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If (1/9)

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On Christmas Day, Su Zesui, who hadn’t received a letter from Gu Yilan for a long time, saved up and flew to the Country M. There, he finally saw the Gu Yilan he had been longing for.

Mr. Gu was indeed young, barely twenty, with deep-set eyes and sharp, well-defined features. He carried an innate air of coldness, like an iceberg that never melted, giving off a “keep your distance” vibe.

This was quite different from what Su Zesui had imagined. He had pictured Mr. Gu as a gentleman with a deep but pleasant voice, easy to talk to, and with subtle hints of warmth and tolerance in his words—just like in the recordings. Not like in the study, where he was all seriousness, radiating a heavy, intimidating presence that made people uneasy.

“Student Su, please wait by the door,” the butler said, handing him a cup of hot water. “Mr. Gu is busy with work right now. He might be able to see you later.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Su Zesui replied, sitting on the chair outside the study. He held the glass, warming his hands, while sneaking glances at Mr. Gu.

The man seemed already accustomed to strangers showing up unannounced. He didn’t even bother to glance toward the door, muttering coldly words about racing that Su Zesui couldn’t understand, distant and indifferent, making the young man at the desk keep wiping cold sweat.

At that moment, Su Zesui felt even more acutely the vast gap between himself and Mr. Gu—as if they belonged to two completely separate worlds.

He knew nothing about Mr. Gu’s life. To him, the other man was like a white lotus atop a snow-capped mountain: beautiful yet unattainable, desirable yet impossible to reach.

Su Zesui’s hands, warming against the glass cup, began to sweat, and his mind—unused to rest during the flight—went blank. The carefully rehearsed words he had prepared suddenly felt inappropriate in the presence of Mr. Gu, whose presence was so imposing and otherworldly.

Ten minutes later, the young man hurriedly grabbed his briefcase and slunk out of the study, looking thoroughly frightened.

Su Zesui gripped the glass cup tightly and stood up cautiously, feeling as if he could barely breathe.

“Come here,” Gu Yilan said, flipping through the documents in his hand without looking up.

“Mr… Mr. Gu, it’s me.”

The familiar voice of the boy sounded from in front of the desk. Gu Yilan paused mid-motion, lifting his eyelids to look toward him.

Seeing the man unconsciously furrow his brow, Su Zesui quickly set the cup down, took out a bank card, and placed it on the desk. He bowed his head and explained, “Mr. Gu, my big brother passed away. This is the medical card you gave me before… I… I wanted to return it to you.”

His excuse was full of holes. Clearly, if he wanted to return the medical card, the most efficient and effortless way would be to hand it to the butler, not to fly there himself.

His clumsy excuse, without him realizing it, revealed his true desire to see Mr. Gu. He wondered if this thought would be met with disgust.

Su Zesui kept his head bowed, fingers clenched, heart pounding like a drum. Just as he was debating whether to add, “I want to thank you in person,” a strong hand pulled him into a warm, safe embrace.

“Please accept my condolences,” a low, gentle voice sounded above him, identical in tone to the recording he had heard before.

Su Zesui froze, realizing for the first time that the person in front of him—the one who kindly sent him money and comforted him when he was sad—was the real “Mr. Gu,” not some distant, cold benefactor.

“Mr. Gu, why haven’t you replied to my letters?” Su Zesui found his courage growing.

“Sorry, I’ve been a bit busy lately.” Gu Yilan lifted a stack of documents on the desk, showing Su Zesui a pile of letters beneath. “But I’ve kept every letter you sent me. You went through a lot of trouble coming here.”

In just a few words, the ice between them melted. Su Zesui felt that he and Gu Yilan had returned to the intimate relationship they shared in their letters, where nothing was left unsaid. He spoke honestly: “It’s not because of the letters. I missed you so much that I came to see you.”

“Mm. Sorry for making you worry. Sit down and rest for a bit first,” Gu Yilan said. “There was a racing accident recently, and too many people were involved, so I’ve been busy handling it. The person you just saw was an executive from the racing club.”

Su Zesui sat down opposite Gu Yilan.

Earlier, because of the man’s intimidating aura and his striking, aggressive features, he hadn’t dared to look at him directly, afraid of making eye contact. But now, hearing the man’s voice and tone exactly like in the recordings, he mustered up his courage and carefully glanced across the table.

