Settling accounts
Su Zesui absentmindedly fiddled with the tulips on the bedside table.
His big brother’s methods were cruel and sly—it was no wonder he said, “Speak quietly.” Some of them made Su Zesui feel it was far too much, thinking, “This is impossible,” “This can’t be done,” while others made him feel as if it weren’t punishing Mr. Gu at all, but rather torturing himself—no, this can’t be right.
Yet, he had no choice but to listen to his big brother, so Su Zesui decided to pick two of the less cruel ones to try out.
He grabbed the backpack by the bed, intending to take out the voice recorder Mr. Gu had given him. But as soon as he lifted it, he noticed something was off about the weight.
——He had forgotten to take Mr. Gu’s favorite preserved ocean flower!
Su Zesui hurriedly sent a message to Gu Yilan.
[11th Dimension: Keep it safe for now, and bring it along when you move back.]
[11th Dimension: (image)(image)(image)]
Su Zesui tapped on the string of images the man had sent—
The background was the master bedroom he knew so well, only now it had a few additions: the things he had helped Mr. Gu buy at the aquarium earlier that day.
On the bookshelf sat various ocean-themed toys and merchandise—models, stationery, and other creative products.
The bed, once draped in cold, minimalist gray sheets, was now covered with deep blue bedding adorned with intricately made starfish, little fish, and coral. Lying on it felt like being under the sea. Childish, perhaps, but undeniably magical.
Su Zesui’s eyes lit up as he swiped to the last photo—
Inside a golden cage, his stuffed toys were lined up neatly, black button eyes facing the camera. Beside them were some of the new ocean-themed additions from today.
It seemed that during the days he had been away, Mr. Gu had taken excellent care of his plushies.
Su Zesui’s heart was pounding wildly, excited but with nowhere to release it.
Seeing the light in the living room, he couldn’t help but run out and stand in front of Su Mingyu on the sofa, eagerly asking, “Big Brother, when can I say yes?”
Su Mingyu had just been feeling proud of his own cleverness in making Gu Yilan take a loss. Hearing his brother’s words now almost made him spit blood. Gritting his teeth, he said each word through clenched teeth: “I… do… not… allow it!!!”
“The school exam is in just two weeks, you know that, right?” Su Mingyu said earnestly, trying to reason with him. “For now, focus on studying and leave him hanging for half a month. You can say yes only after the exams.”
Su Zesui was a little worried about the exams and muttered a low “oh,” then asked, “After I say yes, what… can we do?”
Not wanting to repeat his past mistakes, Su Mingyu evaded the question, saying vaguely, “I don’t know… maybe just holding hands or something.”
Su Zesui thought for a moment, fiddled with his fingers, blushed, and asked very quietly, “Will… there be kissing?”
The thought of his obedient little brother kissing someone like Gu Yilan made Su Mingyu’s mind explode with a thunderclap. But he couldn’t show it on his face, so he pretended not to care, answering ambiguously, “Maybe.”
“I’m not against you two being together. But,” Su Mingyu’s tone shifted as he leaned back on the sofa, “these days, you need to teach him a lesson. Let him know who’s in charge of the family in the future.”
Su Zesui rubbed his chin thoughtfully and then nodded firmly. “Mm-hmm.”
Just as Su Mingyu felt a bit relieved, he heard his brother ask again, “So when can I move back?”
Su Mingyu: …
Unable to hold back any longer, Su Mingyu pointed toward his brother’s room. “Go. Get back to studying properly.”
. . . . .
The next morning, Su Zesui got up very early.
He and Gu Yilan had agreed that each would record messages on a voice recorder every night, then exchange them the next day.
Su Zesui found it fun—it felt like people in ancient times exchanging letters and sharing their thoughts. Each day was filled with anticipation and joy.
Gu Yilan had already left a recording in Su Zesui’s recorder the night before.
The man’s voice was deep, magnetic, and slightly husky, like a rich red wine. Every word was steady and powerful, capable of reaching the heart.
Gu Yilan, using his exceptionally excellent voice, patiently explained the past events once again. He left no detail untouched, showing how much care he put into it, making people feel emotionally satisfied and completely captivated by his voice.
Su Zesui had fallen asleep listening to the recording, sleeping soundly, dreaming sweet dreams.
That day, when Gu Yilan came to pick him up for A University, Su Zesui handed over the recorder he had carefully prepared.
Gu Yilan took it, still warm from the boy’s touch, and handed him back his own recorder.
While turning the car around, he raised an eyebrow at Su Zesui, who kept glancing at him and seemed on the verge of saying something. “Something to tell me?”
Su Zesui nodded. “Time to settle accounts.”
