Eyelashes
Su Zesui stumbled back a few steps, breaking free from Gu Yilan’s embrace and escaping the heat that clung tightly around him.
“You—how did you know?” Su Zesui was full of curiosity—and also desperate to change the subject.
Gu Yilan waved his hand, and the bodyguard standing at the door like a statue immediately stepped forward, respectfully took the car keys from him, and went to park the vehicle.
After the bodyguard left, Gu Yilan shook his phone and took two slow steps toward the boy. “At the gym for an hour, only walked a few hundred steps, but your heart rate shot up like that?”
On his phone screen was a blinding leaderboard. Su Zesui glanced at it and froze like he’d been struck by lightning.
—W-WeChat steps??
He had been pacing nervously at the gym.
As a result, his WeChat step count didn’t skyrocket like someone running, nor did it stay frozen like someone who forgot their phone…
Instead, the steps increased slowly—while his heart rate steadily spiked.
Su Zesui drooped his head, looking dejected. He felt like someone who had spent pages calculating an answer only to copy the final result onto the wrong line by mistake—a total failure. Like capsizing in a ditch.
“And another thing,” Gu Yilan added, “do you remember last time you took all the water from the fridge?”
Su Zesui counted on his fingers.
Of course he remembered. To create trouble where there was none, he and the butler had hidden all the water. That way, Gu Yilan would have to try his soup—and then never be allowed in the kitchen again.
“Since that time, the fridge has been fitted with an automatic monitoring system. It tracks all inventory in real time.”
Gu Yilan flipped through something on his phone and read aloud, “14:35 — mangoes, strawberries, dragon fruit were taken. 14:59 — fruit was returned, soda water removed…”
“Fourteen fifty-nine,” Gu Yilan raised an eyebrow, emphasizing the time, “why was that one minute earlier than the servant’s scheduled arrival?”
Su Zesui turned to stone on the spot.
If he could use a down-to-the-second schedule to slip away, then of course Gu Yilan could use it to identify any inconsistencies.
Su Zesui mumbled under his breath, “…You’re amazing.”
The tips of his ears were bright red. Even the way he gave compliments was awkward. His soft lips opened and closed like a malfunctioning chatbot—but it was so sincere, it made people want to pinch his cheeks just to feel how soft they were.
Gu Yilan paused, then continued, “Actually, I didn’t need any evidence to guess when you’d try to leave.”
“Today was your last chance to escape. 3:00 PM is the only time the staff leaves the first floor. No matter what method you used, that was your only window.”
“But I don’t like working backwards like this. Even if I had no other proof, I wouldn’t rely on this kind of reasoning to catch you.”
Su Zesui asked, “Why not?”
Gu Yilan thought for a moment and gave an analogy. “That kind of step-skipping logic only works for multiple-choice or fill-in-the-blank questions. You know this—CPhO finals are all open-ended.”
He looked up. “Anything else you want to ask?”
Su Zesui shook his head, completely convinced and out of arguments.
“Then let’s get back to what we were discussing.” Gu Yilan leaned down slightly, gazing into his eyes. “Getting caught after running away… means you’ll have to face punishment.”
Su Zesui froze. Out of nowhere, his mind conjured an image of the little whip in his bedroom drawer.
He shuddered, clutched his head, and suddenly squatted down, his voice and body trembling. “P-Please don’t hit me…”
Gu Yilan: …
“Get up,” Gu Yilan said, frowning.
Seeing that the man didn’t make another move, Su Zesui finally let out a small breath of relief—like a timid bunny peeking out from its burrow, realizing the coast was clear. He held onto the doorframe and slowly stood up.
Then he heard the man say, “Pack your things. You’re coming with me the day after tomorrow.”
Su Zesui’s hand slipped—and he almost crashed to the floor with a loud “thud.”
. . . . .
That evening, Gu Yilan had something to deal with.
According to the butler, it was a troublesome issue at the company, so he wouldn’t be able to watch TV with him. But once Su Zesui finished watching, he was welcome to go find Young Master Gu in the study.
7:20 PM, Su Zesui sat in the living room, blinking his long, thick lashes with a hint of confusion as he stared at the empty seat beside him.
Even though the man wasn’t there and no one was supervising him, so he could shamelessly watch Crayon Shinchan instead of the news, Su Zesui still felt like something was missing.
It was like—even though the world was full of scary people—he felt a little… lonely.
Half of his body lay sprawled over the little table in front of him as he absentmindedly doodled all over his competition prep book.
It felt like ages before Crayon Shinchan finally went dark and ended.
Su Zesui hugged his book and dashed upstairs.
The villa’s smart system had his fingerprints on file, so he could unlock several doors—like the lab on the third floor or the gym on the fourth.
But he wasn’t sure if he could open every door—like Gu Yilan’s bedroom, or the study.
He knocked first, then placed his fingertip on the study’s lock.
With a soft click, the door opened.
Su Zesui: !
Gu Yilan was leaning back in a leather chair behind the large wooden desk. At the sound of the door, he lifted his eyes and looked over.
