge your foolishness either. Got it?”
Su Qingci said nothing more, but Pei Jingchen felt as if he could hear his unspoken words.
Su Qingci was saying: It feels so good to be missed, to be sought after.
Pei Jingchen recalled another time when he returned home and found Pei Haiyang drunk, declaring the relationship between him and Su Qingci was tragically beautiful.
Pei Jingchen was rendered speechless by the word “tragically beautiful,” telling Pei Haiyang to stop spouting nonsense. Pei Haiyang chuckled drunkenly, playfully smacking him on the back of the head and saying, ” You’re Xiao Ci’s anchor to this world.”
Pei Jingchen scoffed, suggesting his father had read too many热血漫画 (passionate comics). An anchor?
Pei Haiyang’s expression was clear, his gaze sharp as he replied, “You’re the rope connecting him to this world. If you break, he’ll be lost.”
Pei Jingchen’s heart clenched violently, then plummeted into an endless freefall—a suffocating sensation of hanging in midair.
Pei Jingchen called Assistant Xu, who answered instantly: “Mr. Pei?”
“Get me the number for the secretariat at Wulin Group headquarters.” Pei Jingchen didn’t wait long—Assistant Xu never took more than three minutes to handle tasks.
Pei Jingchen dialed and asked, “This is Pei Jingchen from Lingyue Games. Could you connect me to your chief secretary?”
Another minute passed before the phone echoed: “Hello, this is Secretary Wang.”
Pei Jingchen immediately said, “Please give me Chairman Su’s contact information. I have urgent matters to discuss with him.”
Pei Jingchen harbored no hope for this so-called “dear grandfather,” but this was his only remaining avenue.
Secretary Wang: “The Chairman is currently in the hospital. He won’t be available to meet anyone for the foreseeable future.”
Just as Pei Jingchen was about to ask what had happened, Secretary Wang’s next words struck him like thunder, freezing him solid in the bitter cold.
“You mentioned you’re Pei Jingchen from Lingyue Games? Then why weren’t you informed that Young Master Su was admitted to the ICU? Aren’t you his boyfriend?”
When your head is submerged in water, the current washes over your eardrums, causing auditory blockage. You struggle to hear clearly, as if the world itself has drifted far away.
Staying submerged longer depletes the oxygen in your lungs bit by bit. You struggle to breathe, your body weakens, your vision blurs until everything merges into a white dot. Then comes complete deafness, followed by a despairing unconsciousness.
That was precisely how Pei Jingchen felt at that moment.
Though his head wasn’t submerged, he had somehow endured until unconsciousness. Thankfully, the biting wind lashed his face, bone-chilling air mixed with frost and snow pelting his body. It felt like standing on the edge of an abyss, sending shivers down his spine.
Secretary Wang: “Hello? Mr. Pei, Mr. Pei? Are you still there, Mr. Pei?”
For the first time, Pei Jingchen parted his lips, realizing he’d spoken without making a sound. He swallowed hard, rolled his Adam’s apple, and parted his lips again. Finally, words came out: “Wh-which hospital?”
Secretary Wang gave an address.
Pei Jingchen strode toward the exit of the residential complex, clutching his phone as he said, “Say it again.”
He possessed exceptional intelligence and a formidable memory, retaining everything he heard since childhood.
“Sorry, say it again.”
Seated in the taxi, Pei Jingchen’s trembling hand brushed his disheveled bangs. “Secretary Wang, I’m sorry—could you repeat it again?”
The driver interjected, “No need, I heard it. Tianyang Hospital—the most prestigious private general hospital in the capital. Is that where you’re headed?”
Pei Jingchen nodded urgently, catching a glimpse of his own deathly pale face in the rearview mirror.
Secretary Wang said, “I’ll wait for you.” Pei Jingchen responded with a single word before hanging up without further comment.
Perhaps he should have asked what happened.
Wouldn’t anyone else ask? Even if it was inconvenient over the phone, they’d be desperate to know what was going on.
But Pei Jingchen dared not, nor did he want to.