As expected, the man’s dark eyes were bloodshot, the skin beneath them bruised and shadowed—he clearly hadn’t been resting well lately.

“Are you hurt?” Su Zesui asked, worried.

“Just a little,” Gu Yilan brushed it off, quickly changing the subject. “It just so happens that today is Christmas. You’re feeling the jet lag, right? How about I take you out tonight?”

Su Zesui was overwhelmed by the attention. “You… you’re not mad that I came to see you without asking?”

Before him, the boy’s eyes were red and swollen, fingers nervously twisting together. In the last few letters, his words had been stiff and disjointed, and faint tear stains still marked the pages—a sign that he hadn’t yet fully emerged from the shadow of losing his big brother forever.

Gu Yilan’s heart skipped a beat, and with a hoarse voice, he repeated, “My fault.”

At nine o’clock that evening, Su Zesui woke up on the big bed in the guest room, finally feeling clear-headed.

True to his word, Mr. Gu wrapped him in a newly bought down jacket and took him to a bustling square to explore.

Su Zesui was only fifteen and still hadn’t fully grown. Standing next to the man, he was more than a head shorter.

Snowflakes drifted in the distance, the large umbrella overhead tilted toward him, and the man’s tall, upright figure beside him gave him an inexplicable sense of security—though it also felt a little unreal.

Just a day ago, he had been helpless at his desk, listless in class. He never imagined that, in just one day, he would be walking in a snowy foreign land, seeing Mr. Gu in person.

“Did you ask your teacher for leave to come see me this time?” The man’s voice, more vivid than in the recordings, pulled Su Zesui back to reality.

Su Zesui checked his fingers and whispered, “I… forgot.”

To his surprise, Mr. Gu—who had been sponsoring his studies—didn’t scold him for skipping class. Instead, he said, “It’s fine. When we get home, I’ll have the butler inform your teacher. For now, enjoy yourself here for a few days.”

Su Zesui parted his soft lips and, unable to contain his emotions, asked, “I… I can really stay here and play for a few days?”

He didn’t expect to see Mr. Gu for long. For him, even spending a single, fleeting evening with him felt like a dream—enough to be cherished and replayed in his mind for days to come.

“Mm.” Gu Yilan’s voice held a faint trace of amusement.

Su Zesui hesitated. “But… I don’t speak English.”

“There’s a free translator.” Gu Yilan pointed to himself.

Su Zesui’s eyes flickered, and he whispered, “Thank you, Mr. Gu.”

Gu Yilan first explained a few key areas of the square, and seeing the boy nodding vigorously like a little drum, he asked, “What’s wrong? You don’t talk as much as you did in the recordings.”

“Um… recordings can be done over and over, and you can even prepare a script in advance. If you get stuck, you can just hit pause. Letters can be drafted ahead too…”

The man had opened the topic, and Su Zesui, in the realm of recordings and letters that he was far more comfortable with, started babbling excitedly. His pale cheeks moved slightly as he spoke, looking soft and touchable.

Gu Yilan withdrew his gaze and said, “No wonder your letters never have any spelling mistakes.”

“You don’t either,” Su Zesui said, looking up at the tall man beside him. His clear eyes sparkled under the streetlights, like stars in the sky.

Gu Yilan raised an eyebrow. “My handwriting is messy. Even if there are mistakes, they’re hard to notice.”

“Really? Um… ah!” Su Zesui tilted his head, staring intently at Mr. Gu. Distracted for just a moment, his foot slipped on the snow, and he instantly lost his balance, about to fall into a snowdrift.

At the critical moment, a strong hand gripped his arm. With a gentle pull, he was guided to the side, landing safely in a solid, warm embrace.

In that instant, he felt the man’s chest rise and fall sharply against his ear and heard a muffled grunt mixed with a hint of pain.

Panicking, Su Zesui quickly straightened himself. “S-sorry.”

After steadying him, Gu Yilan withdrew his hand and exhaled a cloud of white breath. Calmly, he said, “It’s fine.”

But Su Zesui knew the man was not as unaffected as he appeared.

Just moments ago, pressed close to him, he had clearly heard the trace of pain in Mr. Gu’s voice. It was obvious that he had struck a serious injury.

