Su Qingci lay on the sofa, nearly asleep, when he suddenly heard Pei Jingchen say, “Xiao Ci, it’s time for your medicine.”
Su Qingci stirred groggily awake. The TV program had just reached its closing credits. He completely tuned out Pei Jingchen, focusing intently on the screen.
“Xiao Ci, take your medicine,” Pei Jingchen repeated patiently.
Su Qingci waited for the credits to finish before rising. “I’m going to bed.”
Pei Jingchen pressed his shoulder back onto the sofa, offering a glass of water. “Take your medicine first.”
Su Qingci frowned and flicked his wrist, knocking the cup over. Warm water spilled everywhere, a few drops splattering onto his socks. Pei Jingchen bent down to pick up the cup, a faint smile on his face. “I knew you’d do that. I used a plastic cup.”
Su Qingci’s smile was forced: “Is that so? You really are prescient.”
Pei Jingchen poured fresh water and handed him the pills: “Take them.”
Su Qingci closed his eyes: “Don’t push me to lose my temper.”
Suddenly, his nape was seized by the man’s large hand. Two soft lips pressed against his own. Su Qingci’s scalp tingled. Before he could react, his lips were pried open. Instantly, two pills slid down the man’s nimble tongue into Su Qingci’s mouth. With lightning speed, they reached his throat. Left no choice, he gulped them down.
The food stuck in his throat, scraping his esophagus until it went numb. Su Qingci’s face flushed crimson with fury as he shoved Pei Jingchen away. “You!”
“Don’t push me to the edge,” Pei Jingchen said, his gaze piercing and unforgiving.
Su Qingci locked the bedroom door. Pei Jingchen would sleep in the living room tonight.
Early the next morning, as Su Qingci emerged from the bedroom, Pei Jingchen asked him what kind of sauce he wanted. Still fuming, Su Qingci ignored him. After washing up, he came out to find Pei Jingchen serving breakfast at the table. Su Qingci glanced at it—a full six sandwiches.
Pei Jingchen said, “Here’s salad dressing, chocolate sauce, strawberry jam, blueberry jam, condensed milk, peanut butter—everything you could want. Eat whichever you like.”
Su Qingci: “…”
Pei Jingchen then asked, “What would you like to drink?”
Fearing he might bring out seven or eight different beverages, Su Qingci reluctantly replied, “Milk.”
After dinner, Pei Jingchen came bothering him with a thermometer. Su Qingci didn’t move, so Pei Jingchen lifted his arm like he was tending to a kindergarten toddler and tucked the thermometer under his armpit. The moment Pei Jingchen turned his back, Su Qingci tossed the thermometer aside. “Clink!” The mercury shattered across the floor.
Pei Jingchen turned back and said, “I bought a whole box wholesale online. Throw them away if you want.”
Su Qingci was so annoyed he almost laughed: “…”
Pei Jingchen said with deadpan seriousness, “If that’s not enough, I’ll invest in a pharmaceutical factory. We’ll produce tens of thousands of thermometers daily for you to smash.”
Su Qingci: “Pei Jingchen, will you ever stop?!”
Pei Jingchen flashed a smile: “Not anytime soon.” Then, with an innocent yet earnest expression, he added, “Time for your medicine.”
Su Qingci: “…”
Su Qingci glared fiercely at him: “Get out!”
“I’ll leave after you take your medicine.” Pei Jingchen straightened his suit collar and tie as he spoke. “I’ll be back at 1:30 PM sharp. Please be ready to receive me.”
Su Qingci: “…”
Su Qingci used to think he was the most stubborn person. Little did he know Pei Jingchen would surpass him.
After Pei Jingchen left, Su Qingci deleted the fingerprint access he’d set up. Then Pei Jingchen called him, “threatening” to call security. Su Qingci was both amused and annoyed. He told him to get his facts straight—who was the property owner here? What right did he have to call security? Then the security guards arrived, all huffing and puffing.
Fuming, Su Qingci confronted the security chief: “Are you trying to get fired? I explicitly told you not to let Pei Jingchen into the complex!” The chief looked utterly innocent. “But Mr. Pei is a homeowner too. How could we stop ‘God’ from going home?” Su Qingci froze. The understanding security chief pointed to a villa in the distance. “Mr. Pei just registered his property there yesterday.”
Su Qingci: “???”
