Meanwhile, Li Jichuan had also stayed up all night—anxious and restless.
Upon arriving in Yunnan, he visited the vast rose estate under Li Group’s partnership, only to discover that the management there was a complete amateur operation.
Li Group had started with “rose hydrosol.” Back then, information traveled slowly. Li Peirong had personally carried a few bottles of his self-developed rose hydrosol to Yun City, and step by step, built Li Group into what it was.
Decades of ups and downs later, although Li Group excelled in many industries, cosmetics remained its reputation and foundation.
After Li Jichuan’s parents passed away, this sector had been managed by “family” through his aunt Li Shuwen.
Li Jichuan slammed a report onto the desk, letting out a bitter laugh—his aunt was truly formidable.
The early morning light outlined his profile with a golden edge.
Li Jichuan had a hooked nose and high brow bones, with sharply defined features giving him a natural air of authority—probably inherited from his mother, a minority from Yunnan.
His parents had met in Yunnan when his father had just taken over the estate and chemical plant, and his mother, a chemical engineering student, was there for an internship. Together, they continuously improved the rose hydrosol, creating a national standard.
His mother had championed the “all-natural” concept, establishing Li Group’s skincare and personal care line, quickly monopolizing the market and becoming the industry’s “anchor.”
Later, Li Jichuan’s arrival prompted his parents to return to Yun City, providing him with comfort and familial warmth.
Even though fully shutting down the rose product line might have been best for the group’s development, Li Jichuan couldn’t bring himself to make that decision.
Moreover, with Li Shuwen managing the division during a sensitive period, every action he took could be overinterpreted. He could not act rashly.
But that didn’t mean he would simply give up.
He slammed the files onto the desk. The factory manager across from him shrank back.
The manager was nearly two generations older, close to retirement, and carried an air of “nothing scares me now.”
“I asked for your report, and you give me handwritten data? What’s this?”
Li Jichuan lifted his chin, crossing one leg over the other in his wheelchair, projecting an imposing aura.
The manager coughed nervously but quickly reverted to a sly grin.
“This is a small place, sir. We can’t compare with Yun City. Besides, the handwritten tradition came from old Mr. Li…”
Li Jichuan scoffed. “And yet the data you submit each year never matches the group’s records, even if handwritten?”
The manager rubbed his head and said vaguely, “Not sure. We submit what the group asks for; what happens afterward, we don’t know.”
Li Jichuan swallowed, realizing the man was passing the buck. Investigating further would eventually lead to Li Shuwen, his aunt and a pillar of the group. He couldn’t risk it.
He rubbed his brow. “And the worker representative? I asked to meet them when I arrived days ago—why the delay?”
The manager shrugged. “Who knows where they went after receiving compensation? Young people… get angry easily. They strike together, then cool off after a couple of days.”
Li Jichuan read between the lines—this was an attempt to pacify him and push him out. But giving up quietly was never his style.
“Uncle, you called me?”
The office door suddenly opened. A figure staggered in, reeking of smoke.
Li Jichuan frowned—it was a face vaguely familiar. That scar on the temple…
The man froze for a moment, then casually put on a baseball cap, lowering his gaze.
“Manager Qiu… the group sent someone?”
The factory manager stammered, “Uh… yes, this is Li Jichuan, Mr. Li…”
“Oh, hello.”
The man bowed slightly to Li Jichuan, muttered a perfunctory greeting, and left in a hurry.
The manager sipped his tea, explaining, “Uh, this kid is… an apprentice… a relative of mine.”
Li Jichuan raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. “You’re not local, are you?”
…
Li Jichuan spent most of the day at the factory, examining every extraction device and production line. His doubts only deepened.
He insisted on taking all reports and handwritten logs, despite resistance. They were loaded onto a cart. Just glancing at them made his temples throb, his head dizzy.
Su Pu had been right—Li Jichuan’s sudden chills and feverish feeling were early symptoms.
He managed a weak smile. At least his wheelchair allowed him to cope without walking.
Yet the scene before him began to blur, to feel unreal.
A boy appeared near the factory exit, a few meters from his car. Small and thin, delicate features like the first blooming magnolia of his childhood home.
“Su Pu…” Li Jichuan whispered, thinking he must be hallucinating.
Was he really missing him this much?
But the image felt far too real, perfectly in tune with his heart.
The “Su Pu” in the illusion smiled warmly, walking toward him.
Li Jichuan straightened, forcing composure for appearances.
Yet the warmth on his hand was real, not imagined.
“Su Pu?” he tested.
Su Pu crouched, hugged him, and then held up his phone, showing a message already typed:
【Surprise!】
…
Even once inside the hotel room, Li Jichuan couldn’t believe Su Pu had come to him!
Without servants attending to him, his bachelor’s quarters looked somewhat chaotic—coffee cups and half-sorted documents littered tables.
The bedroom was worse, documents spread like a virus across the floor, desk, sofa, and bed.
Su Pu circled the room, suspicious. “Where do you even sleep? Do you ever sleep properly?”
For the first time in 27 years of a clear conscience, Li Jichuan faced a crisis—he had no defense.
Who could have guessed his wife would track him down straight to his hotel room?
As they stood frozen, the door opened—Anderson entered with a laptop.
“Lee, the game demo is ready. Take a look!”
But Su Pu blocked the doorway, arms spread, glaring.
It was as if asking: You made my husband overwork and sick?
Anderson raised his hands in surrender, giving Li Jichuan a “deal with it” look.
Pushed out the door and watching it lock, he muttered, baffled—were these two just crazy?
…
After sending Anderson away, Su Pu guided Li Jichuan into the bathroom, set a half-hour timer, signaling him: You have thirty minutes. When it rings, I’ll pick you up.
By the time Li Jichuan was ready, Su Pu had organized the suite—files neatly stacked on the desk, a steaming bowl of porridge on the table.
Li Jichuan ate porridge, steamed dumplings, and took the medicine Su Pu handed him. Everything felt calm and orderly.
Su Pu had blocked all disturbances, giving him a rare night of complete care and ease.
After taking his medicine, they lay in bed. Li Jichuan reached for his phone; Su Pu took it, charging it on his bedside table.
“Su Pu, so fierce?” he teased, pretending fear.
“You came here just to see me take my medicine?”
Su Pu stopped, holding his palm to block Li Jichuan’s hand.
“I can read what’s written,” he said, smiling, tracing a checkmark on his palm.
Sure enough! The medicine worked—Li Jichuan’s eyelids drooped.
“I didn’t expect you to come…” he murmured.
Su Pu, proudly lifting his chin, thought: He hadn’t expected to be this bold either…
It was Li Jichuan who had given him courage.
And so, the sleepless Su Pu finally fell into deep sleep, while Li Jichuan stayed awake, gazing at his steady breaths with a gentle smile.
Foolish little one, trusting everything.
How could he not know I would come?
Otherwise, how could Anderson have appeared so precisely at the hotel lobby and guided him to the factory?
Because he missed him too much. Couldn’t wait a moment longer. Not even a moment.