Coax to sleep
“Ah! Young Master Gu, you’re back!!” The butler noticed the figure at the entrance and fled the living room like a man escaping from death, rushing to greet him.
These past thirty minutes had felt more torturous than the first half of his entire life.
“Mm.” Gu Yilan glanced at the clock on the wall.
The butler followed his gaze and quickly reported, “It’s now exactly 7:50 PM—ten more minutes until TV time is over.”
He’d been keeping an eye on the time the whole way through, silently chanting Amitabha in his mind every single minute that passed.
“What happened to him?”
Though Gu Yilan didn’t name names, the butler knew exactly who he meant. He lowered his voice and answered, “Little Master Su really resisted watching TV. He didn’t want to come downstairs and ended up falling. It took a long time to calm him down.”
Gu Yilan frowned. “Calm him down?”
But the butler misunderstood the tone and quickly explained how he’d done it: “He really couldn’t walk properly, so I told him he could choose whatever show he wanted! Anything at all! And I said, if he followed the schedule like a good boy, then when you got back, you would…”
As he spoke, he suddenly realized something was off. His voice trailed off, and his expression grew increasingly guilty.
Crap. His memory wasn’t what it used to be—he’d completely forgotten about that promise he’d made on Young Master Gu’s behalf.
“And I would what?” Gu Yilan pressed, his tone calm but clearly not letting it go.
“You would… uh, you… would praise him… and maybe reward him or something…” the butler finished, forcing the words out despite the cold sweat on his back.
After saying that, the butler quickly added, “But Little Master Su probably just wanted to watch competition lectures. I don’t think he really took those words to heart.”
Gu Yilan said nothing, brushed past him, and walked directly toward the boy curled up in the corner of the living room.
Although his boss’s expression hadn’t changed, the butler suddenly had a terrible premonition—like his decades-long career as a butler might be coming to an end.
After all these years, he had never seen Gu Yilan treat anyone kindly. Praise? Rewards? Just putting those words in the same sentence as Gu Yilan felt absurdly wrong.
But it was his fault—he’d been bewitched by those teary eyes and pitiful sobs as the boy collapsed to the ground, and the words had just slipped out before he could stop them!
. . . . .
Su Zesui had always been the type to fully immerse himself when studying.
So it wasn’t until a tall shadow fell across his textbook, blocking the words from view, that he finally noticed someone had approached.
He looked up and locked eyes with the man in front of him.
Gu Yilan pulled out the chair beside him, crossed his arms, and sat down.
The instinctive reverence that employees held for their boss ran deep—so the moment Gu Yilan sat down, everyone around them scrambled to relocate, leaving the two of them a private space.
With the others farther away, the suffocating pressure in Su Zesui’s chest eased slightly. His voice still carried a bit of a nasal tone as he said softly, “Thank you.”
Gu Yilan ignored his random outbursts and nonsense. He nodded toward the projection screen with his chin, eyes fixed ahead. “Keep watching.”
Su Zesui sniffled, gave a quick nod, and refocused on the lesson.
Though the gold-medal coach on screen had a dramatic way of speaking, his explanations were crystal clear and his methods unique. An advanced optics problem involving optical tweezers was peeled apart layer by layer, each step more fascinating than the last. Just as the coach reached the most critical part of the solution—
A flash of light. The projection blinked out. The screen went black.
It was 8:00 PM.
TV time was over.
Su Zesui’s hand froze midair, pen still in hand. His soft lips parted slightly, dazed, as if he hadn’t fully come out of the problem-solving trance.
But just a second later, he set down his pen, rubbed his sore eyes, grabbed his book, and quickly bolted upstairs.
Because now that TV time was over, the strangers who had been sitting in front of him seemed ready to turn around and look at him again.
Gu Yilan stood as well and slowly followed the boy upstairs.
The butler, still eager to redeem himself, noticed and hurried to catch up.
The three of them entered the side bedroom one after another.
Just as the butler had described earlier, the plush toys the boy had arranged made the room feel completely different. Even the golden cage, which had seemed out of place before, now looked rather… cozy.
The only jarring element was the cold, winding chain that snaked across the bed and floor—its presence clashing with the room’s fairy tale charm. It was as if the boy lived in a world of soft, dreamy toys, yet remained a puppet trapped in a glass box, controlled by invisible hands.
Unlocking the cuff required a key—but locking it didn’t.
Little Puppet Su Zesui placed his book neatly on the table, then obediently picked up the handcuff from the bed and clink—snapped it onto his left wrist. He even gave the chain a tug to check if it was securely fastened to the bedpost. Completely self-disciplined.
The butler had just arrived in time to witness this scene—and was instantly stunned.
There were only two chairs in the side room. After locking himself in, Su Zesui carefully positioned the chairs, then turned to look at the butler.
“No need, no need—I don’t need to sit,” the butler said quickly, waving his hands to decline.
Su Zesui then went to pour a cup of hot water, set it on the table, and pushed it gently toward Gu Yilan. “Water.”
Gu Yilan coldly refused. “No need.”
Su Zesui looked at him, surprised and confused. He pointed to his own throat and asked softly, “Doesn’t… hurt anymore?”