ICU? How could someone end up in the ICU out of the blue? The last time he saw Su Qingci, he seemed perfectly fine. How much time had passed since then? Suddenly he was in intensive care? That was the critical care unit, reserved only for critically ill patients! What kind of illness strikes so violently? Unless it was an accident!
A car crash? Impossible! While WHO data shows around 1.3 million global traffic fatalities annually, far more people live safely into old age.
Even common accidents become low-probability events when viewed through big data. And someone like Su Qingci wouldn’t be so “lucky” to get caught up in one.
Su Qingci once joked about himself: “They say good people don’t live long, but troublemakers live for a thousand years. I’m definitely going to live to be a hundred.” As he spoke, he offered his collarbone to Pei Jingchen’s lips. “We have to be together forever.”
He was merely eccentric, far from being a “scourge.” But if immortality meant becoming a “scourge,” that wouldn’t be so bad.
Pei Jingchen stifled a few coughs, his fist clenched in his mouth.
He shouldn’t have panicked before seeing it with his own eyes. Maybe, just maybe, this was another one of Su Qingci’s pranks!
Su Qingci had been brewing this for three whole months just to pull this stunt! To make it believable, she’d even coordinated with Secretary Wang beforehand. By the time he rushed to the hospital in a panic, Su Qingci wouldn’t be in the ICU—she’d be waiting for him right at the hospital entrance.
It had to be this way. It absolutely had to be this way!
Pei Jingchen closed his eyes, clasping his hands together tightly, as if in prayer.
Driver: “We’re here, sir!”
Pei Jingchen leapt out of the car and dashed into the hospital building. He scanned the crowd of people in hospital gowns, searching for a familiar face. He didn’t even overlook the medical staff—what if Su Qingci wanted to pull off a big surprise and was cosplaying? So he even turned to look at passing janitors.
None of them. Not a single one.
“Mr. Pei.”
Pei Jingchen turned to see Secretary Wang approaching.
Pei Jingchen took a deep breath and asked, feigning composure, “Where is Su Qingci?”
Secretary Wang adjusted his glasses and said, “Follow me.”
Pei Jingchen followed Secretary Wang into the elevator. As he pressed the button for the 3rd floor, Pei Jingchen instinctively glanced at the floor index posted on the wall. Behind “3F” was written—Intensive Care Unit.
Pei Jingchen’s heart skipped a beat. Stepping out of the elevator, he followed Secretary Wang into the family waiting room outside the ward. Su Baidong was sitting there.
Pei Jingchen stared at the tightly shut ward door and the sign posted beside it, which clearly read “Critical Care Medicine.” It was all real.
Pei Jingchen rushed to Su Baidong’s side. “Why is Su Qingci in the ICU? What happened to him?”
Su Baidong’s face was pale, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep as he glared at Pei Jingchen. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
Pei Jingchen froze. Su Baidong’s tone turned harsh. “You’re Xiao Ci’s boyfriend, right? You’re the one who sleeps beside him night after night, yet you didn’t even know he was seriously ill?”
Pei Jingchen felt as if something had struck him hard. A phrase suddenly surfaced in his mind—one Su Qingci had once uttered, but which he had dismissed as trivial. On a certain afternoon, during one of the countless times he’d waited for him beneath the company building, Su Qingci had said, “I’m sick.”
“What illness?” Pei Jingchen clenched his knuckles until they whitened.
Su Baidong closed his eyes, a mocking smile spreading across his face.
Secretary Wang spoke up: “Idiopathic pulmonary arterial hypertension.”
Pei Jingchen urgently asked, “What kind of hypertension? What disease is this?”
Secretary Wang replied, “It’s unexplained increased pulmonary vascular resistance causing persistent elevation of pulmonary artery pressure, resulting in resting pulmonary artery pressure ≥25 mmHg. All secondary factors causing pulmonary hypertension have been ruled out…”
Pei Jingchen cut in, “Can it be cured?”
Secretary Wang’s expression darkened. Su Baidong opened his eyes and said, “It’s terminal.”
Pei Jingchen felt as if struck by a hammer, his vision plunging into pitch-black darkness.