Given this, it seemed Mr. Gu’s experiences during this time were far from as simple and easy as the man had made them out to be. Not replying to his letters was likely because he genuinely couldn’t.

Su Zesui couldn’t keep it to himself. After walking just a few minutes, he couldn’t help asking again, “Mr. Gu… were your injuries serious?”

Gu Yilan knew he couldn’t hide it. “I was hurt a bit in the crash, but it’s fine now.”

Su Zesui pressed further, anxious. “Just a bit?”

Gu Yilan was silent for a long moment before correcting himself. “Some injuries. I stayed in the hospital for a while.”

Su Zesui was stunned. That was even worse than he had imagined.

After a moment, he said, “I used to spend a lot of time in the hospital with my big brother and know how to help the nurses. I can stay and take care of you.”

Gu Yilan let out a silent chuckle. “Not going to school anymore?”

Su Zesui froze at the question, then pouted his pale cheeks and rested his chin on his hands, thinking.

Before he could come up with a solution, Gu Yilan spoke again: “I have some wounds on my arm. Could I trouble you to help me apply the medicine later?”

Without a second thought, Su Zesui said, “Okay.”

Though the matter seemed settled, his mind was still swirling with thoughts.

After walking with Mr. Gu to the city’s central square, Su Zesui could no longer hold back. In a soft, obedient voice, he spoke with a hint of rebellion: “Mr. Gu… I don’t really want to go back to school.”

There were no family members near his school, and his grades were only average. No matter how much he thought about it, he could never find a real reason to study.

Gu Yilan raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“I want to stay and be with you. We can do anything.” Su Zesui clenched his fingers and mustered his courage. “Or… could you give me your contact information, so that if anything happens, I can always reach you? I… I’ll come immediately.”

He didn’t want to remain in the dark while Mr. Gu struggled alone.

“Today’s a holiday,” Gu Yilan said after a moment’s thought, pointing toward the center of the square. “There’s a Christmas tree over there.”

Fifteen-year-old Su Zesui had already seen enough of the world’s harshness and was more sensitive than most. He knew that Mr. Gu’s change of subject was a polite refusal.

The light in his eyes dimmed, and he pressed his soft lips together in disappointment. Yet he still followed the man’s finger and looked in the direction he had indicated.

The Christmas tree in the center of the square was tall, decorated with twinkling multicolored lights that illuminated the surrounding night sky, visible from far away.

Its branches were adorned with delicate gold and red ornaments, shiny silver ribbons, and colorful bells and snowflakes, as if carrying all the blessings of Christmas.

“Make a wish?” Gu Yilan asked.

Su Zesui wasn’t sure if making wishes was a Christmas tradition, but his heart felt heavy after just being rejected. His mind went blank, and whatever the man said, his body followed automatically.

He closed his eyes, clasped his hands together, and after a brief thought, he sincerely said, “I hope big brother can come back to be with me.” Of course, in the deepest part of his mind where no one could hear, he secretly made a wish about Mr. Gu, hoping he could see him more often.

Once the boy had finished, Gu Yilan said, “Now Santa Claus is going to make your wish come true.”

At this, Su Zesui lowered his hands and looked up at the man beside him, confusion flickering in his eyes.

Gu Yilan patted his head and, after a few seconds, asked slowly, “Would you mind if it’s another ‘brother’ who comes with you?”

Su Zesui’s mind hadn’t even processed the meaning of the man’s words before his heart began racing wildly.

A certain possibility—one he barely dared to imagine—filled his thoughts completely, making his palms sweat and his body tremble uncontrollably.

“The matters here are basically resolved, and I’m heading back to the country.” Gu Yilan smiled, his voice airy as he looked at him. “My place isn’t far from your school, and I live alone.”

“Do you want to live with me from now on?”

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Author’s Note:

That’s right—this is a “pseudo-age-gap caretaker” story~ It’s an “if” storyline from Chapter 74 flashback (an “if” parallel world where Gu Yilan didn’t die in a fiery car crash).

Today is New Year’s Eve, and Juzi brings a new side story to wish everyone a Happy Lunar New Year! Wishing you good health, happiness, and great fortune in the year ahead!

