Chapter 34

Pei Jingchen froze.

Su Qingci continued, “How many years have we been together? How you despised me, ignored me, subjected me to silent treatment. You never touched the things I bought for you, calling them dirty. You ignored my words, finding them bothersome. Your loathing for me was etched deep in your soul. And now you suddenly come running, claiming you care? Mr. Pei, don’t you find that rather amusing?”

Pei Jingchen was speechless.

Su Qingci’s smile was weary, the color drained from his lips: “Loving someone is exhausting, but being loved is bliss. Losing that love so abruptly—of course it feels unfamiliar. Doesn’t it feel like losing something?”

Pei Jingchen’s lips turned even paler: “Su Qingci, it’s not like that.”

“It is,” Su Qingci cut him off coldly, closing his eyes in weariness.

Their interactions had always been Su Qingci initiating topics, chattering away endlessly, even going to great lengths to coax words from Pei Jingchen.

Who would have thought that one day, Su Qingci would no longer wish to speak.

The villa fell into silence, growing ever more desolate.

“Xiao Ci.” Pei Jingchen broke the dead stillness. “I can assure you it’s not habit. I know I have flaws in matters of the heart—clumsy and awkward—but I understand the difference between the two.”

Su Qingci opened his eyes to look at him.

Pei Jingchen’s gaze softened, rippling with warmth she’d never seen before: “What you call habit is taking. What I call caring is giving.”

Su Qingci’s heart stirred.

What did he mean? What was Pei Jingchen trying to say? Was he saying he wasn’t demanding his wholehearted love, but from this moment onward, he would give him his wholehearted love?

Su Qingci deliberately tossed out a remark: “I don’t understand.”

Pei Jingchen smiled faintly: “It’s fine. I’ll explain it to you with actions.”

Su Qingci: “Not necessary.”

Pei Jingchen: “It is necessary for me.”

Su Qingci snorted coldly: “That’s your problem. What does it have to do with me? Stop projecting your own desires onto me.”

Pei Jingchen, unfazed by the rebuke, rose calmly and changed the subject: “What would you like to eat tonight?”

Su Qingci felt a pang in his stomach: “Just leave.”

Pei Jingchen once again feigned deafness, picking up a pair of sleeves to put on: “How about tomato, egg, and vegetable noodles?”

Su Qingci ignored him. So he was selectively deaf—anyone could do that!

Pei Jingchen left a trace of a smile behind and continued with the housework.

During their three years of cohabitation, household chores were shared equally—no housekeeper was hired. Primarily, Su Qingci believed his home only felt like home when he cleaned it himself, and he disliked strangers entering his “territory.” Though no formal agreement existed between him and Pei Jingchen, an unspoken understanding developed in their daily lives: if Su Qingci cooked today, then laundry and mopping fell to Pei Jingchen. When Pei Jingchen cooked the next day, Su Qingci would voluntarily take charge of cleaning the house.

Watching Pei Jingchen bustle about, scrubbing the three-story villa spotless, Su Qingci thought to himself that even a top-tier cleaning service couldn’t match this efficiency—let alone deliver a nutritionally balanced, light, and easily digestible dinner after finishing all the chores.

But Su Qingci wasn’t moved, nor did he feel the slightest pang of guilt. He admitted that initially, she’d been tempted to lend Pei Jingchen a hand—all thanks to three years of muscle memory from living together. When one person worked, the other had to get busy too; you couldn’t just lounge on the couch like a lord. Doing things together was what made a home feel like home.

But now was different. Pei Jingchen had brought this on himself. He could have been treated like royalty at home, yet he’d chosen to come here and subject himself to drudgery.

Su Qingci lounged on the sofa with perfect justification, basking in his role as the master. When the children’s cartoon ended and the cheerful closing theme played, Pei Jingchen arrived carrying dinner.

Spinach noodles, served in a tomato-egg broth, topped with neatly arranged ham slices and a small sprig of cilantro and scallions for garnish.

Pei Jingchen handed him chopsticks. “Eat while it’s hot.”

