Chapter 45

　　Su Baidong stood in the living room, his expression dark. Behind him hung a landscape oil painting by a master from the last century. Su Qingci was completely absorbed, though not in observing Su Baidong, but in admiring the artwork.

Masterpieces never grow tiresome; each viewing brings fresh insights and surprises.

　　Su Baidong’s voice was icy. “Su Qingci, you owe me an explanation.”

Su Qingci held a glass filled with chocolate-flavored milk, heated by Pei Jingchen that morning—a substitute for hot cocoa. He’d waited for it to cool before taking a sip, but his mood was ruined before he could drink it by Su Baidong, who had stormed in demanding answers.

　　“Did Dean Wen report you?” Su Qingci asked lazily.

Su Baidong gritted his teeth. “Why aren’t you taking your medicine?”

Su Qingci chuckled. “Does medicine taste good? If it were chocolate, I’d eat three pounds a day.”

　　“Don’t give me that smug look!” Su Baidong roared, his fury boiling over. Secretary Wang, standing at a distance, felt a pang of anxiety and stepped in to urge Chairman Su to calm down, suggesting they discuss things calmly.

　When Pei Jingchen returned and saw the Rolls-Royce parked outside, he guessed Su Baidong had arrived. The door stood ajar. Stepping into the foyer, he spotted the discarded leather shoes—just as he’d suspected.

Pei Jingchen shed his coat and hung his briefcase on the coat rack. Just as he was about to head toward the living room, he suddenly heard Su Baidong roar: For the sake of a man, you spend all day threatening suicide! Have you no dignity?!”

Pei Jingchen froze, his mind momentarily losing control over his body. He stood rooted to the spot, his hearing sharper than ever.

　　Veins bulged on Su Baidong’s forehead as he fumed, “Pei Jingchen took you back! What more do you want? When he rejected you before, you starved yourself and slashed your wrists. Now he’s with you every day—what else could you possibly be unhappy about? Your body isn’t what it used to be. You can’t afford to treat it like this!”

　　Pei Jingchen stiffened, as if fists were pounding his temples. His head buzzed, all other sounds receding until only two words thundered in his ears, deafeningly loud: “starving myself” and “cutting my wrists.”

　　“What else could I possibly be dissatisfied with?” After a long pause, Su Qingci finally spoke, savoring the words. “That sounds so damn high and mighty.”

“Am I being unreasonable again? Acting up?” Su Qingci glanced at Su Baidong, dismissing the thought with a casual smile. “If that’s how you see it, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

　　“You!” Su Baidong’s face flushed crimson with fury. Secretary Wang hurried over to smooth things over, offering platitudes about how children are young and don’t understand yet, blah blah blah. But his well-intentioned words only poured fuel on the fire, making Su Baidong even angrier. “Young? She’s twenty-four years old and still ‘young’? I had a son at her age! Young people these days can’t handle the slightest setback—they want to die over the smallest thing!”

Su Qingci looked at him. Su Baidong suddenly felt guilty and shut up, then changed his tone: “You’ve been through so much hardship, and one man knocks you down completely! Su Qingci, can you show some backbone?”

　　Su Qingci had held back, held back. He thought he’d become impervious, no longer held hostage by his nightmarish childhood. But seeing Su Baidong, he finally lost his temper: “Is this how I am now because of Pei Jingchen? Did he beat me? Did he abuse my mother? Did he let Su Ge beat me and abuse my mother?”

　　Su Baidong was speechless.

Su Qingci sneered coldly: “When I first got sick, I wasn’t resigned either. I wanted to ask why. But then I suddenly felt at peace—even a little excited. This is good. Really good. I shouldn’t have been born into this world in the first place. He shouldn’t have pulled me out at six. And I definitely shouldn’t have crawled back from hell at eighteen to rush toward the human world where he was.”

　　Su Qingci’s eyes gleamed with savagery, his smile twisted. “I should have died long ago. Let the demon’s bloodline be severed completely. Let Su Ge be reduced to ashes!”

“You!” Su Baidong staggered back several steps as if struck by a heavy blow. Only Secretary Wang’s quick reflexes caught him before he collapsed.

