The Truth
Su Zesui leaned against Su Mingyu, peeking out from the doorway with just a small part of his head.
The boy’s cheeks were flushed, tears still streaking his face. His beautiful eyes were slightly swollen, radiating a fragile, helpless vulnerability that made one’s heart sting as if pricked by needles.
Su Zesui looked at Gu Yilan and bit his lower lip.
Gu Yilan said, “Brother… is sorry. Is there still a chance to speak to you?”
Su Zesui didn’t reply, just stared at the man with his glistening eyes.
Time passed, minute by minute. Just when both thought the boy wouldn’t speak again, Su Zesui suddenly whispered, “You’re a liar too. I hate you.”
The fact that he could speak meant he was still willing to communicate.
Su Mingyu let out a sigh of relief.
After witnessing his younger brother cry and shut himself off for three uninterrupted hours, he no longer wanted to play the role of the overbearing elder brother ruining a potential relationship. As long as this matter could be resolved and his brother could be happy afterward—even if Gu Yilan “stole” their family—he would accept it.
“Come inside. You two can talk slowly.” Su Mingyu stepped aside near the door, signaling Gu Yilan to enter the foyer first.
But at that moment, without warning, Su Zesui slipped through the gap and ran off into the deep, quiet night.
Su Mingyu froze.
Logically, the familiar, enclosed living room, with its soft, bright lights and his own protection as an elder brother, should have been the safest, most comfortable place to talk to Gu Yilan.
He couldn’t understand why his younger brother, so needy of security, would run away.
“I’ll go after him.” Gu Yilan turned and strode in the direction the boy had gone.
Being in A City’s luxury residential area, this place also had a high green coverage. Looking around, there were lush, verdant trees almost everywhere. Not far from the Su family villa stood a quiet pavilion.
The antique-style street lamps cast gentle pools of light, softened by the night, creating a dreamy filter that diluted the tense atmosphere that hung like storm clouds in the air.
Su Zesui sat on the smooth stone bench, tilting his pale little face upward, and said to the approaching man, “Brother… I already know everything.”
Gu Yilan, tall and poised, his gaze deep, looked at him through the streaks of light and asked, “Are you angry?”
Su Zesui lowered his head and fiddled with his fingers, not answering.
Gu Yilan pressed his thin lips together, momentarily at a loss for words. After a long pause, he finally asked, “How can I make it up to you?”
Su Zesui’s gaze seemed to drift, and he shook his head blankly, muttering, “No… you lied to me… you lied to me…”
Because he wasn’t very good with words, the boy often sounded like a little tape recorder, mechanically repeating his own or others’ phrases, which usually amused those around him. But now, hearing the same repetition with such different expression and tone gripped Gu Yilan’s heart.
A shiver ran through Su Zesui; his earlier calm had been just a facade, a detachment from his own emotions.
As he murmured again, he sank deeper into the whirlpool of memories.
Noticing the boy’s unusual state, Gu Yilan stepped forward and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “Do you want a hug?”
Su Zesui lifted his head, avoiding the gesture, refusing both the touch and the embrace.
Gu Yilan’s hand froze in midair, and without reason, he recalled a few days ago when Su Zesui had tried to wipe the blood from his lips.
He, too, had turned his head away from the boy’s touch, even forcing him home when Su Zesui had reluctantly agreed to sleep on his side.
——What had Su Zesui been thinking back then?
In the pavilion, Su Zesui buried his face in his hands, sobbing softly. His shoulders shook, his tiny, plaintive voice like a small animal’s whimper, and tears seeped through his fingers.
Gu Yilan no longer stood rigidly; his fingers clenched and unclenched, knuckles whitening. Silent and restrained, he had lost the usual sharpness in his demeanor.
Finally, in a hoarse voice, he asked, “Is there anything you want?”
But Su Zesui ignored him, instead speaking in broken, halting words: “You… you’re busy with the company. If it fails… you might never come to get me again.”
Gu Yilan pressed his lips into a hard line, unable to deny it. “Yes.”
Su Zesui said, “You used a fake WeChat account… tricked me… made me… divorce you.”
Every accusation was true. Gu Yilan said, “I’m sorry.”
