Memories (1/2)
Su Zesui felt as if he had fallen into an ice cellar—blood from head to toe turned cold. The high fever that had lingered for days suddenly vanished, but it didn’t make him feel any better.
His eyes were bloodshot, veiled with a thin mist of hatred. In his hands, the fire extinguisher swung mercilessly, each blow landing heavily on Zhou Qizhao, as if he were about to kill.
The contrast with his usual obedient, well-behaved demeanor was striking.
Zhou Qizhao had already taken an extremely hard hit from Su Zesui. With only Feng Chengwen and the others pulling him back and no one restraining Su Zesui, he misstepped and was struck again on the forehead. His whole body went limp, collapsing to the ground.
Zhou Qizhao was completely down.
Between gasps for breath, the suppressed memories seized the opportunity, flooding Su Zesui’s consciousness like a rising tide. His soul struggled, unwilling to accept it just yet.
Su Zesui clutched his head, the corners of his eyes so red they seemed on the verge of bleeding. The fire extinguisher slipped from his trembling fingers and clattered onto the floor.
Then, he suddenly bolted, running toward the outside.
The turn of events came too suddenly—no more than two minutes had passed—and the surrounding classmates were all frozen in shock, unable to react.
A few seconds later, someone rushed toward the teacher’s office, others went to check on Zhou Qizhao, and a few pulled out their phones to call 911. The scene was utter chaos.
The instigator, Su Zesui, had slipped away from some hallway and was nowhere to be seen. No one dared to chase him.
It happened to be the registration period at City No. 1 High School. The school gates were still wide open, and the drowsy guard didn’t notice a blood-stained boy running against the flow of people.
In truth, Su Zesui had no strength left. Days of high fever had drained every ounce of his energy. After hitting Zhou Qizhao, his body was trembling from overload.
Yet he kept running on unsteady legs.
——Keep busy. If the body is busy enough, the brain won’t have a chance to think.
The surrounding environment still wasn’t safe, and he couldn’t face those memories yet. They were too heavy, too numerous, requiring a long, stable period of time before they could be confronted.
“Beep—”
A shrill honk cut through the air. Su Zesui realized he had run straight into the middle of the street, and the traffic light ahead was glaring red.
Cars screeched to a halt to avoid him. Horns blared, each one hammering against his eardrums like the last straw on a broken camel’s back.
Su Zesui collapsed to his knees, clutching his head and sobbing.
He couldn’t quite remember what happened next.
Faintly, he seemed to recall a kind driver getting out of the car, asking if he was okay and whether he needed to go to the hospital.
Then, without any resistance, he got into the car. The vehicle drove on, turning several times along the way.
The driver’s chatter filled his ears, but he seemed lost in a daze, repeating over and over like a madman, “Go home… go home…”
After many turns, through some unknown means, he passed the guard at the gate. Somehow, he had made it home.
He didn’t even have the energy to say “thank you.” He ran to the familiar master bedroom, drew the translucent curtains tightly, and crawled into the semi-enclosed, large golden-wire cage.
Clutching a fluffy stuffed animal tightly, he closed his eyes. Two icy, sorrowful tears finally streamed down his face.
As his body relaxed, the memories he had forcibly suppressed for so long sprang back like a coiled spring, ready to invade every nerve and drag him into the depths of emotion.
This time, Su Zesui didn’t resist.
. . . . .
The story began on a day between autumn and winter. The fallen leaves were yellow and brittle; the cold wind bit at anyone it touched, leaving a sense of pointless desolation.
At the time, Su Zesui was just fifteen and had entered the first year of high school. Academic pressure was high. Although it was supposed to be a bright, promising time, the usually obedient boy resisted school.
He had chosen the liberal arts track and performed only averagely. He had little presence in class and, being shy and inarticulate, hadn’t made any friends since the semester began.
But he was used to being alone, so this didn’t make him dislike school.
Everything stemmed from a single incident.
He had accidentally caught two male classmates kissing and groping each other in the corner of the stairwell—clearly very close.
In his previous world, homosexuality was still widely unaccepted. If their parents found out, it could have caused a major scene at school. In other words, he had stumbled upon a scandal—or even a secret the two could use as leverage.
Soon after, he became the target of relentless retaliation.
The two came from well-off families, had their own clique in class, and were far too proud to plead with him to keep quiet. So they resorted to more extreme measures to make him “shut up.”
They verbally abused him, attacked him, sneered at him, called him worthless, and claimed it was a privilege to even see them. With no one to support him, Su Zesui didn’t resist. They grew bolder, sometimes laying hands on him.
The worst incident was when they lured him to an unmonitored gym and poured a whole thermos of boiling water on his arm, leaving a scar that would never fade.
