The freshly baked mung bean cakes had crispy outer layers and soft, fluffy fillings—sweet and fragrant. Su Qingci ate two pieces.
After being watched by Pei Jingchen while taking his afternoon medicine, he felt drowsy and went back to his bedroom to sleep. After less than an hour, he felt listless and increasingly short of breath. Glancing outside, he saw the sky had indeed turned overcast.
The old Su Qingci had loved overcast days and light rain, but now he detested them. On such days, it felt as if the entire world was competing with him for oxygen.
Pei Jingchen asked with concern, “Are you feeling very unwell?”
Since the day Su Qingci was discharged from the hospital, the house had been fully stocked with oxygen equipment. He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
It was merely the atmospheric pressure causing his breathing discomfort—nowhere near the point of needing oxygen. Su Qingci passed the time watching TV. By evening, thunder rumbled loudly, and outside, a steady drizzle finally began to fall.
Overcast days were the hardest to endure; the rain actually brought a refreshing clarity. Su Qingci opened the window halfway and took several deep breaths of the earthy scent mingled with fresh grass. “Pei Jingchen.”
Pei Jingchen, who had been watering the lavender in the distance, immediately stood up. “Hmm?”
Su Qingci turned to look at him, leaning his lower back against the windowsill. Behind her, the spring rain fell steadily, its gentle, unobtrusive rhythm creating an atmosphere of quiet elegance and serenity.
The scene had an atmospheric quality. Though Pei Jingchen lacked artistic sensibility, he felt this tableau resembled an arthouse film, suffused with a faint melancholy.
Su Qingci said, “Did you forget? Change your profile picture or something.”
Pei Jingchen looked surprised. “Huh?”
Su Qingci clarified, “Your WeChat profile picture.”
Pei Jingchen’s earliest profile picture was a majestic Kunming dog. When Su Qingci asked if he liked dogs, Pei Jingchen said no—it was just a stock image he’d found online. At the time, he’d thought the military dog looked so proud and handsome, so he’d used it. Su Qingci then offered, “Let me give you a one-of-a-kind profile picture.” After an hour, he sent Pei Jingchen an oil painting of sunflowers.
Pei Jingchen looked puzzled and asked, “Is there some meaning behind it?”
Su Qingci smiled and said, “You said I resemble lavender, so I say you resemble sunflowers.”
Regardless of whether Pei Jingchen liked it, Su Qingci snatched his phone and set the sunflowers as his profile picture. Su Qingci assumed he’d change it soon, but unexpectedly, Pei Jingchen kept it for all these years.
“I won’t change it,” Pei Jingchen said. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
Su Qingci said nothing more.
Pei Jingchen told himer not to stand by the window too long in the breeze. The late spring chill was biting, and she’d catch a cold. Su Qingci obediently closed the window a bit and returned to sit on the sofa.
Pei Jingchen hesitated for half a minute before asking, “I heard from Annelise that you painted a sunflower at the end of last year?”
Su Qingci’s heart fluttered slightly, neither confirming nor denying.
Pei Jingchen said, “I didn’t see it on your Weibo account?”
He knew Su Qingci posted some of his work online. These publicly exhibited pieces on Weibo were non-sale items—shared for others to see and appreciate. Pei Jingchen scrolled through his feed from top to bottom, reviewing it over a dozen times without finding it. He wondered if Su Qingci had set it to private, visible only to himself? Or perhaps he hadn’t posted it at all?
Su Qingci lowered his eyes and said, “Just a sketch. I don’t like it.”
Within the realm of painting, Su Qingci held himself to exacting standards, bordering on obsessive perfectionism. As a result, he discarded countless drafts. Yet sunflowers held special significance for Su Qingci. Having never seen him paint them before, their sudden appearance—and equally sudden disappearance—made it impossible for Pei Jingchen not to take notice. An inexplicable unease stirred within him.
But more than the sunflowers, Pei Jingchen was consumed by curiosity about the whereabouts of his own hundreds of portrait sketches. He had assumed Su Qingci had brought them here along with the lavender potted plants. Yet, after residing in this villa for over a month, Pei Jingchen had thoroughly searched every corner—the three floors, the small front garden, and the swimming pool at the back. Not a single painting was found.
Of course, Su Qingci owned more than one property. Perhaps they were stored elsewhere?