The boy was crying too hard, hiccupping between words. Instinctively, Gu Yilan stepped closer, gently and restrainedly wrapping him in a hug as he used to, soothingly patting his back.
Perhaps because he was too absorbed in crying, Su Zesui didn’t resist this time and let him hold and comfort him.
“But I succeeded,” Gu Yilan’s voice was hoarse. “To make it up to you, I’ll transfer all the shares I’ve earned these past days into your name.”
After a moment of silence, he added, “The physics competition will begin in just over a dozen days. I’ll help you all the way to the finals. I’ll teach you everything I know.”
The boy’s breathing gradually steadied, his chest no longer heaving violently, as if a few words had already comforted him.
On a summer night, under a starry sky, a cool breeze passed through the heated air where they were embraced.
For over twenty years, Gu Yilan’s life had been driven by constant goals. “High efficiency” was ingrained in his very bones.
Yet now, he slowed his pace, letting time drift, spending a long, meaningless night with someone else.
After a long while, Su Zesui finally spoke again, his voice thick with nasal tone and unfinished thoughts: “…And then?”
Gu Yilan paused. “What do you want to happen?”
“You… you never intend to really be with me,” Su Zesui staggered back a half-step, stiffening his neck. “When we go back, things will go back to how they were.”
Gu Yilan lowered his arms. “How were things before?”
Su Zesui, eyes glistening with tears, said, “Not too close, not too distant… polite with each other.”
Gu Yilan was silent.
Biting his lip, Su Zesui suddenly turned, ready to run: “I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
In a flash, Gu Yilan acted without thinking, grabbing the boy’s wrist. “What else do you want?” he asked quickly.
Pulled back, Su Zesui immediately withdrew his arm—but at least he stopped running.
“To be together forever,” he said angrily, hitting the point. “But later, if there’s a problem, you’ll still send me away.”
Gu Yilan’s voice was calm, stating a fact: “I’ll stay with you as long as I can. But after the CPhO finals, I probably won’t be much use.”
Hearing this, Su Zesui instinctively slowly crossed his arms over his chest, forming an X. It was a defensive gesture full of insecurity.
His pupils contracted slightly, voice trembling, refusing to continue Gu Yilan’s thought. Instead, he said, “You never tell me why you leave. You leave when you want… and then I’m alone again.”
In the foreseeable future, the man would take him back, dangling him in limbo as before, keeping secrets, only to suddenly ask for a divorce someday.
In this extreme, suffocating emotion, the boy’s logic was terrifyingly clear.
Gu Yilan was left speechless.
Looking into his dark eyes, Su Zesui said, “Big Brother said you’re already the head of the company. No one—parents or anyone else—can control you. Everything is your decision.”
Gu Yilan parted his lips, hesitating. “I may be annoyed with them, but they aren’t the main reason.”
“Then why? What are you holding back?” Su Zesui asked. “You never tell me.”
Seeing Gu Yilan press his lips together, once again refusing to communicate, Su Zesui wiped his tears and ran out of the pavilion, choking back sobs. “I don’t want to like you anymore.”
A gentle breeze rustled the leaves behind him, whispering in the silence and chill, with only Su Zesui’s own footsteps echoing—”tap tap tap.”
Clearly, Gu Yilan didn’t chase after him this time.
. . . . .
Su Mingyu had thought he wouldn’t see his younger brother tonight.
He had even gone so far as to contact the psychiatrist, inquiring about the doctor’s upcoming schedule, intending to reschedule his appointment.
Just as he was waiting for his naive, infatuated little brother to be easily deceived by that sly “big bad wolf,” the front door unlocked with a soft “beep” from the fingerprint scanner.
Hearing the sound, Su Mingyu turned around and saw Su Zesui wiping his tears while running straight to his room without looking back. The door slammed shut behind him. His eyes were hollow, completely indifferent to his big brother’s presence.
Su Mingyu froze, utterly baffled: ???
Su Zesui’s broken phone still lay on the living room coffee table.
Su Mingyu could only walk over and knock gently on his brother’s door. “What’s wrong? Did Gu Yilan bully you again? Come out and talk to me—your big brother will back you up.”
All he got in response was silence.
His brother was still wrapped up in his sadness. Bursting in without permission would have seemed too overbearing, and might have made Su Zesui even more upset.
