Children’s Song (2/2)
With the help of medication, Su Zesui was finally able to pull himself out of the nightmare of his emotions. His mind was no longer clouded, nor was he plagued by the same recurring nightmares.
Time itself was a powerful force.
Soaking for so long in the same cold emotion, one gradually becomes numb, experiencing a detached, faint kind of sorrow. Sometimes it feels like nothing could get worse; other times, one can’t help but resent why such things had to happen at all.
It was a kind of low-grade suffering in a state of full awareness.
But Su Zesui was still instinctively running away from reality.
Again and again, memories tore at him. He began showing signs of PTSD, dreading the parts of his memory that still slept inside him, terrified that they might suddenly explode with yet another blow.
At the same time, he was afraid that if he were to regain all of his memories, it would also cause Mr. Gu to remember the terrible things that happened in the other parallel world.
Even though he knew that day was bound to come.
Being awake meant the risk of being asked about his memories, so after silently finishing his dinner in bed, Su Zesui hurriedly lay back down, pretending to fall asleep again.
But he had already slept too much in the past few days. Without the grip of that emotional abyss pulling him under, he found himself unable to sleep at all.
The master bedroom’s orange-yellow ceiling light was dim—not glaring, but casting a soft haze that invited drowsiness.
His head heavy with fatigue, Su Zesui cracked his eyes open just enough to glimpse Mr. Gu sitting at his side, reading research on a tablet.
——How long could he keep hiding like this?
Su Zesui didn’t know.
After pacing that winter street so many times and having cold water poured over him again and again, he had lost the courage to talk to this world’s Gu Yilan.
Besides, he didn’t know what to say—or what he could say.
Lying too long in one position made his body ache. He wanted to shift, but was afraid of being caught pretending to sleep. Mustering all his acting skills, he parted his lips to feign a sleepy yawn, then smoothly rolled over onto his side.
Just as he finished turning, ready to drift off into more restless thoughts, the mattress beside him dipped slightly.
Now lying with his back toward Gu Yilan, Su Zesui could only sense the man move, unable to tell what he was doing. He clenched his eyes shut, held his breath, and prayed silently—
Don’t notice me.
Only when he heard the faint clink of a glass being set down on the nightstand did Su Zesui’s body finally relax.
So Mr. Gu had only leaned over to grab some water.
With his back turned, Su Zesui dared to open his eyes wide under the orange glow of the lamp, letting his gaze wander around the master bedroom.
Facing his bed was a tall wooden bookcase and Mr. Gu’s work area. From where he lay, he could also glimpse part of the golden cage.
Since moving into the master bedroom, Su Zesui rarely crawled into the cage to curl up with the stuffed toys anymore. Yet staring at its half-hidden frame, he suddenly felt a faint urge to squeeze inside again.
But he didn’t move, and instead let his eyes roam idly elsewhere—
On the cabinet, his competition prep books lay mixed together with Mr. Gu’s research papers, stacked carelessly side by side, as if reflecting the way their lives had slowly begun to intertwine.
If one looked closely, a handmade bookmark peeked out from between the pages of a certain book.
Aside from that, the desk and cabinet were dotted with souvenirs from the aquarium—little trinkets, charms, and even preserved flower boxes with ocean themes, decorating the otherwise cold and plain room.
Su Zesui lowered his eyes sadly.
If only all of this were just a nightmare. He longed to go back to that carefree day at the aquarium with Mr. Gu, happy and unburdened, with nothing to fear.
The master bedroom was the place he lived in every day; every item inside was already etched into his memory. Under the dim light, the space felt dull, and the vast emptiness of it gave him no sense of security.
Uneasy and unsettled, he soon fell back on his usual trick: feigning drowsiness, he shifted again, this time turning to face Gu Yilan.
Perhaps because he had tossed and turned too much, the moment he moved he felt the mattress dip again, the man leaning over toward him.
Warm breath brushed past his ear, making it clear just how close they were. Su Zesui’s heartbeat pounded like a drum; he didn’t dare move a muscle.
Fortunately, Gu Yilan only raised his hand to check his forehead, confirming there was no fever, then skillfully tucked the thin blanket back over him. He made no further move.
Su Zesui let out a tiny sigh of relief. After pretending to sleep for a while, he half-squinted his eyes, sneaking glances at Gu Yilan, who was absorbed in his reading.
——Was Mr. Gu in his original world also this devoted to study? Were they really the same person? Then why would one despise him while the other cared for him? Was it simply because this Mr. Gu hadn’t yet come to truly know him? Given time, would he end up making the same choice as the other one?
His mind, sluggish from too much sleep, refused to quiet down, spilling out thoughts one after another.
Before long, though, Gu Yilan set his tablet aside and switched off the light. It looked like he was ready to sleep.
It was probably still early, but after days of caring for him, Mr. Gu had been short on rest. Maybe he was finally catching up.
With the other man asleep, Su Zesui no longer had to worry about his act being exposed.
He shut his eyes and wrinkled his nose slightly. He couldn’t tell whether he felt disappointed or relieved, but his body obediently kept up the pretense of sleep.
