Chapter 35

Su Qingci set down his paintbrush. The egg custard sat within easy reach—a midnight snack Pei Jingchen had prepared for him. He’d even hinted that if painting continued tomorrow, perhaps a rock sugar and white fungus soup would be better?

　　Su Qingci picked up the palette, then set it down again. Finally, before the egg custard grew completely cold, he graced it with his attention.

Su Qingci had once possessed a hearty appetite, but it had shrunk by half after falling ill. Another half vanished during his ICU stays. Now, everything tasted like chewing wax, and his stomach held little capacity. He felt full after eating only half a bowl of the egg custard.

　　After another half hour of painting, Su Qingci packed up his tools and headed downstairs.

First, he made a quick trip to the bathroom for a simple wash. Then, he walked along the wall. Ever since his illness sapped his strength, he’d developed the habit of hugging the wall as he moved. That way, if anything unexpected happened, he’d have something to hold onto.

　　Reaching the bedroom, he pushed open the door and froze in surprise.

The bedroom lights were off, but a warm glow lingered near the headboard. Pei Jingchen was leaning against it, flipping through a book. Hearing the sound, he looked up, smiled, and slid out from under the covers. “Finished work?”

　　Pei Jingchen walked over to Su Qingci in a few strides and steadied his arm. Su Qingci was momentarily lost in thought and forgot to pull away. “You…”

Pei Jingchen said, “I waited for you to come back so we could sleep together.”

　　In that instant, Su Qingci felt warmth pooling around his eyes and a stinging ache in his nose. It wasn’t the belated fulfillment of a dream that moved him, but the pitiable sight of his former self—so desperate and cautious, clinging to that dream.

　　After three years of living together, their work schedules and routines remained different. Pei Jingchen thrived in the daylight, while Su Qingci was a night owl. Sometimes painting late into the night left his arms too weary to lift. How he longed to return to the bedroom and find Pei Jingchen not asleep, but waiting by the bedside. He would ask knowingly, “Why aren’t you sleeping?” Then, with the kind of sweetness only lovers share, he’d reply, “I was waiting for you to come back so we could sleep together.”

Su Qingci acted like he was in a movie or writing a novel, fantasizing about this scene every night until he was moved to tears.

But fantasies were just fantasies. Pei Jingchen had never waited for him. Not even once.

　　Su Qingci understood Pei Jingchen’s demanding work—far more exhausting than his own life as a full-time painter. So going to bed early was the right choice. But this kind of clingy, romantic gesture between lovers? Once in a while was enough. Just once.

As Su Qingci lay down, Pei Jingchen pulled the covers over him before moving to the other side of the bed. Startled inside, Su Qingci kept his expression cold: “This house has eight bedrooms.”

The implication was clear: Couldn’t the remaining seven bedrooms accommodate you, Mr. Pei?

Pei Jingchen was already lying in bed: “I’ll hear you if you get up in the night.”

　　Su Qingci thought: Is this 24/7 personal care? Treating me like an infant?

　　Su Qingci wanted to say, “Whatever,” but if you won’t share the bed, you can either sleep on the floor or disappear. Yet the words stopped at his lips. Forget it, stop being so dramatic. It’s just sleeping in the same bed—like he hadn’t done it before. Acting like some chaste maiden. Su Qingci shook his head helplessly and swallowed the words.

　　Pei Jingchen turned to face him. “Tired?”

Su Qingci froze, his eyes widening abruptly.

This was their secret code, one they hadn’t used in ages. It took him a moment to register, and by the time he did, he was utterly dumbfounded.

　　Are you tired? If not, then let’s do it.

Su Qingci abruptly propped himself up. “You…”

Pei Jingchen also snapped back to reality, realizing Su Qingci had misunderstood him. He felt both amused and exasperated. “What are you thinking? I was asking if you’re tired, if your wrists ache, if your fingers hurt.”

　　As he spoke, Pei Jingchen reached out from under the covers, took Su Qingci’s hand, warmed it in his own palm, then gently massaged his wrist. It wasn’t his fault for having a mind full of dirty thoughts—it was purely Pei Jingchen’s own careless words that sent the wrong signals, and then blamed the recipient for misunderstanding!

Pei Jingchen’s palm was warm, like a heating pad in winter. His pressure was just right, and after only five minutes of kneading, the soreness in Su Qingci’s wrist eased. Su Qingci said it was fine, but Pei Jingchen insisted on moving to his fingers.

　　He massaged each finger gently, applying more pressure where there was flesh and circling softly around the knuckles. As he worked meticulously, he suddenly heard steady, deep breathing in the quiet bedroom. He knew Su Qingci had fallen asleep. He reached out, but withdrew his hand just before touching Su Qingci’s hair, murmuring an almost inaudible “Good night” in the darkness.

　　*

　　Su Qingci woke naturally at seven in the morning. Rising to leave, he found Pei Jingchen busy in the kitchen. He turned and greeted him with a “Good morning.”

　　Su Qingci didn’t respond, instead instructing the smart butler to turn on the TV. A sweet, loli-like electronic voice replied, “Sure thing,” and the TV switched on, broadcasting a news program with clear, enunciated speech. Su Qingci didn’t watch it, treating it merely as background noise.

He disliked crowds, yet dreaded loneliness intensely.

From the kitchen, Pei Jingchen asked again, “Did you sleep well last night?”

　　Su Qingci still didn’t answer. It was laughable, really. Before, he’d exhausted himself trying to spark conversation, pouring his heart into keeping the home atmosphere lively. Now it was completely reversed—Pei Jingchen was the one searching for things to say, while he acted like an ice sculpture, indifferent and unresponsive.

