Li Jichuan had two meetings that morning.
Back in the office, he pretended to refresh his computer desktop twice, then, unable to resist, took out his phone—already on silent—to check for messages.
Mantian’s messages were sitting in the inbox.
【Mr. Li, Xiao Pu’s fever has subsided, but he still has little appetite. He only ate two dumplings.】
【I tried persuading him three times, but he said he didn’t want to eat.】
【He kept apologizing to me, but there’s nothing to apologize for—if he doesn’t eat, I get worried…】
Reading the texts, Li Jichuan’s fingers tightened on the edge of the phone.
A faint ache reminded him just how much he cared.
He put the phone down and refocused on his computer screen, diving into the next round of work.
Yet somewhere in his heart, a weight remained, a sense of emptiness leaking from all directions, like a hole in his chest.
At that moment, Li Jichuan didn’t yet realize this was what being concerned for someone felt like.
A bond between two people—rare and precious in the world.
How foolish!
Even a shrewd person becomes a fool when love gets involved.
…
After hours of work, he finally glanced at the clock. It was painfully slow—three-thirty in the afternoon.
Frustration and tension built up inside him, with no outlet, so he forced himself to sit through two more meetings.
Everyone could tell Li Jichuan was in a bad mood—highly unusual.
After all, until now, his public image had been like that of a robot: punctual, fair in meetings, detached from emotions, expressionless.
What was happening lately? Why was he acting increasingly abnormal?
Some employees quietly returned to their own “idle activities,” while others started speculating if the man was entering a midlife crisis—what time even…
Li Jichuan was oblivious. By the time the meetings ended and he returned to his office, it was already five-thirty.
Earlier than usual—by two and a half hours—he called it a day.
Back home, he changed clothes and nonchalantly approached the bed.
Su Pu was still tossing restlessly in his sleep, lips murmuring silently, large beads of cold sweat forming on his temple.
Li Jichuan sighed and, in his mind, invented eight hundred excuses for why he should stay.
Then he propped himself up and slid into bed.
Night had already fallen. For Li Jichuan, lying in bed at this hour could be considered a “waste of time.”
But soon, the little mute draped an arm across his stomach.
After a while, he curled up on Li Jichuan like a chubby seal, resting his head on his chest.
Li Jichuan sighed helplessly.
“Stop struggling—just come up already. Getting up is tiring anyway.”
Su Pu became an extra layer on the bed—a reassuring “mattress,” a shield against all nightmares.
Hearing him smacking his lips, Li Jichuan knew he was asleep.
Strange. Su Pu was different from anyone else.
Though they had known each other only briefly, it felt like a reunion after a long separation.
Though he treated Li Jichuan as a condition for peaceful sleep, he had also become the prerequisite for Li Jichuan’s rest.
Su Pu was harder than any puzzle he had ever faced—impossible to let go.
Li Jichuan sighed and sank into sleep.
…
High school senior year pressure was immense.
Li Peirong’s expectations were even higher than those for a provincial top student.
Back then, Li Jichuan would wake up to endless exercises. Besides preparing for the domestic college entrance exam, he was also studying for foreign universities’ admissions and interviews.
“Why can’t I just prepare for one?” he asked, on the verge of collapse.
Li Peirong raised an eyebrow. “Others can, but you cannot.”
“As the grandson of the Li family, you must be thorough in everything, a rightful king.”
Day after day, Li Jichuan silently endured, meeting the ever-growing expectations.
Only during lunch breaks could he relieve himself.
The thin partition boards separated them, yet seemed to throw them into a universe belonging solely to the two of them.
Here, Li Jichuan could speak freely.
“I actually don’t want to go abroad… My dream is to develop a game—a game that makes everyone happy.”
“But my identity seems to forbid me. My parents passed away early; it’s been my grandfather raising me.”
“He often says his burdens are too heavy, needing someone to share them. I said I could, and he seemed to really take me at my word.”
“Uh, I’m not saying this to shirk responsibility; he’s already given me things others haven’t. But… do I really want these things?”
“Seems like no one ever asked me what I wanted…”
Whoosh—
Something slid through the gap under the partition, landing in front of him.
“What’s this? Cake?”
“Plant-based cream, right? Sorry, I shouldn’t be indulging in such cheap fats and sugar…”
“Eh, don’t take it back! I’ll try, I’ll taste it.”
Li Jichuan grabbed the cake, lifting the thin plastic lid and taking a bite.
Plant-based cream, indeed. Sweet, sickly sweet.
Yet… surprisingly tasty.
Under pressure, even junk food became irresistible.
He polished off the small cake in moments.
Listening to the satisfied sound, Su Pu felt immense pride.
“Can you play a song on your phone?” Li Jichuan asked.
“My family monitors my phone tightly. Last time I gave someone a phone, I got scolded—they said it might leak contact info for the board… Now, every time I go home, someone checks my phone.”
Su Pu tapped the door panel, then took out his old phone to play a song he liked.
Li Jichuan chuckled. “You’re quite nostalgic…”
Su Pu giggled, turning up the volume.
A female singer’s ethereal voice filled the misty dressing room.
Their tiny universe enveloped them.
“Wavering between bitter and sweet”
“Unable to see through this ambiguous gaze”
“The sky is gray-blue at dawn”
“Wanting to say goodbye, yet never too late”
…
Awakening again, the night outside was deep and heavy.
Li Jichuan glanced at the clock. He had planned a twenty-minute nap—yet it was already midnight.
A bit hungry, he habitually moved Su Pu to the other side of the bed, intending to find something to eat.
As he got up, he hummed two lines of a song—the very first song they had listened to together, Ambiguity.
Just reaching the line: “Unable to see through this ambiguous gaze”—
He lifted his eyes, and the little mute was already awake, blinking up at him with deer-like eyes.
Every time he looked into those eyes, Li Jichuan felt a strange sense of familiarity…
“Su Pu.”
He looked at him.
“You know, last time at the party, before you fainted…”
“You called my name.”