Su Mingyu stood at the door for a while. Seeing that his brother really didn’t want to talk, he turned to send a message to Gu Yilan, scolding him for trying to comfort someone but only making them angrier.
To his surprise, Gu Yilan didn’t reply to any of his messages.
Su Mingyu couldn’t understand. In less than twenty minutes, what could they have said to create such a scene?
Still worried about his brother, Su Mingyu seized the pretext of bringing him a cup of warm water and gently pushed open the door.
Inside, surrounded by high-end toys scattered across the room, the boy lay face down on the bed, burying his little face in the pillow. Every inch of him screamed: I don’t want to talk.
Su Mingyu comforted him for a while and patted his back. “Come on. Take a shower and rest early—maybe things will turn around tomorrow.”
Su Zesui didn’t realize how long he’d been lying there. When caught in an emotional whirlwind, his sense of time weakened.
He remembered only crying for a little while, but when he finally lifted his head, the clock on the wall quietly pointed to midnight.
Feeling dizzy, he staggered to his feet, intending to take a hot shower.
But as he passed the window, he glanced outside almost instinctively—and froze, unable to look away.
The pavilion where he had spoken with Gu Yilan was very close to his home, visible through the window.
The night was like dark water, and in one corner of the pavilion stood a tall, upright figure.
Sparse streetlights stretched his shadow long along the stone path, swaying gently in the breeze. There was an indescribable loneliness and melancholy to it.
Su Zesui glanced at the time again.
——Nearly four hours had passed, why hadn’t he left yet?
He pressed his lips together and stared for a moment, then finally turned and got his fresh pajamas, walking to the bathroom to test the shower water.
Just as he was about to undress, he froze.
——Just one more look.
——The last look.
He would walk slowly, very slowly. If the figure hadn’t left, he’d say a few words; if he had gone, he’d let it be.
Su Zesui turned off the shower and stepped out of the bathroom.
Coincidentally, Su Mingyu was also showering. The living room was empty; no one would stop him.
. . . . .
Gu Yilan stood in the night for a long time, his posture as straight as a pine, showing no sign of fatigue.
He lowered his gaze, expressionless, staring at his phone screen. It didn’t look like someone who had just experienced a separation; it was more like someone walking around bored, casually pulling out his phone to pass the time.
On the phone, recordings stored in the cloud were playing—
“Brother, you… you treat me so nicely… uh, no, that’s not right.”
“Brother, actually… no, aba aba.”
. . . . .
Days ago, the boy had repeatedly recorded these practice sessions. Even the last one was only half-finished.
“Brother, there are always so many people bullying me. You’re the only one who’s kind to me… uh, forgot the words. So dumb…”
Patiently, Gu Yilan listened to all fifty-seven recordings. When he finished, he simply replayed the previously “perfectly finished” recordings from before.
As the voice on the recording announced with a “beep,” “The current recording has finished playing,” Gu Yilan pinched the bridge of his nose.
Perhaps it was because he had grown accustomed to the boy’s voice during the recording. Even after turning off his phone, the soft, obedient words lingered in his mind.
Gu Yilan couldn’t help but recall the confrontation from not long ago—
“Then why? What are you holding back? You never tell me anything.”
His gaze froze. He sighed softly, and once again, his sharp teeth unconsciously gnawed at the soft flesh inside his mouth.
Just as the thrill and the metallic taste of blood surged up his throat simultaneously, a voice behind him broke the moment: “Brother.”
Gu Yilan spun around and saw Su Zesui standing there, clutching the corner of his shirt nervously. In the same clear, bright voice as in the recording, he said, “I understand you. You can go now.”
Gu Yilan swallowed the blood in his mouth and looked at the boy. His tone was steady, though his voice was hoarse: “What?”
“I… I don’t blame you anymore. I know you have more to worry about than I do. I don’t want your compensation either,” Su Zesui said, his eyes vacant, his voice thin and fragile. “But I can’t contact you anymore. It’s going to hurt a lot when we part. You… go now.”
“Today I’m very sad. I don’t know if you would also lie to me.” Su Zesui lowered his eyes and reflected on himself, “I’m sadder than I’ve ever been before.”
Before the man could reply, Su Zesui started to turn away, stumbling over his words: “Bye… see you… I’m going to take a shower… please block me… let’s never meet again.”