Secretary Wang instinctively reached out to steady him, but seeing Pei Jingchen remained relatively steady, he withdrew his hand. “IPAH is a rare disease, and indeed incurable…”
“Pei Jingchen.” Su Baidong suddenly spoke, rising and closing the distance. His tone was accusatory. “Wen Mengmeng said that even in its early stages, IPAH causes shortness of breath, fatigue, dizziness, and chest pain. It can also lead to unstoppable hemoptysis! You live under the same roof, yet you knew absolutely nothing?”
Pei Jingchen opened his lips to respond, only to find himself speechless.
Dyspnea, fatigue, dizziness, chest pain, hemoptysis. Taken individually, these words held little weight. But when they combined and struck one person simultaneously, they became terrifying, bone-chilling.
Pei Jingchen felt his legs give way. Strength drained from his limbs as he staggered backward, collapsing against the bone-chilling wall.
Su Baidong, his voice thick with emotion, said something else Pei Jingchen couldn’t make out. When he lifted his gaze again, he saw the old man’s face contorted with fury. The sight struck him as bitterly ironic. ” Are you angry? Heartbroken? With his life hanging in the balance, are you truly anxious? Does his suffering truly pierce your heart?”
Su Baidong froze.
“So now you remember Su Qingci is your grandson?” Pei Jingchen wanted to say, but the words died on his lips.
Su Baidong needed an outlet—someone to blame to ease his own pain. Pei Jingchen wanted one too, but he couldn’t find it. Su Baidong’s accusations were so logical, so flawless.
Yes, so what if he was his biological grandfather? If the patient deliberately concealed it, even his own parents wouldn’t know. But what about his spouse, who shared his bed night after night? They ate together, lived together, kissed and embraced, engaged in the most intimate acts. Yet not only was he completely unaware, he had even refused Su Qingci when he once tried to confess.
Pei Jingchen felt utterly drained. His vision flickered between sharp clarity and hazy blur, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest, suffocating him. His throat felt dry and itchy, urging him to cough violently. He coughed once—no blood.
Secretary Wang suggested it was pointless to stay here and urged the pale-faced Pei Jingchen to step outside for some fresh air.
Standing on the open-air corridor, cold air flooded his lungs, bursting through the constricted passages. Breathing suddenly felt unobstructed, but the wind was too bitter—like razor blades scraping his lungs, causing a sharp, stinging pain.
“How is he?” Pei Jingchen asked Secretary Wang behind him, declining the canned coffee offered.
Secretary Wang placed the coffee on the counter. “Not good.”
Pei Jingchen’s heart skipped a beat.
Secretary Wang relayed the diagnosis only to Pei Jingchen: “Moderate tricuspid regurgitation. Severe pulmonary hypertension.”
Before Pei Jingchen could finish asking “He?”, Secretary Wang understood and continued: “He collapsed by the roadside on New Year’s Day. Fortunately, a passerby found him and called an ambulance. He was rushed to the emergency room and underwent eight hours of intensive resuscitation. Chairman Su received the hospital call on the morning of the second day of the New Year. He then arranged for the transfer to this hospital, where open-heart surgery was performed yesterday morning.”
Lunar New Year?!
Pei Jingchen jolted. So that’s why Su Qingci hadn’t sent him a Happy New Year message? On a day meant for family reunions, Su Qingci had wandered the streets alone, only to collapse from illness. If passersby hadn’t found him, wouldn’t he have…
Secretary Wang snatched it away, opened it, and handed it back. Pei Jingchen drank voraciously like a traveler in a desert drought after years of hardship, gulping down more than half the bottle. But as the liquid slid down his throat, it triggered an uncontrollable coughing fit. Each cough tore at his lungs with a searing, burning pain.
So this was the pain. If healthy lungs hurt this much, what about Su Qingci’s? Every cough brought up blood, every breath a desperate struggle for oxygen.
Pei Jingchen’s voice was hoarse as he asked, “Did the doctor say how long he’s had this condition?”
Secretary Wang replied, “We found records of Young Master Su’s visit to the People’s Hospital. Director Wen specifically requested the medical file—it dates back to early December last year.”
