Releasing Tension (1/2)
Su Zesui lay limp on the bed, staring up at the white ceiling, his whole body drained of strength. He felt a tingling numbness radiating from his tailbone, as if it had been shocked—he couldn’t even sit up.
The master bedroom was filled with a strange lingering scent. A stack of tissues had been tossed into the trash can. From the bathroom came the sound of running water as Gu Yilan washed his hands—the splash echoed in Su Zesui’s ears.
It was exactly 7 AM. The phone alarm began buzzing.
Using the last of his strength, Su Zesui struggled to roll over and reached out a limp arm to turn it off.
Then he froze in that awkward position, completely spent, unable to move again.
Gu Yilan came out of the bathroom, casually drying his hands with a tissue. His voice was calm, like that of a life coach evaluating a student’s progress: “Have you learned it? Can you do it on your own next time?”
Su Zesui’s face flushed red in an instant. He rolled over again and buried his head into the pillow.
Right now, he really couldn’t handle hearing Gu Yilan’s voice—because the moment he did, he would recall the man’s breath brushing against his cheek earlier, and those ‘thoughtful’ questions he’d asked.
“It’s time. Get up,” Gu Yilan said, walking to the bedside and glancing at the time on his phone.
“No… I don’t want to,” Su Zesui’s muffled voice came from beneath the pillow.
His whole body felt sore and weak—he didn’t want to move, let alone get up and face what had just happened.
He just wanted to be an ostrich.
Gu Yilan stood there for a moment, seeming to hesitate before speaking again. “Alright, you can stall a little longer. Let’s play a game to take your mind off it.”
Su Zesui didn’t lift his head but mumbled curiously, “What game?”
“Truth or dare,” Gu Yilan said. “Let’s trade secrets.”
Su Zesui froze and murmured, “I don’t have any secrets.”
Playing a game like that with someone like him—who would spill everything after just a few questions—was a losing deal.
Apparently reminded of that fact, Gu Yilan paused, then put his phone away, opened the window in the master bedroom, and quietly walked out of the room.
Su Zesui relaxed, unsure if he felt disappointed or relieved. He was exhausted, but didn’t feel like sleeping, caught between closing his eyes or chasing after him.
But just a few minutes later, Gu Yilan returned.
He set a cup of hot water on the nightstand. “Feeling any better? Have some water.”
Given that gentle gesture, Su Zesui—who had been wavering—finally made a decision. He sat up and took a sip. The warm water soothed his parched throat and made him feel a little more human again.
Su Zesui thought for a long time, then suddenly asked out of nowhere, “Brother, why do you study those things?”
Lately, he had entered the second round of physics competition prep, and it was noticeably harder.
He had spent an entire afternoon struggling with a single problem, only to find that the official solution followed a completely different line of reasoning. At moments like that, it was easy to question everything—why he was learning this, why he was doing this to himself, even why he was alive.
But Gu Yilan had always walked this path with unwavering determination, his inner compass steady, never once hesitating.
And the field he studied was quantum physics—so obscure and uncertain that he might spend a lifetime laying the groundwork for some future breakthrough hundreds of years away. It was even possible that, in the distant future, when some genius theory emerged, his entire field might be declared meaningless.
After reaching the edge of human understanding, with no clear path forward, Gu Yilan still forged ahead without hesitation. It was as surprising as it was admirable.
“Why not study it?” Gu Yilan raised his eyebrows and threw the question back at him.
“Because… it goes against everything current science says,” Su Zesui said softly, head lowered.
It was the truth—but one that risked offending someone who had spent years in that very field.
But Gu Yilan just smiled faintly. “And how do you know current science is the whole picture? When electromagnetism was first proposed, people believed the grand structure of physics was complete. Future physicists, they thought, would only be filling in decimal places.”
“And then?” Su Zesui asked.
“And then,” Gu Yilan’s smile deepened, “quantum mechanics came along, and the entire structure of physics collapsed overnight.”
Su Zesui remembered now—he had learned that in the history of physics course. Just… not as vividly as Gu Yilan told it.
“I don’t study these things for some grand result,” Gu Yilan said. “I study them because I want to. That’s all. I just care about the process.”
Su Zesui was stunned.
All this time, Gu Yilan had struck him as a highly goal-oriented person—someone so driven that he would sacrifice everything, even sleep, to achieve his aims.
But now, at the most important stage of his academic life, it turned out there was no goal at all. How could he not be shocked?
“For what?” Su Zesui asked.
“For the joy of being immersed in the process.”
Gu Yilan’s response was airtight, self-consistent. But his lowered gaze shimmered with a strange light—murky and heavy with emotion. Su Zesui, with his head still down, didn’t notice.
Then the boy asked the question that had been weighing on him the most: “If I get eliminated in the school competition… do I have to take the college entrance exam all over again?”
“Scared?” Gu Yilan raised an eyebrow.
Su Zesui clutched the hem of his shirt and nodded.
