His entire body shook violently as his internal organs convulsed and contracted.
He vomited up every last bit of the dessert he’d just eaten before it could digest, yet the retching wouldn’t stop. By the end, only sour stomach acid remained, and he felt as if he might vomit bile itself, his mouth filled with bitterness.
He felt darkness closing in, his vision blurred with phantom images. Vaguely, it seemed a woman in a cheongsam stood there, her hair braided into a neat plait, dignified and elegant.
But upon closer inspection, her hair hung wildly, her expression manic. She reeked of mint and pressed a burning cigarette butt against his arm!
Su Qingci recoiled in horror, screaming, “No, don’t come closer…”
His body went limp, and he collapsed onto the cold floor tiles. Finally, he could see nothing and hear nothing. Blood surged wildly against his temples, pounding like a drumbeat, a dense, relentless roar that split his skull.
“Qingci.”
*
His lungs felt as if they’d been punctured, each breath a thousand cuts.
He seemed trapped in a sealed chamber, desperately struggling countless times toward the sole vent, crashing down again and again along the smooth walls. The air grew thinner and thinner, suffocating him.
Suddenly, something slapped his back—a solid, thudding impact.
Dragged back from the depths of hell to the warmth of life.
“Su Qingci.” Pei Jingchen called his name as he unscrewed the cap of a mineral water bottle.
Su Qingci reached out to take it, but his hands shook so badly he couldn’t even hold the small bottle.
Pei Jingchen pressed down on Su Qingci’s struggling hand. “Open your mouth.”
Su Qingci obeyed instinctively. Pei Jingchen cupped his chin with one hand and fed him water with the other.
After rinsing his mouth, Su Qingci still felt utterly drained. He didn’t need a mirror to know his complexion must be dreadful. He felt like a snail, desperately searching for a shell to crawl into.
Pei Jingchen said nothing, rising to wait outside.
In public, Su Qingci always presented a polished, dignified facade. But in the corners where no one watched, he harbored many unseemly, broken, moldy, and rotten parts.
To win Pei Jingchen’s attention, he had feigned illness and played the victim more than once, but it was all fake. He’d carefully chosen clothes to flatter his complexion, touched up his makeup, applied lip balm, even calculated the exact spot and timing where the light would frame his flawless features.
But when true misery struck, all he wanted was to hide his ugliness.
This was the rare, naturally occurring “misery” he needed—all he had to do was take advantage of the situation.
Feeling his strength return somewhat, Su Qingci used the toilet seat to pull himself up and stepped out of the stall. Pei Jingchen waited three paces away: “Want to go to the hospital?”
It’s no big deal to go to the hospital. Su Qingci splashed cold water on his face, drenching himself as much as possible so it wouldn’t be clear whether it was cold sweat or tap water: “Just drank too much.”
Pei Jingchen typed a message to his assistant on his phone: “I’ve called a designated driver. Let’s go.”
Su Qingci assumed Pei Jingchen was arranging a ride for him, while he’d return to the hotel to continue the company team-building event. But when the car arrived, Pei Jingchen climbed into the backseat too.
Su Qingci was stunned, but he lacked the energy to ask questions or speculate about motives. He was so weak he could barely walk, his legs limp as noodles, each step feeling like treading on cotton.
Back at the residential complex, the car came to a stop. Su Qingci waited for Pei Jingchen to exit first before slowly lifting one leg. Suddenly, a shadow fell over him. Looking up, he saw Pei Jingchen bending down to lift him entirely out of the vehicle.
Su Qingci felt a flicker of panic and instinctively wrapped his arms around Pei Jingchen’s neck.
He wouldn’t ask a stupid question like “Am I heavy?”—that would be both a boast about his BMI below 18.5 and an insult to Pei Jingchen’s “manliness.”
Su Qingci was placed directly onto the bedroom bed. Pei Jingchen removed his sneakers and socks, then pulled down the jeans constricting his waist before grabbing a fluffy down comforter to cover him.
Su Qingci remained completely still throughout, his eyes stinging and swollen.
Don’t get the wrong idea—Pei Jingchen wasn’t “loving” him.
He’d said it before: Pei Jingchen was a good man, the kind who repaid even the smallest kindness with great gratitude. So good that even if he despised him, he wouldn’t “stand by and watch him die.” Instead, when Su Qingci truly needed care, Pei Jingchen would shoulder that “responsibility.”
Su Qingci closed his eyes, swallowing the bitter taste welling up inside. The door opened again as Pei Jingchen entered carrying a cup of hot milk. “Drink this before you sleep.”
Su Qingci didn’t move. Didn’t respond.
Pei Jingchen repeated himself.
Su Qingci propped herself up on the bed and sipped the warm milk until it was gone.
The bedroom was large, with only the bedside lamp lit. Pei Jingchen sat on the edge of the bed, the soft yellow glow perfectly framing his face.
Su Qingci loved this scene—the angle, the beauty, the atmosphere—it was flawless. Countless nights, he had drifted into peaceful, contented sleep beneath this very scene.
“Give it to me.” Pei Jingchen reached for the empty cup.
Su Qingci followed his hand, glancing at his cuff, then up to his entire suit.
If memory served, this suit was from last year.