Pei Jingchen resisted asking and said, “We have a follow-up hospital appointment tomorrow. Get some rest early.”
The next morning, a cool chill lingered from the previous night’s rain. Su Qingci wore a black, high-neck cashmere sweater layered under a dark brown trench coat. As he stepped out, Pei Jingchen was just pulling the Koenigsegg out of the garage.
Su Qingci recalled the last time he rode in Pei Jingchen’s car—it was the day he broke up with him on New Year’s Day.
Su Qingci glanced toward the rear door, but Pei Jingchen walked around from the driver’s seat and opened the passenger door for him. After a few seconds of hesitation, Su Qingci got in. His gaze fell on the red tag on the passenger dashboard, and he froze slightly.
He remembered picking at it that day—though it looked like a dog had chewed on it, the label had lifted at one corner. How was it now firmly stuck back on?
Su Qingci tried picking at it with his finger, but it felt welded on. Had the little trick he shared earlier not worked? The internet was full of truth and lies—better to steer clear.
Pei Jingchen closed the car door and turned to offer his hand to Su Qingci, only to see Su Qingci pull the seatbelt over and buckle it himself.
Su Qingci had his own car but preferred to hitch a ride in Pei Jingchen’s, saying it felt different. When Pei Jingchen asked what the difference was, he said it felt like family—he was particularly fond of the passenger seat in Pei Jingchen’s car. Not only did he sit there, but he deliberately refused to buckle up. Pei Jingchen had reminded him several times, but Su Qingci, whether on purpose or not, always “forgot,” then feigned exhaustion, his arms too tired to lift, saying, “Help me buckle up.”
As a painter, his arms were always tired—it was impossible to fault him.
When Pei Jingchen fastened his seatbelt, Su Qingci would deliberately blow on his ear, or pretend to accidentally brush his earlobe with his lips, or even boldly plant a kiss on his cheek.
Pei Jingchen felt a burning heat in his chest. Waiting at a red light, he glanced at Su Qingci, who had his head resting against the seat, eyes closed in quiet repose.
The hospital follow-up took up the entire morning. Su Qingci showed no interest in the results, wandering off alone. When tired, he’d buy drinks from vending machines. His fingers moved with muscle memory, poking the canned coffee with pinpoint accuracy. Su Qingci thought: Either I chug this while Pei Jingchen’s not looking, or he catches me red-handed and nags me to death.
He promptly paid, opened the can, and took a satisfying sip. Suddenly, a voice rang out: “Su Qingci?”
Though it wasn’t Pei Jingchen’s voice, Su Qingci—caught in the act of misbehavior—jolted with guilt, nearly choking on his drink.
The mirror that reveals true nature: Zhang Haonan.
“Heard you were critically ill in the ICU and had major surgery?” Zhang Haonan asked. “Everyone in the circle is buzzing about you having an incurable disease. Is it true?”
Su Qingci shot him a cold stare, his eyes landing on the medical file folder in Zhang Haonan’s hand. A faint, mocking smile played on his lips. “Finally worn out from exhaustion and can’t get it up anymore? The playboy’s magic mirror has gone limp. That’s way more sensational than me having cancer.”
Far from angered by this jab at his most sensitive spot—the very part that defines his manhood—Zhang Haonan actually laughed. He strode forward with a dashing stride, leaning one hand against the vending machine beside Su Qingci’s ear while flicking back the strands of hair at his forehead. “Whether I can get hard or not? Why don’t you try and find out?”
*
Pei Jingchen chatted with Wen Mengmeng for a long time before thanking her as he left. Wen Mengmeng personally escorted him to the elevator entrance: “With you looking after Xiao Ci, I feel at ease. If anything happens to him, call me anytime, even in the middle of the night.”
Pei Jingchen saw the deep concern and faint guilt in the old man’s eyes.
Wen Mengmeng: “I’m counting on you to take care of Xiao Ci.”
“No need to ask,” Pei Jingchen replied, his tone tinged with personal emotion. As the elevator arrived, he composed himself and asked, “Is Su Qingci’s illness truly incurable?”
Wen Mengmeng sighed softly and shook her head. “Mr. Pei has extensive connections. I’m sure you’ve already inquired.”
Pei Jingchen silently acknowledged this. He had reached out to contacts in Germany, France, South Korea, Japan, and even the United States—the world’s medical powerhouse. Some illnesses simply defied cure, no matter how vast one’s wealth or influence.
