Apology (2/2)
He remembered standing in the school corridor, watching Zhou Qizhao—whom he hated to the bone—walk toward him. He had lost all reason then, letting instinct drive his body. All he wanted was to fight him with everything he had.
It had been reckless and irrational.
In the class WeChat group, only Feng Chengwen and a few others still tried to defend him weakly. Everyone else either stayed silent or sided with Zhou Qizhao, calling for a joint petition to the principal to have him expelled.
Some went further, expressing fear for their own safety, suggesting the police be called directly. Su Zesui was already over eighteen; he should be held criminally responsible.
Both sides rallied supporters quickly, with the so-called righteous voices drowning out Feng Chengwen’s few messages in an overwhelming tide.
They were determined to drive this “troublemaker” not only out of No.1 High School, but out of the world altogether.
“What are you looking at?” The man appeared at his side, taking the phone from his hands. “The doctor said you need to rest now.”
“Brother… I… I got into trouble again.” Su Zesui felt as if struck by lightning. His voice trembled, and his body instinctively curled into a protective ball. “They’re going to take me away… will we… will we never see each other again? It’s all my fault… all my fault…”
Gu Yilan paused for a moment, then stepped in front of Su Zesui, cupped the boy’s face, and said earnestly, “Suisui, don’t blame yourself. You’re only eighteen—your passionate life is just beginning. What happened isn’t that serious, and it’s definitely not a disaster. I’ll help you handle it.”
“B-but…” Su Zesui shook his head, panic-stricken.
Gu Yilan raised a finger to gently press against the boy’s lips. “Before, I was powerless and couldn’t help you, letting you struggle alone. Now… will you give me another chance? I only need three days.”
Gu Yilan clearly understood a bit of psychology. In just a few words, he completely reframed the situation: it no longer seemed like Su Zesui had caused trouble, but rather that he was generously being given a chance to make things right.
The anxiety in Su Zesui’s chest slowly eased, wrapped gently in a soft, comforting warmth.
With that, how could Su Zesui possibly say “no”?
“You just came down from a high fever—does your head still feel dizzy?” Gu Yilan touched the boy’s forehead. “It’s a little cool. Don’t look at your phone too much. Get some proper rest, okay?”
Su Zesui threw his phone onto the bedside table and, trembling, spread his arms. “Brother, hold me while I sleep.”
“So the no-hugging challenge is finally over?” Gu Yilan bent down and hugged the boy, kissing his forehead. “Good. Your brother has been looking forward to this day for a long time.”
. . . . .
Three days later, at an upscale restaurant, two sides were seated across from each other at a table, preparing for a civil reconciliation.
On one side sat Gu Yilan, Su Zesui, and Su Mingyu, who had rushed back from out of town after learning about his younger brother.
On the other side were Zhou Qizhao—his head still wrapped in bandages, reluctantly attending—and his parents.
It was unclear what Gu Yilan had said to them, but unlike the aggressive reception Su Zesui had expected, Zhou Qizhao’s parents were surprisingly cordial, smiling warmly, expressing concern, asking if there had been a misunderstanding with Zhou Qizhao, and urging everyone to get along in the future.
Zhou Qizhao, however, sat next to them with a pale face, lips almost white, eyes full of hatred locked onto Su Zesui, as if he wanted to grind him between clenched teeth. Clearly, he had been dragged there by his parents.
“Your family hasn’t settled things internally yet?” Gu Yilan glanced at the scowling Zhou Qizhao and raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re not willing to reconcile?”
“Of course not,” Father Zhou said, secretly frustrated, tapping Zhou Qizhao’s leg to signal him to wipe that sullen expression off his face.
“Alright. Since you’re willing to reconcile, then show some sincerity.” Gu Yilan crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair, and calmly swept his gaze over the three people opposite him. “Apologize to Our Suisui, and I’ll agree to the reconciliation.”
Zhou Qizhao’s family: ???
Even Su Mingyu, who had flown back to A City, all fired up to back his younger brother, felt a little uneasy and coughed. Making the victim apologize to the aggressor in order to achieve a civil settlement… it was completely upside down.
“If you don’t want to, I won’t force you.”
