Ice Cream Cone (1/2)
“Surveillance… from many years ago.” Su Zesui puffed up his cheeks and rubbed his chin, mumbling to himself, “Why?”
Grandpa Gu understood what he was referring to, but the topic of surveillance was twisted and invasive, a matter of privacy that really shouldn’t be brought up openly.
But seeing how unfazed the boy was, Grandpa Gu hesitated before saying, “It’s his secret. One day, when the time is right, he’ll definitely tell you.”
Grandpa Gu expected the boy to respond with something like “Really?” or “Okay,” but instead, Su Zesui looked up at him and quietly said, “You know.”
Grandpa Gu paused as he was flipping through the photo album.
He hadn’t expected this seemingly slow and easily tricked boy to actually have such sharp, logical thinking—keen enough to pick up on the inconsistencies.
Left with no choice, Grandpa Gu admitted honestly, “Yes. He told me himself.”
Su Zesui looked around.
The old room had bookshelves filled with photo albums, neatly arranged by date. The walls were covered in faded old photos that didn’t match the clean and modern style of the secluded villa. It was obvious—Grandpa Gu was a sentimental man.
“He’ll…” Su Zesui pulled his gaze back and pointed at himself with a small finger. “Tell me?”
“He will. When the two of you get close enough,” Grandpa Gu said with a warm smile. “You’re special. Grandpa believes that day will come.”
Su Zesui thought for a moment, then added, “He trusts you.”
Grandpa Gu found it fascinating—through this boy, he could almost see the younger version of Gu Yilan.
The boy was simply stating facts and voicing his confusion, yet somehow, he was inching closer to the truth within a cloud of mystery. It was a trait shared by highly rational people.
But not wanting to dwell on the topic, Grandpa Gu began tidying up some old papers tucked inside the album and asked, “Did you ever hang your award certificates on the wall when you were younger?”
Su Zesui shook his head.
He’d had developmental issues growing up, and all he ever thought about was food. His academic performance was poor, and his physical fitness was even worse. He barely ever won any awards.
Grandpa Gu put the precious album back into the cabinet and casually said, “He likes being praised. Maybe you could try complimenting him?”
Su Zesui understood exactly who “he” was, and it reminded him of a tip from the Ahoo “how to increase favorability” guide—Praise.
He said, “I noticed.”
“Noticed what?” a deep voice asked from the doorway.
Su Zesui turned his head and saw Gu Yilan standing there, eyebrows slightly raised as he looked over—unclear how much he had overheard.
As soon as he saw him, Su Zesui’s previously heavy mood instantly brightened. He trotted over to the man.
“You’re back? The food’s still warm. Go eat something,” Grandpa Gu said casually, avoiding any mention of company matters and speaking as if they were just a normal family.
“No.” Gu Yilan lowered his gaze to Su Zesui and asked, “Shall we go?”
Su Zesui frowned slightly, pointing to the man’s stomach with a tiny finger. “Hungry.”
Gu Yilan had already gotten used to translating the boy’s shorthand speech. Before he could even finish the second half of his sentence, Gu Yilan replied, “I’m not hungry.”
Su Zesui was about to say more, but Gu Yilan had already turned and started walking toward the door.
The butler, standing in the living room, quickly followed after the real boss—the one who paid his salary.
Grandpa Gu was long accustomed to his grandson’s temperament. He watched the boy warmly and said in a voice only the two of them could hear, “Zesui, try to marry him. Then come visit Grandpa often.”
Su Zesui felt a sudden weight of purpose settle on his shoulders. He nodded firmly.
Looking at Gu Yilan waiting quietly at the door, he whispered, “Goodbye, Grandpa,” and then ran off toward the man.
Grandpa Gu nodded toward his grandson as a farewell.
Since they had rested for less than an hour during their visit, this time Gu Yilan didn’t ask the butler to drive. He got into the driver’s seat himself.
Su Zesui quickly got into the passenger seat—right next to the man.
After fastening his seatbelt, he asked, “Where to?”
Gu Yilan started the car and replied simply, “Downtown.”
The drive wasn’t short. Gu Yilan kept his eyes on the road, while the other two stared blankly out the window at the passing scenery.
At a long red light, Su Zesui turned his gaze from the window to the man beside him. Without any preamble, he said abruptly, “I want… to watch the surveillance again.”
The boy was simple-minded—his thoughts always written clearly on his face.
Gu Yilan glanced at him briefly, already guessing that Grandpa Gu had said something while he was gone that piqued the boy’s curiosity.
Still, without a word, he pulled out his phone, lowered his eyes, tapped a few times on the screen, and then handed it over to Su Zesui.
His decisiveness and lack of interrogation left Su Zesui stunned for a moment. He stared blankly before cautiously accepting the phone—careful not to touch the man’s defined fingers.