　　Clutching his chest, Su Baidong gasped for breath, his face ashen. Secretary Wang fumbled to support the Chairman: “Young Master, we should leave now.”

As Su Baidong passed through the foyer, he collided with Pei Jingchen. They exchanged a glance. Su Baidong departed, and Pei Jingchen, his legs stiff, moved with heavy steps toward the living room.

　　“Qingci,” he called.

Su Qingci turned to look at him. The fierce, fangs-baring expression he’d worn a moment ago while dealing with Su Baidong had vanished completely. As the malevolence faded from his brow, what remained was only a heart-stopping sense of brokenness.

“You heard everything?” Su Qingci asked.

　　“Mhm.” Pei Jingchen replied after a few seconds.

The sound of dripping water echoed through the living room, likely from a kitchen faucet left slightly open. Pei Jingchen walked over to tighten it, his back turned to Su Qingci in the living room.

Su Qingci suddenly spoke up: “I didn’t know you were back.”

　　Pei Jingchen’s voice carried an unmistakable tremor: “Thankfully I did come back. Otherwise…” He would never have known.

How foolish had he been? How utterly dense, to assume that Su Qingci wouldn’t be hurt by his rejection? To never suspect what had happened during those three days he vanished.

　　Starving himself? Cutting his wrists? No. It should be translated as utterly despairing, in unbearable agony.

Pei Jingchen finally understood why Su Qingci loved that park so much, why he chose to celebrate his eighteenth birthday with the simplest feast on a slide, why she felt the atmosphere was “enough” and confessed his feelings in that setting.

　　Su Qingci valued ritual, yet confessed in that setting. It turned out that place held special meaning for him and for both of them. Despite the ground covered in withered leaves, the autumn wind whistling, and the slide rusted and peeling, it was their romantic sanctuary.

For Su Qingci, it was also a uniquely redemptive place.

　　It was where Su Qingci had been “reborn.”

Pei Jingchen knew that the moment the boy offered his hand, he had surrendered his entire being to him.

Yet in the future, he would deliver the fatal blow to that boy!

“I didn’t want to die,” Su Qingci said as he walked beside him, washing the milk cup.

　　Pei Jingchen spun around, wrapping his arms tightly around Su Qingci from behind.

Of course he didn’t want to die. He wanted to live! He had fought so desperately to survive! Three days and four nights, crawling back from hell to earth—how fiercely he had clung to life!

“Xiao Ci,” his voice trembled, shattering into fragments. “I’m sorry.”

　　Su Qingci closed his eyes briefly, then laughed bitterly. “You’re not the Bodhisattva of Compassion saving all beings. You have no obligation to tolerate or accommodate me. You refused because you didn’t like me—you did nothing wrong.”

Su Qingci gently pushed Pei Jingchen’s arms away and turned to face him. “You made no mistake. Don’t dwell on it.”

　　Pei Jingchen didn’t argue about right or wrong. Even if he regretted it now, it was too late. He’d had plenty of chances, but he’d missed them all because of his avoidance and stubbornness.

Suddenly, he remembered something Pei Haiyang had said: Don’t let some petty stubbornness in your heart make you do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life. By then, swallowing a ton of regret won’t be enough.

He could swallow two tons, three tons, ten tons now and it still wouldn’t be enough. What was the saddest, most helpless, most hopeless thing in the world? It was when past mistakes couldn’t be undone, and there was no chance to make things right in the future.

　　Now, even two tons, three tons, ten tons of regret pills wouldn’t be enough. What is the saddest, most helpless, most hopeless thing in the world? It’s when past mistakes can’t be undone, and there’s no chance to make amends in the future.

How cruel it is. He doesn’t ask for a fresh start; he only hopes to refresh from this moment onward, to begin anew. Yet even this humble, insignificant wish is denied by the heavens.

“Please, just live,” Pei Jingchen pressed his hands firmly against Su Qingci’s shoulders, his grip tight—afraid to let go lest he shatter, yet afraid to hold too tightly lest he vanish.

　　“Xiao Ci, I shamelessly beg you—for my sake, please live on.”