Su Qingci looked at the dinner, then at Pei Jingchen, and didn’t move.

Pei Jingchen said, “Don’t like it? Then what do you want to eat? I’ll make it.”

Su Qingci wanted to say it had nothing to do with the food, just that he didn’t want to eat anything he made. But then he thought, saying that would be like retaliating against the old Pei Jingchen. Forget it.

Su Qingci took the chopsticks, pushed most of the noodles in his bowl toward Pei Jingchen, and ate only a small portion himself. In the end, a little remained, and Pei Jingchen simply took the bowl and finished it.

Pei Jingchen felt surprisingly relieved, though also a bit taken aback. Given Su Qingci’s temperament, he’d expected him to either flip the table and smash the bowls or simply refuse to eat altogether—a stubborn act of starving himself for days on end, something he himself had done before.

Pei Jingchen recalled the time Su Qingci dumped an entire plate of stir-fried seafood into the trash. Enraged, he snapped, “Fine, don’t eat it! Never eat it again! And never light the stove in the kitchen again!”

After that, Su Qingci locked himself in the second-floor studio for three days and two nights, refusing food and water. There was no food in the studio, but there was a water source. Pei Jingchen knew Su Qingci was ruthless—so ruthless he punished himself. He was his own enforcer, strict enough to deny himself even water. Was it stubbornness? Of course it was for show. Pei Jingchen ignored him at first, but later genuinely feared he might starve himself into trouble, so he took the initiative to cook and knock on the door.

Su Qingci was just waiting for him to come and coax him. Of course, he’d be fine once coaxed.

Pei Jingchen went to the kitchen to wash the dishes and asked him, “What do you want to eat tomorrow morning?”

As long as Su Qingci ate properly, it didn’t matter if he ate less due to his illness—just that he ate at all.

Hearing no reply, Pei Jingchen glanced toward the living room. The sofa was empty. His heart skipped a beat as he hurriedly searched for him, spotting Su Qingci clinging to the banister on the second-floor staircase. Pei Jingchen dropped the dishes and hurried after him. Just as he reached out to touch Su Qingci, he remembered something and wiped his soapy, water-stained hands roughly on his apron. “Where are you going?”

Su Qingci’s breathing was heavy. He hadn’t intended to answer, but with Pei Jingchen standing guard beside him, he had no choice but to say, “The studio.”

The next moment, his upper body tilted back, his lower body lifted off the ground. Su Qingci was utterly shocked—Pei Jingchen had picked him up horizontally without a word of explanation. “You!”

Pei Jingchen held him steady, his strides agile and powerful. Carrying a grown man, he effortlessly took two steps at a time, moving with fluid grace and a wind-cutting pace.

Su Qingci felt a surge of irritation. “Pei Jingchen, put me down!”

Pei Jingchen’s selective deafness kicked in again. Not only did he refuse to let go, but he tightened his grip, holding him even more securely.

Su Qingci tried kicking his legs, but it was useless against the agile Mr. Pei. He was carried all the way to the studio at the end of the second floor. Pei Jingchen kicked open the door, stepped inside, and placed Su Qingci on the stool in front of the easel.

Pei Jingchen’s breathing was steady, only his chest rising and falling slightly. He said, Tomorrow I’ll move your studio downstairs.”

Su Qingci pushed against his chest. “None of your business.”

His chest was scorching hot, burning against Su Qingci’s icy fingers.

Pei Jingchen said, “I know you’re a painting fanatic, but you just got out of the hospital. Don’t paint for too long.”

Su Qingci looked away. “You’re so annoying.”

Pei Jingchen smiled. This angle was perfect, tempting him to reach out and touch the top of Su Qingci’s head. His hand extended, but Su Qingci dodged, leaving his hand suspended in midair, slightly stiff.

“Get out,” Su Qingci said.

“Alright,” Pei Jingchen agreed.

After washing the dishes downstairs, Pei Jingchen thought about how little Su Qingci had eaten for dinner. If he stayed up late, he’d surely get hungry. He should prepare a late-night snack Su Qingci liked.

