Chapter 31

Su Qingci hadn’t spoken this much in one breath since being hospitalized. As if drained of his vital energy, he felt exhausted after sitting in the pavilion for just ten minutes. Returning to his ward, he immediately lay down and fell asleep.

Pei Jingchen tucked the quilt around him, then checked the indoor thermometer hanging on the wall to ensure the temperature was adequate.

Just then, a nurse knocked and entered, announcing it was time for the afternoon IV drip. Pei Jingchen stepped back as the nurse disinfected Su Qingci’s wrist with a sanitary pad.

Pei Jingchen had never imagined that the words “we’re even” could cut deeper than “let’s break up.” Clearly, in a relationship, “break up” signified the end and should be the cruelest.

　　Pei Jingchen analyzed it carefully and seemed to grasp the difference. There were many reasons to break up, and even after parting, ties could remain tangled. But “even” seemed to signify the end of all love and hate—all the joys and sorrows, past grievances and recent conflicts, vanished into thin air, leaving no lingering attachment or remembrance.

　　He had once asked Su Qingci, “Am I no longer in your eyes or your heart?”

At that time, Su Qingci had not answered.

So now, was this an indirect answer?

　　Pei Jingchen watched as the nurse bent down to insert the needle. The tip pierced Su Qingci’s skin, and blood quickly filled the syringe—bright red, RH-negative AB type.

Pei Jingchen instinctively touched his own veins. This was an extremely rare blood type, the true panda blood. As a child, he hadn’t understood its significance. He’d even felt uniquely special and cool because of his rare blood type, like a novel’s male protagonist with an aura of distinction. His father doted on him, declaring, “Our son is chosen by heaven, a superhero!” His mother would shake her head at this, saying, “What’s there to be happy about? What if he needs blood someday?”

　　He remembered his father retorting that his mother was a jinx, insisting their son was perfectly fine and would never need blood. Little did he know that in his sophomore year of high school, while playing basketball with Wu Lü and the guys one evening, he’d be struck by a speeding drunk driver while buying ice cream at the convenience store. His body was hurled over ten meters.

　　Miraculously, he was still conscious when he hit the ground. He heard the screams of passersby and the distant, paralyzed wails of a terrified Wu Lü.

　He wanted to say, Don’t cry, don’t be afraid. Of course, these words weren’t meant for Wu Lü, but for Su Qingci, who was running past Wu Lü toward him.

Su Qingci knelt beside him. He forced open his eyes, caked with blood, and saw that Su Qingci wasn’t crying. This seemingly frail youth had a sharp gaze, eerily calm.

　　He used his phone to call an ambulance, then photographed the vehicle responsible for the accident. After that, he shouted his name over and over.

He yelled, “Jingchen, don’t fall asleep. Look at me.”

　　He shouted, “Pei Jingchen, I won’t let you die. Hold on, do you hear me?”

He shouted, “You said with you here, I wouldn’t be afraid. You said you wouldn’t leave, that you’d always be with me. You can’t lie to me…”

　　Pei Jingchen was stunned. When had he ever said that? How could he not remember?

As he was carried into the ambulance, Pei Jingchen was still conscious. Though he couldn’t make out Su Qingci’s face anymore, he still wanted to tell his not to follow. He couldn’t play basketball anyway—just sitting on the sidelines propping his chin up would be so boring. Now look—not only was he bored, he’d been scared half to death.

After that, Pei Jingchen knew nothing more.

When he awoke, he was out of danger. By his side stood his unshaven brother, Pei Haiyang; his mother, Fang Qiong, whom he hadn’t seen in years; and Chen Cancan, sniffling and wiping her nose.

　　Pei Haiyang told him it had been touch-and-go—his liver ruptured, causing massive blood loss. Due to his rare blood type, the hospital blood bank had insufficient reserves. Pei Haiyang had even knelt and kowtowed to the doctors, but they were helpless. Fang Qiong made frantic calls begging everyone she knew, but even her connections proved useless. Pei Haiyang had given up hope when, unexpectedly, Su Qingci rolled up his sleeves and told the doctors, “I’m RH-negative AB blood. Take as much as you can. If you can’t take it, take it anyway! Save him!”

　　Pei Haiyang clasped Pei Jingchen’s hand and said, “Son, we owe everything to Qingci this time. He gave a full 750cc of blood. After the transfusion, he collapsed, still murmuring, ‘Take more, save Jingchen.’”

　　Pei Haiyang sighed deeply. “In this world, aside from parents, who else would risk their life to save you? Son, the greatest debt is that of a life saved. Don’t think this sounds trite, but the saying ‘a life saved is a debt that can never be repaid’ truly holds no exaggeration. Xiao Ci snatched your life back from the jaws of death. Every word you speak, every bite you eat from now on, is a gift.”

