Reversal (2/2)
In fact, right when this first happened, he had arranged for a detective to gather and edit video evidence of Zhou Qizhao bullying other students at school.
But due to minors’ privacy laws, that evidence couldn’t yet be used. At this point, voices like Feng Chengwen’s effectively took the place of some of that video evidence.
Online controversies can’t simply be suppressed by force—too heavy-handed, and it could backfire, creating even greater problems. Handling this required a delicate balance.
After arranging the next steps for public relations, Gu Yilan called the psychologist and summarized what had just happened.
“Sigh… If only it had happened a little later, the storm might have already passed,” the psychologist sighed, regretful. “He’s somatizing now, right? The quieter he appears, the more he might be suffering physically. If he were venting by smashing things, it might actually be easier on him.”
Gu Yilan responded with a muffled “Hmm.”
“Hopefully he can get through this,” the psychologist continued. “Keep a close eye on him, and don’t let him see any more negative comments. Those are extremely harmful and could be devastating for him. My suggestion… let him rest these few days. Once his mood stabilizes, you can take him outside, with a mask and hat so no one recognizes him. Show him that most people in the real world are normal and mostly mind their own business—not like the one-sided hatred online. That might help him step out of this whirlpool of public opinion…”
Gu Yilan’s voice was hoarse as he said, “Okay.”
. . . . .
Su Zesui drifted in and out of countless nightmares, filled with terror and helplessness. But when he woke, he couldn’t recall the details of the dreams at all—only the heavy emotions they left behind lingered in his mind.
He propped himself up on his arms, his gaze unfocused, staring at some empty point in the room, quietly calming his turbulent heart.
A few minutes later, the door opened.
Gu Yilan walked over, touched his forehead, and asked if he still felt dizzy.
Su Zesui knew the reason Mr. Gu hadn’t stayed by his side was to deal with the online harassment.
Gu Yilan was busy and exhausted. He didn’t want the man to worry for him anymore, so even though his stomach still felt upset, he simply said, “I’m not dizzy.”
But barely a few seconds later, Gu Yilan’s phone vibrated again. The level of busyness even surprised Su Zesui.
The man glanced at the caller ID, then switched the phone back to Do Not Disturb.
“Brother… did the company get dragged into this?” Su Zesui asked, guilty and scared, fiddling with his fingers. “What… what did they say?”
He remembered seeing countless comments threatening to ruin the Gu family business and reduce their century-old household to poverty.
“Don’t worry. It’s under control,” Gu Yilan replied in one word and then smoothly changed the topic: “This was just an accident. Many people are helping you, and things are getting better. It’s only a matter of time. We’ll keep living well from now on, right?”
Su Zesui paused, then said, “Yeah.”
Gu Yilan lifted the boy onto his lap, and from this intimate closeness, in a low, lingering voice, he calmly outlined their future: “The preliminary is coming up in a few days, so you’ll need to review physics competition questions. Then, after your finals are over, we’ll be moving. You also need to take care of your health—otherwise, how am I supposed to give you the reward I promised?”
Su Zesui murmured, repeating softly, “…Reward… I want it.”
“Mm,” Gu Yilan replied. “The day before the preliminary, I’ll take you out to relax, okay?”
Feeling the boy’s body tense suddenly, Gu Yilan added, “If you want, we can even add an extra reward for the future. Remember that ice cream shop we went to before? They’ve got new flavors now. The strawberry ice cream, the sundae with jam, the strawberry milkshake—you wanted them all, right? We’ll buy them and keep them in the fridge. You can have them whenever you want.”
Su Zesui nodded, counting off on his fingers: “…Okay.”
Gu Yilan smiled silently, easing the mood. “Last time we went out, you walked a few little white rabbits. Do you want to take them with you again? If you do, I can carry them for you.”
Su Zesui thought for a moment, then leaned close to the man’s ear and whispered softly, “I… want to raise a little kitten.”
A kitten is pure, unconditionally fond of humans, and would never suddenly betray its owner.
Gu Yilan said, “Alright, then we’ll go to the pet store and take a look. We can pick up some supplies for it, too.”
. . . . .
Perhaps it was this talk of the future that inspired Su Zesui, because over the next few days, he was far stronger than the psychologist had predicted.
He ate properly, slept well, and practiced his exercises diligently, never asking about the online discussion. But he would often check on Gu Yilan, asking if he was feeling upset, and then they would kiss.
Every day, without fail.
The day before the preliminary, Gu Yilan got up early.
This afternoon, he planned to take Su Zesui out to stroll along the street they used to visit before their wedding, stop by the toy store for new plushies, stock up on Su Zesui’s favorite ice creams, and finally pick out a cute little kitten at the pet shop.
But in the morning, he needed to finalize the arrangements for the online controversy.