Seeing Gu Yilan start to stand, Father Zhou quickly grabbed the back of Zhou Qizhao’s collar, hoisted his son—who had just left the hospital—not letting him escape the apology.
Relying on his family’s money, Zhou Qizhao had been the little gang leader since childhood. Small favors had made classmates cater to him, he had walked through school like a king; post a few photos online, and fans would fawn over him, calling him “Young Master.”
Now, faced with someone richer and more powerful using the same tactic to pressure him, Zhou Qizhao felt utterly trapped.
His face turned red and purple with rage, lips twitching, teeth grinding. Only after his father pinched his leg again did he mumble through clenched teeth, “I’m… sorry…”
Gu Yilan raised an eyebrow again, clearly unimpressed by his half-hearted apology.
“What’s wrong with you, child? How did we raise you? Are you going to embarrass us like this in public?” Mother Zhou hurriedly scolded him, trying to salvage her dignity at the dining table.
Father Zhou sighed, rubbing his hands together to smooth things over. “Children don’t know any better. Please forgive him. Hurry up, everyone’s waiting for you at the table! Don’t make me go back and give you a beating.”
Zhou Qizhao trembled all over. He had always considered himself a favored son, never before had anyone put him down like this.
And yet here he was, utterly humiliated in front of outsiders, by the very parents who financially supported him. His shame had nowhere to go, and now he was forced to endure it all over again.
Pale-faced, trembling, Zhou Qizhao bowed to Su Zesui. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have walked toward you like that. It’s all my fault! I apologize—please forgive me.”
Immediately, Father and Mother Zhou both flashed obsequious smiles at Gu Yilan, silently asking if he was satisfied now. Their groveling had reached its peak.
Gu Yilan merely let out a faint, enigmatic chuckle, saying nothing. This made the couple break out in nervous sweat, hastily scolding their son a few more times before finally letting him sit, hoping to salvage some dignity.
The meal left some happy and some disheartened.
Su Zesui was delighted, eating all the dishes Mr. Gu had served him, and even finishing two bowls of rice.
“Good boy, I picked all the dishes you like. Eat more.” Gu Yilan served him a piece of sweet and sour spare ribs, smiling softly as if no one else were present.
When it was time to leave, Father Zhou insisted on paying the bill, bowing repeatedly in apology before dragging his son out.
Once the outsiders had gone, Su Zesui tugged at Gu Yilan’s sleeve, leaning close to whisper into his ear. “Brother, why are they like that?”
Gu Yilan smiled and whispered back, “We caught them in a bind. To avoid the whole family, and all the accountants, going to jail, they had no choice but to bow.”
“But… don’t you dislike all this corporate scheming?” Su Zesui asked, fidgeting with his fingers, feeling a twinge of guilt.
He remembered that in another parallel universe, Mr. Gu often expressed his dislike for his studies and his father’s business. He didn’t want to force Gu Yilan to do something unpleasant because of his own problems.
“I don’t dislike it. I just find it boring. Being forced to study boring things makes me irritable,” Gu Yilan said. “But if scheming can help you, then it’s interesting. I’m even tempted to take classes to learn more.”
Su Zesui laughed, his previously gloomy mood instantly brightening.
Su Mingyu, standing nearby, rolled his eyes. “Just indulge him. I have urgent matters to attend to and need to leave. Next time there’s a situation where you need someone to back you up, contact me.”
Su Zesui waved frantically as his big brother left, until he disappeared through the doorway.
“You’ve been wronged, Suisui,” Gu Yilan said, looking at him. “Being forced to reconcile with people like that… but there will be many more opportunities. They have too many flaws, and I won’t let them off easily. You can watch and see how I handle them.”
“N-no, I wasn’t wronged,” Su Zesui waved his hand again. After a few seconds, he lowered it, his ears slightly red as he added, “Thank you, Brother.”
When he first saw the messages in the class group, it felt like falling into an abyss. Catastrophic thoughts swirled in his mind, leaving him regretful and anxious.
At that moment, he no longer hoped for anything. As long as he didn’t go to jail and could be with Gu Yilan for a long, long time, he would accept anything.