Considering the experiences of the two characters in this universe, Su Zesui doesn’t have severe social anxiety, and Mr. Gu isn’t pushed to self-harm. The basic setup is roughly as follows:

Su Zesui: Currently 15, sensitive but cute.

Mr. Gu: Currently 20, strong desire for control but restrained.

Background: Normal urban setting, heterosexual-marriage-possible universe.

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Rewards (Part 2)

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It was past midnight, and Su Zesui’s voice had already gone hoarse.

At first, he had been lying face-down on the bed, but at some point, he’d shifted to his side. Now, he was sprawled flat, his dark hair in disarray, one slender pale leg hooked over the man’s shoulder, his calf trembling uncontrollably.

The overhead light was bright. Su Zesui’s cheeks burned as he faced Gu Yilan. Even while shaking his head in helpless refusal, shyness overtook him, and he covered his eyes with one hand.

Yet during the brief pauses, through the cracks between his fingers, he could clearly see beads of sweat rolling down the man’s sharply defined muscles, sliding one by one until they dropped onto the raised skin of his own pale stomach.

Gu Yilan liked to hold his hand, guiding him to explore places he didn’t dare to touch.

Before long, the hand Su Zesui had used to hide his shame was once again caught and pressed slowly down against his abdomen.

And so, Gu Yilan’s strikingly handsome face came into full view.

Through his tear-blurred vision, everything looked hazy and glaringly bright. But the man’s features were too strong, too vivid—deep eyes, high nose bridge, lips pressed firm, a jawline sharp and smooth. Even blurred, a single glance was enough to leave anyone stunned by his looks.

“Between me and the guy in that video, who’s better?” Gu Yilan raised a brow as he asked, his breath tinged with alcohol fanning hot against Su Zesui’s neck, making it tingle.

Su Zesui’s fingertips curled in retreat, shying away from the sudden, intrusive touch. He didn’t want to answer such an embarrassing question. “Mm…”

But in the end, he was forced to give a direct reply. Gu Yilan was even displeased with having to share the title of “Brother” with someone else, insisting that Su Zesui call him by name instead.

In Su Zesui’s completely overwhelmed, short-circuited state, let alone saying the man’s name—even if Gu Yilan had told him to call him “dad,” he might have blurted it out without hesitation. Luckily, Gu Yilan wasn’t quite that wicked.

By the time even the moon had gone to sleep, the man finally carried his utterly drained lover into the bathroom, lowering him into a bathtub filled with steaming water.

Half-closing his weary eyes, Su Zesui leaned his forehead against Gu Yilan’s shoulder, letting the man wash away the marks on his body, his mouth weakly humming and murmuring.

“Are you satisfied with the reward?” Gu Yilan asked with a smile in his voice. “I even doubled it for free—you’re welcome.”

At that, Su Zesui stopped humming. Instead, he let out an indignant little whimper, trying to voice his dissatisfaction. After all, no matter how many times he said “no” earlier, the man had heartlessly ignored him.

Gu Yilan tilted his head, glancing at the boy pouting uselessly against his shoulder. As soon as he curled the fingers that had been helping to wash him, Su Zesui immediately fell silent, his body going taut with nerves, too afraid to move at all.

Gu Yilan couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

He knew Su Zesui was exhausted, so he didn’t tease him any further. After quickly finishing the wash, he wrapped him snugly in a large towel and carried him back to the master bedroom’s big bed.

“B–Brother…” From the bed, Su Zesui used the last of his strength to lift an arm, stopping the man who was about to head to the bathroom for a shower.

“What is it?” Gu Yilan walked back to the bedside, lowering his gaze to the worn-out boy sprawled across the sheets.

“Th… thank you,” Su Zesui murmured softly, then pursed his lips.

He knew that tonight, Gu Yilan had compromised for his sake in many ways—taking care of his fragile body and giving him as much comfort as possible. Aside from not really listening when he said “stop,” everything else had been good.

Gu Yilan smiled, leaned down, and brushed a gentle kiss across those pouting, soft lips. “Get some rest. Your little orange cat butler has already been taken care of.”

Su Zesui gave a faint nod, too weak to say more.

Before entering the bathroom, Gu Yilan noticed his eyes slowly drifting shut. But when he came out from his shower, he found the boy propped up against the headboard, fighting sleep—his small head bobbing like a drowsy fish.

