Chapter 52

Su Qingci stood speechless, unable to process it for a long, long time.

Too many unexpected things had happened—like how he’d completely forgotten today was his birthday, like how everything before his eyes was real, yet so real it felt unbelievable.

Was that really Pei Jingchen? Were these decorations not a dream? Could he still be sound asleep in the tent?

When the lavender was pressed into his arms, its fragrant scent flooding his senses so vividly, Su Qingci finally knew this wasn’t a dream.

As he stood dazed, Pei Jingchen stepped closer and kissed his forehead. “May every year bring this day, may every year bring this moment.”

　　Su Qingci lowered his eyes. He wasn’t allergic to pollen, yet the lavender’s scent inexplicably stung his eyes, making them ache slightly.

　　Pei Jingchen had arranged these surprises while he slept, silently preparing everything. The recipient enjoyed it simply, but the organizer had a tough time—especially since the “surprise” required secret preparations. Su Qingci recalled the flowers and balloons; no wonder the trunk had been packed full when they left.

There was no balloon inflator here, meaning those balloons had been blown up one breath at a time by Pei Jingchen. And this birthday cake—it must have been freshly baked early this morning. Su Qingci remembered how Pei Jingchen had gotten up repeatedly last night. It wasn’t because he was “too excited to sleep and kept checking the luggage,” but because he’d been kneading dough, proofing it, whipping cream, baking the cake base, decorating it… working from midnight until dawn. By the time Su Qingci woke up, he’d already boxed it up and stashed it in the car’s mini-fridge.

　　Why go to all this trouble?

Su Qingci knew Pei Jingchen was a quiet type, lacking in ceremony and romance. Even the outfit for their first anniversary had been something he’d cheekily asked for himself.

Because of Pei Jingchen’s awkwardness and tendency to kill the mood, he’d complained more than once, but in the end, he could only rage helplessly. He loved creating surprises for his beloved and longed for romantic gestures in return. Countless anniversaries had filled his mind with hopeful fantasies—Pei Jingchen coming home from work, opening the door with a bouquet of roses, and saying like in the movies, “Baby, guess what day it is?”

But fantasies were just that—they never happened.

　　Su Qingci recalled the last time Pei Jingchen had made him a birthday cake—right when he turned eighteen. The night before, Pei Jingchen had messaged him directly: “Don’t buy a cake. I’ll make one for you. What kind do you like? Mousse? Cream? Ice cream? What filling do you want?”

　　Back then, Su Qingci clutched his phone and replied enthusiastically, feeling both sweet and a little disappointed. He couldn’t help but call Pei Jingchen and say, “Do you even know what a birthday surprise is? Couldn’t you have kept it a secret and waited until we met to do a ‘ta-da!’ surprise?”

　　Pei Jingchen had his reasons too. “Of course I had to tell you in advance,” he said. “Otherwise, if you bought a cake and I made one too, wouldn’t that be redundant? How could we possibly finish them all? Besides, it’s your birthday—I have to make a cake based on your preferences, right? Whether it’s the style, type, or the filling in the middle, I have to cater to your tastes, don’t I?”

　Su Qingci was at a loss for words, utterly unable to argue his case.

　　*

　　Pei Jingchen pulled Su Qingci to sit at the table. The birthday cake was exquisitely crafted and stunningly beautiful—so lovely he almost couldn’t bear to ruin its design by sticking candles in it.

　　Su Qingci’s eighteenth birthday cake had also been exquisite and beautiful, but if they were to compare, the one before him now clearly took the prize. Of course, nearly a decade had passed—how could Pei Jingchen not have improved?

Pei Jingchen lit the candles and urged him to make a wish.

　　Su Qingci pressed his palms together, closed his eyes, but suddenly froze. He opened his eyes, blew out the candles, and Pei Jingchen smiled as he sang “Happy Birthday.” The four lines flowed softly and tenderly from his lips, sounding incredibly sweet.

　　Pei Jingchen leaned in close. Su Qingci’s reaction was a split second too late, and he found a light kiss on his lips—barely a touch, yet tender enough to melt bones. “I’ll celebrate your birthday every single year from now on.”