Su Qingci diligently followed medical instructions, taking his medication on schedule. His condition was currently stable, and his post-operative recovery had been promising. Yet this did not mean he would be cured. Wen Mengmeng had said it was a ticking time bomb—one wrong move and it would explode. Even the current medication merely prolonged his life; the disease itself was progressing.
Progressing, not paused.
Stepping out of the elevator, Pei Jingchen felt like a wandering spirit.
The sky was clear and bright today, yet Pei Jingchen felt suffocated by the weight of his emotions. The words “What will happen in the end?” rolled around in his throat, but he dared not voice them. The question “How much longer does Su Qingci have?” felt like a dagger thrust into his heart—stabbing downward, drawing blood, and spurting gore when pulled out.
Life’s greatest regret is the helplessness of being unable to make amends.
When you don’t have a definite number, you always feel like there’s plenty of time. Life is long, no rush, take it slow. But time is short—so short that several seconds are wasted with every breath.
Pei Jingchen suddenly longed to see Su Qingci. He quickened his pace and abruptly collided with the scene before him.
Bathed in spring light, Su Qingci leaned against a vending machine, his expression serene. Slender and tall, his form was accentuated by well-fitted jeans that hugged his tight, tapered waist. A khaki jacket hung draped over his bent elbow, while a black turtleneck cashmere sweater made his face appear as white as snow.
Across from him stood a man—Zhang Haonan. Zhang Haonan was cornering him against the wall.
*
An ugly, penniless man’s smile is vulgar; a handsome, wealthy man’s smile is charming. Zhang Haonan, who wasn’t bad-looking himself, clearly belonged to the latter category. Su Qingci snorted derisively. His features were inherently distinctive, worlds apart from the minor celebrities Zhang Haonan usually frequented. Zhang Haonan described him as gloomy and world-weary, yet when he smiled, it was breathtakingly beautiful and dangerous, like a sickly beauty.
Zhang Haonan didn’t care for docile lambs; he craved the wild, challenging type. Take Mu Yao, for instance—a seemingly innocent white flower with a black lotus heart. Zhang Haonan thrived on the thrill.
Suddenly, Zhang Haonan felt a tight grip on his collar. His 150-pound frame stumbled backward under the pull.
Su Qingci watched helplessly as Zhang Haonan was lifted by the collar like a little chick by Pei Jingchen’s single hand. He was tossed aside, his legs buckling as he stumbled several steps, tripping over the curb and landing face-first in the dirt, his butt smacking the ground.
Zhang Haonan was both shocked and furious. “You bastard, Pei!”
Ah, what incredible strength. Even if he wasn’t his boyfriend, as a friend, Su Qingci couldn’t help but admire Pei Jingchen’s manliness. He’d been athletic since childhood—morning runs, evening basketball, boxing training—his arms incredibly strong, powerful enough to lift Su Qingci with one hand while carrying him from the foyer to the bedroom.
Since moving in together, their only harmony existed in bed. After all, physical pleasure required no emotional investment. But what if the heart could keep pace? Sex/love, sex without love. After soaring to ecstasy came the plummeting weightlessness. The more the body was satisfied, the emptier the soul felt.
Su Qingci shrugged it off with a smile. Oh well, he’d never experience true mutual passion in this lifetime anyway.
He didn’t glance at Zhang Haonan or Pei Jingchen. Turning away, he walked off, sipping his coffee contentedly. Only when it was nearly finished did he realize his hunger had led him to buy Wulin brand. But it had been so long since he’d had it—it actually tasted pretty good. People really are masochistic creatures, he thought. Even the finest things grow tiresome when consumed daily, while the most mundane become deeply missed when long denied.
Pei Jingchen caught up. Su Qingci didn’t ask how things went with Zhang Haonan. He tossed the empty coffee can into the trash and waited indifferently for Pei Jingchen’s chatter.
Unexpectedly, Pei Jingchen only said, “Don’t drink it anymore.”
Su Qingci curved his lips into a faint smile. “Live one day at a time. Who needs all those rules?”
His reckless honesty made Pei Jingchen’s expression darken instantly, as if he’d been struck by a heavy blow.
