If (3/9)
Gu Yilan asked flatly, “Zhou Qizhao?”
Mother Zhou was about to say a few flattering words when the man cut her off: “The one who’s always bullying my brother?”
Mother Zhou froze, then quickly forced a smile. “Ah, could there be some misunderstanding? Children are simple-minded—it’s normal for them to bicker now and then. Sometimes we parents might think they don’t get along, but actually, they’re on good terms. Haha…”
Her laughter died in her throat when she noticed that the man’s eyes held not the slightest hint of amusement. His cold gaze rested on her face like the scythe of a reaper locked onto its target.
Mother Zhou’s voice faltered, and sweat began to bead on her forehead. She knew better than anyone what kind of trouble her own son caused.
“He’s my brother’s deskmate.”
The man finally curved his lips, speaking with a faint lift of his brow. His tone carried a pressure that seemed to hide deeper meaning, and it sent a chill down Mother Zhou’s back.
A few seconds later, Gu Yilan’s smile vanished. Like a grim reaper delivering judgment, he said coldly, “Have him transferred to another class.”
“Ah? Th-this…”
Mother Zhou faltered under the weight of his commanding tone, her voice trembling as she tried to explain: “My son, he’s just… not very good with words, but he doesn’t mean any harm. He’s been going to this school since he was little—if he transfers, I’m afraid he won’t be able to adjust… Please, Mr. Gu…”
Gu Yilan lowered his eyes slightly, his voice cool and calm: “He can transfer to a school in another city. But before that, he owes my brother a public apology.”
In her business dealings, Mother Zhou had always dreaded facing men like Gu Yilan—those whose words were mild and measured, whose tone was faint and detached, yet carried an undeniable weight. No matter how many flowery excuses she made, none of it could sway someone like him.
Seeing Gu Yilan pause in thought, Mother Zhou feared he might demand something even harsher the next second. Her face turned red, then pale, as she quickly nodded. “Alright, he’ll transfer. Zhou Qizhao grew up spoiled by us, thick-skinned and arrogant. It’s our fault for raising him this way—he should be sent off to fend for himself.”
In such a situation, losing face was a small matter. What Mother Zhou feared even more was that due to the disharmony between the younger generation, Gu Yilan would trip them up in future collaborations or even team up with other powerful families to make things difficult for them.
It was all that brat Zhou Qizhao’s fault—unlike his younger brother, he never gave anyone a moment’s peace. Playing around all the time was bad enough, but now he’d gone and provoked such a vengeful ancestor for the family. He’s truly a lost cause.
Mother Zhou lowered her head, bowing again and again, her heart already regarding Zhou Qizhao as a burden to be cast aside.
Gu Yilan said calmly, “Make sure he apologizes publicly at next week’s flag-raising ceremony.”
“Mm.”
Mother Zhou hesitated for a moment, then gritted her teeth as if making a firm decision. “Since you said Qizhao has harmed his classmate, we will definitely handle this matter strictly. We’ll send him to a boarding school in another city, and only give him a basic living allowance each month so he learns to reflect on himself. If a child misbehaves, it’s because we as parents have failed to teach him well. My husband and I are both responsible. We’ve been busy with work lately, and the projects with your company…”
Mother Zhou wasn’t sure if her harsh punishment would satisfy Gu Yilan, so she kept glancing at the man’s expression. Unfortunately, Gu Yilan’s face remained calm, giving nothing away. He only spoke faintly when she mentioned the project: “I know.”
His tone carried a subtle note of ending the conversation. Following his gaze, Mother Zhou noticed the homeroom teacher had somehow entered the classroom, holding several test papers while checking in the parents one by one.
At that moment, Mother Zhou felt a little regretful.
The “projects” she had just mentioned involved investments worth hundreds of millions—highly profitable ventures. Not only that, she had hoped to gain some favor with Gu Yilan, who was still establishing his footing domestically. Yet here she was, sitting in an ordinary parent–teacher meeting like everyone else? How was this fair???
The theme of the meeting was the usual: students’ academic performance and mental state.
The homeroom teacher handed out each child’s report cards from the past few exams, along with the most recent test papers from every subject, asking the parents to sign them.
Gu Yilan picked up the black pen from the boy’s desk. His strokes swept across the paper, bold and fluid, and he signed his name next to the score.
The boy’s handwriting was neat and elegant, but by contrast, his own looked freer—almost careless—yet powerful, as if he were signing a contract rather than a high school test paper.
After listening to the homeroom teacher’s long analysis of the class, Gu Yilan gathered a stack of test papers and report cards, ready to step outside and find Su Zesui.
In the hallway, Su Zesui was surrounded by a small crowd, his brows curved in a smile, lips moving gently as he spoke in a soft voice. When he saw Gu Yilan come out, he immediately walked over and called out, sweetly and obediently, “Brother.”
Gu Yilan reached out to ruffle his hair. “The teacher said your grades have improved recently. Keep working hard.”
Su Zesui nodded firmly. Back in elementary school, his big brother had told him the same thing. But after his big brother was diagnosed with cancer, there had been no one to attend parent–teacher meetings for him anymore.
“Brother, are you busy?” Su Zesui asked. “If you are, you don’t have to go to the ‘Thank Your Parents’ event. It’s not that important.”
Gu Yilan slipped the papers into the boy’s backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and started toward the stairs. Looking back at him, he said simply, “I’m not busy.”
Su Zesui hurried after him, clutching the swaying strap of the backpack as he followed Mr. Gu downstairs.
On the playground, overly sentimental background music poured from two large speakers. Rows of chairs had been hastily arranged across the soccer field, giving the whole event a sense of carelessness and oddity.