By now, the situation online had grown considerably. Zhou Qizhao, unable to withstand the online backlash, had repeatedly exposed his true self during livestreams, ranting and cursing, losing all composure, and causing a major drop in his followers.
Yet last night, Zhou Qizhao, in a desperate move, bribed the school’s surveillance office and—ignoring privacy rights—released the footage of himself being struck.
The video clearly showed Zhou Qizhao arriving at the classroom door with a few friends. Noticing the unhidden stares by the staircase, he then walked toward Su Zesui.
At no point did he show any intent or behavior of bullying, yet in the next second, he was struck on the head with a fire extinguisher by the suddenly enraged Su Zesui. Su Zesui’s friends tilted the balance, leaving Zhou Qizhao nowhere to avoid the blows.
From this footage, it seemed Zhou Qizhao was more like the victim of school bullying.
Then Zhou Qizhao released the court-issued reconciliation document, once again confirming that Gu Yilan had used behind-the-scenes tactics to force him to compromise.
With both pieces of evidence, public opinion online reversed once more.
The saying “even a cornered rabbit will bite” was now applied to Zhou Qizhao, and the online community, with overwhelming force, once again took over Su Zesui’s comment section.
Watching the complete video again, Gu Yilan’s eyes darkened. He ground his molars unconsciously, feeling only a mix of tenderness and cruelty.
Earlier that morning, Zhou Qizhao’s parents had successfully caught him via school surveillance and prepared to make amends—ordering him to delete the video and issue a clarification.
Gu Yilan picked up his phone, glanced at the address Su Mingyu had sent, and said to the boy working on his competition questions in bed, “I’m going out for a bit to pick up the diary you said you wanted to give me.”
“Diary… okay!” Su Zesui clapped his hands, looking very happy. “This afternoon, I’m finally going to have a kitten!”
Gu Yilan said, “Mm. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the exam venue with the cat.”
Su Zesui asked again, “When will you come back, brother?”
Gu Yilan did a quick mental calculation. “I’ll be back for lunch. Then we’ll go shopping together.”
Su Zesui put down his competition book, knelt on the bed, pouted at him, and mumbled indistinctly, “One last kiss.”
Gu Yilan walked back to the bed, leaned down, and kissed the boy lightly on the lips. “Wait until I come back.”
Obediently, Su Zesui waved at him and repeated, “Bye bye. I’ll wait for brother to come back.”
. . . . .
Gu Yilan drove for over half an hour before arriving at the location Su Mingyu had arranged.
At the table were the former head of PR, a private detective, a lawyer, and the mastermind behind everything—Zhou Qizhao, his face twisted in fear and rage, and his terrified parents.
Even now, Zhou Qizhao hadn’t grasped the severity of the situation and still bared his teeth at Gu Yilan, as if showing off his skill in manipulating public opinion. Little did he know, today Gu Yilan had come to deliver him straight to hell.
“How’s Suisui doing?” Su Mingyu asked immediately upon seeing him. “He has the CPhO preliminary tomorrow, right? His mental state is crucial. You must protect him.”
Gu Yilan pulled out a chair and sat at the head of the table. “He’s in good shape.”
“He hasn’t seen the online backlash since then, right? You’ve kept his phone away?” Su Mingyu asked, uneasily, glancing venomously at Zhou Qizhao. He could hardly contain his desire to throw him into a lake in frustration.
Gu Yilan replied, “Mm. It’s hidden. He’s been behaving well, focusing on his physics competition studies, and hasn’t gone looking for it.”
Su Mingyu breathed a sigh of relief and patted his chest. “Good, good. Now, check the online situation, and let’s come up with a strategy to suppress the public opinion. That guy over there—use him however you need. Make him say whatever.”
Su Mingyu pursed his lips and pointed at Zhou Qizhao by the table. Zhou’s parents quickly nodded in agreement, holding their son down and prompting him to bow respectfully.
Gu Yilan glanced coldly once before turning his attention to his phone. He intended to scroll through recent trending topics, but a notification suddenly popped up at the top of the screen without warning:
“Your special follow is live~ Come check it out~”
Gu Yilan’s eyes narrowed. His finger froze on the screen for a long moment.
“What is it?” Su Mingyu, sitting beside him, noticed his tension and asked in confusion.
Gu Yilan pressed his lips together, tapped the screen lightly, and turned the phone toward Su Mingyu.
On the screen appeared the boy he’d described as “studying physics competitions.” Su Zesui looked tense, fiddling with his fingers, leaning closer to the stream to read the barrage of harsh comments. His clear, innocent eyes showed a hint of helplessness.
Su Mingyu blinked, doubting his own eyes, thinking it might be a recording of a previous livestream.
A few seconds later, when he confirmed the truth, he slammed his hand on the table in utter disbelief. “Holy sh*t!!”