What did Su Qingci like? Desserts, undoubtedly. But those were high-fat, high-sugar, high-calorie foods—things Su Qingci couldn’t eat now.

Pei Jingchen’s thoughts drifted back to the past. Back when he was still in high school, whenever bread or cakes came up, Su Qingci would scoff: “High in fat, sugar, and calories? Is he a celebrity or a dance student? What’s with the act? Does he really think he’s some ethereal little fairy boy untouched by worldly concerns?”

“Little celestial being”—that was Mu Yao. Pei Jingchen was initially baffled, only later realizing it was Su Qingci’s derogatory nickname for Mu Yao.

Su Qingci looked down on Mu Yao with disdain, nitpicking every aspect of him. He sarcastically called Mu Yao a delicate little fairy boy who avoided pungent foods like scallions, ginger, and garlic, and shunned sugary-fatty combinations like chocolate, fried chicken, burgers, and bubble tea—all deemed bad for the skin and prone to causing weight gain.

When Mu Yao’s birthday coincided with the school summer camp, Su Qingci secretly arranged to join as an external student.

After cutting the birthday cake, Mu Yao distributed every slice to his friends, not taking a single bite himself. When classmates asked, he’d just smile and say he didn’t care for sweets.

Su Qingci, who craved sweets like his life depended on it, stared at the cream cake in his hands and suddenly lost all appetite.

On one side stood the ethereal, celestial-like boy who only drank dew and ate flower petals. On the other was himself, devouring junk food made of butter and sugar. The contrast made him feel dirty and greasy.

When Su Qingci looked at Pei Jingchen again, he couldn’t stomach another bite. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, who wouldn’t prefer a delicate, ethereal beauty like Mu Yao?

Su Qingci often acted out of spite, and this time, he was angry at himself.

To compete for attention, Su Qingci went all out—he gave up sweets! He never cared much for burgers, fried chicken, or bubble tea anyway—it was cakes and bread he was madly obsessed with. But driven by jealousy and spite, he forced himself to resist. No sweets!

What broke Su Qingci was this: he could easily go three days and two nights without eating or drinking, and still have another day and night left in him. But giving up sweets? It felt worse than a thousand cuts. He held out for two days before cracking. The third day was his limit. So on the third night, he tossed and turned, his mind filled with chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. He glanced at Pei Jingchen sleeping beside him and called out softly. Pei Jingchen didn’t stir.

Su Qingci was overjoyed. He quietly slipped out of bed, tiptoeing like a cat out of the tent.

In the darkness, Pei Jingchen opened his eyes, stepped outside, and spotted the dark silhouette crouched in the woods.

Crunch crunch, crunch crunch.

The flashlight flickered on, startling the snacking cat. He clutched an Oreo sandwich in both hands, munching away with a satisfying crunch, crumbs scattering everywhere.

Pei Jingchen burst into uncontrollable laughter, showing no mercy for the guilty cat.

Su Qingci was furious, his face flushing crimson with shame and embarrassment. “Stop laughing! So what if I ate them? Are Oreos a crime? Is chocolate cake a crime? They were invented to be eaten, weren’t they!”

Pei Jingchen chuckled. “Exactly. So why on earth are you getting so worked up?”

Su Qingci felt utterly wronged, thinking to himself, You don’t know shit. With a pout, he tore open two more packs of Oreos and began flaunting them wildly. He regretted it immediately—he shouldn’t have tried to copy him from the start. Why should he compromise himself for an outsider? He claimed to hate the little fairy boy, yet he mimicked him. Wasn’t that just slapping himself in the face? A huge mistake! From now on, he’d defy the little fairy boy. If the little fairy boy didn’t like sweets, then he would eat them—and flaunt them!

Be yourself, stay true to who you are, and never be anyone else’s puppet.

Damn it, this is infuriating!

Pei Jingchen finally finished laughing. Flaunting his newly sculpted eight-pack abs, he placed his large hand on Su Qingci’s head, who was sulking like a wronged child, and gave it a firm rub. “My family runs a bakery. If you won’t eat it, who else am I supposed to make it for?”