Having lived abroad for a long time, Gu Yilan wasn’t very familiar with these kinds of school activities. After a brief hesitation, he followed the seating chart given by the homeroom teacher and led the boy to their assigned spot.
Noticing that only a single chair had been provided, Gu Yilan naturally said to Su Zesui, “You must be tired from standing at the door just now. Sit down and rest for a while.”
At that, Su Zesui shook his head vigorously like a rattle-drum, patting the chair instead. “No, no, I can’t. This event is about thanking my brother. You should be the one to sit.”
“Thank me?” Gu Yilan couldn’t help but laugh as he sat down. “And how exactly are you going to thank me?”
Su Zesui thought for a moment, then said, “Hmm… I don’t really know.”
Gu Yilan felt a vague sense of foreboding, but considering the boy had probably never experienced this kind of event before, he decided to wait patiently as the other parents filed in.
Ten minutes later, a deafening sound blared from the speakers on the main stage: “Your parents are, and always will be, your parents! For your sake, as long as they have a single breath left, they will give you everything they can! Including their own lives! They ask for nothing in return, only that you live well!”
Gu Yilan: …
Su Zesui: “Wuwu…”
“Look at your parents! Touch your father’s calloused hands, stroke your mother’s graying hair, kiss the wrinkles at the corners of their eyes!”
Gu Yilan was caught between laughter and speechlessness. It was his first time attending such a bizarre event, and he couldn’t bring himself to say a word. But when he lowered his gaze, he met Su Zesui’s tear-filled eyes.
Like his innocent classmates around him, the boy’s eyes were red, his cheeks streaked with two trails of tears. Half-squatting on the ground, he clutched at Gu Yilan, wanting to look at him more closely—clearly moved by the “master’s” words from the stage.
With a helpless sigh, Gu Yilan extended his palm toward the boy.
He was only twenty years old—no white hair, no wrinkles. The only thing Su Zesui could see was the thin layer of calluses on his fingertips. The boy pursed his soft lips, then let a crystal tear fall into the man’s open hand.
Gu Yilan rather ruined the mood by saying, “That’s from handling guns all the time.”
But Su Zesui was still moved. His throat tightened as he choked out, “Brother, you’ve had it so hard…”
Gu Yilan almost laughed, but the smile never made it out—because the “master” on stage had started again: “Fathers, mothers, thank you! Now, is there any student brave enough to come up here and say those three words to your parents out loud?”
The moment Su Zesui began to rise from his seat, Gu Yilan quickly raised a hand to stop him, speaking fast: “Stay here with your brother.”
Tears glimmered in the boy’s eyes as he nodded, then threw himself into Gu Yilan’s arms, sobbing, “Brother, thank you… When I grow up, I’ll make lots of money—hic—and repay you, wuwu…”
“Mhm. When you grow up,” Gu Yilan chuckled softly, patting the boy’s back to calm him down.
By the end of the event, Su Zesui was crying so hard he was drenched in tears, insisting he wanted to use his pocket money to buy the master’s recommended book <A Grateful Heart>. Luckily, Gu Yilan reacted quickly and stopped him. “Be good. We’re going home.”
It was around then that Gu Yilan began to sense that something wasn’t quite right.
The boy had taken his words from a few days ago to heart. He no longer worried that he might lose him at any moment. Yet he still instinctively treated him with a certain “formality,” feeling more gratitude than dependence, always thinking he should repay his kindness.
This tense, careful way of interacting didn’t really resemble how brothers normally got along.
Gu Yilan assumed it was just because they weren’t familiar with each other yet—that the boy had intellectually accepted his reasoning, but his body was a step behind and hadn’t fully adjusted. A little more time together, and things would settle.
But as days passed, the boy remained respectful and endlessly grateful. He would often share only good news, never the bad. Su Zesui would happily tell him about Zhou Qizhao bowing to apologize in front of everyone or about the top scores he achieved in class, but he wouldn’t mention where he struggled in his studies or if he felt unwell.
Even feelings like “missing someone” were rarely expressed, as he feared that unnecessary emotional attachments might waste his time.
Out of concern, Gu Yilan eventually called in a psychologist who specialized in adolescent anxiety to determine whether Su Zesui’s current behavior required intervention to prevent psychological issues from worsening.
After learning the situation over the phone, the psychologist said nothing—except to hand Gu Yilan a disciplinary ruler.
Frowning, Gu Yilan weighed the surprisingly heavy ruler in his hand. “What does this mean?”
“Sometimes, excessive reward and politeness are what drive people apart,” the psychologist said, flipping through the records. “Based on my diagnosis, you shouldn’t continue to be overly gentle or unconditionally fulfill all of his requests.”
Gu Yilan frowned in dissatisfaction. “That doesn’t mean I can hit him, right?”
“You see, you also silently agreed that you absolutely mustn’t lay a finger on him,” the psychologist shrugged. “But among real brothers, it’s very common for the older brother to discipline the younger. No one thinks it’s wrong.”
Gu Yilan said, “I’m not trying to chase some ‘ideal brotherhood.’ I just want him to be healthy—mentally and physically—and a little happier.”
“How do you know punishment will necessarily upset him?” the psychologist explained. “It may cause some physical discomfort, but it helps release emotions. When he makes a mistake he thinks is huge, you give a small but firm punishment, then comfort him afterward. In effect, you’re helping him bear the consequences of his actions, while he only has to endure a minor scolding. This way, he feels lighter inside—and grows more dependent on you. It benefits both of you.”
The psychologist, a specialist in human behavior, made a fair point. Gu Yilan lowered his gaze to the ruler in his hand, lost in thought.
the fuck,… not the pro child abuse psych