Not only could Pei Jingchen now enter the compound openly, but he also abused his position to command the security guards. Using the excuse that “Teacher Su is gravely ill and might collapse inside—break down the door immediately,” he stormed into the residence with righteous indignation. Of course, they didn’t actually break in. But a crowd outside wailing “Teacher Su” like mourners at a grave was still a major disturbance.
Very well, very well. You win. The security team that once served as Su Qingci’s weapon had now betrayed him in an instant, colluding with Pei Jingchen. Su Qingci consoled himself: If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Whatever.
After breakfast that day, Wu Lü arrived. After a few casual words, Pei Jingchen brought pills and warm water for Su Qingci. She gave him a cold stare and didn’t move. Pei Jingchen didn’t rush him, only murmuring softly in a voice only they could hear: “Still want me to feed you?”
Those who knew understood exactly what kind of feeding he meant. These past days, taking medicine had been forced upon him by Pei Jingchen through his particular methods. Sometimes Su Qingci truly wanted to vomit in front of him, but she couldn’t bring himself to do it. Besides, the sensation of vomiting was rather unpleasant. To make himself teary-eyed and snot-nosed, violently retching just to spite Pei Jingchen—it wasn’t worth it, and it was ugly.
Pei Jingchen’s hushed tone carried an implicit warning—after all, Wu Lü was present in the room. Su Qingci had no doubt Pei Jingchen would feed him medicine in front of him.
When it came to intimacy, Pei Jingchen was surprisingly shy and conservative. He never acted out in public, and the presence of others made intimate gestures even less likely. Su Qingci understood the latter point—public spaces demanded mutual respect. Save the affection for home; don’t make passersby uncomfortable. But the former was undeniably disappointing. The thrill of outdoor encounters far surpassed anything on the balcony at home. Su Qingci had once tried to seduce Pei Jingchen in the car, but the man was too upright—she failed every time.
Su Qingci’s thoughts wandered a bit too far. Suddenly, he felt like challenging Pei Jingchen—who was afraid of whom? If he had the guts, why not try a French kiss right in front of Wu Lü?
But Pei Jingchen had changed so much lately. Maybe he really could let go now. Better not risk it.
Su Qingci took the pill and swallowed it. Pei Jingchen curved his lips into a smile, his gentle face revealing a hint of beguiling charm. Su Qingci shifted his gaze and engaged in a half-hearted conversation with Wu Lü. Suddenly, Wu Lü remembered something and casually remarked, “Xiao Chen, your birthday is coming up soon, right?”
Pei Jingchen’s birthday fell during the dog days of summer, the hottest period of the year.
Su Qingci might forget anything else, but never Pei Jingchen’s birthday. Every New Year’s Eve, besides setting an alarm for the following year’s holiday, he would circle Pei Jingchen’s birthday in advance. Then he’d fantasize about how to celebrate it, what unique gifts to prepare. A month before the actual day, he’d start mentally mapping out the itinerary: where to travel, what delicacies to savor, and how many photos they’d take together. Since Pei Jingchen adored animals, a trip to the zoo seemed perfect.
He was swamped with work, social engagements, and spending time with Pei Haiyang at home. The only time he could barely squeeze out for Su Qingci was at night—a measly four hours. How could he possibly plan a trip with such limited time? Su Qingci could only cook a feast. But Pei Jingchen had eaten and drunk too much during the day—how could he possibly have an appetite at night? He reluctantly picked at a couple of bites, some dishes untouched.
Su Qingci had been marking the date half a year ago, planning a month prior. His memo pad was worn from constant revisions. On the actual day, she personally supervised the air delivery of fresh produce and seafood, then spent half the day cooking eight dishes and a soup. And this was Pei Jingchen’s response? How could Su Qingci tolerate it? Why did he eat so much during the day? Why didn’t he save some room for himself?
Su Qingci suddenly wondered if she and Pei Jingchen were just incompatible. Ever since she’d known him, his birthdays never seemed to go smoothly—the most glaring example being that incident at Shuimu Fanghua.
After Wu Lü left, Su Qingci saw the sunlight was perfect and pushed open the floor-to-ceiling windows to sit on the lounge chair on the terrace.
Pei Jingchen emerged carrying a tray of washed fruit—peaches peeled and cut into chunks, watermelon seeded and diced into neat squares. Su Qingci glanced at them: the peach flesh was far from the pit, sweet and tender; the watermelon was from the very center, sweet and crisp.
Pei Jingchen speared a piece of watermelon with a fruit fork and held it to Su Qingci’s lips. “How about we go camping on my birthday?”
Su Qingci leaned his head back against the chair. “You mentioned it before. I gave you my answer.”