But unexpectedly, Gu Yilan took the entire mess upon himself, sparing Su Zesui any worry, and delivered a far better result than he had anticipated. And yet, he still felt a bit wronged.
Across two worlds, Su Zesui had only ever thought in terms of “one,” while Gu Yilan always wanted to give him three, four, or even more.
After getting into Gu Yilan’s speeding sports car, he hopped excitedly into the master bedroom. After showering, Su Zesui suddenly remembered something, climbed onto the soft, large bed, and poked Gu Yilan’s shoulder as he studied some papers. “Brother, I have a gift for you.”
Gu Yilan put down the tablet in his hand and smiled at him. “Hmm?”
“There’s… a box with my diary in it. The one I kept while in the hospital.” Su Zesui added quickly, fearing Gu Yilan might find it boring, “It also contains the letters you once wrote me. Do you remember them? Do you… want them?”
The day before moving into Mr. Gu’s house, he had discovered a small locked box in his room.
The wooden box was old and worn, completely out of place compared to the lavish lifestyle he had in this world.
Curious, he wanted to open it but couldn’t figure out the combination.
Now he realized that box was a product of the crossover between two parallel universes. Bound closely to him, it had traveled through time and space with him.
The combination was the date of the Frost Descent—10/23.
That was the day he first learned about the financial aid program for impoverished students and submitted his application. It was the first real intersection with Gu Yilan.
“I remember,” Gu Yilan said honestly, looking into the boy’s eyes. “But I still want it.”
The anticipation in his dark eyes was genuine. Su Zesui happily pinched his fingers. “Then… I’ll contact Big Brother, and we’ll get it in a couple of days.”
“I’ll contact him. You rest.” Gu Yilan picked up his phone.
The reconciliation papers at the police station weren’t out yet, and Gu Yilan knew the rumors in the class and grade groups hadn’t stopped.
These past few days, he had used every method to comfort the boy during his most vulnerable period, making sure Su Zesui didn’t check WeChat.
Gu Yilan unlocked his phone and opened WeChat. He hadn’t even had a chance to send a message to Su Mingyu when a new message from him popped up on the chat screen—
[Su Mingyu: Take Su Zesui’s phone away, right now. Don’t let him see anything online!! I seriously can’t deal with this.]
A vague sense of foreboding crept into Gu Yilan’s mind.
[11th Dimension: What’s wrong?]
[Su Mingyu: Damn shameless bastards, one thing in front of others and another behind their back, gave them face (image)(image)(image)]
Even the usually composed Su Mingyu had unexpectedly cursed. Gu Yilan opened the screenshots he sent and saw that almost all of them were social media comments targeting Su Zesui by name, filled with vile insults.
Gu Yilan paused for a moment, immediately exited WeChat, and opened the account Su Zesui had created for streaming on social media. He scrolled quickly through the page, reading the curses and abuse, and soon understood what had happened.
On this social media platform, Zhou Qizhao also had an account. Through flaunting wealth and subtle bragging, he had amassed a large following and could be considered a minor internet celebrity.
Just ten minutes ago, he had posted a video. Bandaged, pale, and tearful, he recounted the injustices he had suffered and begged netizens to stand up for him.
He deleted all his previous flaunting-of-wealth videos and reinvented himself as an innocent, ordinary victim. He explained how he had been beaten by classmates for no reason and, because the other students’ families were powerful, had been forced to “stay silent.”
On top of that, he provided various pieces of “evidence,” such as medical records from his recent hospital visit for stitches and screenshots of classmates’ messages in the class chat.
By dodging the real issue and focusing on himself, he quickly enraged justice-minded netizens and swayed public opinion, completely overwhelming Su Zesui’s comment section—
[Ugh, disgusting. Never thought you were this kind of person. Turning my follow into a block. Liking you is now a cybercrime.]
[Hey, are you there? Oh, turns out you died of a fever. Rest in peace (candle)(candle)]
[I felt something was off when you suddenly went viral. Looks like pure hype. Who goes from liberal arts to physics competitions in a few months? Think before setting up your persona…]
[I’ve disliked his fake white-lily act from the moment he became popular.]
[+1]
[+10086]
Taw’s Note: The real definition of seeking death 🤷