The same setting, even the same time of afternoon. Su Qingci glanced at the car clock. What a coincidence—exactly the same hour.
They had experienced this journey and scene once before, just last time, when he sat in the same seat to break up with Pei Jingchen. Now, Pei Jingchen sat in that same seat, confessing his feelings to him with tender eyes.
Su Qingci admitted the pain felt like a knife cutting through his heart. Hearing such heartfelt words from someone he’d loved for over a decade—whether improvised or rehearsed—was enough to make any love-struck fool weep uncontrollably and surrender completely.
If only time could be rewound—back to his last visit to Pei Jingchen’s home, back to the night he burned the painting, back to New Year’s Day when they parted ways, back to before his terminal diagnosis… Su Qingci knew he would have lost his mind. Like riding a rollercoaster, he would have embraced Pei Jingchen passionately, kissing him while crying, sobbing that his life hadn’t been wasted, then reassuring Pei Jingchen not to dwell on it—their remaining time together was still long.
The hardest thing to buy in this world is a cure for regret.
Su Qingci wanted to cry, but no tears came. He felt he should be moved, yet when he clutched his heart, he found it had long since grown cold. He wanted to make it beat vibrantly again, but it felt so difficult! So exhausting! He had spent so many years warming Pei Jingchen’s heart—how many more years would it take to warm his own?
Su Qingci opened his mouth to say thank you, to express gratitude for Pei Jingchen’s painstaking efforts.
Pei Jingchen’s words were both a declaration of deep affection and a plea for him to let go.
The incident with the poison was a wall between them, a blade severing their connection. All the estrangement, suspicion, resentment, and hostility stemmed from it. He understood Pei Jingchen’s pain and struggle, just as Pei Jingchen knew his own guilt and torment. Today’s complete and utter laying bare of his heart was meant to allow Su Qingci—and himself—true release.
Su Qingci often spoke with a forked tongue. Though his heart was racked with torment, his words remained light and jovial. And so it went. Only when all was quiet and empty did Su Qingci dare to peer into the dark corners of his own wretchedness. He didn’t regret it, but he loathed the person he had become—a dark, ruthless psychopath. He had transformed into the very image he despised most, so repulsive it made him want to vomit at the sight.
Sometimes he truly wished he could destroy himself!
Now Pei Jingchen told him: Though you were the instigator, you still needed this “victim” to play along. You were treacherous and vile, but I wasn’t blameless either. It’s all in the past now. From this day forward, there’s no need to run away anymore. It won’t keep clattering in each other’s hearts either.
From now on, Shuimu Fanghua would no longer be a forbidden word between them.
Su Qingci felt his breathing lighten.
Pei Jingchen had removed the most immovable boulder from the pit of his stomach. He felt utterly relieved, utterly at peace, as if he could die without regret.
Su Qingci leaned back into the chair. The early spring sun shouldn’t have been this blinding. Just as he raised his hand to shield his eyes, Pei Jingchen’s hand came over first. Su Qingci looked up at him, but Pei Jingchen lowered his gaze just then: “We got together four years ago. If I had agreed to you back then, we could have had two more years together.”
Once time had a concrete countdown, every second became excruciatingly precious, while every second wasted in the past tore at his heart.
Su Qingci’s complexion was as pale as snow. He sat quietly for a long time before suddenly asking, “Pei Jingchen, how long have we known each other?”
Without hesitation, Pei Jingchen replied, “From when you were fourteen until now—exactly ten years.”
Su Qingci’s pupils fluttered slightly, a fleeting glimmer of light passing through them. He smiled faintly, a smile so faint and light it was almost imperceptible: “I knew you’d forgotten.”
Pei Jingchen froze. “What?”
This time, Su Qingci’s smile was more pronounced. He shook his head gently, offering no reply.
*
Back home, Su Qingci got out of the car first and opened the door. As he changed his shoes in the foyer, Pei Jingchen followed him inside.
Just as he had done countless times before, he bent down to retrieve a pair of cotton slippers from the shoe cabinet for Su Qingci to change into. Then, before Su Qingci could move, he scooped up his sneakers and placed them in the cabinet. He helped Su Qingci out of his coat and hung it on a hanger. Only after Su Qingci was completely unburdened did he efficiently undress and change his own shoes.
Su Qingci took a bag full of medicine from Pei Jingchen’s hands and said, “You should go back tonight.”
Pei Jingchen didn’t understand and asked, “Go back where?” Su Qingci replied, “Your own home.”
Pei Jingchen froze in the kitchen, unable to process it. After all, the last time Su Qingci had sent him away was right after he’d been discharged from the hospital—nearly two months ago. It had been two months since he’d started caring for Su Qingci. Time had flown so quickly that it had become second nature, every habit ingrained in his bones.