　　Su Qingci cherished rituals, meticulously planning celebrations for every holiday and festival, with birthdays holding the utmost importance. Yet, he had never celebrated his own birthday.

His sixth birthday marked the beginning of a nightmare, after which he never celebrated another birthday. Then came his eighteenth—a rite of passage, profoundly significant. He had intended to celebrate it properly, but the outcome was disastrous. Later, his only friend, Nie Baozhu, persuaded him to celebrate his twentieth birthday. But disaster struck yet again. They say misfortune never comes singly, yet this happened time and time again. From then on, Su Qingci never celebrated his birthday again.

　　Jiang Seru once declared he was the devil’s son, unworthy of existence. Her words proved prophetic—no wonder his birthday remained the most ill-fated day of the year. Though they say the birthday boy reigns supreme, for Su Qingci, this day brought nothing but misfortune, leaving him trembling with dread even years later.

Pei Jingchen handed him the dinner knife: “You cut it.”

　　Su Qingci took it, first removing the decorations from the cake. The calligraphy read: “TO. The One and Only Su Qingci in the World, Peace and Joy.” He sliced through the words “Peace and Joy,” cutting a neat square piece of mousse cake, which he offered to Pei Jingchen.

Pei Jingchen said, “You eat this piece.”

　　Su Qingci blinked, not arguing over it.

　　The three-layer cake base consisted of red velvet, chocolate, and plain sponge. Two layers of filling—blueberry jam and crushed Oreos, plus fresh strawberry and mango cubes—spilled out generously. Though Su Qingci knew nothing about baking, he recognized such a cake required at least six or seven hours of preparation.

　　The cake was delicious—soft and fluffy, slightly chilled, with a light, sweet cream that wasn’t cloying. Su Qingci ate half before Pei Jingchen brought over a pot of freshly brewed savory milk tea.

The salty-sweet combination was a perpetual motion machine for appetite, opening hers completely.

　　He ate half an orange, saving the rest for Pei Jingchen to aid his digestion. Overly full, Su Qingci strolled along the lakeshore to settle his stomach. By nine o’clock, he returned to the tent with Pei Jingchen to sleep.

Having slept too much during the day, Su Qingci felt no drowsiness at night. Pei Jingchen, however, exhausted from a day’s labor, drifted off quickly. Unable to sleep, Su Qingci tiptoed out of the tent. The night air was cool and refreshing. The dining table remained untouched, still set with half-eaten snacks. Seeing them, Su Qingci finally understood why Pei Jingchen had been so indulgent toward him today.

　　Birthday, huh? Granting every wish, indulging every whim.

Su Qingci stared blankly at the bright moonlight, thinking how long it had been since he’d last enjoyed the “privileges” of a birthday.

　　The feeling of being pampered on a special day was truly something to cherish.

Su Qingci picked up the camera on the table and idly flipped through the photos. Unbeknownst to him, Pei Jingchen had taken so many pictures. He scrolled through them one by one, estimating there must be over a hundred. It had to be said, Pei Jingchen had no sense of focus when taking pictures. He captured countless insignificant details—Su Qingci peeling an orange, Su Qingci eating potato chips, Su Qingci scratching his itchy nose, even Su Qingci simply staring into space.

What a waste of film.

　　As Su Qingci looked through them, he suddenly realized every single one featured him, or at most a photo with Pei Jingchen. There wasn’t a single shot of Pei Jingchen alone.

　　Su Qingci stared blankly for a few seconds before noticing the spool and kite lying on the folding chair. He walked over and picked them up. The swallow-shaped kite was exquisitely crafted. Turning it over, Su Qingci was taken aback—there were words written on the kite:

　　The 1000-meter kite string was successfully unwound. Long live, long live.

Su Qingci gently laid the kite down, his lips curving into a faint, bitter smile.

　　After walking a full circle around the lake, he felt a bit sleepy. Crouching low to slip back into the tent, he saw Pei Jingchen lying on his side, curled up in a ball. His left hand trembled slightly, while his right hand clutched the quilt tightly.