Catching sight of him out of the corner of his eye, Su Zesui stirred awake a little and softly called out, “Brother…”

Gu Yilan hadn’t expected the boy to be this exhausted and still wait for him to come to bed together. Something tender in his heart was quietly plucked. With a soft “mm,” he walked over to the bedside and brushed aside the dark hair falling over Su Zesui’s forehead.

Then he heard the boy whisper weakly, “Brother… I haven’t done my competition homework.”

The words were slurred and unclear, leaving Gu Yilan momentarily stunned, his hand pausing in mid-motion.

“Tomorrow’s Monday. It has to be handed in… it’s in my bag…” Su Zesui’s eyelids kept fluttering shut, and after forcing out that sentence, he tilted his head to the side and fell asleep, like some NPC who had just completed his quest.

Gu Yilan: “…”

Su Zesui had originally thought the wedding ceremony would end quickly, and that he’d be able to make up his homework before bed. But instead, by the time he finally got to rest, it was already past two in the morning. He was so drained he couldn’t even hold a pen.

So, in the dead of night, Gu Yilan—who hadn’t touched competition homework in years—sat at the desk under the dim glow of the lamp, wielding the boy’s ridiculously cute little white-rabbit pen, letting the strokes flow smoothly across the page.

The boy in bed didn’t sleep peacefully either—he muttered endlessly in his dreams, mumbling things like “no more,” “mm…,” and “brother,” stirring a restless heat in Gu Yilan’s chest, his temples throbbing with each beat.

The competition problems were all easy for Gu Yilan. Without so much as a glance to the side, his hand flew faster and faster, finishing the practice exam at his top speed. Tossing the pen aside, he climbed into bed and wrapped the uneasy boy in his arms.

The next day, as expected, something unexpected happened.

Inside the teachers’ office at City A First High School, the gold-medal coach of the Hongzhi team was holding Su Zesui’s homework. Every answer was correct, the process was overly concise, and the handwriting messy. He looked troubled, and tried persuading the boy standing before him:

“The semifinal results are out. You have a real chance at winning gold in the finals. But you must, must take your studies more seriously…”

Su Zesui lowered his head, fidgeting with his fingers, guilt-ridden and shy. After being lectured for quite a while, all he could manage was a blush and a stifled, “Mm.”

Seeing his attitude as somewhat perfunctory, the coach sighed helplessly. “Call your parent over. I’ll speak with them.”

Su Zesui stiffened. He didn’t dare call his big brother, and he certainly didn’t dare trouble his busy parents. So in the end, he sent Mr. Gu a WeChat message.

Ever since the accident during his registration last time, every time Su Zesui came to City A First High School afterwards, the man would always wait in his car at the school gate until he came out.

So, just five minutes later, Gu Yilan was seated in the coach’s office, staring at the all-too-familiar practice exam the man was tapping with his finger. The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

Of course, the coach recognized this renowned alumnus of City A First High School—the one who had scored full marks at the International Physics Olympiad. After a few polite greetings, he got straight to the point:

“Su Zesui is a very bright student. But you know as well as I do, no matter how talented, without hard work it won’t amount to much.”

Gu Yilan stayed silent for a few seconds before finally responding with a quiet “Mm.”

But the coach didn’t notice anything unusual about his reaction. In fact, he even spread the practice exam out for him to see. “Look here—the answers are mostly correct. But the steps? Practically none. And the handwriting—so messy it’s barely legible. This isn’t about ability. This is attitude. Or rather, laziness. It really shouldn’t be like this…”

Gu Yilan: “…”

Su Zesui had always been an obedient student growing up and had rarely ever gotten into enough trouble for a teacher to summon his parents. At first, he felt rather embarrassed about it, but when he saw Mr. Gu’s helpless expression and the coach scolding him indirectly without even realizing it, he couldn’t help but find it a little funny.

He knew that Mr. Gu had won his own gold medal through self-study, and probably hadn’t been on the receiving end of a teacher’s lecture in his whole life…

Faced with the coach’s criticisms, Gu Yilan could only helplessly say, “Understood. I’ll keep an eye on him from now on.”

Yet the coach repeatedly flipped through the practice sheets, still shaking his head regretfully, as if he hadn’t said enough.