Pei Jingchen concealed the lingering sadness in his eyes well: “Mhm.”
*
Pei Jingchen woke early. At half past five in the morning, the sky outside was already bright, the morning sun shining brilliantly.
Pei Jingchen glanced at his phone calendar. Today was his birthday.
Pei Jingchen didn’t feel particularly attached to birthdays. Aside from his eighteenth, which held special significance, there wasn’t much to celebrate. But today, he felt an inexplicable surge of excitement and anticipation, as if on such a day he might be granted some kind of privilege—as if the world would bow to him, the birthday boy.
Pei Jingchen made breakfast and went to the bedroom to wake up Su Qingci, who was sleeping in.
The so-called birthday had been corrupted by consumerism, forcing people to buy cakes, flowers, and dine out. Any sense of ceremony required spending money, and spending money drove consumption.
Pei Jingchen didn’t care for ceremony. A bowl of noodles and a fried egg sufficed—homemade and filling, far more economical than those steaks served on grand platters that vanished in a single bite. He’d told Su Qingci before that there was no need to tire himself preparing elaborate meals. A simple bowl of noodles would do, even instant noodles would be fine.
But his words always fell on deaf ears. Every time he came home, Su Qingci would be waiting with a lavish spread laid out for dinner. During the day, forced by business obligations, he’d have to endure meals and drinks pushed by partners—pasta, foie gras, steak, cream-baked shrimp—leaving him stuffed and sick of rich food. All he wanted when he got home was plain rice porridge. He could only manage a few bites before setting down his chopsticks. Su Qingci, exhausted after a long day of work, couldn’t help but feel annoyed. He hugged his laptop and searched online: “What’s it like to have a boyfriend who ruins the mood?”
Pei Jingchen knew he was a real downer. If he posted something titled “Having a boyfriend who cooks eight dishes and a soup for you but you don’t want to eat it,” he swore he’d get flooded with comments like: “What? Don’t you know how good you have it?” “Where’d you find a boyfriend like that? Give him back!” or “OP just here to show off, right?”
Seeing Pei Jingchen’s eager expression, Su Qingci nodded.
Pei Jingchen was caught off guard. He’d expected Su Qingci to refuse, so his initial shock gave way to wild joy. He immediately researched the restaurant’s signature dishes. When they arrived at lunchtime, the waitstaff recommended several options. Pei Jingchen specifically requested less oil, less salt, and no spice.
Having lived together for years, Su Qingci knew Pei Jingchen’s tastes well. He couldn’t stand fancy, elaborate dishes. A rich Belgian chicken stew couldn’t compare to the simple yet beloved Chinese home-style tomato scrambled eggs. Sometimes, after leaving a five-star restaurant where he’d eaten and drunk plenty, his stomach still felt empty. He’d end up grabbing a bowl of Lanzhou noodles from a street vendor to fill himself up. Wu Lü called him the most down-to-earth tycoon around. TV dramas featured sandwiches and coffee, exuding high-end vibes, but him? Three-yuan soy milk, two-yuan fried dough sticks, and one-yuan-fifty tea eggs.
Pei Jingchen said he’d eaten this way since childhood and was used to it. Compared to Häagen-Dazs, he preferred little puddings.
Su Qingci suddenly reflected on whether he had been too one-sided in the past. To show his regard, he’d showered Pei Jingchen with unnecessary ceremonial gestures—French foie gras, Kobe beef, German sausages, and so on. Perhaps those priceless foreign delicacies were all show and no substance to him, nowhere near as satisfying as a bowl of old-style Beijing-style fried sauce noodles.
He seemed too forceful, too domineering—imposing what he deemed best upon Pei Jingchen, when in truth he was merely trying to impress himself.
As they crossed the street after leaving the restaurant, Pei Jingchen took Su Qingci’s hand. Su Qingci offered no resistance. Once they reached the other side, Pei Jingchen still held on, and Su Qingci didn’t pull away.
As they walked, Su Qingci glanced at an ice cream shop. Before he could even ask, he merely looked for two extra seconds, and Pei Jingchen beside him said, “I’ll get it.”
When Pei Jingchen returned with an Oreo sundae, he found Su Qingci surrounded by two salespeople, holding flyers from a music store.
Su Qingci could play instruments—not just piano, but also the guzheng. Later, he grew to dislike the guzheng, much like mint flavor. Eventually, he came to dislike the piano too.
