Control
[User1947296: How did you know?]
[。: What do you want to know?]
There was something oddly familiar and commanding about the other person’s tone. It was as if they were saying, “Whatever you want to know—I already do.” That confidence successfully sparked Su Zesui’s curiosity.
The internet—and curiosity—can embolden even the most socially anxious people. Not to mention, the other party even set up the “slide” for him to take the plunge—
[。: I don’t use Ahoo that much. Wanna add me on WeChat?]
Adding a stranger’s contact was way too intense. Socially anxious Su Zesui felt his heart pounding like a drum. Unable to handle it, he covered the phone screen with both hands, his whole body trembling as he let out a long breath.
After calming down a bit, he couldn’t help sneaking another glance at Gu Yilan.
He suspected he’d been too obvious.
Because the man turned to look at him, eyes sweeping over his cheek. He raised an eyebrow but asked plainly, “Why do you keep looking at me?”
Su Zesui’s heart skipped a beat. He pressed his soft lips together, shaking his head like a rattle drum, obviously flustered.
Luckily, Gu Yilan was kind enough not to press the issue.
Su Zesui kept his little hands clutched around the phone for five full minutes before he finally composed himself, carefully pulling back his fingers and typing.
He had been using Ahoo’s tips to try and “win over” Gu Yilan. But whether it was working—he had no idea. He didn’t know how to read people or understand what the man was thinking.
He still remembered what Gu Yilan had said that morning: that he could add one or two strangers if he wanted.
So now, desperate times called for desperate measures—
[User1947296: Okay. I’ll add you.]
The other person was fast. As soon as he sent his WeChat ID, a friend request came through.
The stranger’s WeChat name was the same as on Ahoo, and their profile picture was just a pitch-black square—definitely not the kind of image that gave off good vibes.
[。: You want to get married?]
[。: Why do you want to marry someone?]
They jumped straight into rapid-fire questions. Su Zesui’s soft lips parted slightly, fingers hovering in the air for a long moment before he realized something felt off. He spent ages trying to find the right words before finally squeezing out a reply.
[(o^^o): Why are you asking that?]
There was a short pause before the reply came.
[。: So I can give the right advice.]
Su Zesui was convinced. He thought about it for a moment, and—once again—his gaze involuntarily drifted to the man beside him. Thankfully this time, he looked away quickly and didn’t get caught.
[(o^^o): Because he’s a really good person.]
This time, the other party took even longer to respond.
Just when Su Zesui thought they wouldn’t reply at all, his phone vibrated—
[。: Illusion.]
Su Zesui frowned slightly, clearly not agreeing.
[(o^^o): He’s really handsome.]
He always struggled to express himself properly. What he meant was something more like “his looks reflect his character.” But of course, the person on the other end misunderstood—unsurprisingly.
[。: Can good looks feed you?]
[(o^^o): Don’t say that. He might see it.]
[。: ?]
[。: Why would you show it to him?]
Even though it was just text, a chilly, mocking tone practically leapt off the screen. It felt like he could hear the sneer through the phone.
Su Zesui started to sense something wasn’t right. He didn’t know the correct answer to any of this, but he felt the other person was wrong. So he kept typing, fumbling out a reply—
[(o^^o): Because I want to show it to him.]
[。: He’s way too controlling. Don’t marry him.]
When he read that message, Su Zesui sat frozen in place, a huge question mark slowly forming over his head.
Weren’t they supposed to be offering the right “prescription” for the problem? Why were they suddenly killing the patient?
And as if that wasn’t enough, the other person kept stomping on the corpse—
[。: I bet he won’t marry you either.]
[。: Know when to quit. Cut your losses early.]
After reading those two messages, Su Zesui was genuinely fuming.
He suspected that the person on the other end of the internet cable was actually some mean, not-so-good-looking uncle whose biggest hobby was badmouthing nice people online.
His fingers jabbed angrily at the screen as he typed furiously: [He’s not that kind of person! He just looks fierce. He…]
Su Zesui struggled with wording. Each message took him one or two minutes to finish. Before he could finish this sentence, the man beside him stood up.
