Kiss (1/2)
Gu Yilan tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable as his gaze shifted toward the faintly sunken spot on the bed beside him.
Su Zesui lay quietly on the mattress. Even without the slightest trace of sleepiness, a single word of “rest” from him was enough to make the boy obediently stop whatever he was doing. Instead, he would simply lie there, staring blankly at the ceiling, waiting for his body to relax on its own.
His long, thick eyelashes fluttered with each blink, making those clear, luminous eyes look all the more delicate and pitiable.
On the night he had just regained his memory, Su Zesui had very seriously asked him when he could finally let his online friends know that he was okay—that his fever had finally broken—because he couldn’t stand the thought of letting them keep worrying. Otherwise, he would feel guilty.
But considering how unstable things were, going online rashly could only hurt him further. Not only would it expose him to more harmful news, but it might also drag the chaos onto social media itself.
So, these past few days, Gu Yilan had kept coaxing Su Zesui with various excuses, telling him to wait until the settlement agreement was officially signed. Once everything was resolved, they would have plenty of time to post an update, even do a livestream if he wanted.
He never expected things to take such a turn.
A foolish act was something no rational person could predict. Zhou Qizhao might have felt a momentary thrill, but he had likely never considered that this would be the kind of “lose-lose” move that not only wounded his enemy but completely destroyed himself—and by extension, his own family—leaving behind irreparable damage.
And yet, no matter how many ways Gu Yilan could retaliate, the “blow” that had already landed on Su Zesui could never be erased.
“Bzzz—bzzz—”
The sudden vibration of a phone broke Gu Yilan’s thoughts. The caller ID showed it was Su Zesui’s personal psychologist.
Glancing at the boy, who clearly wasn’t sleepy yet, and then at the phone on his nightstand, Gu Yilan chose not to step out. Instead, he lowered the volume and answered softly, his voice pitched low: “Hello.”
“Mr. Gu, whatever you do, don’t let Young Master Su see the comments online!” The psychologist’s words came out fast and urgent, clearly reflecting the overwhelming negative reviews on social media. “Cyberbullying is far more terrifying than school gossip. The numbers are staggering, and the language is far more vicious. What’s worse—what’s truly worse—is that all the feedback Young Master Su received before was positive. Now, for it to suddenly flip into such filthy, malicious negativity… the shock will be too much for him.”
Gu Yilan pressed his thin lips together. To prevent the boy beside him from noticing anything, he didn’t go into detail about what the psychologist had said, merely giving a muffled “Mm.”
“He’s currently in a critical recovery period. Whether he can live a normal life in the future depends entirely on this stage. Cyberbullying is devastating even for ordinary people—let alone for someone mentally fragile like him,” the psychologist sighed. “If he sees any of this, the consequences could be disastrous. He could even end up hospitalized with severe depression within just a few days. This must be taken seriously.”
“I understand.” Within a few minutes of grasping the full situation, Gu Yilan already had many strategies forming in his mind, but he still asked, “What do you suggest we do?”
“I’ve mentioned it before: at this stage, protection must take priority, with desensitization as secondary. He must not be exposed to any triggers,” the psychologist said. “My personal recommendation is to confiscate his phone for a while, keeping him unaware until the public outcry subsides. In the meantime, you can engage him in some desensitization games, like the role-playing exercises and short stories I listed in the notes of the diagnosis.”
Though Gu Yilan didn’t say much during the call, the conversation covered many details and lasted a long time. By the time he hung up, his phone showed over a dozen missed calls—some from his assistant, some from Su Mingyu, and others from Father Zhou.
On top of that, Father Zhou had sent a long message. A quick glance revealed it was mostly anxious apologies and promises, insisting that they had no knowledge of their son’s actions.
Gu Yilan immediately blocked Father Zhou, sent Su Mingyu a message saying, [Meet at Café Noir at 9], and then turned his attention back to Su Zesui.
Because he kept glancing at him, Su Zesui curiously turned his head, his bright, sparkling eyes meeting Gu Yilan’s as if silently asking why he was always staring.
Oblivious to the upheaval around him, Su Zesui remained innocent and happy, radiating an unwavering hope for a beautiful future. It was incomprehensible how anyone online could bear to spew such vile, bottomless curses at such a pure, innocent boy.
“The preliminary round is in a week, right?” Luckily, Gu Yilan was skilled at masking his true emotions. His tone was casual, just as it had been earlier.
“Mm-hmm,” Su Zesui replied, turning to face him. “September 8th.”
Gu Yilan nodded slightly. “I’ve arranged with your homeroom teacher for home study. You won’t need to go to school for a while, so you can focus on preparing for the CPhO.”
Su Zesui tapped his temple, pouting with pride. “I already have the memory of a CPhO gold medalist. I’ll definitely pass the preliminaries.”
Gu Yilan smiled quietly. After a long, silent gaze at Su Zesui, he finally reached out his hand. “I’ll hold onto your phone while you prepare for the competition.”
Knowing that Mr. Gu was trying to protect his mental state, Su Zesui didn’t hesitate and handed over his phone, eyes curved with a smile. “What should I do if I get bored? Will you play with me?”
“Of course,” Gu Yilan replied.
After securing the boy’s phone and instructing him to rest for a while, Gu Yilan left the master bedroom and called his assistant.
An hour later, in the privately reserved Café Noir, several people sat around a table. Except for Gu Yilan, whose face was cold and unreadable, everyone else wore tense expressions, clearly worried.
Suddenly, the assistant, scrolling through his phone, looked alarmed. “Mr. Gu, they’ve already uncovered your identity. Several rival companies are seizing the opportunity to manipulate public opinion, using the scandal to damage our reputation and lower stock prices.”