　　But Su Qingci was being honest—he wasn’t deliberately cold-shouldering him or seeking revenge. He simply couldn’t be bothered to speak, lacking the energy or interest to engage.

He turned on the TV, though. With the announcer providing background noise, Pei Jingchen’s monologue didn’t feel awkward.

　“Qingci,” Pei Jingchen said, “Which sauce would you like today?”

Su Qingci froze, seeing Pei Jingchen holding salad dressing in his left hand and peanut butter in his right, with blueberries, strawberries, and condensed milk scattered across the countertop.

　　Su Qingci was speechless. The very tactic she’d once used against Pei Jingchen had now come back to bite him.

“Condensed milk,” Su Qingci finally managed to say. Pei Jingchen smiled. “Alright. Want some pork floss?”

　　Su Qingci nodded.

A few minutes later, the sandwich was served, accompanied by a full cup of hot milk.

Following his taste, Su Qingci ate a bit more than usual—a whole sandwich and half a cup of milk. The remaining half cup was finished by Pei Jingchen.

　　Sitting on the sofa, Su Qingci idly scrolled through his phone when a shadow fell over him. He looked up to see Pei Jingchen holding a glass of water and a pill organizer.

“Time for your medicine,” Pei Jingchen said, handing him the water.

　　Su Qingci looked at the pill organizer. It had seven compartments, each holding a day’s worth of medication. He had no idea when Pei Jingchen had bought it, much less when he’d sorted everything. Each compartment held six or seven different pills and capsules, but Pei Jingchen knew exactly which one was for what. “Take this one first.”

　　Su Qingci hesitated a few seconds before reaching out.

Watching Su Qingci swallow the pills, Pei Jingchen quietly exhaled in relief. “It’s inconvenient for you to use the public bathroom. I’ll contact the contractor to install an en suite bathroom in the bedroom. But renovations are noisy and dusty. Why don’t you move to my place first?”

　　Su Qingci looked up at him.

Pei Jingchen said, “If you don’t want to, you could stay at a hotel.”

Su Qingci replied, “Neither is necessary.”

Pei Jingchen didn’t press the matter. He recalled Director Wen mentioning the benefits of moderate exercise—walking a few extra steps to the shared bathroom might be good for him.

　　Su Qingci stood up. Pei Jingchen reflexively asked, “Where are you going?”

Su Qingci grew irritated. “Do you think I’m a prisoner?”

Pei Jingchen realized he’d overreacted. “No, just tell me what you need. I’ll get it for you.”

　　Su Qingci’s rising irritation dissipated. He disliked himself for indiscriminately venting his frustration on those around him whenever he felt bad. Pei Jingchen used to be the exception—he was the fire, and Pei Jingchen was the fire extinguisher. But now, even Pei Jingchen couldn’t calm him down.

　　Life was truly unpredictable. Once he’d resorted to any means to capture Pei Jingchen’s attention, yet now that Pei Jingchen watched him constantly, he found himself growing impatient.

Su Qingci said, “I’m going to the studio.”

　　“You…” Pei Jingchen paused, then said, “Wait ten minutes. No, five minutes will do. I’ll move your painting supplies downstairs. How about that room?” He gestured with his finger and added, “Or the lounge area would work too—the lighting’s good there.”

　　The living room connected to the lounge area, which featured two massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Dozens of lavender pots lined the windowsill, opening onto a terrace furnished with sleek, modern chairs and tables, adorned with climbing vines.

It was indeed an excellent spot, and Su Qingci agreed.

　　With approval granted, Pei Jingchen immediately got to work, bringing in an easel, drawing board, and other art supplies. The rest could be moved gradually—no rush.

Su Qingci gazed at the lavender plants. Pei Jingchen remarked, “I watered them yesterday.”

Su Qingci asked, “Aren’t you at work?”

Pei Jingchen replied, “Today’s my day off.”

　　Another day off? Is Lingyue, the workaholic, finally hanging up his hat? Su Qingci wondered inwardly. Whatever. It didn’t matter. Fortunately, while painting, he noticed that although Pei Jingchen was on leave, he hadn’t completely stopped working or become idle. He sat engrossed in his laptop, reviewing documents, and wore Bluetooth earbuds while holding video conferences with department heads.

　　To avoid disturbing Su Qingci, Pei Jingchen conducted video calls from the bedroom. The door remained open, allowing him to keep an eye on Su Qingci’s movements in the lounge area—multitasking at its finest.

Assistant Xu: “Mr. Pei, are you sitting on the floor?”

Pei Jingchen’s long eyebrows furrowed in solemnity: “The floor is cooler.”

　　It was a matter of perspective—only by sitting on the floor in front of the wardrobe could he see Su Qingci’s silhouette reflected in the living room mirror.

The video conference reached ten o’clock. Pei Jingchen glanced at his wristwatch and said, “Adjourn the meeting.”

The marketing manager hurriedly interjected, “Mr. Pei, I still have two proposals left to present.”

　　Pei Jingchen had already removed his headset. “Send me a private message at 1 PM.”

The senior executives of Lingyue Online exchanged bewildered glances. Was this really the dreaded President Pei who would never hold a two-hour meeting if a one-and-a-half-hour one sufficed? How many people had he made relive the terror of teachers dragging on lessons?!

　　Pulling all-nighters was commonplace, endless meetings were routine, starting and finishing were non-negotiable, and finishing today’s work today was strictly enforced—how could he possibly cut things short midway???

Pei Jingchen swiftly ended the meeting and shut down his laptop. He needed to cook dinner!