Su Qingci ate only half the sundae before heading home for a nap. He slept for just half an hour. When he walked into the living room, he found Pei Jingchen at home.
“Aren’t you meeting friends?” Su Qingci didn’t want Pei Jingchen stuck at home with him, “serving time.”
Pei Jingchen had his own vast social circle, friends scattered far and wide. His WeChat contacts were nearly maxed out, even including elementary school classmates. Beyond work-related engagements, he was perpetually tied up with endless social gatherings. Especially on his birthday, close friends would proactively reach out to arrange get-togethers—finding a restaurant for drinks and food.
Su Qingci couldn’t comfortably attend such events. He had no connection with Pei Jingchen’s friends; going would mean sitting awkwardly, unable to blend in. Moreover, his reputation was notorious. He was already infamous among Pei Jingchen’s circle of friends. Those friends felt sorry for Pei Jingchen, venting their grievances and verbally attacking Su Qingci. Su Qingci was well aware of the situation and fought back, forbidding Pei Jingchen from associating with these “bad influences.”
Su Qingci reflected on his own unreasonable selfishness in restricting Pei Jingchen’s friendships. Even when he occasionally granted him “leave,” it came with strict time limits. Putting himself in Pei Jingchen’s shoes, it felt suffocating.
Pei Jingchen said, “I’ve long since cut ties with those fair-weather friends.”
Su Qingci: “What about Wu Lü?”
Pei Jingchen: “I’m staying home with you.”
Su Qingci wanted to say it wasn’t necessary—you’re not a bird, and I’m not a cage. But such clichés had been repeated too often to hold any meaning now. Besides, to the current “high-flying” Pei Jingchen, it would be like preaching to the choir.
At 1:30 PM, the midsummer sun beat down mercilessly, even the cicadas outside the window chirping weakly.
Su Qingci stared at the calendar, suddenly feeling unsettled. At this hour, he’d usually be bustling about—apron tied, fresh air-freighted shrimp in hand—busy in the kitchen preparing this and that until eight o’clock at night. Exhausting, yet deeply satisfying. Now, with no such rush, this leisure felt strangely hollow.
Pei Jingchen was heading to the supermarket to shop and asked if he wanted to come along.
Su Qingci met the hopeful gleam in Pei Jingchen’s eyes and nodded.
They bought vegetables and meat at the chain supermarket. Pei Jingchen handled the cart, selecting produce and carrying bags. Su Qingci followed along empty-handed, occasionally tossing a packet of appealing snacks into the cart. Each time, Pei Jingchen promptly retrieved it to scrutinize the ingredient list. Some caused him to frown deeply, while others brought a visible relaxation to his brow. Su Qingci couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly, mentally sketching out a whole series of Pei Jingchen meme expressions.
At checkout, Su Qingci noticed two red candles had somehow slipped into the cart. He thought, “Well, I never expected to see this—Mr. Pei going all out on ceremony.”
Dinner blended Chinese and Western flavors: braised spare ribs and sweet and sour pork, fruit salad and seafood paella—a lavish and visually stunning spread. Su Qingci wondered what she’d actually done—it seemed she’d only drizzled salad dressing from start to finish, and even the fruit had been sliced by Pei Jingchen.
Su Qingci raised his orange juice and wished him a happy birthday.
He spoke those two words earnestly and formally, encompassing every “happy birthday” to come in the years ahead.
Of course, if Pei Jingchen didn’t mind the repetition, he could say it seventy-four more times.
“Once is enough,” Pei Jingchen said solemnly. “We’ll talk about next year later.”
Su Qingci merely smiled without responding. The orange juice tasted slightly bitter—oh, orange juice naturally had a hint of bitterness.
After dinner, Pei Jingchen washed the dishes while Su Qingci dried them and placed them in the dish rack.
Sitting on the sofa watching TV, Pei Jingchen brought over a cup of warm water. Su Qingci glanced at his pants out of the corner of his eye: “I don’t feel like eating it today.”
Pei Jingchen chuckled: “When do you ever feel like eating it? Take your medicine now—the water’s just the right temperature.”
Su Qingci lifted his gaze, his eyes tinged with suggestive meaning: “Today’s a special day. I won’t be eating.”
Pei Jingchen’s gaze flickered, his eyes darkening with the forced restraint of deliberately provoked desire. He stepped forward, raising his left knee to kneel on the sofa, drawing closer to Su Qingci and trapping him against the cushions. “Even if it’s your birthday, you still need to take your medicine.”