Gu Yilan: “……”
Standing beside the table, the butler quietly covered his face with a hand.
To be able to tap-dance so frequently and fearlessly across Gu Yilan’s landmines—and still walk away unharmed—perhaps only this naive young boy had that kind of luck.
Gu Yilan took a slow, thoughtful sip of hot water, feeling the warm liquid soothe his raw throat.
Only after a long pause did he glance at the boy and ask casually, “Afraid of the TV?”
Su Zesui flinched slightly, as if recalling something terrifying. He nodded timidly. “Mhm.”
Gu Yilan didn’t respond. Instead, he casually pulled open a drawer in the nearby wooden cabinet and took out a white box.
The butler, standing to the side, couldn’t help but ask, “W-Why though?”
In all his decades of life, he’d seen people afraid of bugs, fish, chickens—even coat hangers—but this was the first time he’d ever met someone who was scared of a television.
Gu Yilan didn’t interrupt him. His dark eyes stayed lowered as his long fingers rummaged calmly through the box.
“It’s scary,” Su Zesui answered softly.
“Why is it scary?” the butler asked.
Su Zesui tried to describe the feeling of being surrounded by people. His voice trembled, “People… are scary.”
“Why are people scary?”
“Because… because…” Su Zesui struggled to explain it any more clearly. In the end, all he could do was describe what he felt. “It makes my chest hurt.”
“…Why does your chest hurt?” The butler looked more and more confused, a metaphorical question mark growing above his head.
“…”
This back-and-forth was going nowhere—a complete mismatch of wavelengths—until Gu Yilan coldly cut in, “Enough.”
He dropped a bottle of Yunnan Baiyao ointment onto the table with a thunk, then said, “Put this on yourself.”
At that, the butler immediately shut up, while Su Zesui took off his shoes and carefully stepped barefoot onto the edge of the chair.
After some time had passed, the bruises on his knees had darkened further, now even more glaring and alarming.
The boy curled up, long lashes drooping, looking like a porcelain doll someone had accidentally cracked—a little broken, a little pitiful.
“It hurts,” Su Zesui poked the bruise with a finger and pouted, protesting softly, “I don’t wanna put it on.”
“It’ll heal faster if you do.” Gu Yilan opened the ointment and lifted his chin toward the delicate little drama queen. “Hand.”
Su Zesui didn’t want to reach out, but he also didn’t want to leave a bad impression on the man in front of him. After a moment of internal struggle, he reluctantly extended just one index finger.
Without a word, Gu Yilan squeezed a small amount of ointment onto the boy’s slender fingertip.
Su Zesui blinked his pretty eyes, staring intently at the white medicine on his finger. He looked at it, then at his knee, back and forth a few times, then looked up and asked, “Can you maybe…”
His voice was very soft—he got four words out and stopped.
Gu Yilan: “No.”
Su Zesui pouted again and turned to look at the butler.
Still feeling guilty over the whole “empty promise” situation, the butler quickly averted his eyes.
The boy was clearly the fragile type—just one bump and he’d bruise badly. If he didn’t apply the ointment, it would only get worse, and if anyone else saw it, they might suspect abuse. That would be a serious problem.
Left with no choice, Su Zesui carefully started dabbing the ointment onto his knee with his fingertip—slowly, gently, not wasting a single bit.
When he was done, he stared at the stark white dollop sitting awkwardly on the purplish bruise, and even gave a tiny, satisfied nod.
Gu Yilan, who was already running low on patience, finally couldn’t take it anymore.
“Sit on the bed,” he said, expression dark.
Su Zesui didn’t quite understand, but being obedient by nature, he did as he was told.
As soon as he sat down, legs stretched out to avoid smudging the blob of ointment on his knee, he saw Gu Yilan squeeze out some more medicine and raise his hand to apply it to the injury.
“No.” Su Zesui abruptly pulled his leg back, staring at him like he was facing a great threat. His clear, bright eyes began to well up with tears.
Gu Yilan: “…”
He glanced at the butler standing at the door, then stood up coldly and said, “You do it.”
Su Zesui reacted even more strongly. “No!”
Gu Yilan’s patience ran out. He tossed the Yunnan Baiyao onto the bed and looked down at the boy from above. “Did you already forget what I told you before?”
Su Zesui had an excellent memory—especially when it came to words spoken in that deep, pleasant voice of Gu Yilan’s.
He remembered clearly: three days ago, in this very room, Gu Yilan had told him, “What you eat, say, and do—all of it should be controlled.”
Su Zesui hated getting treated with medicine, and now all his excuses for resisting had been shot down. He was beyond upset.
He had a condition where he cried easily. As soon as his nose tingled, his eyes filled with tears for no clear reason.
“I want…” Su Zesui hiccupped, curling his body into a small ball. His words didn’t quite make sense, but he muttered pitifully, “…my brother.”
His eyes were rimmed red, long lashes trembling like butterfly wings, and shallow teeth marks had appeared on his soft lips from biting down. His voice, already soft and gentle, was now thick with nasal congestion—it could move even the coldest heart.
Just then, Gu Yilan’s phone suddenly let out two sharp beeps from a certain app, alerting him that the boy’s heart rate had dropped below the normal threshold.