　　Pei Jingchen understood this truth. He was profoundly grateful for Su Qingci’s actions and felt an unprecedented awe at his gentle exterior concealing such inner strength.

Later, Su Qingci often visited him at school, and they spent far more time together than before. His reactions toward him gradually grew unusual—subtle, almost accidental touches; lingering embraces when parting. On the night after his college entrance exams ended, they sat on a park slide with a half-empty beer can on the ground.

Su Qingci asked him what it tasted like. He said he’d seen adults drink it often, that it was nothing special, not as good as soda.

　　Lost in thought, Su Qingci murmured, “How much longer until I’m an adult?”

Pei Jingchen laughed. “You have to ask? Two years!” Su Qingci protested that two years was too long, then snatched the beer from his hand. To his startled cries, he downed the remaining half bottle in one gulp.

　　“You’re underage, you’re not allowed to drink!” Pei Jingchen protested. Su Qingci laughed, mocking him for acting like an old man. “So what if I did?!”

　　Though Pei Jingchen wasn’t gay, he understood Su Qingci’s meaning and knew the unspoken, difficult-to-articulate feelings that had made Su hesitate to speak several times.

“Pei Jingchen, that time you were in the car accident… I was so scared. I’ve never been this scared, not even when my dad beat me. You know, when I heard you were out of danger, when you were no longer fighting for your life, I made up my mind…” His words trailed off as his head drooped, drunkenness overtaking him.

What that resolve was, no one knew. Pei Jingchen didn’t press further. But later, he understood. Su Qingci probably meant: I resolved to hold onto you for life. No one will ever take you away from me.

　　Later, Su Qingci’s feelings grew increasingly intense, gradually spiraling out of control from his previous self-restraint.

Occasionally, when his affections went unreciprocated, Su Qingci would say, half-joking, half-serious, “Is this how you treat the person who saved your life?”

You couldn’t blame Su Qingci for demanding repayment for his debt, because he truly owed Su Qingci his life. As Pei Haiyang once put it, every word he spoke after regaining consciousness, every bite of food he ate—all were snatched from the jaws of death by Su Qingci.

Finally, on Su Qingci’s eighteenth birthday, he invited no one else. It was just the two of them, celebrating not in a hotel, restaurant, or home, but on the slide at the small park they’d visited before. Su Qingci brought a case of beer and a pizza. Pei Jingchen had personally baked a birthday cake, leaving Su Qingci deeply moved as he praised its beauty.

Pei Jingchen silently reflected that after pestering Pei Haiyang for nearly a month to learn baking, he was relieved it hadn’t gone wrong. He then handed him a second gift from behind—a bouquet of lavender. Ever since Su Qingci’s fourteenth birthday, when Pei Jingchen had a sudden impulse to give him a bouquet of lavender, saying, “I don’t know what kind of flowers you like, but you have the aura of lavender. You suit it perfectly.”

　　He remembered Su Qingci’s eyes lighting up after a moment of surprise. “I love lavender most of all,” he’d said. “Can you give me lavender from now on?”

Su Qingci held the flowers in both hands as he made a wish over the birthday cake and blew out the candles.

　　Pei Jingchen asked what his wish was. Su Qingci replied mysteriously, “It’s a secret. If I tell you, it won’t come true.” Pei Jingchen chuckled inwardly. What could a boy his age possibly wish for? Su Qingci had money, talent—the only thing missing was a girlfriend…

　　Pei Jingchen felt an inexplicable dryness in his throat. Su Qingci personally cut the cake, offering him the slice with the most jam.

They ate cake, pizza, and drank beer. Su Qingci downed two bottles in one go, drinking while smugly taunting him, “Still going to keep an eye on me?”

Pei Jingchen laughed, “I’ll always be able to keep an eye on you.”

　　Su Qingci replied, “Then will you watch over me for the rest of my life?”

Pei Jingchen paused. Su Qingci gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile, opened another bottle of beer, and declared he was finally eighteen—an adult.

Pei Jingchen had a premonition, his heart racing with anxiety. His intuition proved correct—just as he raised his glass to formally wish Su Qingci a happy birthday, he confessed his feelings to him.

Su Qingci’s cheeks flushed crimson, isr eyes glazed with a hint of intoxication: “Jingchen, I truly… like you very much. Very much, very much.”

　　Was “confession” too strong a word? Though his gaze was searingly intense, his speech was halting—the stumbling cadence of intoxication. Moreover, that single word “like,” without further explanation, could carry countless other meanings. Pei Jingchen was cautious, unwilling to let his own assumptions cause misunderstandings. He pressed for clarification, and Su Qingci smiled dreamily: “It just means I like you.”