“Come, sit down.” Gu Yilan placed a soft cushion on the chair beside him, motioning for Su Zesui—who was standing off to the side—to sit.

Because of what happened the night before, the boy’s legs were visibly trembling, while the coach kept talking on and on with no end in sight.

“Thank you, Brother.” Su Zesui’s legs felt weak, and he could hardly stand. Without thinking too much, he obediently took a seat when the man told him to.

“Uh… this…” The coach looked up, clearly caught off guard.

Usually, when parents were summoned to the office, they arrived anxious and deferential, while the students stood there ashamed and guilty. He had never seen such a brazenly casual parent—or such an unruffled student.

Glancing at the confused coach and at Su Zesui, who had happily settled in as though ready to watch the show, Gu Yilan couldn’t help but find the whole thing amusing. Pointing at the cushion with his chin, he explained, “He was careless with his homework last night, so I disciplined him.”

Gu Yilan’s voice carried a naturally cold edge, and with his frosty expression, he could easily intimidate others. No matter how far-fetched his words were, people tended to believe them.

Sure enough, the coach froze for a few seconds, then broke into a sweat. Instead of scolding the boy, he turned to persuade Gu Yilan instead: “Well, students being a little lazy is normal. At times like this, as parents, we should first understand them, and then encourage them…”

Su Zesui flushed from his neck all the way up to the tips of his ears. He hung his head low and, out of the coach’s sight, poked the man’s thigh with his finger in mild annoyance—only to have the other grab his fingertip in the shadows.

The coach went on and on at Gu Yilan for another half hour before finally turning to Su Zesui. “Su Zesui, you really are very talented. Look at you… this is your brother, right? And your brother cares about you so much—shouldn’t that make you study even harder?”

Su Zesui withdrew his hand from the man’s grasp and murmured, “Mm.”

“Why weren’t you serious with your studies last night and made your brother worry?” The coach flipped through the practice sheets again and asked formally, giving the boy a chance to explain.

Su Zesui wasn’t good at lying. After a few seconds, he admitted truthfully, “Yesterday… I got married to my brother. Very busy.”

The coach’s hand froze mid-flip, and question marks practically sprouted above his head. Immersed in academics and oblivious to the world, he had of course missed the trending wedding post from last night. Hearing Gu Yilan say he had ‘disciplined the kid,’ he genuinely assumed the two were distant relatives with different surnames.

“This… this…” The coach pinched the practice sheets, glanced at the innocent-looking boy before him, then looked at Gu Yilan, expressionless and silently confirming the boy’s words, and felt as if a firework had exploded inside his head.

The three completely unrelated things—getting married to his brother, being disciplined by his brother, and not doing his homework seriously—had all happened in just one day yesterday. It was hard not to conjure some rather… questionable images in one’s mind.

He had thought Su Zesui was very well-behaved, and Gu Yilan very gentlemanly. But in reality… behind closed doors, they played so wildly?

Before long, the coach, sweat beading on his forehead, finally let them go. He handed Su Zesui a new set of practice sheets and told him to rewrite the previous ones, to be submitted together next Monday, after which he would explain them.

Once they were outside the school gate, Gu Yilan scooped up the weak-legged boy in his arms and asked, “Are you okay?”

“No,” Su Zesui said, gripping both sets of practice sheets, frowning as he scolded the man. “You were so fierce last night… it hurt me.”

Last night’s events played vividly in his mind. The boy clutched Gu Yilan’s back, kicking his legs helplessly, choking on sobs right next to his ear. He looked inexplicably pitiful, as if his body had already reached its limit yet was still forced to endure.

Gu Yilan frowned and quickened his pace toward the parking lot. “I’ll take you to the hospital for a check-up.”

Su Zesui stiffened instantly.

…A check-up? Doesn’t that mean the doctor would have to take off his pants and poke around with his fingers? They say loving someone brings possessiveness—how could Mr. Gu bear to let anyone see him there?!

Su Zesui’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and he buried his face in the man’s chest, feeling aggrieved. After a moment, he muttered, “…You don’t love me anymore.”

Gu Yilan: …

Gu Yilan: “No.”

Gu Yilan calmly replied, “I do.”