Startled, the boy’s first reaction was to clutch his phone tightly to his chest, staring at Gu Yilan’s legs like he was facing a dangerous enemy.
“Time’s up. Let’s go,” Gu Yilan said from above, his low voice dropping like a cello playing softly by the ear.
The man was remarkably tolerant of his odd behavior, and Su Zesui felt a little touched. Still, he didn’t dare delay and immediately stood up to head upstairs.
The TV time had ended, and the people sitting ahead were about to turn around and start tidying the living room.
He shoved his phone into his pocket, then darted toward the spiral staircase, the sound of his footsteps going pat-pat-pat on the floor.
Gu Yilan, with his long legs and tall frame, easily caught up to him in just a few steps.
The butler with his belly bulging slightly, struggled a bit more. But for the sake of his boss, he still huffed and puffed his way forward and managed to catch up to Gu Yilan.
They followed one or two steps behind the boy.
Lowering his voice mysteriously, the butler leaned toward his boss and asked,
“Young Master Gu, what do you think of Little Master Su? What kind of person is he, really?”
Gu Yilan’s thin lips parted slightly as he coldly spat out a single emotionless word: “Emotionally unstable.”
The butler couldn’t fully understand this cryptic response, but he still let out a sigh of relief. At least from that comment, he could vaguely sense—Young Master Gu probably hadn’t realized that the boy might be a masochist!
Instantly, he felt a great sense of duty: Looks like the task of playing matchmaker between the two should fall to him from now on!
Meanwhile, Su Zesui had only one thing in mind: Run faster, faster!
He didn’t hear a word of the whispered conversation behind him.
Just ahead was the staircase landing—the finish line was in sight. But suddenly, a voice called out from downstairs:
“Little Master! Wait!”
For someone with social anxiety, being called out loudly from behind felt no different than walking alone down a dark alley at night and suddenly being tapped on the shoulder.
Su Zesui flinched. His foot missed a step, and he lost his balance, leaning backward toward the hard stone stairs behind him.
Ah!
He squeezed his eyes shut, terrified. This time it wouldn’t just be a bruised knee—he’d end up bleeding from the head or worse, tumbling down the whole staircase.
Then everyone in the living room would rush over and surround him, staring nonstop, all talking, talking, talking…
Ughhh!
But the expected pain never came.
Because he fell into a pair of warm arms.
What hit him first was the intense heat of the other person’s body, then the defined, muscular contours, followed by the familiar, faint scent of soapberry drifting into his nose.
Su Zesui’s heart gave a hard thump: !
Gu Yilan had been knocked slightly off balance by the impact, but his stance was solid. He quickly steadied the boy, who had flailed his arms and nearly fallen.
Once Su Zesui regained his footing, he realized his small hands were clutching tightly onto Gu Yilan’s arm for balance.
He immediately let go and darted out of Gu Yilan’s arms, climbing one step higher. Like a kid who’d done something wrong, he didn’t dare say a word and lowered his head, fidgeting with his fingers.
He remembered very clearly—on the day of their blind date, his older brother had told him that Gu Yilan didn’t like physical contact with others.
Even with his head down, he could feel the man’s gaze sweeping over him.
And that made him nervous again—scared he’d be thrown out of the house.
Just then, the nanny who had called out to him climbed up the stairs, gave Gu Yilan a slight bow, then turned to Su Zesui and asked, “Little Master, are you okay? Sorry, I startled you.”
Su Zesui hunched his shoulders slightly and shook his head.
“Little Master, may I add you on WeChat? That way, if there’s any fruit you want to eat, you can message me and I’ll go buy it.”
So it was the auntie who delivered fruit to him every day at 2:30 PM.
She would always leave the fruit outside the door, knock, and leave. So Su Zesui had never seen what she looked like, nor heard her voice.
Still anxious about possibly getting kicked out, he acted on autopilot. He added her on WeChat, and it wasn’t until she’d already left that he finally registered what had happened—feeling the breathless panic that always came with social anxiety.
Gu Yilan didn’t say anything. He simply stood beside the boy, calmly watching—watching as his body stiffened, as he quietly touched his fingers together in some vague sense of grievance. His gaze lingered on Su Zesui’s slim back, and finally settled on the boy’s already injured knee.