Settling into the car, Su Qingci fastened his seatbelt. Pei Jingchen didn’t start the engine. His hands gripped the steering wheel as he said, “Qingci, please don’t say such self-destructive things anymore, okay?”
Su Qingci paused, unable to hold back a smile. “I’ve noticed you’re getting more and more protective of me.”
Pei Jingchen’s heart trembled. “You said you wanted me to look after you for the rest of your life.”
The bright sun streamed through the lush camphor trees, casting dappled patches of light and shadow.
Suddenly, Su Qingci felt Pei Jingchen’s gaze burn so intensely it forced him to look away.
It felt like time had reversed, back to that crisp autumn day at eighteen, back to that slide in his memory. There was beer, pizza, birthday cake, lavender, and Pei Jingchen.
Leaves were tinged crimson, autumn winds gently stirred, and high clouds drifted faintly. He made a wish over the cake: May the one I love also love me.
Blowing out the candles, he drank heavily, his mind growing increasingly hazy. It truly was an impulse, not premeditated. The moment simply arrived—words stifled too long in his chest burned with pain. To speak them felt impossible, yet to remain silent felt unbearable. One word led to another, and before he knew it, he’d confessed.
Seeing Pei Jingchen’s stunned expression, he hid his own reaction, though his heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst.
When Pei Jingchen asked what he meant—what kind of liking—he froze, stammering, “Just liking, that’s all.” What kind of liking? Liking is liking. It was a deep, soul-searing kind of liking. A complete and utter kind of liking.
He suspected Pei Jingchen was playing dumb. And sure enough, Pei Jingchen was playing dumb.
Was this a subtle rejection? His eighteenth birthday—a terrible birthday, but not utterly disastrous. At least he hadn’t been humiliated. At least he could feign ignorance with the excuse, “I blacked out. I don’t remember. Did anything happen?” It saved his own face and gave Pei Jingchen a way out, preventing them from becoming enemies.
It took him three days before he contacted Pei Jingchen, pretending nothing had happened.
Because he spent three days and four nights healing himself—a process he’d rather not revisit. It was merely grueling to crawl back from hell to the mortal world—falling back halfway up, then climbing again only to fall back once more. Below were countless malevolent spirits, clutching his ankles and dragging him down, tugging and pulling…
“You have a good memory, as always. I don’t remember,” Su Qingci said coldly. “Whether I choose to give up or push forward, my body is mine to decide. Whether I drag myself through three more years or live three days decisively—that’s my choice.”
Pei Jingchen: “Su Qingci.”
“Pei Jingchen.” Su Qingci cut him off coldly. “Get a grip on your own position. We’re nothing to each other.”
Pei Jingchen’s pupils contracted slightly. Just minutes ago, Zhang Haonan had said the exact same words: “Hey, Pei! Get a grip on who you are! You and Su Qingci are already broken up. You two are nothing to each other! What gives you the right to interfere with us?!”
Pei Jingchen clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. ” Did you tell Zhang Haonan about the breakup?”
Su Qingci wasn’t one to share personal matters, especially since he had no close friends to confide in. Pei Jingchen hadn’t mentioned it either—not even to Wu Lü or Pei Haiyang. So how did Zhang Haonan, a complete outsider, find out?
Su Qingci found it rather amusing, because Pei Jingchen now looked like he was here to demand answers.
Zhang Haonan had just asked Pei Jingchen, “You came to the hospital for a follow-up, but where’s your boyfriend?” Su Qingci had casually denied having a boyfriend and mentioned they’d broken up long ago.
Su Qingci said, “We should probably make it official within our respective circles.”
To avoid future rumors of him being ambiguous with someone else, or rumors spreading that he was a philanderer playing both sides. Su Qingci didn’t care much about himself, but damaging Pei Jingchen’s image would be problematic.
“Su Qingci.” Pei Jingchen’s voice was low, not harsh, but he had used his full name—first and last—for the first time in ages.
Su Qingci used to gauge Pei Jingchen’s mood by his choice of address, but now he couldn’t tell. His complexion was pale, his eyes deep, dark pools like bottomless lakes.
“I asked you last time, and you didn’t answer,” Pei Jingchen said, looking at Su Qingci. “Is there still room for me in your eyes, in your heart?”
Pei Jingchen’s expression was stern, almost frighteningly so. Yet his voice was hollow, a hollow facade concealing an inner fragility—a vulnerability that threatened to crumble at the slightest touch.