He felt the man lower his pillow, then gently lie down beside him. A moment later… a hand slipped around his back, pulling him into an embrace.
The distance between them closed in an instant. Su Zesui could even hear the other person’s heartbeat, and the pressure of pretending to be asleep intensified. However, with his extensive acting experience, he felt he could hold on until the other person fell asleep.
Instead, the next second he heard a low voice whisper right by his ear: “Can’t sleep? Want me to sing you a song?”
Caught, Su Zesui pressed his lips together in embarrassment. He opened his eyes, brain scrambling for excuses—until he finally realized what the man actually meant.
“S–sing…”
He looked at Gu Yilan, who was raising an eyebrow at him without a trace of suspicion or judgment. Only then did he breathe easier and nod. “O-okay.”
To his surprise, Gu Yilan didn’t set any conditions, didn’t warn him in advance—he simply parted his lips and began singing a children’s song.
His voice was deep, slightly husky, like the low strings of a cello plucking out each note of the simple melody. It made Su Zesui feel as if he had gone back to childhood, sheltered by a strong big brother, wrapped in a world where every day felt safe.
Suddenly, Su Zesui understood why, despite his severe social anxiety, he hadn’t feared Gu Yilan when they first met—why he had even been drawn in by his voice.
Because in his original world, he had always longed for the man’s recordings, waiting and imagining. Over time, he had placed a heavy filter of fondness over that voice.
“Learned it from a friend back in kindergarten,” Gu Yilan explained.
Su Zesui clapped softly in appreciation. “I-it sounded really nice.”
The lighthearted tune, along with Gu Yilan’s relaxed tone, pulled him back into reality.
After that first crack in the ice, chatting about other things with him suddenly didn’t feel so impossible.
Gu Yilan watched him quietly, not pressing any further. But guilt gnawed at Su Zesui. He worried the man would think he was being too fragile and troublesome—cared for so attentively for so long, yet still unwilling to give an explanation.
So, he decided to bring it up himself, choosing the short pain over the long one. “I… I don’t want to recover my memories anymore.”
Gu Yilan didn’t ask what he had remembered. He only said, “Then don’t think about it.”
Seeing him so supportive, Su Zesui hesitated, then nervously asked, “Is there… is there any way I could never remember again?”
Gu Yilan froze for a moment, then asked gently, “Is it really that painful?”
He had been holding it in alone, but the moment someone showed him care, his bottled-up grievances spilled out.
His nose stung, and he lowered his gaze, nodding very slowly.
Gu Yilan thought for a while before saying, “If you focus more on things in this world, maybe you’ll forget the past completely.”
The man chose his words with restraint and precision, and Su Zesui also knew that unless he never came into contact with anything new for the rest of his life, he would always have his memories of the other parallel world triggered by various unexpected events.
It was only a matter of time.
But looking at the man before him—the one who cared for him, who liked him—Su Zesui suddenly felt a sense of release. Since the end would come sooner or later, why not focus on living well in the present? As long as he could be with Mr. Gu, that was enough.
Seeing no sign of distress on his face, Gu Yilan added, “Because of the documentary at No. 1 High, you’ve gained a lot of admirers online. Do you want to chat with them sometime?”
Su Zesui’s eyes widened in shock. “They… like me?”
“Mm.” Gu Yilan never trusted hearsay. Only after spending a long time looking through social media himself did he give the boy a clear answer. “A lot of people praise you, give you likes, even make videos about you.”
Su Zesui parted his soft lips in disbelief, feeling as though his heart were being wrapped in a warm embrace. A few seconds later, he realized—that was what it felt like to be loved, to be liked.
But because of the intrusions of his past memories, his mental state had once again spiraled downward these past few days. He wished he could lock himself away in a gilded cage and never face the world that had hurt him so many times.
Even online, even through a screen, he was terrified. Honestly, he admitted, “I… I don’t dare… to chat.”
——What if, once they got to know him—his real, timid self—they ended up hating him too?
“Actually, just the thought of you talking with others makes me uncomfortable,” Gu Yilan said quietly, without lecturing. “I didn’t want you to. But now… I want to encourage you to try.”
The words sounded so familiar that Su Zesui’s heartbeat skipped a beat, then suddenly quickened.
“I’m willing to fight my own demons and become a normal person,” Gu Yilan said, meeting his eyes. “What about you? Are you willing to take a step forward too?”
Su Zesui realized—Gu Yilan was echoing the exact words he himself had said over ten days ago, when the man was in the midst of an episode.
Back then, he had confessed that he was scared of an upcoming interview and had wanted to refuse. But in the end, he promised to try, to push past his social anxiety. And then he asked Mr. Gu if he would also be brave—if he would hand over all his folding knives and trust him to keep them safe.
He never imagined that Mr. Gu would remember, let alone turn those same words back to him.
It turned out that he wasn’t the only one who learned from Mr. Gu’s way of speaking. He too had said things worth remembering—words good enough to be acknowledged, even borrowed.
“I… I’m willing too.”
Su Zesui wrapped his arms around the man. The heavy shadow of inferiority that had clung to him began to lift, replaced instead by warmth, gratitude, and—perhaps for the very first time in his life—a budding sense of self-worth.