Su Zesui remembered the person who had led the bullying: someone from a wealthy family, arrogant and overbearing. He was the one who messed around at the corner of the stairwell, called him trash, and threw boiling water at him.
That person was Zhou Qizhao.
Afterward, bruises and scars often appeared on Su Zesui’s body. Years of psychological abuse made him even more introverted and extreme. He would tremble at the slightest sound.
Classmates treated his jumpy reactions as if he were mentally handicapped, gradually ostracizing him. He, in turn, became even more fearful of revealing the secret underground relationship, worried it would provoke even worse retaliation.
As if misfortune weren’t enough, right after his arm burn, doctors informed him that his big brother’s cancer had worsened, urgently needing surgery fees. Whether by borrowing or fundraising, the money had to be gathered quickly—or his big brother would die.
Su Zesui curled up in a corner of his room, crying alone for a long time.
He had been orphaned since childhood and lived with his big brother in this shabby little house. He remembered that although they were poor back then, their life had still been happy.
Every first day of the month, his big brother would buy a single flower from the florist and tell him, “Love life as you love this flower.”
Later, his big brother was diagnosed with terminal cancer, and a shadow of despair fell over his life…
After crying, Su Zesui had to force himself to ignore the aching in his chest and go outside to take on odd jobs, even though he was still a minor.
During that time, he endured both psychological and physical torment during the day, and at night dragged his numb body around like a wind-up puppet running out of energy, working odd jobs to earn money.
No matter how painful or uncomfortable it was, he refused to buy even a small ointment for himself, afraid that spending the money might mean his big brother wouldn’t get the care he needed.
He didn’t tell his big brother what he was going through, worried that it would make him upset or worsen his condition.
He didn’t want to go to school anymore; he wanted to drop out and work to earn more money.
Later, Su Mingyu noticed his brother’s unusual behavior. He bought him some ointment and gave him chocolate with a smile, encouraging him to get along with his classmates.
Although the results weren’t ideal at first, the real turning point came a month later.
He remembered that day—it was a rare sunny day in late autumn.
Su Zesui hadn’t seen such bright sunlight in a long time. His gaze drifted out the window, his long lashes lowered, his eyes fixed in a daze, enjoying this rare moment of peace in his otherwise dark life.
Only in class did he feel safe—not surrounded by a crowd, not fearing the sudden fists or slaps that could fall on him at any moment.
The homeroom teacher spoke passionately at the front of the class, while students below were doing homework, whispering, or hiding behind books to fool around—almost no one was really listening.
The teacher was talking about a charity program. Apparently, a benefactor would sponsor impoverished students at their school, and anyone in need could apply.
A few days later, Su Zesui, who didn’t expect much, submitted the registration form for the program—and to his surprise, he received a response very quickly.
It happened on a frosty, cold day. He rubbed his hands together, carrying his old backpack from elementary school, and ran home.
Today, no one blocked him. He wanted to cook quickly, deliver it to his big brother in the hospital, and then head to a small, rundown restaurant in the alley to work an odd job.
Just as he reached his front door, he saw a kindly-looking stranger.
The stranger smiled gently and introduced himself as a butler sent to check on him. He told Su Zesui not to be nervous and to speak honestly.
The butler looked around his humble home and asked a few questions. After confirming that the information Su Zesui had provided was true, he told him that “Mr. Gu” was willing to sponsor him through college.
At that time, Su Zesui had already lost much interest in school. After hesitating for a long time, just as the butler was about to leave, he cautiously asked if the sponsorship could be used to treat his big brother’s illness instead. He promised he would repay it in full later.
Hearing this, the butler frowned, troubled.
The boy standing before him wore old clothes, was thin from long-term malnutrition, yet his appearance was striking, especially his eyes—clear and bright, like stars in the sky. He didn’t know proper etiquette, but he was impossible to scold harshly.
Seeing the butler hesitate, saying only that he would have to ask Mr. Gu, Su Zesui understood—that was a polite refusal.
But for his big brother, even the slightest hope was worth fighting for.
Since Mr. Gu was abroad and Su Zesui couldn’t access foreign social media, he carefully wrote a long, neat letter explaining his family’s situation, promising to repay the favor in full with interest once he earned money in the future.
After the butler left, Su Zesui immediately regretted writing such a long letter—surely Mr. Gu was busy and wouldn’t have time to read it. He also regretted promising to pay later—it sounded like an empty promise. He should have said he would start working and repaying immediately…
At just fifteen, his sensitivity and thoughtfulness were remarkable.
Didn’t Gu Yilan said there’s someone watching over him? Well these are one hell of watching over, at least someone should be his bodyguard?? Like they can follow at a distance
I actually have someone accompany me even if i go out alone, not always but when I’m not in the right mood. Though I myself isn’t a socially anxious person, so can’t really fully know if this tactic would work