Suisui (1/2)
Gu Yilan always said that the arrangement of thought particles in parallel worlds is identical, so people in both worlds are, at their core, the same person.
This idea is purely theoretical and logically sound, giving a feeling of “I don’t fully understand it, but it makes sense.”
But intuitively, it’s hard to accept: two people with different ways of thinking and life experiences could actually be the same person. It’s abstract, almost philosophical.
Moreover, Su Zesui had always assumed that Mr. Gu in the original world didn’t like him, so he avoided dwelling on whether this concept was right or wrong.
It wasn’t until now that he truly believed that Mr. Gu in both worlds was indeed the same person.
Their personalities were simply too alike: always reporting good news but never bad, preferring to quietly bear burdens alone. People around them only saw the cold exterior, never the subtle protection hidden beneath.
And the truth had long left clues. Su Zesui had just never noticed—
Previously, Gu Yilan had said that if he somehow traveled back, he would find a way to reach the original world to find him.
This contradicts the core of what he had always believed: if, on a macroscopic scale of time and space, the two are the same person, what does it even mean to “travel” back?
Rewind to the day of their first kiss, the day that sealed their bond.
Gu Yilan said that only with a quantum connection could one travel through time and space. The fact that he was able to establish such a quantum connection with the version of himself in this world suggested that “Mr. Gu” might no longer exist in the original world.
When Su Zesui had pressed him, asking if he was also a traveler, Gu Yilan had only replied vaguely with “maybe,” and then changed the subject.
Everything had already been foreshadowed.
. . . . .
In the original world, he had chased Mr. Gu to his city without hesitation, seeking a definite answer, trying to see if there was still a chance to change things.
Mr. Gu was the last light in the darkness of his life, and he had humbled himself to the bone. Facing “abandonment,” he had no pride to say “I don’t care”—he just tried every way to hold on.
On the plane, he had been rehearsing his words.
He didn’t know what Mr. Gu looked like. Upon entering the vast villa, he instinctively wanted to look up, mentally scanning each person inside, comparing them to the image he had imagined.
But the villa was empty. Not even a housekeeper in sight. There was no one to scrutinize.
The butler led him to the study on the second floor.
As he tried to infer Mr. Gu’s personality from the study’s decor, the butler took a few letters out of a small wooden box and handed them to him.
Each envelope was numbered in the top right corner—four letters in total.
The butler told him to keep them, saying they were left by Mr. Gu for him.
Nervous and awkward, Su Zesui opened the letter marked “1.”
Inside, it was Mr. Gu’s familiar handwriting. The salutation addressed him, so it was clearly meant for him. But the content was unfamiliar.
The theme of the letter was “happiness.” Its purpose was to comfort him, to tell him that the future still held many joys and that he should live happily.
The problem was, in their recent letters, Su Zesui had expressed a subdued but determined attitude, promising to be strong and strive forward.
This first letter seemed entirely out of context, as if responding to messages he hadn’t actually sent.
Even then, Su Zesui felt a vague unease. Something bad seemed poised to happen uncontrollably.
He didn’t open the remaining three letters but looked at the butler in confusion.
“That’s how it is, child. These are the last letters—meant for you,” the butler sighed, speaking with a depth that young Su Zesui didn’t understand.
After a few seconds of thought, he still asked where Mr. Gu had gone.
The butler was silent for a long time, then suddenly asked if he normally watched the news.
Su Zesui said no, and the butler told him to check social news from City A from two weeks ago.
The butler’s deep eye sockets, high cheekbones, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes had all grown more pronounced since a month ago. Each step he took was heavy, full of exhaustion and weariness.
Unable to wait to return home to check the news, and unwilling to disturb the already drained butler, Su Zesui, who rarely spoke to anyone, used a translation app on his phone and stepped into the street to ask the hurried foreign pedestrians how to bypass the firewall.
In this foreign land, snow covered the streets, and neon lights outlined trees, snowmen, stars, and Santa Claus. Store windows were filled with Christmas decorations, festive gifts, and sweet treats.
The cheerful strains of <Jingle Bells> floated through the air, creating a light and joyful atmosphere.
Su Zesui realized it was Christmas—the day families gathered, shared roast turkey, and awaited gifts from Santa.
But he had no time to enjoy the holiday mood. He quickly figured out how to bypass the firewall and ran back to the villa.
The butler had given him the villa keys, giving him a place to rest, but seemed to have forgotten to arrange a room for him.
Su Zesui sat tensely on the living room sofa, clutching his phone. He found the local news channel for City A, fingers trembling, heart pounding.
Since the butler hadn’t told him the exact date, he started from eighteen days ago, forgetting even to eat dinner, watching for a full eight hours.