He fell silent at once.
The butler, feeling a mix of guilt and sympathy, stepped forward to smooth things over. “Don’t cry, don’t cry—it’s just medicine, not a life sentence. If you want to go out and visit friends, or have them come visit you, that’s not off the table.”
Gu Yilan added, “If you don’t marry me, you can see your brother every day.”
Su Zesui bit his soft lips, even more overwhelmed after being talked to like this. Tears pooled more and more, about to spill over at any moment.
Unable to deal with it, Gu Yilan wiped the ointment from his fingertips with a napkin, pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a couple of times, and suddenly said, “The internet’s back on in this room.”
Su Zesui sniffled, rubbing at his reddened nose. When he checked his phone, sure enough, the WiFi icon had lit up at the top.
Gu Yilan said, “Put on the medicine yourself. Then you’ll be able to watch online classes in your room.”
Su Zesui rubbed his teary eyes and felt a flicker of temptation. Ever since crossing over, he’d lost so many memories, forgotten how to solve so many problems. Without online classes, he truly didn’t know how to keep up.
Stiffly, he began gently rubbing in the blob of ointment on his bruised knee, then looked up at Gu Yilan.
“Rub it in more,” Gu Yilan said as he bent down again to pick up the ointment from the bed, squeezing a bit more out for the boy.
Su Zesui was trembling like a leaf, dragging his feet and refusing to continue. After much sniffling, pouting, and stalling, he finally—reluctantly—finished applying the ointment.
Everyone in the room let out a sigh of relief.
Especially the butler, who beamed and praised, “Little master is so well-behaved. He lets us apply the medicine without making a fuss. If only my own brat were this easy to handle…”
Su Zesui rubbed his still-reddened eyes, gaze fixed on Gu Yilan. But he didn’t seem to hear a word the butler said.
Because he saw the man place the ointment back on the desk, pack up the medical kit, and prepare to leave the room.
Su Zesui’s eyes followed him back and forth, then he suddenly blurted out, out of nowhere, “Reward.”
Gu Yilan paused in his steps.
The butler also fell instantly silent.
Easy to handle, huh…? Hell no! With just one word, he felt like he was about to be dragged down by old grudges and crushed by karma.
Gu Yilan turned around and shook the phone in his hand. “This is your reward.”
Su Zesui puffed up his cheeks, staring at the Wi-Fi icon lit up at the top of the screen. After a moment of serious thought, he said, “Give me a different one.”
“There isn’t another,” Gu Yilan replied coldly.
With no choice, Su Zesui propped up his chin and thought for a bit, then said, “Praise.”
His voice still carried the innocence of a child, and with his teary red eyes blinking up at the man, he truly looked like a well-behaved little kid hoping for praise from an adult.
Gu Yilan: “……”
Butler: “…………”
Please, just stop talking…
“…What kind of reward do you want?” Gu Yilan walked back over.
Su Zesui’s eyes lit up. He carefully considered his words, then opened his soft lips to speak.
Gu Yilan waited patiently.
He was curious—what kind of reward could be worth more to this boy than having internet access for online classes?
And then, he heard Su Zesui say: “I want to hear… grandma’s story.”
Gu Yilan: “?”
Su Zesui rarely spoke much, except around his brother and Gu Yilan, where he was a little more talkative.
“The helping-grandma kind,” he clarified, pressing his palms together and miming a sleeping gesture by his ear. “Helping her cross the street… a bedtime story.”
The butler was utterly stunned: “???”
His eyes darted back and forth between the pure, innocent boy and his terrifying boss, his face full of disbelief.
God help us—what kind of horror story is this supposed to be??
And having Gu Yilan tell a bedtime story? Wouldn’t that give him nightmares?
Gu Yilan’s expression turned ice-cold. He pulled a key from his pocket and tossed it to the boy. “Here. Extra reward. Unlock the handcuffs yourself when you change clothes. Give it back to me tomorrow morning.”
Su Zesui looked down at the key in silence, clearly disappointed.
Gu Yilan still had things to do and finally turned to leave.
Su Zesui waved faintly at his retreating figure.
“Don’t cry, little master,” the butler handed him a few more tissues to wipe his red-rimmed eyes. “Scroll through your phone a bit. You’ll fall asleep soon.”
Su Zesui twiddled his fingers, too upset to say anything.
But now that he had internet again, he needed to let his family know he was safe.
He re-registered a WeChat account and, relying on memory, typed in his family members’ phone numbers to re-add them. After a moment’s hesitation, he also entered Gu Yilan’s number.
[Brother: I’ve accepted your friend request. We can chat now.]
Su Zesui typed: [Brother, it’s me.]
[Big Brother: …Yeah, I figured.]
[Big Brother: What are you doing up? Why aren’t you sleeping? Why the sudden switch to a new WeChat?]
With that message, memories that had just started to stir in Su Zesui’s heart came rushing back all at once, wrapping around him like a storm.
He felt stifled, like he couldn’t breathe.
And then he suddenly typed: [Brother, are you really still alive?]
[Big Brother: ???]
[Big Brother: You little brat, looking for a beating?]