Su Zesui first set the book down on the desk, then wobbled over to drag a chair beside Gu Yilan and plopped himself down.
The man was significantly taller than him, so this spare chair wasn’t quite a good fit—his feet couldn’t touch the floor properly, and his long, fair legs dangled back and forth.
Gu Yilan casually took the book from the edge of the table and began flipping through it.
It was a textbook he’d once used himself, and thanks to his sharp memory, he was basically familiar with the layout of the questions.
Su Zesui was used to letting him take the lead. He didn’t even need to speak—he could just draw red circles around the questions he didn’t understand, or point with a little finger, and Gu Yilan would understand right away.
Perfect for someone with social anxiety.
While Gu Yilan browsed the questions, Su Zesui grew bored and let his gaze drift around the spacious study.
The room featured a dark color palette—primarily deep blacks and greys. The ceiling was impressively high, with dark walnut bookshelves stretching all the way up, creating an atmosphere of austerity and solemnity.
Su Zesui had read online that pairing pale grey with white creates a “celibate aesthetic.”
And now, sitting in Gu Yilan’s meticulously organized space, he could practically feel that restrained, ascetic vibe pressing down on him.
His gaze returned to the desk, and he was about to say something to Gu Yilan when a glimpse of blood-red color caught his eye.
He froze.
Inside the fine china teacup was a thin wisp of crimson, like a thread, slowly unfurling in the warm liquid. It stained the tea with a faint, jarring tint—and Su Zesui’s heart skipped a beat.
He instinctively looked at the man beside him.
Gu Yilan’s eyes were lowered, calmly reviewing the circled problems. His hand moved now and then, jotting down simple notes with zero signs of stress.
His side profile was all sharp lines and clean elegance—Su Zesui always found it hard to look away.
But this time, he noticed something different.
——Was… was that blood on Gu Yilan’s lips?
——Did… Did Gu Yilan cough up blood from stress?
Su Zesui’s eyes flicked to the financial report on the monitor—columns in chaos. His lips parted slightly, and for once, he didn’t blurt out his thoughts. Instead, he whispered, “Are you upset?”
The pen in Gu Yilan’s hand paused. He silently lifted his eyes to meet Su Zesui’s.
“You can tell me,” Su Zesui said, tapping his fingers nervously. “I—I won’t tell anyone.”
After spending time together, Su Zesui’s speaking had improved—he was a little faster, using a few more words.
Maybe it was his pale-colored irises, but from any angle, his eyes always looked bright and clear, like the purest gemstones.
Gu Yilan stayed quiet for a few seconds, then finally said, “I’m not upset.”
His voice was calm and flat, filled with indifference and detachment. But as his lips parted, Su Zesui clearly saw that same shocking red again between his teeth.
——Mr. Gu is hiding a lot of secrets, Su Zesui thought.
He looked at the man earnestly, then, drawing on every scrap of high-EQ praise he’d ever learned from the internet, stammered out an awkward compliment: “Your eyelashes… are really long. They’re pretty.”
Whether it was just his imagination or not, the moment he said it, the air in the study seemed to heat up—so much that he found it hard to breathe.
A few seconds later, Gu Yilan casually spun his pen and asked, “You mean me?”
“Mm-hmm.” Su Zesui nodded seriously.
“That’s why you doodled all over my book?” Gu Yilan stopped spinning the pen and tapped the prep book with its tip.
Following the direction of his pen, Su Zesui spotted a silly-looking chubby bunny in the lower right corner—big eyes, red cheeks, exactly like the one he’d drawn on that sticky note before. He could only draw cutesy cartoons like this.
He’d scribbled it while watching Crayon Shinchan… and completely forgotten.
“…S-Sorry.”
Gu Yilan changed the subject. “Which part don’t you understand?”
Naive as ever, Su Zesui was easily distracted. He pointed at one step in the solution process and looked up. “I don’t get this part.”
Gu Yilan replied, “Mm. Have you studied Hamiltonian equations?”
Su Zesui nodded like a bobblehead.
Gu Yilan spoke with clarity and a deep, steady voice—like the gentle resonance of a cello playing softly by one’s ear. It didn’t take long for Su Zesui to be completely drawn in, his focus fully locked onto solving the competition problems.
When they finished one question, Gu Yilan’s Adam’s apple moved slightly as he reached for the glass of water beside him.
In a split second, without even thinking, Su Zesui instinctively grabbed Gu Yilan’s hand before it could reach the cup.
The heat from their skin-to-skin contact spread like fire. Su Zesui flushed from the tips of his ears all the way down his neck. He wanted to pull his hands back immediately, but his mind froze, leaving his arms awkwardly suspended in the air.
Gu Yilan glanced at the completely red-faced boy. Even in such an odd position, he stayed calm and asked plainly, “What’s wrong?”
Su Zesui’s brain kicked into overdrive.
He didn’t want Gu Yilan to touch the cup that had blood on it—but unlike Gu Yilan, he wasn’t good at casually changing topics.