One glance—assessment complete.
Then he spoke, coldly: “Don’t wear that outfit again. I don’t like it.”
From this moment on, he would impose strict, suffocating control—until he got what he wanted.
Su Zesui: !!
His long lashes lifted just a little as he looked at Gu Yilan’s legs, eyes brimming with tears of emotion.
Clearly, Gu Yilan didn’t like being touched. But instead of saying that, he had been thoughtful enough to blame it on disliking the clothes…
What a kind person…
With a calm expression, Gu Yilan walked past the boy and up the stairs. Su Zesui quickly followed with small, hurried steps. The butler, belly bouncing, jogged after them.
The first room on the second floor was the study.
Gu Yilan pressed his finger to the fingerprint lock and entered the number of people: 3.
His voice was cold: “Do you remember this morning, when you didn’t follow the schedule and get up on time?”
Su Zesui froze, looking up at him in surprise.
Gu Yilan said no more. Without looking at him again, he walked straight into the study and opened a cabinet in the corner.
Thrown into an unfamiliar room and then confronted with a mistake, Su Zesui stood in the middle of the study feeling completely at a loss. He lowered his head and stared at the lines in the floor, pretending to be invisible.
“Come here,” Gu Yilan said.
Su Zesui blinked, looking up in confusion, still not quite processing the situation.
Seeing him frozen, the butler cleared his throat and added helpfully, “Go on, Young Master Gu wants to punish you.”
Su Zesui: ???
Gu Yilan: …
Watching the boy slowly shuffle forward, the butler rubbed his hands together in satisfaction.
Control? Punishment? The little master probably loved that stuff. If these two ever got married, he definitely deserved the “Best Matchmaker” award.
Gu Yilan handed the boy a pen-shaped object and said, “It’s a voice recorder. From now on, report everything you did each day into it every night. I’ll check it.”
Su Zesui took the weighty, solid black recorder and nodded.
He continued standing there obediently, waiting for the “punishment,” but Gu Yilan didn’t do anything else. After giving him the recorder, he simply let him return to his own room.
. . . . .
In the side bedroom, Su Zesui examined the recorder, and finally finished typing the message he hadn’t had the chance to send earlier:
[(o^^o): He’s not like that! bunny−deny.jpg]
[(o^^o): He’s the most understanding! He’s the kindest person ever!]
The stranger seemed busy. A while passed before a reply came:
[。: ……]
[。: He’s not.]
Su Zesui knew there were people in this world who could see fate, who could speak truths no one else could grasp.
For example, when he was very young, a fortune-teller told him he was born under an unlucky star, destined to attract vile people and suffer hardship. And sure enough, he had never met a good person. Everyone around him only bullied, humiliated, and made fun of him.
These kinds of “masters” always spoke with unwavering certainty, calm as a mountain collapsing around them—just like this stranger online.
[(o^^o): Are you… a master or something?]
The other person was typing.
[。: Mm.]
[(o^^o): bunny−suspicious.jpg]
In the sticker, a chubby-cheeked white bunny stares wide-eyed at the screen, tilting its head in disbelief, with three giant question marks above its head. It radiated the message: “I don’t believe you!”
[。: What do you want to know? What do you want?]
Su Zesui’s eyes lit up. He swung his skinny legs a little and typed quickly:
[(o^^o): I want him to let me see his WeChat Moments.]
The other person went quiet for a moment, then sent:
[。: Still revolving around him? What is he to you?]
Su Zesui rubbed his chin, seriously pondering the question.
[。: Childhood sweetheart? Life-saver? Lover from a past life?]
The tone was full of cold contempt—like he was disgusted by the wish. On the chat screen, the words “The other person is typing…” flickered ominously.
Su Zesui hesitated, then finally tapped out a reply just before the next message came in:
[(o^^o): He’s… my fiance.]
The second that message was sent, the “typing” indicator vanished abruptly.
What remained was just that familiar, cryptic period— [。:]
Cold, unreadable, and impossible to decipher.