“Why?” Pei Jingchen couldn’t understand. He mentally reviewed his actions from the past week within half a minute, yet couldn’t find anything that might have crossed Su Qingci’s boundaries, causing him to suddenly ask him to leave after so many days. Even when he caught him drinking coffee, hadn’t he dared not utter a word?
Su Qingci placed the medicine on the coffee table, declining the water Pei Jingchen offered. “Did you confess your feelings to me in the car today?”
Su Qingci looked at him intently. “I refuse.”
Pei Jingchen’s face paled.
Su Qingci said, “I let you take care of me because I wanted to honor your lingering affection—I couldn’t bear to refuse. But if you’re hoping to rekindle old feelings or pursue something more, then forget it.”
Su Qingci tugged at the corners of his lips, revealing a smile that was both self-mocking and icy. “It’s impossible between us.”
Pei Jingchen opened his mouth, then closed it. Suddenly, a phrase came to mind: what goes around comes around.
Ten years ago, he rejected Su Qingci. Now he finally tasted rejection himself. And compared to his own roundabout, indirect approach, Su Qingci’s refusal was direct, decisive, and clean-cut.
So this was what rejection felt like. It differed from the harsh blows he’d endured when starting his business. Back then, he’d pitched his project everywhere only to hit brick walls, once getting turned away by five companies in a single day. He’d been covered in dust and dirt, feeling utterly dejected, but by the next day, he’d recovered. Now, facing rejection again, he felt a completely different kind of gut-wrenching pain. He knew without a doubt that this time, the next day would bring no relief.
When Su Qingci faced rejection, did he also feel this weightless dizziness—that helplessness of desperately trying to grasp something slipping through his fingers, watching the most precious thing vanish before his eyes? A tremor edged Pei Jingchen’s voice: “You don’t have faith in me?”
Su Qingci suddenly smiled faintly: “Isn’t this just fine? We’ve been entangled for half our lives. I’m truly tired.”
Pei Jingchen crouched down in front of Su Qingci and said: “If you’re tired, rest. Leave it to me.”
Su Qingci tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat and he swallowed them back. Before, his persistence had annoyed Pei Jingchen. Now that he’d let go, Pei Jingchen was the one clinging on. What was this nonsense? But seeing Pei Jingchen’s focused expression, Su Qingci recalled how he himself had once been so self-righteous. He’d believed that persistence could carve through stone, that grinding an iron rod into a needle was possible. He’d smugly thought it better for Pei Jingchen to be “lazy”—just take one step, and he’d handle the remaining ninety-nine. “I love you more” was exhausting, yet it carried a proud kind of happiness.
Unfortunately, Pei Jingchen had given him ample time to grind slowly. But now he was cheating—he didn’t have the luxury of waiting for tomorrow.
Su Qingci slept early. After finishing his work in the study, Pei Jingchen returned to the bedroom to find Su Qingci fast asleep. He still tiptoed carefully, stepping lightly onto the bed.
He’d gone to bed at ten, yet by midnight, still unable to sleep, Pei Jingchen stared blankly at the ceiling. Glancing at his phone, it was already two in the morning. Insomnia was agonizing, stretching the night endlessly. Pei Jingchen considered taking a sleeping pill, but the sudden thought of Su Qingci made him quickly dismiss the idea.
As he lay there, drowsiness finally began to creep in. In the haze of his consciousness, Pei Jingchen recalled the words Su Qingci had spoken earlier that day: “I knew it. You forgot.”
Pei Jingchen kept wondering what he had forgotten. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall. His mind, usually sharper than a machine, had suddenly frozen. He racked his brain for an answer, until his temples throbbed with dull pain. Yet, like some form of self-torture, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Dawn was approaching. After a sleepless night, Pei Jingchen turned to look at Su Qingci and noticed he hadn’t moved all night.
Leaning closer, Pei Jingchen noticed Su Qingci’s heavy breathing and trembling eyelashes—as if haunted by a nightmare. Just as he hesitated over whether to wake him, Su Qingci jolted awake and began coughing.
Pei Jingchen hurriedly helped him sit up, patting his back rhythmically.
After coughing for about half a minute, Su Qingci calmed down. There was no blood, and Pei Jingchen’s heart sank with relief. He turned on the bedside lamp, unscrewed the lid of the thermos, and handed it to him. Su Qingci took a few sips, and the pallor on his face eased slightly.
“Bad dream?” Pei Jingchen asked.
Su Qingci clutched his left wrist with his right hand, murmuring a thoughtful “Mhm.”
Pei Jingchen followed his gesture: “Does your wrist hurt?”