Gu Yilan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened ever so slightly, his knuckles showing, lips pressing together as he replied with a quiet “Hmm.”
“But… wait a moment,” Su Zesui said.
“Need more time to list your brother’s crimes?” Gu Yilan asked.
Su Zesui couldn’t explain clearly. “Just… wait a little longer.”
Gu Yilan smiled wryly. “Fine.”
“Did you put medicine on your wound yesterday?” Su Zesui asked, scanning the injured spot with concern.
Gu Yilan replied, “No. I don’t like doing it myself.”
Su Zesui was shocked by the man’s matter-of-fact tone and, without thinking, kindly said, “Then I’ll help you.”
“Not convenient now,” Gu Yilan said. “Once you move back, I’ll take off my pants and let you apply it properly.”
Su Zesui thought his words were strange but couldn’t pinpoint why, so he asked again, “When can I move back?”
“Soon. It should be a few days before Su Mingyu leaves,” Gu Yilan said
As they spoke, they approached a quiet intersection with no traffic lights.
Su Zesui spotted an elderly woman nearing the crosswalk and suddenly called out, “You—”
Hearing this, Gu Yilan gently pressed the brake. “Hmm?”
“There’s an old lady… go help her cross,” Su Zesui said, lacking confidence as he commanded.
Gu Yilan raised an eyebrow. “Settling accounts?”
Su Zesui explained, “It’s… atonement.”
“Not convenient to atone right now. No long-term parking around, and I… am the driver. Getting out would be breaking traffic law,” Gu Yilan said, watching the slowly moving woman. “Also, she might not want me to help.”
Despite saying that, Gu Yilan parked just past the white line and waited for the elderly woman to gradually reach the crosswalk with her cane.
Two minutes later, she reached the intersection and stepped onto the zebra crossing.
Gu Yilan slightly tilted his head and asked the boy beside him, “How do you plan to settle accounts? Can you tell your brother?”
Originally, Su Zesui had found that way of “settling accounts” a bit embarrassing. But upon hearing it, he immediately lifted his chin with a smug expression and said mysteriously, “Nope.”
Gu Yilan feigned disappointment with a sigh. “Fine then.”
Five minutes later, after the old lady smiled and nodded at them as she passed the intersection, Gu Yilan finally stepped on the gas and sped off, taking Su Zesui to the A University lab building.
Seeing Su Zesui again after so long, Gong Chuang was ecstatic.
——Gu Yilan’s little wife was still around! Fantastic! Now there was something to do again! Amazing!
Gong Chuang, always a chatterbox, couldn’t help but greet Su Zesui with excitement after their long-awaited reunion. “Little brother, why haven’t you come to see us these past few days? Both I and Ji Yuxing really missed you. If you want to join our group meetings again, you’re always welcome.”
Even facing Gong Chuang, whom he had communicated with online many times, Su Zesui was still nervous and hesitant to speak.
Fidgeting with his clothes, he stammered, “I—I went home.”
But Gong Chuang didn’t notice the boy’s awkwardness and, assuming familiarity, patted Su Zesui on the shoulder. The boy flinched slightly, feeling like a thorn was pressing against his back.
“Went home? Had some family time, huh? Makes sense, you’ve been in the lab all this while. But, as the saying goes, rely on family at home, rely on friends outside. Now that you’re in our lab group, if you have any questions, just message your good brother—me, for example…”
As Gong Chuang rambled on, he felt his lab coat pocket vibrate. Pulling out his phone, he saw:
[11th Dimension: Is your mouth a machine gun?]
Gong Chuang froze, confused, as he looked at Gu Yilan standing behind the boy, cold as frost. Instinctively, he sent a question mark back.
[11th Dimension: Shut it.]
After sending the message, Gu Yilan put his hands in his pockets and strode toward the private office with the socially anxious, physically trembling boy. He looked like he was saying, “Let’s ignore him.”
Gong Chuang stared at the two cold characters on WeChat, stunned for a few seconds, then turned abruptly to see the two gradually walking away.
They were close together. Rarely lowering his noble head, Gu Yilan’s lips moved slightly, whispering something to the boy. It was unclear what he said, but judging from his eyes, it wasn’t anything cold like “Is your mouth a machine gun?”
The boy pursed his soft lips and stayed silent, his mood unreadable—but his eyes shone brightly, clearly not reflecting fear or avoidance.
“Good brother” Gong Chuang stood there, disheveled in the wind, feeling like an oblivious third wheel shining too brightly overhead.
. . . . .
“Have you accumulated any problems you can’t solve these past few days?” Gu Yilan opened the boy’s backpack and laid out the study materials on the table.
“Yes. Lots.” Su Zesui poked the man’s arm weakly. “You can’t leave.”
