When sending the messages, Cong Shu had just finished an interview.
Though he had been in the industry for two years, strangely, since leaving his previous job, he hadn’t been able to find a position with the same title.
Even applying for assistant positions ended in repeated failures.
Once, he had arranged to sign a contract with a company, only to be stood up at the last moment.
They claimed a sudden change from the higher-ups—the position was full.
Cong Shu was furious, but helpless. The economy was bad, and the family business wasn’t doing well.
Even if he went home, he would be turned away…
At first, he didn’t suspect Li Jichuan. That day, Li Jichuan had only asked about Su Pu’s high school history.
What happened afterward didn’t need Li Jichuan’s knowledge—they had handled it flawlessly back then.
The coincidence came when, at the interview site, Cong Shu ran into a former high school classmate.
The classmate had once been loud and unruly, but had gone abroad, gained prestige, and returned with a smooth career and life.
Yet now, even such a person had no job? And was competing for the same assistant position?
After a short chat, the classmate looked worried, explaining that his old company had suddenly laid him off.
Everyone else in his department was fine—only he was gone.
Rumors circulated that he had done something wrong in private.
But he hadn’t.
He sighed and continued, saying that some of his good friends were also in trouble: laid off, summoned unexpectedly, or squandering family wealth through gambling.
It was as if God had singled out their class, stamping “misfortune” on each of them.
Cong Shu suddenly recalled the class photo Li Jichuan had taken.
And the late-night class group photo of Su Hui, beaten and bruised…
Perhaps, all of this was because of Li Jichuan.
Or perhaps, it was their own doing—the karmic return for three or more years of bullying Su Pu.
Sitting in the taxi, Cong Shu’s hands and feet were icy, gripping his phone tightly, trembling.
Li Jichuan… really has this much power?
To settle scores with an entire class for Su Pu… is it really worth it?
His phone vibrated—he looked at the caller ID, panicked, and flung it to the other side of the seat.
Li Jichuan’s call rang a few times and then stopped.
Moments later, it vibrated again—this time from Su Hui.
Cong Shu shakily picked up the phone, holding it to his ear, about to seek help.
But the voice on the line was Li Jichuan’s.
“Cong Shu, let’s talk.”
“I’ll send the address. Ten tomorrow morning.”
Li Jichuan left no room for refusal—he knew Cong Shu wouldn’t dare decline.
Cong Shu slumped in the taxi seat, no longer thinking about why Su Hui’s phone was in Li Jichuan’s hands.
The sky was gray, his limbs heavy and weak, as if Death himself had marked him—any moment could be his last.
…
The next morning, the doctor notified Su Pu that he could be discharged.
Li Jichuan claimed he had urgent business, quickly helped him complete the discharge paperwork, and then hurried off.
Ouyang and Pei Zhicheng came to pick up Su Pu and escort him home.
Today Pei Zhicheng didn’t wear his helmet, but his thick down jacket and hood hid half his face.
Ouyang helplessly pushed back the hood. The tall, broad-shouldered boy, speaking with a slight accent, said,
“Yesterday we agreed, you have to desensitize slowly. You know Su Pu, same age, he even promised to draw you into the comic… you’re friends…”
Pei Zhicheng crossed his arms warily, stiff for a moment.
“Well… friends…”
Ouyang straightened, serious. “Why not friends? My friends are your friends. Yours are mine.”
Pei Zhicheng cautiously looked at Su Pu, afraid he would refuse.
Su Pu understood, smiled, and walked over to link his arm with Pei Zhicheng’s, signaling he was willing to be friends.
Pei Zhicheng’s eyes lit up. He reached out to touch the gauze on Su Pu’s forehead. “It’s okay… it’ll get better…”
Su Pu nodded and led him out of the hospital room.
In the corridor, he turned to Ouyang with a cheerful grin.
So you can even speak with a clipped accent? Got it. Tonight, my husband and I will tease you about this!
“Ah, Su Ge…”
Understanding the playful tone in his smile, Ouyang raised his hands in surrender, quickly begging for mercy.
Back at the apartment, everyone eagerly awaited Su Pu’s return. As soon as he stepped in, a full-scale protection mode activated.