Seeing that gentleness wasn’t working, Su Qingci’s voice turned cold. “I won’t take it.” He turned his head away, burying his face into the pillow behind him.
Pei Jingchen remained unhurried, resorting to his old method. He placed the pill in his own mouth, then reached out to pull Su Qingci’s shoulders toward him. Su Qingci knew he was resorting to the same trick. He braced himself against turning, but his feeble strength was no match for Pei Jingchen’s. Forced face-to-face, their eyes locked. Anger flared in Su Qingci’s gaze, his lips pressed tightly together. If he didn’t open his mouth, could Pei Jingchen really bite him?
Pei Jingchen suddenly attacked Su Qingci’s ticklish spot. Caught off guard, Su Qingci couldn’t hold back his breath and broke his guard. Seizing the moment, Pei Jingchen pressed his lips directly onto Su Qingci’s. A thunderclap echoed in Su Qingci’s mind. He clenched his teeth tightly, defending his fortress, while simultaneously shoving Pei Jingchen’s chest with all his might. Against the backlight, Su Qingci saw the terrifying depth in Pei Jingchen’s eyes. His other knee pressed into the sofa as he seized both his wrists, deepening the kiss.
This was a highly suggestive… no, it was a blatantly explicit scene unsuitable for minors! Uninformed onlookers might comment on how passionate their posture was, how submissive the receiver seemed, and how ferocious the aggressor appeared.
Get off! Get off! Get off! Get off! Su Qingci, enraged and humiliated, pushed with all his might. But Pei Jingchen was like an immovable mountain, his chest muscles hard as iron, hot as fire. Even healthy, Su Qingci was no match for Pei Jingchen. Now, with this broken body, he saw defeat looming in their verbal battle. In desperation, he bit down hard, heedless of the consequences. The savage, bloody taste instantly filled his mouth.
At the same moment, the pill rolled to his throat, instinctively swallowed by his body.
The medicine dissolved, bitter beyond measure, lingering stubbornly beneath his tongue.
Su Qingci choked and coughed, his face flushed crimson. He gasped for breath, while Pei Jingchen’s own breathing grew ragged, his chest rising and falling.
They resembled mortal enemies who had just fought a life-or-death battle.
Pei Jingchen reached out to wipe away the physiological tears spilling from Su Qingci’s eyes. He even paused, giving Su Qingci ample time and opportunity to violently slap his hand away. But Su Qingci didn’t move. He lay limp on the sofa, pale-faced, his eyes red-rimmed, his dark pupils reflecting no light.
Pei Jingchen called out to him, his heart twisting in agony: “Xiao Ci.”
He didn’t move.
“Xiao Ci.”
“Su Qingci.”
“Pei Jingchen, aren’t you tired?” Su Qingci raised a hand to block the glaring light, closing his eyes. His bloodstained lips curved into a faint, resigned smile. “Why do you persist?”
All was silent. Even the cicadas and crickets had fallen quiet.
Su Qingci said, Sorry, I’ve ruined your birthday again.”
He thought this would likely be the last birthday he spent with Pei Jingchen. This day should have been peaceful and joyful, so he had suppressed all his hostility, been completely compliant, gone to lunch with him, walked hand-in-hand across the street, shopped at the supermarket, and shared a candlelit dinner.
Yet he still failed in the end. A perfectly good birthday had been ruined again.
Pei Jingchen reached out and moved Su Qingci’s arm away from his eyes, making him look at him, while he looked back at him: “It’s only truly awful when you’re not here.”
Xiao Ci, next year, the year after, and the year after that—for many, many years to come, you’ll celebrate my birthday with me.
Pei Jingchen parted his thin lips, but before words could form, he tasted the sharp, metallic tang of blood.
“Xiao Ci, I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse, as if he’d swallowed a red-hot iron. His eyes burned with a searing pain.
He knew the agony of illness, the torment of drug side effects, the deathly silence of the ICU, the misery of being hooked up to tubes. Yet despite all this, he wanted Su Qingci to hold on. Even if it meant clinging to life by a thread, even if it meant resorting to any means necessary, he would keep this battered soul alive!
Pei Jingchen felt a chill run through him. He was that selfish, selfish to the point of frightening himself.
“Didn’t you say you’d cling to me forever?” Pei Jingchen forced a smile—a smile that tore at his heart. “The fortune-teller said I’ll live to ninety. So, Qingci, you… you mustn’t fall behind. You have to keep up with me, hold on tight.”
“I won’t let go. And you mustn’t either.”