Gu Yilan wasn’t surprised. Zhou Qizhao had stirred classist tensions online, calling for public opinion. Naturally, the powerful and influential person he referred to as “shutting him up” naturally became the target of public criticism. Additionally, since he had already made an appearance in Su Zesui’s live stream and later publicly announced their relationship, it was only a matter of time before he was implicated and attacked.
Gu Yilan remained calm. “Have the company PR department handle it.”
“Mr. Gu, there are so many malicious comments… Do we have to collect evidence for all of them? The volume is enormous, and the litigation costs would be high.” The lawyer showed him the phone, swiping through an endless scroll of vile comments.
Gu Yilan’s eyes narrowed—not at the litigation costs, but at the comments themselves.
He could read several times faster than ordinary people, and even while the screen scrolled quickly, he caught numerous malicious posts.
As Zhou Qizhao continued spreading rumors online—fabricating evidence about Su Zesui’s character and recruiting friends to exaggerate or falsify claims—the public attention pushed the scandal to the top trending topic.
With so many people involved, the comments were filthy and more appalling than before.
[Why aren’t you streaming anymore? Playing hard to get? Your competition spot must’ve been bought. You’ve repeated grades and still dare to act like a top student—who gave you the face for that?]
[Today is Su Zesui and his ‘good brother’ Gu Yilan’s memorial day (image) Passersby, spit and move on.]
[Join the group to see Su Zesui with multiple sponsors xxoo, dual plug video, group number: 24872￥#&@”]
[Su Zesui, age 18, Grade 11, Class 4, A City High School. Currently living with Gu Yilan at Sapphire Hills Estate, Block A, Building 15. Phone 183￥%##. Volunteers wanted to call, speak out, or confront him at school or home.]
The harassment included verbal attacks, morbid photo manipulations, pornographic rumors, and doxxing—truly crossing the bounds of decency.
“All right, all right,” Su Mingyu quickly pushed the lawyer’s phone away and patted Gu Yilan’s shoulder. “Just treat what they’re saying as nonsense. Don’t take it to heart. Solving the problem is what matters most.”
The man’s dark eyes were bloodshot, his pupils slightly dilated, yet they glimmered with unmistakable ferocity. Su Mingyu, familiar with his condition, knew immediately that he had lost control again.
Gu Yilan pressed his thin lips together, slowly releasing his tightly clenched fingers—and only then did he belatedly feel the sharp sting of nails digging into his palm.
The instant he saw those malicious comments, he truly felt an urge to kill every single one of those people.
It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what Su Mingyu had said.
There were plenty of hateful remarks aimed at him personally, calls for his company’s stock to plummet, suggestions to hire mercenaries to “take him out for the public good.” Skipping over these, he felt nothing—he could read and forget instantly, leaving no trace in his mind.
But that didn’t mean he could tolerate anyone insulting Su Zesui.
“File lawsuits. Preserve all evidence via blockchain. Money is no object,” Gu Yilan said hoarsely to the lawyer.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a commotion erupted at the cafe entrance. A middle-aged couple barged through, ignoring the protest of the staff.
It was Father Zhou and Mother Zhou.
“We’re terribly sorry. We had no idea, and we’ve caused you trouble. The child ran away from home, his phone is unreachable, and we’ve even suspended his card. We’ve sent people to find him—should be resolved very soon.”
Seeing Gu Yilan’s grim, intimidating expression, Father Zhou broke into a cold sweat, forgetting all concerns about appearances, and apologized openly.
After returning home from dinner, they had scolded Zhou Qizhao again, only to find their son far more foolish than expected—completely clueless about right and wrong. His runaway had sparked this mess, threatening to ruin the entire Zhou family.
Mother Zhou tried to smooth things over. “Once we find him, we’ll make sure he clears things up properly. He’s in his rebellious phase and doesn’t understand the consequences of speaking recklessly online. Please be understanding. We’ll cover all PR expenses.”
Even after they spoke, the room remained deathly silent.
That’s when they discovered the various legal and public relations documents on the table. The first ones to be sanctioned were their own foolish child.
Gu Yilan, seated at the head, had never given them so much as a glance. Once they finally quieted down, he calmly instructed his assistant, “Contact the platform administrators. Mute and ban as necessary.”
The assistant nodded quickly, pulling out his phone and scrolling through contacts.
Gu Yilan then turned to the others. “Until the platform responds, control public opinion. Prepare your online teams and moderators—be ready to suppress comments at any time. The storm is at its peak. No need to react overtly—handle it coldly.”
The company’s heads in charge of online media nodded eagerly, accepting the task.
Gu Yilan continued, “As for Mr. Wu… work with Lawyer Liu to gather evidence.”
The private investigator nodded. “Understood.”
“All right, nothing else. Meeting adjourned.” Gu Yilan stood and started toward the exit.
Su Mingyu froze, stunned. He had rushed all the way there, and in less than ten minutes—interruptions from Zhou’s parents included—the meeting was over. He had never experienced such an efficient session.
He called after the man’s retreating figure, “Hey, give me more details! This is important!”
Gu Yilan stopped, didn’t look back, and said, “Suisui’s waiting for me at home.”
The tone was so matter-of-fact that Su Mingyu could only twitch his lips helplessly, unable to argue. “…Fine, fine. Go ahead. Just make sure Suisui doesn’t go online. You looked at those comments—hard to imagine how he’d react.”
“I know,” Gu Yilan replied, bypassing Zhou’s parents and striding toward the parking lot, never once glancing at them.