On the screen, a folder within the cloud album appeared—
Surveillance Footage – Rear Study Room.
Su Zesui was terrified of social interactions—let alone snooping through someone else’s belongings.
Although Gu Yilan was an exception, Su Zesui still had a strong sense of boundaries. He didn’t start swiping around the phone randomly. Instead, within the limited album folder Gu Yilan had opened for him, his small hand scrolled up very, very slowly.
This album seemed endless. After examining the interface for a moment, Su Zesui tapped “View in chronological order.”
The phone took a moment to load, and then—suddenly—the earliest surveillance footage appeared before his eyes.
Completely unprepared, he froze.
The rear study was still the same: tall bookshelves, golden trophies, a large wooden desk, and a plush carpet. Nothing had changed. But in the middle of it, he saw a younger version of Gu Yilan, sitting upright at the desk doing his homework.
With stiff fingers, Su Zesui tapped to view the file details.
—It was an older video, dated fifteen years ago.
Su Zesui was stunned.
That meant the house they were currently living in—the very rear study where he’d flipped through competition prep books—had already existed fifteen years ago?
——Then why had Grandpa Gu told him that Gu Yilan didn’t move out and live alone until adulthood?
——…Was he lying?
Just as his thoughts were spinning into chaos and he couldn’t make sense of anything, the man next to him suddenly spoke his name.
“Su Zesui.”
He snapped out of his daze and turned to look at the man beside him—his sharply defined profile, his cool and stoic expression.
——How much longer?
Su Zesui wondered.
——How much more trust would it take before Mr. Gu finally told him the truth?
He waited for Gu Yilan to give him a hint, to offer some clarity. But instead, the man opened his lips and said something completely unrelated:
“If you’re ever faced with someone trying to make things difficult for you again—what should you do?”
Only then did Su Zesui remember the test—the challenge.
He quickly straightened up, thought hard for a moment, and answered seriously, “Say sorry.”
Gu Yilan: …
The butler, sitting in the backseat, covered his face with one hand—wanting nothing more than to jump in and give the socially clueless boy a crash course with his phone.
Gu Yilan glanced at the boy who’d gone off in the completely wrong direction and nudged him toward the opposite extreme: “From now on, whether it’s your fault or not—never apologize.”
Su Zesui lowered his head.
It was obvious—he’d answered the question wrong.
Reflexively, he blurted out, “Sor—”
The next second, he caught himself and immediately clapped both hands over his mouth.
“You don’t need to bow your head. You don’t need to worry. Because no matter what kind of trouble you cause—someone will always be there to clean it up for you. If you’re ever struggling alone, just call for help.”
“…You?” Su Zesui looked up at him.
It was such a simple question, yet Gu Yilan took a long time to answer.
“…Call your brother. He has more free time than I do.”
Su Zesui softly responded with an “oh,” but in his heart, he still thought—
——next time there’s danger, I’ll call Mr. Gu.
Gu Yilan didn’t say anything more, while Su Zesui quietly mulled over his thoughts.
It wasn’t until twenty minutes later that he turned his head, looked at Gu Yilan, and finally said the words he had rehearsed countless times in his mind: “You… you’re really great. Can I be with you forever?”
The sentence was especially long and filled with many words. Even though he spoke very softly, Su Zesui still felt breathless by the end.
As soon as the words left the boy’s mouth, Gu Yilan’s brows furrowed deeply. His hands on the steering wheel tightened unconsciously—gripping so hard that even his knuckles turned pale.
At that moment, their AMG One happened to reach a parking space in a busy downtown area. He stepped on the brake, then slowly released the steering wheel.
Gu Yilan didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at the boy next to him, whose face was full of sincere anticipation. Instead, he leaned back against the leather seat, frowning deeply, lost in thought.
In that moment, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he suddenly didn’t want to continue using manipulation to end the engagement.
He was a classic goal-driven personality—focused solely on efficiency, never hesitating to use any means necessary to achieve his ends.
Marriage was never part of the plan. For every “fiancee” that had appeared, his approach was always the same: half reputation sabotage, half intimidation. In most cases, the other party would be so scared they’d call off the engagement before even meeting him.
This method worked—because it was simple.
Truthfully, he’d used the same strategy on Su Zesui.
But because of the boy’s persistence and unique mental state, they had lasted longer—gone deeper. They were even living under the same roof now. That had never happened before.
And yet, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he suddenly didn’t want to treat Su Zesui the same way.
Sure, calling off the engagement himself would be more troublesome, more complicated, riskier, and time-consuming. He might have to endure a few rounds of the same torturous tactic from before.
——But… why keep pushing the boy into situations that terrified him?