——This was the last time. Farewell forever.
Since separation was inevitable, since the blade above would inevitably fall, he’d rather die in this very second.
But he hadn’t even taken a step when the man behind him suddenly grabbed his wrist.
Gu Yilan’s body temperature was slightly higher than normal. Every time Su Zesui hugged him, he would feel enveloped in warm heat.
But at this moment, the man’s hand was chilling to the bone.
“Earlier, you asked me why I know so many psychological therapy methods,” Gu Yilan said, his voice laced with the cold loneliness of the night, low and dry.
As he spoke, he held the boy’s pale, delicate fingers and guided them into the palm of his other hand.
Su Zesui, already weak, allowed himself to be led, following the man’s force without resistance, bewildered and unsure of what was happening.
Finally, Gu Yilan pressed Su zesui’s hand against his other’s wrist.
The pulse was steady and strong, each beat holding tremendous potential energy. But beneath the powerful exterior, Su Zesui felt something he never would have imagined.
There were cruel scratches. Not obvious at a glance, but distinct to the touch.
On Gu Yilan’s wrist, the scars were deep and shallow, chaotic, overlapping. It was as if they had been cut, healed, and cut again repeatedly—wounded over and over.
As Su Zesui spiraled into panic and confusion, he heard the man above him say, “Actually, we’re the same kind of person.”
Su Zesui’s eyes widened in disbelief. He shook his head, feeling his worldview crumble into ruins.
In his mind, Gu Yilan had always been an untouchable, all-capable figure. Everything seemed effortless for him, as if there were no problem in the world he couldn’t solve.
——How could he possibly be involved in something like self-harm?
Yet, absurd as it seemed, everything now felt like it followed a traceable pattern.
From the blood-stained teacup, to the secrets and privacy that Grandpa Gu, Gong Chuang, and his big brother avoided mentioning, to the surveillance footage—Gu Yilan had expertly picked up the ceramic fragments, his big brother reacting as if facing a grave threat…
“Sorry,” Gu Yilan said. “I’m very sick too. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”
Su Zesui unconsciously murmured, “No…”
“You’ve misunderstood me all along. I’m not as bright and perfect as you imagined. I feared telling you the truth because you might not handle it,” Gu Yilan said. “I’ve lied to you many times. If I tell you now, will you still forgive me?”
Before the stunned boy could respond, Gu Yilan continued, “I’m not a righteous, kind person. Helping the old lady cross the street—I made that up. Actually…”
He paused briefly, then continued as if nothing had happened: “The injuries… I inflicted them on myself.”
Su Zesui’s pupils shrank, and instinctively, he traced the man’s wrist to check his arm. His mind went blank, even forgetting which arm had been hurt before—but upon closer thought, it didn’t seem to matter; both were the same.
As he approached, a faint metallic scent hit his nose, making his heart ache.
“Brother doesn’t speak the truth,” Gu Yilan said, looking down at him, letting the boy fumble. “But that chance you mentioned last time… does it still count?”
Su Zesui, trapped in shock, couldn’t find his voice: “W-what?”
“The time you said to give me a chance to pursue you,” Gu Yilan replied.
Su Zesui’s memory was sharp; Gu Yilan’s reminder brought it all back.
It was a nonsensical comment he’d made after looking at Brother Gong Chuang’s <Dog Training Guide>—that even as brothers, he’d give Gu Yilan a chance. He never imagined Gu Yilan would actually remember.
Just as he parted his lips to speak, the man raised a finger to stop him: “Don’t say anything else for now. Until now, it’s always been you putting in all the effort. This time, give me a chance—let me pursue you too, okay?”
Tears streamed down Su Zesui’s face. “Y-you… why…”
The boy sobbed, choked, unable to speak for a long moment. Gu Yilan finished the words for him: “When I said I enjoyed it before and had no intention to change, I was lying. I wasn’t happy. Most of the time, I didn’t want to live long.”
“So I’ve always been walking on thin ice, always holding back, unwilling to get close to you,” Gu Yilan continued. “But just now, I figured it out. I want to try… to live for you.”
“So… will you still give your brother this chance?”
they’re both broken 😢 hoping they will heal together ❤️
im sobbing tears vro what the helly