Up until the news report fourteen days ago—
“According to our station’s reporter, on December 11th, Gu Yilan, the only son of prominent local businessman Gu Hongfang, tragically died in a racing accident last night at the age of just 20.
Gu Hongfang stated that he plans to move all of his enterprises in Country M back to City A, creating numerous jobs in honor of his late son.
The accident occurred on a private racetrack in the suburbs of Country M. The exact cause is still under investigation.
Eyewitnesses said that during the incident, Gu Yilan’s car went out of control, veered off the track, and crashed into the guardrail. Although he was rushed to the hospital, the injuries were too severe, and doctors were unable to save him…”
Fifteen hours on a plane, two and a half hours by car—Su Zesui hadn’t slept a wink, too anxious and preoccupied with how he might plead his case.
After arriving in the city where Mr. Gu was studying abroad, he spent three hours being turned away by strangers, and eight hours staring unblinking at his phone screen.
In other words, he had gone nearly thirty hours without rest.
His head felt as if it had been filled with lead. Each thought dragged like a heavy chain, pulling him deeper into exhaustion.
Only when the cold female anchor’s voice moved on to the next piece of news did he jolt violently, his vision blurring as it finally sank in—this wasn’t a dream, not an illusion. It was real.
If Mr. Gu hadn’t told him his name… if it hadn’t been reported by a major local news station… Su Zesui might still have been able to fool himself into believing there was hope, that things weren’t as bad as they seemed.
As he sat there in a daze, the villa’s front door clicked open, letting in a breath of icy wind and snow.
Su Zesui’s numb heart spasmed, as if shocked back to life.
He held his breath and turned toward the door.
But it wasn’t the person he longed to see.
It was only the butler.
The older man stepped inside slowly, closing the heavy door behind him to shut out the howling wind and the distant sound of Christmas carols. He switched on the lights in the pitch-dark living room.
Curled up, hugging himself tightly, Su Zesui felt as if he’d been locked inside a frozen cavern.
He had thought that as long as the other didn’t hate him, as long as he kept climbing step by step, they would one day meet again at the summit. He never imagined the ending would be eternal separation by life and death.
Right now, his heart felt no pain. Not a single tear fell. It was as if his body hadn’t realized it should grieve.
But having once lived through the death of his big brother, he knew what this meant. His brain simply hadn’t caught up yet. In a few days, the grief would surge in like a tidal wave, multiplied a thousandfold, and swallow him whole.
And this time, no one would come to save him.
When the butler gently patted his shoulder, Su Zesui parted his dry, cracked lips and stared blankly at the stack of letters on the table. “He… he already knew.”
Only then did he realize his voice was so hoarse it was nearly burning.
The butler paused, then said softly, “Yes. But he didn’t expect it to come so soon. He had planned to write many more letters, to put everything in order. That way, no matter what you asked, there would be answers. The replies might come slowly, but at least they’d carry you through until graduation—until you were an adult, able to bear it all. But… fate had other plans.”
Seeing the butler’s grief-stricken expression, Su Zesui gave up his last sliver of hope. He didn’t even ask if it might have been faked. His trembling voice only managed: “Why… why did all that happen?”
The butler sighed. “It was never safe here. Young Master Gu was pursuing a master’s degree in finance, but he resisted his parents’ attempts to force him into inheriting the family business. At first, he threw himself into reckless self-destruction, deliberately giving his rivals and competitors leverage over him. He got hurt—many times.
But he even seemed… to enjoy it. I often saw him cutting himself with a knife…
It wasn’t until he met you that he began to find a reason to keep living.
Lately, he’d been laying out plans, constantly on edge, always armed, sleeping with a gun under his pillow, surviving on three or four hours of rest a day. He fought desperately to turn the tide, but it left him covered in wounds.
Still, the damage from before was too great. There were too many holes to patch. Inevitably, he couldn’t hold it all together. During a negotiation with his peers, someone sabotaged his car… and then… well…
There are still piles of documents on his desk, so many things he never got the chance to finish.”
The butler covered his face, while Su Zesui sat frozen on the sofa, murmuring, “He… he never told me any of this.”
In their letters, Mr. Gu had mentioned disliking his studies and had hinted that he didn’t want to inherit the family business. But he’d always spoken of it in a casual, almost helpless way, as if he were simply venting his frustrations.
So Su Zesui had never realized that the man who unconditionally brought him light was himself living in complete darkness.
And it was precisely because he feared that darkness would consume Su Zesui too, that he kept gently but firmly pushing him away.
To him, Mr. Gu had always been larger than life, capable of anything. Sure, he had little troubles now and then, but he was still the most remarkable person in the world.
That was why it was so hard to believe—his mind simply refused to accept—that he was really gone.