Gu Yilan replied, “I’m not leaving. For the next half month, you’re the center of attention.”
Su Zesui fiddled with his fingers, anxious. “W-what if I fail?”
“School competition?” Gu Yilan said calmly. “Based on the first time you asked me questions during matchmaking, you’ll pass easily.”
“Really?” Su Zesui felt a bit more confident but still lacked motivation. “Why are you studying? Did you… promise someone?”
He remembered that last time, Gu Yilan’s parents said he studied competitions because of some vague promise. Su Zesui guessed that Gu Yilan must have promised someone something as a child and had been faithfully keeping that promise ever since.
“Eavesdropping on your brother?” Gu Yilan raised an eyebrow.
“Mm.” Caught, Su Zesui, unable to argue, pretended to be busy, opened his fuzzy pencil case, pulled out a black pen, and flipped open the competition book.
Gu Yilan took the pen from him and circled a few problems in the book. “About this difficulty.”
He was familiar with competition books and their difficulty levels. As he flipped through the pages, Su Zesui barely had time to glance at the problems, only catching fleeting glimpses as they were quickly passed over.
Gu Yilan’s handwriting was sharp and free, somehow giving an inexplicable sense of reliability and security.
Su Zesui’s anxious heart settled. He pressed a hand to his chest as warmth spread through him, just as the man beside him said, “There was no promise. That was just to trick them.”
Su Zesui froze, surprised, looking at the man who never showed emotion and had deceived countless people.
“When I was very young, I didn’t even know what I wanted to do in the future. I just studied competitions and other knowledge skills.”
Gu Yilan didn’t look like he was joking.
He explained calmly, “I don’t know exactly when it started, but suddenly something appeared in my heart. It’s small, yet impossible to ignore. Whenever I see competition physics textbooks, I can’t look away. Because of it, I gave up going abroad, gave up inheriting the family business, and stayed to pursue a PhD in physics.”
“It’s mysterious,” Gu Yilan said, “defying all the laws of human society. Rather than calling it an obsession, I prefer to call it—God’s guidance. And my persistence is my way of honoring a promise between myself and God.”
“They don’t know any of this. They just think I’m obsessive, delusional, or blindly following some impractical, nonsensical promise. I won’t tell them either.”
Gu Yilan casually flipped open a competition physics textbook, and it opened precisely to a page on quantum mechanics.
His voice was soft, but his tone firm. “These elegant, profound, symmetrical equations are divine revelations God has left for mortals.”
Su Zesui loved physics and solving problems not for reward or recognition, but because in this rational world, he could immerse himself entirely, pushing aside all outsiders and social distractions.
He built his own little world within the sea of knowledge, and each problem he conquered brought an indescribable sense of accomplishment—something the real world could never give him.
Yet he didn’t like exams. He didn’t like competition.
Those things caused him stress and anxiety, making him want to escape or procrastinate.
In truth, his love for physics was already a pure emotion, entirely free of utilitarian motives—he simply loved physics for its own sake.
But hearing Gu Yilan speak, Su Zesui felt a higher, grander pursuit. There was a kind of compassionate divinity in the man, shining a holy light upon him, allowing him to glimpse a shadow of truth.
From a higher perspective, the world was like a vast program. Humans live according to rules set by God, striving to understand these rules and to change their lives. In this way, life goes on endlessly, stretching on without interruption.
This was the ultimate pursuit countless scientists devoted their lives to.
Exams, competitions, and contests were merely tiny, almost insignificant methods of measurement.
From such a high-level perspective, all the anxiety caused by competitions seemed to dissolve into smoke.
Su Zesui found his previous passion rekindled, eager to open his book and solve a few problems immediately.
As a gesture of commitment, he decided to overcome his embarrassment and procrastination, completing the tasks his big brother had set for him and no longer leaving Gu Yilan waiting.
He placed his phone on the open competition book, straightened his small, serious face, and tapped the screen with two fingers as if conducting some official business.
Gu Yilan, watching the boy suddenly dive into his phone, couldn’t help but smile. “What are you doing?”
But his smile quickly faded when Su Zesui, without lifting his head, said earnestly, “Settling accounts.”
Before Gu Yilan could react, Su Zesui had found what he was looking for.
Like a judge interrogating a criminal, he asked seriously, “A month ago, on the evening of July 5th at 7:51, you used an account called ‘Period’ on Ahoo to ask me if I was scared. I asked how you knew, but you wouldn’t tell me.”
He placed his phone on the table, puffed out his cheeks, and looked at Gu Yilan with a soft yet scolding voice. “How… how did you know?”
Gu Yilan glanced at the Ahoo chat on the phone screen, furrowed his brows, and paused before saying, “I…”