Su Qingci pinched his left wrist again. A cold, stinging pain seemed to emanate from that spot. He knew it was an illusion—after all, so much time had passed that the skin there was smooth and tender, without even a scar.
Pei Jingchen remained silent, waiting for an answer as if torturing himself.
Pei Haiyang had said: You are the rope connecting him to this world. If you break, he will be lost.
If Su Qingci were a kite, Pei Jingchen wanted to be the string holding him forever.
Did he have the right to be the reason Su Qingci lived?
Could he continue being that rope?
He waited and waited, each second sliced into countless fragments, enduring the agony bit by bit. Just as Su Qingci was about to speak, Pei Jingchen’s voice trembled as he interrupted, “It’s okay. This time, let me take over.”
Su Qingci looked at him blankly. “What?”
Pei Jingchen: “Everything. Everything is mine now.”
His words were ambiguous, yet Su Qingci understood perfectly.
From this moment on, it was Pei Jingchen who would love Su Qingci.
Did he want to restore everything one-to-one? Could he even afford it? Even if he could, how much time did he have left to verify it with him? Besides, he didn’t need Pei Jingchen to repay him at all!
Over a decade of unwavering devotion and sincere commitment—Su Qingci had never regretted it. Even that last shred of reluctance had faded away with time.
“You said you cared about me before, yet now you act like this. Pei Jingchen, you’ve truly left me utterly confused.” Su Qingci stared at his weary reflection in the rearview mirror and smiled helplessly. “Did you suddenly wake up one day, have an epiphany, and realize you actually like me?”
Pei Jingchen replied, “It’s not out of the blue. There… were signs.”
He spoke earnestly, his gaze piercingly intense, stabbing Su Qingci’s heart with pain.
Was this a confession? Su Qingci felt no joy. He certainly didn’t close his eyes in blissful acceptance, thinking his impending death was made worthwhile by finally receiving Pei Jingchen’s response. How ironic, he thought. He’d despised him so intensely before, yet now, when his days were numbered, he discovered he was stubborn on the outside but soft-hearted inside—still loving him. Wasn’t that ironic? Was this some soap opera?
What about all the pain and torment he’d endured before? Was it merely the necessary path to seeing the moon break through the clouds? Was the fruit of victory sweeter and juicier only after being tempered by a thousand hammers and a hundred fires?
Su Qingci tasted only sourness and bitterness. He wanted to laugh but couldn’t, wanted to cry but had no tears left. Suddenly, Su Qingci remembered—his tears had long since dried up. He was nothing but a piece of dead wood now.
Pei Jingchen said, “Qingci, I was slow to realize it before. No, those were all excuses. I was avoiding it, afraid to admit it. Then, during that incident at Shuimu Fanghua, I…”
Su Qingci: “That was my fault. It always has been.”
Pei Jingchen watched him silently: “You once asked me what I would have done if someone else had been with me that day. Qingci, I have my answer now.”
Su Qingci felt his heartbeat quicken, each thud echoing in his chest. He heard Pei Jingchen say, “I’d lock myself in the bathroom, douse my head with cold water until the drugs wore off. If that didn’t work, I’d stab myself with a knife—just to let some blood out. In short, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t let the ‘trapped beast’ out.”
Trapped beast?
Su Qingci grasped the phrase yet couldn’t fully comprehend it.
Pei Jingchen continued: “In matters of the heart, I’m a complete fool—passive, evasive, just muddling through. When that drugging incident happened, I was furious. Furious that the image I held of you was shattered beyond recognition. Furious that you had no boundaries. Furious that you didn’t value yourself!”
Su Qingci froze, staring blankly as he asked, “Shouldn’t you be furious that I schemed against you with such underhanded tactics?”
Pei Jingchen replied, “I am, but it pales in comparison to what I just mentioned. I don’t want you to become this kind of scheming villain who stops at nothing. I’m angry at you, but also at myself for failing to keep a closer eye on you. Afterward, I kept replaying it in my mind—was it the drugs that clouded my judgment, or did I use them to fulfill my own unspeakable desires?”
Su Qingci stared blankly. “What inner desire?”
Pei Jingchen’s emotions churned violently inside him. His pale, thin lips trembled uncontrollably. “I should have accepted you the very first time you confessed your feelings.”