Pei Jingchen wasn’t particular about clothing—he didn’t chase designer labels, just cleanliness and neatness. But Su Qingci couldn’t bear to see him settle for less. Every few days, he’d buy him designer pieces—clothes, shoes, luxury watches, even high-end cars—dressing him in opulent elegance, radiating prestige.
Su Qingci hadn’t thought much about it; he simply bought things he found attractive. Moreover, he loved Pei Jingchen and only wanted to give him the best. Yet she’d completely overlooked Pei Jingchen’s pride as a man.
Later, Su Qingci realized this and stopped buying things for Pei Jingchen. He dared not ask him to wear those shockingly expensive designer labels anymore. It wasn’t until Pei Jingchen started his own business and the company began thriving that Su Qingci dared to buy him some “acceptable” clothes again.
Su Qingci learned the ropes of social etiquette, though it was difficult and awkward for him. He figured he’d gradually get the hang of it, thinking things would only improve. Little did he know that on his twentieth birthday…
Nie Baozhu organized a celebration for Su Qingci. After a few bottles of beer, everyone got lively. People grew more talkative, their faces flushed and tongues loosened as they wished Su Qingci a happy birthday. Then, hooking his arm around Pei Jingchen’s shoulder, Nie Baozhu exclaimed in exaggerated tones: “You quiet one! Smile for us! Come on, wish Young Master Pei a happy birthday!”
The atmosphere at the time was neither quite right nor quite wrong. It was just that Nie Baozhu deliberately emphasized the words “young master,” which, to those paying attention, couldn’t help but be intriguing.
Pei Jingchen raised his glass and said to Su Qingci, “Happy birthday.”
Ning Baozhu laughed with satisfaction: “That’s more like it! Pei Jingchen, you’d better be aware of your role and win our Qingci’s favor! If I were in your shoes, I’d find a rich woman and latch onto some wealthy young master as a kept man, hahaha.”
One sentence plunged the private room’s temperature to freezing.
Su Qingci felt as if thunder had cracked overhead. He looked frantically at Pei Jingchen, whose face had turned grim. Words caught in his throat—he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the right ones, like a fishbone lodged in his throat or thorns piercing his back.
He wanted to defend himself but couldn’t find a way. He wanted to comfort him, but it would seem insincere.
Some things we all understood, unspoken yet maintained like burying our heads in the sand. But someone had to be the fool, tearing apart Pei Jingchen’s fragile “pride” and subjecting him to public execution.
Because of those words, Su Qingci severed ties with his only friend!
Deleted, blocked, never seen each other again.
In truth, Nie Baozhu merely laid bare a widely known reality.
At that time, Su Qingci came from a wealthy family, brimming with talent—a seventeen-year-old prodigy painter renowned throughout the art world. Pei Jingchen, however, hailed from a working-class background. Beyond his sharp mind and excellent grades, he possessed nothing—utterly unworthy of Su Qingci.
Their social standings were worlds apart—a mismatch in every way.
Su Qingci was the sugar daddy; Pei Jingchen was the male kept lover.
He was the young master’s bed companion, the pet kept to please him, the mistress maintained to climb the social ladder.
No one dared say it aloud, but that was how everyone saw it.
And the last person qualified to comfort Pei Jingchen was Su Qingci himself. If he had simply let go, all the rumors would have dissolved on their own. Yet he selfishly clung on, utterly disregarding Pei Jingchen’s feelings, all to preserve his own love.
Su Qingci believed in Pei Jingchen’s capabilities. With his talent and learning, he was certain the young master would succeed one day, proving all the doubters wrong with his achievements.
Pei Jingchen did not disappoint anyone. He founded Lingyue, a game development company now renowned throughout the industry. Last year, their self-developed MOBA mobile game exploded across the internet, bringing Lingyue a staggering monthly income of eighteen billion yuan.
Pei Jingchen achieved his current glory entirely through his own efforts.
Su Qingci never interfered in the slightest. To avoid suspicion and “prove it to the world,” he provided him with no connections or resources whatsoever.
Yet some still dredged up their past connection. Even if Pei Jingchen hadn’t leveraged the Su family’s influence, he had still humbled himself beneath Young Master Su, groveling and playing second fiddle.
Su Qingci was an indelible stain on Pei Jingchen’s life.
He was Pei Jingchen’s stain!
His very existence seemed to constantly remind everyone: the now-mighty and formidable CEO Pei had once endured humiliation, groveling and serving me in bed.
A sharp pain clenched Su Qingci’s chest, instantly making it hard to breathe.
He truly deserved to die for his heinous crimes!
Jiang Seru was right—he was the devil’s spawn, existing only to harm others and himself. Heaven had finally seen enough and come to claim him. How dare he harbor resentment? What grievance could he possibly have? Did Pei Jingchen suffer enough at his hands?
One bloomed radiantly in sunlight, the other rotted away in filth.
Truthfully, they belonged to two different worlds. Yet Su Qingci refused to believe it, stubbornly binding the vibrant flower to his own withering self.
Even if it meant rotting together.
Su Qingci reached out, then jerked his hand back as if scalded, panic-stricken.
Such a beautiful sunflower—how could he dare touch it? How could he bear to destroy it?
I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.
I’m sorry.
“Jingchen.” Su Qingci struggled to whisper, the pain piercing his heart.
Let me give you back your freedom.
How could a demon from the Avici Hell ever hope for the warmth of human life?