*

Su Qingci’s nature made him openly possessive of his beloved, constantly declaring “I love you” at every turn, as if he wanted to shout it from the rooftops with a megaphone. Pei Jingchen, however, appeared extroverted but was actually quite reserved. Thin-skinned and rarely one for sweet talk, even in bed he only let his true feelings slip when pleasure overwhelmed him—calling out his name, kissing the physiological tears welling at the corners of his eyes.

　　When did Pei Jingchen start saying more sweet things? Even without a single mention of “love,” they felt so heart-wrenching, so piercingly painful.

Su Qingci thought back to the past again. How would he have responded before? He’d transcribe every word, punctuation included, savoring it three times daily. No—he’d likely lose himself the moment Pei Jingchen embraced him from behind, long before those words were spoken.

They say online that dwelling on the past means you’re getting old.

　　Su Qingci chuckled bitterly inside. Could it be that he possessed the body of a twenty-four-year-old but the soul of a forty-two-year-old?

　　Pei Jingchen went to wash the dishes. Su Qingci walked over to help, but Pei Jingchen hesitated and didn’t tell him to rest. He handed the washed bowls to Su Qingci, who dried them with a clean towel and placed them in the dish rack.

　　Only now did he realize how precious those once-trivial daily routines truly were. If they had another year, that meant 1,095 meals together—and 1,095 more times washing dishes side by side.

Pei Jingchen reached across the sink and grasped Su Qingci’s wrist. The slender, pale bones were sharply defined, seeming even thinner than when he’d held them last month. He turned his wrist over. The skin was flawless, like a piece of translucent, delicate jade.

Pei Jingchen had seen Su Qingci’s body countless times. Su Qingci always said his proportions were beautiful, his skin smooth and flawless. In truth, Pei Jingchen wanted to say that if they were nude models, Su Qingci would be his equal.

　　No moles, no birthmarks, no scars. Though Pei Jingchen had never asked why, he could guess: shortly after Su Ge’s death, Su Qingci had undergone skin reconstruction surgery to remove as many scars as possible. By the time he reached adulthood, the marks his parents had left on him had faded to near invisibility.

　　Pei Jingchen traced the skin of his left wrist with his fingers. Not a single flaw marred it. With the scars vanished, how could the wound still hurt? Yet, as if compelled by some unseen force, he asked, “Does it hurt?”

Su Qingci withdrew his hand. “Want the truth? It doesn’t hurt.”

　　It felt almost refreshing. He kept this thought to himself, not wanting to frighten Pei Jingchen.

At eighteen, Su Qingci had cut himself three times.

　　The first cut brought excruciating pain throughout his body, especially in his heart. The agony nearly suffocated him, forcing him to use real pain to compensate for the imagined torment.

The second cut plunged him into hell, where countless vengeful spirits and demons lurked below. He could only use his own blood to force himself awake from the nightmare, over and over.

　　The third cut revealed Su Ge. Su Ge stood before him, his face twisted in a savage grin. Su Qingci remembered Pei Jingchen’s words about resisting, so he fought back—smashing with a stool, hurling pillows, punching and kicking. But nothing could break him. He resisted, yet failed. What could he do? Only flee.

　　Blood stained half his sleeve as he stared at Su Ge’s cunning, maniacal grin: “Pei Jingchen doesn’t want you anymore. You have nothing.”

It was freezing. The entire world felt like an ice cellar. He curled up on the floor, teeth chattering, shivering violently.

　　He said, “If you don’t want to go, then I… then I… then I can only stay here with you, starving and freezing.”

He said, “What if the ghosts take you away…”

He said, “Don’t worry, I won’t leave. I’ll always be with you.”

　　He reached out his hand, and was pulled forcefully out of the darkness.

The older boy, two years his senior, wore a warm yellow hoodie with a golden sunflower emblem on the chest.

His smile was far brighter and more radiant than any sunflower.

　　He was a sunflower, dispelling gloom, illuminating eternal night, and reducing all dark spirits and ghosts to ashes.

The eighteen-year-old boy struggled forward, crawling, a long trail of blood trailing behind him. He reached for the phone on the table and dialed the ambulance number.

I never lingered in this world, but who can blame me when this damnable world has you in it!