“You used to say you’d lock me in a room so I’d never go out again,” Su Zesui recited the man’s “crimes,” “but now… you’re so cruel.”

After saying this, he let out two symbolic little whimpers.

Gu Yilan: …

In the end, Gu Yilan gave in. He didn’t let the doctor check the boy’s injuries; instead, he took Su Zesui to the hospital just to get some medicine, and then bought him an ice cream on the street.

That evening, after being called in to meet with his “parents,” Su Zesui dared not procrastinate on his homework before the deadline. Holding two sets of physics competition practice sheets and with Juzi causing distractions, he buried his head in his work early and diligently.

He wasn’t as skilled at solving problems as Gu Yilan, and he was afraid that skipping steps would get him scolded by the coach again. So he worked slowly, writing each step as thoroughly as possible.

By eleven o’clock at night, he finally finished both sets of practice sheets. He stretched, ready to rest, only to be scooped up by the man bending down.

“Today, you bravely submitted your homework on your own, picked up your medicine at the hospital, and even went out to buy ice cream,” Gu Yilan said, placing him on the bed. He tossed the underage kitten out of the master bedroom and raised an eyebrow. “Time for a reward again.”

Su Zesui’s mind, still soaked in competition problems, processed this a little slowly. A few seconds later, he understood what the man meant.

His body shivered. Clutching the hem of his shirt, he stammered shyly, “N-no, I don’t want it!”

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Author’s Note:

‘No’ is impossible. Someone has been holding it in all night. 🐶🐶

Babies, next up is the if-line extra! It imagines a parallel world where Gu Yilan didn’t perish in the fire. It’s a love story between Su Zesui and Mr. Gu, mainly featuring Su Zesui being nurtured and an older, slightly out-of-control Gu Yilan—with a happy ending~

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Rewards (Part 1)

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The gap between the CPhO preliminary and semifinal rounds was very short. Just a week after finishing the preliminary, it was already time to sit for the semifinals. During that week, Su Zesui spent nearly all his time in intensive review.

Fortunately, the final round was scheduled much later, giving physics contestants about a month and a half to rest and recover.

Because of Su Zesui’s outstanding performance in the preliminary, even before the semifinal results were released, the physics competition group at City A First High School pulled him into the prestigious Hongzhi team.

This team gathered the city’s top gold-medal physics coaches, who provided students with carefully compiled study materials and prediction sets for practice.

But since Su Zesui’s social anxiety hadn’t completely healed—and he already had a far gentler, better-voiced, one-on-one “coach” at home—he wasn’t too eager to attend classes at school.

The school compromised, requiring only that he come in every Monday to collect the practice sets, turn in the previous week’s work, and have a brief exchange with the coaches.

With that, his days finally settled into a steady rhythm. All he had to do was finish his assignments, go shopping with Mr. Gu, and spend time at home petting the kitten—exactly the kind of life someone with social anxiety could dream of.

Su Zesui’s very first kitten, Juzi¹, was something he got for “free.”

On the afternoon after the preliminary exam, while on the way to the pet shop with Mr. Gu, they spotted a tiny stray kitten in the corner of a greenbelt.

The kitten was orange, its fluffy fur glowing in the sunlight like a warm cloud of tangerine. With its round amber eyes blinking and its tiny ears perked up, it played among the fallen leaves.

The moment Su Zesui squatted down, the kitten scampered toward him, twitching its pink nose as it sniffed at his shoes, as though curiously exploring the world.

Not very skilled at handling cats, Su Zesui carefully reached out with both hands to lift it up. The kitten instantly went limp in his palms, staying perfectly still.

And just like that, Su Zesui had his very first kitten. He named it Juzi, then went with Mr. Gu to the pet shop to buy a mountain of cat supplies before heading home, thoroughly satisfied.

Juzi quickly became attached to him.

When he did homework, Juzi sprawled across his competition books; when he streamed, Juzi shoved its little nose against the phone mic in front of the camera; and even when he went to the bathroom, Juzi would scratch tirelessly at the door, desperate to go in and keep him company.

Outside the door, the little kitten kept pawing with its tiny claws. Su Zesui couldn’t bear it, so he gently opened a crack in the door, intending to let the kitten in—only to see, through the gap, the man holding the kitten up by the scruff of its neck with one hand, scolding it: “This isn’t something you should be watching.”