Pei Jingchen: “There are many kinds of ‘liking’.”

　　“Are you genuinely clueless or just playing dumb? My affection for you is…”

“I get it. Wu Lü once said he liked me too. When I brought him unsold cakes and bread from my dad’s shop, he gushed, ‘Xiao Chen, I adore you so much.’” Pei Jingchen picked up the cake from the floor. “Happy birthday.”

　　He watched the light in Su Qingci’s eyes instantly dim. In that moment, Pei Jingchen felt an urge to flee in panic.

He had vaguely rejected Su Qingci. That was the polite way of putting it. To put it bluntly, it was an ambiguous evasion.

　　Pei Jingchen wasn’t gay and had never considered dating a man. His mother, Mrs. Fang, held conservative views. Under her strict upbringing, while he didn’t dislike the term homosexuality, it simply didn’t apply to him. In short: respect, blessings, but no gay stuff.

　　Pei Jingchen didn’t sleep a wink that night. By noon the next day, Su Qingci called. Seeing the caller ID, anxiety gripped him—guilt, shame, fear, aversion? He couldn’t pinpoint it. When he answered, Su Qingci made no mention of last night’s confession. Instead, he chatted cheerfully about trivial matters, as if last night had been nothing more than drunken ramblings he’d forgotten upon sobering up.

　　Pei Jingchen knew he should address this seriously. Matters of the heart demanded clarity—if you liked someone, you accepted; if not, you rejected outright. Since middle school, he’d received love letters from girls every other day, and each time, he’d returned them unopened, a simple, direct, and unambiguous rejection.

　　He was usually decisive and efficient, yet with Su Qingci, he found himself indecisive.

This ambiguous relationship, neither fully clear nor completely ambiguous, lasted a year. On the night of his twenty-first birthday, at Shuimu Fanghua, he held Su Qingci tightly around the waist and lost himself completely for the entire night.

　　When Su Qingci lay exhausted in his arms, he gazed at this boy—soft on the outside, mad on the inside—and found himself caught in a struggle he couldn’t even explain.

Did he hate her? Of course he did—being drugged and manipulated like that!

　　Recalling his past with Su Qingci, Pei Jingchen searched his conscience. His initial feelings toward Su Qingci had been nothing but pity—a boy born into wealth, never wanting for food or clothing, yet burdened with such parents. Pity gave way to sympathy, then to an involuntary attention, and eventually, their relationship unfolded as a natural progression.

　　Su Qingci depended on him, and he welcomed that reliance, even finding satisfaction in being the boy’s anchor. But when the boy’s dependence on his “brother” took a different turn, he felt lost. Panic and confusion drove him to retreat.

At this moment, Su Qingci forced him to choose.

　　What choice could he possibly make? Su Qingci was his savior—a debt he could never repay. Now, in a drunken stupor, he had taken his benefactor’s innocence.

For a split second, Pei Jingchen felt Su Qingci had become unrecognizable. The pure, introverted, lonely, heartbreakingly vulnerable boy from his memories shattered into pieces.

　　Then it suddenly dawned on him: he had misjudged Su Qingci from the very beginning. He had been deceived by the little lamb’s appearance, forgetting how he had once been the cunning little wolf who outwitted those three senior students! He had bided his time, lying low, waiting for his chance, lurking for an entire year, and tonight, he had struck with a decisive blow!

　　This was the real Su Qingci—obsessive, reclusive, arrogant, extreme, and tinged with madness.

　　They were together now—a romance of strangers, a cohabitation of conflicting dreams.

Perhaps Annelise was right in her scolding: it takes two to tango. If you never intended to give him love, why offer warmth time and again? Why let him grow attached?

　　He pitied Su Qingci, so he showered him with meticulous care and affection. If he’d known his limits, avoided ambiguity, and prevented Su Qingci from misunderstanding, would any of this have happened?

　　On the night Su Qingci painted Vivian’s portrait, Pei Jingchen went to wait for him outside his apartment complex. After that parting, Pei Jingchen developed insomnia. Even when he managed to fall asleep, he was haunted by one dream after another. Sometimes he dreamed of eighteen-year-old Su Qingci confessing his feelings. Sometimes he dreamed of nineteen-year-old Su Qingci drugging him. Sometimes he dreamed of twenty-year-old Su Qingci smiling at him and asking, “Chenchen, if it hadn’t been me with you back then, but someone else, what would you have done?”

　　Pei Jingchen jolted awake countless times, rushing into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.

He fled into confusion, refusing to admit the truth. He let things take their course, adopting a passive, day-by-day attitude. But dare you say this situation isn’t what you wanted? Dare you claim you were entirely forced, powerless to resist?

　　Were you truly intoxicated by drugs, or did you use them to fulfill your own unspeakable desires?!