Pei Jingchen’s fingers tightened, squeezing the can until it creaked. It felt like a slap from the bitter wind. All along, there had been clues. Su Qingci had never deliberately concealed anything. Not only had he left obvious openings, but he’d also wanted to tell him—the only person he could confide in—the moment he fell ill. If only he’d paid closer attention, or set aside his prejudices and truly believed Su Qingci just once… Maybe, maybe…
Pei Jingchen slammed his fist against the railing, gritting his teeth. “Only three months? How could it progress so rapidly?”
Secretary Wang adjusted his glasses again. “The young master refused hospitalization.”
Caught off guard, Pei Jingchen heard Secretary Wang continue, ” The hospital presented a refusal-of-admission form. Both Chairman Su and I reviewed it—it bears the young master’s own signature.”
“He dislikes the smell of hospitals and fears hospitalization. But besides inpatient treatment, he could take his medication at home…” Pei Jingchen couldn’t bring himself to say the word “medication.” Something suddenly struck him like lightning.
Targeted therapy? He’d never seen it from start to finish. Was Su Qingci hiding it to take secretly, or had he never taken it at all?
But Su Qingci clearly cherished life and feared death. Even the slightest headache or fever made him fuss, saying, “Of course I have to take care of myself, stay healthy, and live a hundred years. That way I can be with Chenchen forever.” He’d also say, “We have so many, many days ahead—at least fifty years, no, eighty. Let’s live to be a hundred, okay?”
Pei Jingchen dared not think about it, nor could he comprehend it. His mind, more precise than the most advanced machine, was in unprecedented chaos and disarray. It had been invaded by a Trojan horse named “Su Qingci,” completely paralyzed.
At 2 PM, the ICU opened for family visits.
Pei Jingchen changed into isolation attire in the sterilization room, donning shoe covers and a mask. After completing all disinfection procedures, the ward door opened. With legs heavy as lead, he stepped inside.
Before him lay at least five or six cold medical machines, encircling the hospital bed and emitting a relentless, oppressive beep-beep-beep.
The figure on the bed was covered in tubes. Pei Jingchen glanced away, unable to bear the sight, yet compelled to look.
That proud, stubborn, willful, arrogant young master. That reckless, distinguished, vivid, elegant artist. He lay there, breathing laboriously with the aid of machines, pained and disheveled.
Pei Jingchen’s trembling hand reached out, resting on Su Qingci’s pale, gaunt cheek. It felt cold.
Su Qingci had always run a low temperature, especially at night. His constitution made him prone to the cold, and he often burrowed into Pei Jingchen’s embrace beneath the covers, like a chilly kitten seeking warmth. Pei Jingchen, with his robust constitution and naturally warm body, would instinctively hold Su Qingci close, letting him sleep soundly and comfortably through the night. By the next morning, Su Qingci would still be clingy and reluctant to get up. If he didn’t rise, Pei Jingchen, whose arm was pinned beneath him, couldn’t move either. He’d have to call out to Su Qingci, warning that they’d be late for work.
Occasionally, Su Qingci would playfully act stubborn, feigning sleep to be mischievous, hoping to keep his king from attending court early. At such times, Pei Jingchen would first issue a warning shot, verbally cautioning him. If Su Qingci remained unmoved, he would deftly find Su Qingci’s ticklish spots, delivering a couple of quick pokes to his armpits. This was guaranteed to leave him gasping for breath and begging for mercy.
Pei Jingchen reached for Su Qingci’s armpit, poking gently once, then again.
Su Qingci didn’t move an inch, not even a flicker of his eyelashes.
“You needn’t be afraid. I have no further tricks up my sleeve.”
“Don’t rush. Time will prove everything. At most a year—no, half a year might be enough.”
“Just endure another half year. After that, you’ll be completely free of me.”
His eyes remained tightly shut, utterly silent.
It was as if his gaunt, sickly face declared: See? Not even half a year—just half a month—and you’ll be rid of me soon. Congratulations.
Pei Jingchen rubbed his sore, swollen eyes, damp with tears.
Why couldn’t he smile? Why did his heart throb with a pain that wasn’t quite pain, yet felt like a knife cutting through flesh?
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