Someone handed him slippers, someone brought hot tea, others inspected him repeatedly while scolding the culprits who had bullied him.
Su Pu’s heart softened. Even the two friends who had brought him home received the household’s hospitality—they insisted they stay for lunch.
Su Pu had little appetite. After a shower, drowsiness hit—hospital sleep never matched the comfort of home.
Lying in bed, he soon drifted off. His phone vibrated at the bedside—it was Li Jichuan checking if he had arrived home safely.
…
No response. Li Jichuan guessed the little mute had probably fallen asleep immediately.
Su Pu always slept poorly outside home, waking several times a night. Now finally home, he could sleep as long as he wanted.
At the coffee shop, Li Jichuan closed the door, checked the visitor, and pocketed his phone.
Cong Shu sat across, pale as a sheet.
Li Jichuan introduced, “This is my friend Anderson. He practices sanda; the photos of Su Hui were taken by him…”
Cong Shu paled further. He had never seen Su Hui so disheveled, never so helpless.
Normally, anyone who dared wrong Su Hui would be pursued until recompense was exacted.
But this time, Su Hui had been beaten so badly, the photos sent in a group chat, his face utterly humiliated—and yet he silently swallowed it all.
Cong Shu knew well: this was no gentle person. Li Jichuan was also no kind soul. Clearly, they intended to pry information from him.
He sighed, resigned, and asked tremblingly, “What do you want to know?”
…
Meanwhile, back in the apartment, Su Pu lay in bed, trapped in a familiar nightmare.
But this one was different. Today, the nightmare felt real.
He could feel the biting wind, the dark night, the silent emptiness, and the icy breath in his nose.
Yet the scene before him was unfamiliar.
His hands and feet were bound; a black cloth covered his eyes.
A harsh bass noise assaulted him; he lay in the back of a car, which seemed to circle endlessly.
Where was this? He was cold and terrified, unable to call out or move.
…
Elsewhere, Cong Shu slouched in his chair, answering Li Jichuan’s questions.
“The message you sent Su Hui… that day, which day, what happened?”
His voice shook.
“It happened two years ago, the day was Su Hui’s mother’s death anniversary…”
“We had just graduated from university. Su Hui was leaving to study abroad, worried that once he left, Su Pu would be completely unattended. So he wanted to teach him a lesson.”
Li Jichuan raised a brow. “A lesson?”
Cong Shu didn’t dare look up. He just muttered, “Yes.”
“Su Hui always blamed Su Pu’s family for his mother’s death, so he hated them. Later, Su Pu’s mother died too, and Su Hui especially hated Su Pu.”
“The day before, we held a farewell party for Su Hui. He suddenly said he wanted to prank Su Pu. We’d been drinking, felt brotherly, and agreed to help.”
Anderson crossed his arms. “How did you prank him?”
Cong Shu nervously touched his cheek, already sensing disaster.
He could only tell the truth: “Our plan was to tie him up, leave him in a remote place, and make him walk down the mountain alone.
“The next day was his first day at a new company. Su Hui said he had worked hard for this opportunity. We wanted him to miss it, to lose the job…”
Li Jichuan’s fist clenched, pounding the table.
Coffee rippled in its cup, a few drops spilling on the white saucer.
Like tears.
…
Back in the dream:
The car carrying Su Pu seemed to crash. He heard a familiar curse.
Tensed, he rolled to the ground. In a daze, the rope binding his wrist threw him to the floor.
The car then sped away.
After a long while, the pain subsided. He sat up, removed the black cloth over his eyes.
…
Taking a deep breath, Cong Shu confessed:
“I was driving that day… I hit your car…”
Su Pu’s vision cleared.
Before him, a mangled car’s hood burned fiercely.
Save… save him…
He scrambled to the car, struggling to open the driver’s door.
Inside, a man was crying, signaling him: “Please, save the person in the back… I’m fine.”
Su Pu obeyed, using all his strength to pry open the warped door.
Then he saw the face he had longed for—the only light in his troubled youth—
Blood gushed from Li Jichuan’s head, streaming down…