“Let’s go, child.” The butler, tears finally spent, patted his shoulder again. “I just spoke with a real estate agent. In a few days this villa will be auctioned off. Let’s go back together.”
Su Zesui clutched the four letters on the table, his head heavy and foggy, and nodded blankly.
Before leaving, the butler handed him a bank card with half a million inside—Mr. Gu’s provision for him until college graduation. He hoped Su Zesui would grow independent afterward and be able to stand on his own.
Su Zesui accepted the card and flew back with the butler. Yet he never spent a single cent of that money, nor did he open the remaining letters.
He didn’t dare to. He didn’t want to.
In his heart, as long as he didn’t know what was in those last three letters, there was still infinite possibility between him and Mr. Gu. It was as if Mr. Gu were still alive, and he could keep wondering, keep hoping, about what the man would write next.
But once he opened them, everything Mr. Gu had left behind in this world would be sealed forever.
And after that, there would be no hope left for tomorrow.
He picked up his recorder and, over and over, whispered messages: “Mr. Gu, I miss you so much. When can we see each other again? Please… please…”
But those recordings, like the WeChat messages he once sent to his big brother, would never, ever receive a reply.
In the days that followed, when the delayed wave of grief finally hit with nowhere to go, his personality grew increasingly unstable and extreme.
He carried Mr. Gu’s letters everywhere, even forcing himself to forget what they said, pretending he had traveled back in time, writing letters that mirrored the ones he’d sent before—only to open Mr. Gu’s replies again, full of expectant joy.
Like that, he performed the same play again and again.
Even in that state of mind, he still dragged himself out at night to do part-time work, just to cover his most basic living expenses. All so that the five hundred thousand left by Mr. Gu could remain untouched.
A few days later, his homeroom teacher finally tracked him down, dragged him back to school after his unexplained absence, and scolded him in front of the class.
But Su Zesui didn’t care.
There was nothing left in this world that mattered to him—except the stack of letters in his backpack. They were the only proof that Mr. Gu had once been in his life.
But things always manage to get worse.
After school, unable to endure another day of restless, needle-pricked hours, Su Zesui rushed home, desperate to return to his “performance.”
Yet the moment he stepped onto the road home, Zhou Qizhao and his gang blocked his way again.
In the empty alley, they sneered and hurled venomous words: asking if the man surnamed Gu was finally dead, whether his body was still intact, whether anyone would protect him anymore.
Then they burst out laughing.
When someone leaves this world, the traces they leave behind don’t vanish immediately. Instead, they hide like Easter eggs in forgotten corners, waiting for those once close to them to stumble upon them—sometimes with joy, sometimes in grief.
It was only then that Su Zesui realized: before, these people hadn’t spared him out of fear he’d go to the police, nor out of conscience.
It was because the one person he had wanted to shield from the truth had been secretly protecting him all along, solving everything in the shadows, never exposing him, never letting him know.
Weighed down by his lingering depression, his frail body couldn’t withstand much. Within moments, he was beaten to the ground.
They grabbed his backpack, felt something off in its weight, unzipped it, and began carelessly crumpling the letters he always handled with such care.
Zhou Qizhao glanced through them, then tore them up with a sneer. “What era is this? And this is how that dead man communicated with you?
If you ask me, you’re a jinx. You jinxed your brother, then your sponsor. Everyone around you ends up ruined because of you. At this rate, shouldn’t we be keeping our distance from you too? Hahaha!”
Never had Su Zesui felt such despair and rage. It was as if his heart had turned into a bomb, pounding louder and louder, ready to blow the entire world apart.
Shouting “Give them back!”, he staggered to his feet and, for the first time, fought back against the bullying, reaching out to snatch his letters.
But he was no match for them. Seeing him resist, they beat him even harder. Not only did they rip up his letters, they poured water over them again and again, until every last word was washed away.
Su Zesui remembered every single character from all the letters he had read, but no matter how perfectly he copied them, the handwriting was no longer Mr. Gu’s; it was no longer something Mr. Gu had given him.
All the more so, because among those letters were three he treasured so deeply that he had never once opened them.
…And now, even the last traces the other had left behind in this world were gone.
That thought completely shattered Su Zesui’s spirit.
As if oblivious to the pain in his body, he stood up against the hail of fists and suddenly lunged at Zhou Qizhao, the ringleader.
Like a madman, his timid and obedient facade crumbled. He fought with every ounce of desperation, his teeth sinking into Zhou Qizhao’s neck, his nails raking across his skin, as though he wanted to tear him apart, drag him into hell, and perish together.
Even if his injuries would be ten times worse than Zhou Qizhao’s, he would never let him go.
In the end, as they stared at the boy lying in a pool of blood, a few terrified that they had killed someone hurriedly called 120 for emergency help.