Then, like a flash of lightning, a random memory surfaced: his brother had once said that Gu Yilan disliked physical contact. Without considering whether it made sense, he blurted out, “W-Will you hit me?”
Gu Yilan: ?
He withdrew his hand, frowning as he studied the boy.
Seeing that Gu Yilan was no longer trying to grab the cup, Su Zesui sighed in relief and mumbled softly, “At the club… someone touched you, and you… hit him.”
Gu Yilan raised a brow. He didn’t bother explaining himself and simply said without hesitation, “I hit him because I felt like it.”
“Th-Then do you feel like hitting me?” Su Zesui looked at him intently.
Gu Yilan: ??
After a moment’s thought, Gu Yilan answered with mock menace, “I didn’t before—but now I kind of do.”
Neither of them said anything after that. Silence stretched between them until Su Zesui finally asked in a quiet voice, “Can I… not go out?”
“No,” Gu Yilan replied.
He flipped through the thick prep book, stopped at the sections on thermodynamics and optics, and tapped his knuckles on the page. “I’m free tomorrow. Organize the problems you still don’t understand and come to me with them.”
Then he looked at the boy, who had fallen completely silent.
Su Zesui’s eyes were misty, his lips bore faint teeth marks, and for some reason, he looked deeply upset—like he was on the verge of crying.
Gu Yilan paused for a second before saying flatly, “I go out often. After we’re married, you’ll also have to go out sometimes.”
Su Zesui fidgeted with his fingers and softly replied, “Okay.”
“Shall we continue?” Gu Yilan flipped back to the original page.
Su Zesui gave a low “mm” in response.
The atmosphere in the study was unusually tense. Su Zesui kept his eyes lowered, watching as Gu Yilan solved the problems he couldn’t do. He looked completely deflated, like a wilted eggplant.
Two hours later, Gu Yilan closed the prep book and handed it to him.
Su Zesui took it with both hands, quietly said “Thank you,” and ran out.
Gu Yilan watched the boy’s retreating figure as he obediently shut the study door behind him, then slowly closed his dark eyes and exhaled silently.
. . . . .
Back in his side room, Su Zesui shut the door and placed the prep book on the desk. Puffing up his cheeks, he began thinking seriously.
What was it Gu Yilan had said…? “Bring all the problems at once next time.” That gave him an unsettling feeling—like tomorrow might be the last time they’d study together.
After that, he might never get to sit next to Gu Yilan again, never hear that deep, pleasant voice guiding him through the problems.
Panic crept in.
But he didn’t even know what he was panicking about—was it the fear of never seeing Gu Yilan again, or the dread that no one else would ever teach him physics this way?
He didn’t want to go outside. He didn’t want to say goodbye to Gu Yilan.
He wanted to stay forever in this beautiful, golden cage of a room. He wanted someone nearby who could always answer his physics questions. He wanted to know Gu Yilan’s secrets.
Now that all of his usual tricks had failed, Su Zesui helplessly turned his eyes to a wooden cabinet in the room.
The wise butler uncle had once told him that Gu Yilan was especially fond of the things inside.
Su Zesui didn’t personally care for them, but… he could give it a try.
. . . . .
The next morning, Su Zesui woke up early again. After a quick wash, he opened the wooden cabinet packed with strange props.
After what could only be described as a research session as meticulous as a science experiment, he finished preparing and stepped out right on time, heading toward Gu Yilan’s room.
He didn’t even stop to put on shoes—his bare feet and calves, pale as snow, stood out beautifully in the morning air. Framed by silver chains, the contrast only made him look even more breathtaking.
If the fabric on his body could even be called “clothing,” then—well—it didn’t have pockets. Which meant Su Zesui had nowhere to put the voice recorder.
And since both his hands were raised to hold up the long, slender chains—so he wouldn’t trip—he had no choice but to carry the recorder between his teeth, walking slowly while the chains clinked together with a crisp, metallic sound.
He looked like a boy from some exotic, faraway land, walking to the rhythm of those light, chiming noises.
Fortunately, Gu Yilan’s room was right next door.
Su Zesui stopped in front of the door and had just lifted his hand to knock when, only seconds later, the door swung open from the inside.
Gu Yilan looked like he had just finished washing up. There were shadows under his eyes, and his eyelids drooped with weariness. The moment he saw Su Zesui, his raised foot froze in place as he was about to step out.
Su Zesui needed to free his mouth from the voice recorder, so he handed the chain in his hands to Gu Yilan first.
Gu Yilan stood still, staring at him intently. Without much resistance, he accepted the chain.
Su Zesui took the recorder from his mouth and exhaled slightly, just about to press the button to start recording so Gu Yilan could check his homework—when suddenly, a heavy thud sounded behind him.
Both Su Zesui and Gu Yilan turned toward the source of the noise.
At the top of the staircase stood the butler, the files in his hands now scattered across the floor. Snow-white papers fluttered in the air like falling leaves.
He stood there dumbfounded, staring in shock at the collar around Su Zesui’s neck, then at the chain in Gu Yilan’s hand.
His face said it all: absolute disbelief.