The college entrance exam was like crossing a single-log bridge along with a thousand troops. For someone who had forgotten everything and had to start over from scratch, it was as terrifying as winning the lottery only to be told he’d missed the deadline to claim the prize.
“There’s no need to be so anxious,” Gu Yilan said. “There’s a method called ‘over-scope learning’—you study high school material in middle school, college material in high school, and then go back to tackle easier exams. It’s the opposite of cramming—more like a dimensionality reduction strike.”
Seeing Su Zesui’s face turning red, Gu Yilan reached out, wanting to check his temperature, but Su Zesui instinctively dodged.
Right now, he couldn’t even bear to see Gu Yilan’s hand.
When he had secretly held the man’s hand before, he had noticed the thin layer of calluses on his fingertips. And during what had just happened… that sensation had been magnified a hundredfold, so vivid that he could feel every inch of Gu Yilan’s palm—and it burned into him.
Gu Yilan didn’t push him. He simply withdrew his hand and continued to soothe the anxious boy. “You’re studying for the science competition, which is essentially a form of learning beyond the regular curriculum. If you go back and take the college entrance exam, it won’t be starting from scratch—it’ll be a dimensionality reduction attack.”
After hearing that, Su Zesui felt much more at ease.
These past few days, he’d been plagued with anxiety—afraid the competition might go badly, and he’d have to start all over again with the college entrance exam at eighteen.
But thinking it over, what Mr. Gu said made a lot of sense.
It’d be like a high school student learning middle school material and taking a middle school test. Even if he had forgotten everything from junior high, it would still be relatively easy.
Mr. Gu seemed to know everything and always knew how to comfort him just right, in every way.
“What’s more, it’s not like I’ve been sitting back doing nothing. Haven’t I been helping you all along?”
The man’s calm voice drifted over, and Su Zesui felt his heart tighten—it was as if it were wrapped in soft clouds. Warm and secure.
“Has anyone…” Su Zesui looked up and asked, “helped you?”
“Helped me with what?” Gu Yilan asked with a hint of amusement.
But his smile faded quickly.
Because the boy suddenly made a fist and moved it up and down, mimicking what he had done to him that morning.
“No,” Gu Yilan said, averting his gaze. His tone was so serious it sounded oddly stiff.
“You need that too?” Su Zesui asked curiously.
His thoughts jumped quickly—once one problem was solved, he naturally moved on to the next.
Gu Yilan’s lips gradually pressed into a line. He opened his mouth a few times, and finally only let out a single word: “Yeah.”
Su Zesui lit up, half-excited and half-shy. “Then I can help you in the future!”
Gu Yilan: …
Before he could respond, the little flirt’s face had already turned bright red. Gu Yilan gave a helpless look and said, “I don’t need that. And you won’t need my help anymore either.”
Su Zesui scrunched up his face.
He felt like he did still need a few more rounds of help. Because earlier, his head had been floating the whole time, and he hadn’t really focused. He’d definitely be just as confused next time. Also… even though he’d been overheated the entire time, it had felt surprisingly good. He wanted to experience it again.
But before he could say what was on his mind, the man in front of him spoke first. “You’ve asked so many questions, and I’ve answered them all. Now it’s my turn.”
Hearing that, Su Zesui immediately tensed up.
He figured Mr. Gu was going to ask why he acted like that this morning, or maybe even directly ask what he had seen. He wasn’t sure whether he should rat out Brother Gong Chuang.
“Su Zesui,” Gu Yilan called his full name, but his tone was gentle. “Have you ever undergone MECT treatment?”
Su Zesui felt like he had just been struck by lightning. He froze in place on the bed.
That long-forgotten term surfaced in his mind.
MECT—Modified Electroconvulsive Therapy—is a treatment method for certain mental illnesses. It can cause headaches, nausea, sore muscles, cognitive decline, and… memory loss.
Su Zesui stammered for a while before replying in a voice as soft as a mosquito’s: “I—I… I don’t know.”
“That’s fine. Not knowing is still an answer.” Gu Yilan said casually, not pressing the boy to give a definitive yes or no.
From his perspective, Su Zesui had a tendency to shut himself off from the world, and his understanding of life came largely from novels. But he shouldn’t be so clueless as to lack even basic knowledge about the human body. Gu Yilan suspected that the boy might have lost parts of his memory—perhaps recently.
“Have you rested enough? Can you get up now?” Gu Yilan changed the subject.
“Y-Yes!” Su Zesui scrambled off the bed and practically ran into the bathroom.
Even though Mr. Gu’s voice was low and pleasant, like a finely tuned cello, Su Zesui couldn’t handle the way he raised his intonation at the end of sentences. It always reminded him of what had just happened—
“Is this pace okay? Let me know if you need it faster.”
“Feeling uncomfortable is normal. It’s not a terminal illness. You’ll handle it yourself in the future, got it?”
“Breathe. Are you trying to suffocate yourself?”
“Phew—” Su Zesui let out a long breath, turned on the faucet, splashed cold water on his flushed cheeks, and gave his forehead a few quick taps.