Startled, Su Qingci hurried over and called out, “Pei Jingchen?”

　　His first instinct was to touch his forehead. His head was covered in sweat, but he didn’t have a fever. It seemed he was simply having a nightmare.

“Jingchen? Pei Jingchen?”

　　He seemed trapped in a nightmare, unresponsive to his calls. His body curled tighter and tighter, his pale lips trembling. He thrashed about like a fish flung onto the beach by a giant wave, beating against himself, covered in wounds, nearly suffocating.

　　Su Qingci couldn’t fathom what kind of nightmare could reduce a grown man to such a fragile child.

Suddenly, Pei Jingchen jolted awake. In his abruptly widened pupils, Su Qingci glimpsed an abyss—a breathtaking, overwhelming despair.

　　“Pei… Jingchen?” The words barely left Su Qingci’s lips before the man sitting up seized him in his arms.

His heart pounded fiercely, burning hot enough to scorch through his chest.

　　A full three minutes passed before Pei Jingchen’s ragged breathing gradually steadied. As if consumed by self-immolation, he released Su Qingci, his body utterly drained. The next instant, tension seized him again. Moonlight illuminated his face, revealing a startling pallor: “Xiao Ci, did you take your medicine?”

　　Su Qingci replied, “I did.”

　　Pei Jingchen couldn’t believe it. “Really?”

Su Qingci reminded him, “At 8:17 PM. You personally brought me water and the medicine. Forgotten?”

Pei Jingchen took a long moment to process, mentally rewinding from the moment he entered the tent to lie down. Finally, he exhaled in relief. “Yes… yes, you did.”

　　Su Qingci instinctively reached out, then paused. Though Pei Jingchen was taller and stronger than him, he seemed more fragile, more easily shattered than Su Qingci himself. It felt as though the slightest touch might cause Pei Jingchen to crumble before him, his soul scattered to the winds.

　　Su Qingci suddenly recalled a late-night incident. Thirsty, he’d gotten up to drink water in the kitchen and accidentally choked on it, coughing violently. Pei Jingchen had mistakenly thought his illness had worsened. Back then, Pei Jingchen had looked at the sink in terror. When he saw no bloodstains, he had breathed a sudden sigh of relief. That dazed and disoriented look, caused by the extreme emotional rollercoaster, was identical to the one he wore now.

Su Qingci asked, “What kind of dream did you have?”

　　It was merely a dream, yet when it was brought up again, Pei Jingchen trembled with lingering fear. Seeing his pupils instantly contract, Su Qingci suddenly felt too reluctant to ask.

　　“I dreamed of you…” Pei Jingchen forced out the words, each syllable like a razor blade slicing through his throat, drawing fresh blood.

　　“Qingci, I… I…” Pei Jingchen let out a bitter laugh, helplessly clutching his forehead. He buried his disheveled face in his arms, refusing to let Su Qingci see him in such a wretched state.

　　Su Qingci recalled the night of Pei Jingchen’s birthday, when he’d begged him to cling to him forever: “The fortune-teller said I’ll live to ninety. So, Qingci, you—you mustn’t fall behind. You have to stay close to me, hold on tight.”

　　Su Qingci was an ugly demon born in hell, while Pei Jingchen was a sunflower growing toward the light in the mortal world. He thought such a beautiful sunflower belonged in the sunshine, not dragged into the shadows by him. Demons belonged in the endless hells—they shouldn’t defile the mortal realm.

　　But could it be… he, too, was needed by Pei Jingchen?

He reached out his hand in the mortal world, pleading and shouting toward Su Qingci in hell: Stay close to me! Hold on tight to me!

Su Qingci grasped Pei Jingchen’s trembling hand and whispered softly, “Don’t be afraid. I won’t die.”

　　Tears finally spilled from his eyes. Pei Jingchen held Su Qingci tightly. So many words he wanted to say, so many emotions he wanted him to know. Yet all the words choked in his throat, swelling his chest with suffocating pain. After several gasps, only two hoarse words finally escaped his lips.

“Thank you.”

　　Thank you for staying.