Su Qingci instinctively curled deeper into the covers: “No.”
Daybreak arrived, and Pei Jingchen prepared breakfast as usual. Wu Lü, true to his word, showed up promptly. While eating, he chattered nonstop to Su Qingci about the bizarre situations he encountered at work.
After Wu Lü left, Pei Jingchen headed to the office. He now worked mornings at the company and returned home afternoons to care for Su Qingci. He tried to complete all daily tasks by noon, bringing unfinished work home when necessary. Meetings were minimized whenever possible; those that couldn’t be canceled were conducted online whenever feasible.
Beyond his three daily meals and taking medication on schedule under Pei Jingchen’s supervision, Su Qingci focused on persevering with his painting. He rarely played casual single-player games for relaxation anymore. As long as his body held up, he spent almost every waking hour diligently at his easel.
“Qingci, it’s the summer solstice today. How about some mung bean porridge?” Pei Jingchen emerged carrying a bowl of the porridge, only to find Su Qingci sitting motionless on his easel stool. He held a nylon brush saturated with gloss varnish, frozen in the same posture for what seemed like ages.
“Qingci?” Pei Jingchen called out.
Su Qingci stared blankly at the canvas: “It’s finished.”
Pei Jingchen’s heart trembled violently as he abruptly turned to look at the painting.
The large lavender painting, measuring 210cm long by 170cm wide, depicted a harmonious and tranquil sea of lavender with delicate brushstrokes. Within the scene, the lavender blooms displayed rich and varied hues. The artist skillfully employed color and light to immerse the viewer in the serene, dreamlike beauty of nature. Some lavender stood still, others swayed in the breeze. Clusters of flowers and leaves were arranged with perfect precision. The soundless rustle of the wind seemed to blow through the painting and into one’s ears, mysterious and awe-inspiring.
Its melancholic purple and sorrowful white were steeped in an illusion, containing an empty dream.
Pei Jingchen felt dryness around his eyes—not the searing pain of heartbreak, nor the anguish of shattered spirit. It was a stillness, a desolation born of utter tranquility, like having his chest hollowed out only to be stuffed with cotton—both hollow and swollen.
“Incense. Empty Dream is born. Do you like it?” Su Qingci tossed aside the nylon brush and turned to look at him. Though his pupils clearly flashed with light, to Pei Jingchen’s eyes, it felt inexplicably heart-wrenching.
That light was as brilliant as fireworks, yet fireworks are fleeting.
By the time Pei Jingchen realized it, he was already crouched beside Su Qingci’s knees. He said, “You’ve surpassed and broken through once more. This isn’t the end—it’s a new beginning.”
Su Qingci said nothing, only curving his lips into a faint smile. He glanced at the painting, then at the flowers on the terrace.
“Did you water them?” Su Qingci asked.
Pei Jingchen replied, “I watered them yesterday and added fertilizer too.”
Su Qingci said, “Leave these to me from now on. I want to care for them myself.”
Pei Jingchen agreed, “Alright.” He stood up and asked if Su Qingci was tired. He shook his head.
“Even if you’re not, take a break. You finally finished this painting—it took ten years, didn’t it?” Pei Jingchen said with a smile. “You should rest for at least three months. At your last hospital checkup, the doctor said you’re recovering well. If you feel up to it, how about we pick a nice day and go camping?”
Su Qingci paused, looking at him.
Pei Jingchen said, “We won’t go far—just explore the outskirts of the capital.”
Su Qingci lowered his gaze, his expression calm as he replied, “I don’t feel like moving.”
Pei Jingchen smiled faintly, lips pressed together. “Then we’ll go when you feel like it.”
Su Qingci didn’t want to discourage him, so he chose silence.
Pei Jingchen watched as Su Qingci packed his painting supplies. He could help him with many things, but he never touched his art materials. It was like how, no matter how willful or mischievous Su Qingci had been in the past, he had never once touched his computer.
Since leaving the hospital, Su Qingci had been painting only this lavender field. Now that it was finished, Pei Jingchen could see a palpable sense of relief wash over his face.
Pei Jingchen suddenly remembered something and couldn’t help asking, “Qingci, where did you put those portraits you painted of me?”
Su Qingci paused his hand, glanced sideways at him, and continued working. “Why ask about that now?”
Pei Jingchen said urgently, “They’re not at home. I’ve searched everywhere—upstairs, downstairs, even the garage and basement.”
Su Qingci blinked his dry eyes. Staring at colors for too long had left them parched, itchy, and slightly stinging.
Pei Jingchen pressed, “Where did you put them?”
Su Qingci turned away, grabbed a handful of brushes from the table, and tossed them into the inkwell. “I burned them.” “