Su Zesui immediately shut the bathroom door with a sharp click. His cheeks flushed red, and he pressed his soft lips together, pretending he hadn’t heard a thing.

It wasn’t until five minutes later that he carefully opened the door again. But as soon as he looked up, Gu Yilan’s tall, lean figure filled his view. On the floor, Juzi—the furious, puffed-up little orange kitten—was hopping around, launching a ridiculous 360-degree, zero-damage assault on Gu Yilan’s slippers. The sight was as comical as it was pitiful.

Su Zesui couldn’t help but laugh, though the thought of what had just happened still left the tips of his ears burning. He bent down, scooped up the ball of fur, and stroked its head soothingly. “W-What are you waiting for me for?” he asked.

“To guard the door for you,” Gu Yilan replied. “And, by the way, there’s something I want to discuss with you.”

Su Zesui’s thoughts started spinning.

His life had been calm and happy, filled with small daily joys. He couldn’t imagine what serious matter suddenly needed to be discussed.

Was it about the renovation of their new home? The upcoming desensitization plan? Or… was Mr. Gu finally planning to fulfill his promised reward?

Su Zesui’s eyes sparkled as he asked eagerly, “What is it?”

Gu Yilan raised an eyebrow and said, “Before, we only got the marriage certificate and held a simple wedding banquet. We still haven’t had a proper wedding ceremony. Do you want to have one?”

Su Zesui thought for a moment, then asked seriously, “After the wedding… do we go into the bridal chamber?”

“Mm,” Gu Yilan replied. “The cat can’t watch, but the husband can.”

His expression was perfectly serious, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. As he spoke, his gaze casually swept over the little kitten in Su Zesui’s arms, as if discussing some serious academic topic.

The unusual choice of words made vivid images pop uncontrollably in Su Zesui’s mind.

He parted his soft lips, frozen in place, and the tips of his ears, which had just cooled down, flared red again.

It wasn’t until Juzi mewed in protest in his arms that he snapped out of it, smoothing the kitten’s fur back and forth as he replied absentmindedly, “O-okay.”

Gu Yilan’s lips curved slightly. “September 22 is the autumn equinox, an auspicious day suitable for everything. Let’s set the wedding for that day. Does that sound good to you?”

“September 22…” Su Zesui murmured, “That’s this Sunday?”

Gu Yilan nodded. “Five days from now.”

“Five days… just five days…” Su Zesui muttered under his breath.

He had never attended a wedding before and didn’t know what to expect. Panic and uncertainty crept in, and his kitten-petting became messy—after a few strokes, Juzi looked like a dazed little golden lion.

Suddenly, he seemed to remember something and asked, “Then… does that mean… Brother will be drinking?”

He still remembered that Mr. Gu never touched alcohol, and that the fancy red wine at home was purely for display. Even at the wedding banquet, they had used tea instead of wine…

“You can drink,” Gu Yilan said calmly. “It won’t make it go soft.”

Su Zesui, still processing, froze in confusion. Before his brain could catch up, the man scooped him up horizontally, holding both him and the kitten.

“Everything’s arranged. No need to worry. Just go and have fun when the time comes,” Gu Yilan said, sitting the boy on the bed. “For now, let me check how well your body has recovered. Are you ready for your reward?”

“How do we check… mmph.” Su Zesui didn’t even finish speaking before the man pressed his lips against his, cutting him off.

Gu Yilan’s thin lips met his lower lip, and his tongue boldly entered Su Zesui’s mouth, slowly tracing over his sensitive, wet flesh again and again, making his body shiver uncontrollably.

Whenever he couldn’t bear it and pushed against Gu Yilan’s chest, trying to catch his breath, Gu Yilan would quickly cup the back of his head, forcing him to accept the heated, aggressive kiss. Su Zesui could already imagine what it would feel like to receive his “reward” that night.

The man had been working out for years; his lung capacity was impressive. Even a long, deep kiss like this never left him gasping.

Fortunately, in recent days, Su Zesui had been exercising with Gu Yilan too, strengthening his body, which had become frail from a high fever.

Once he got used to the man’s rhythm, he let out a soft breath and tentatively flicked his own tongue against Gu Yilan’s, intertwining slowly and exchanging warmth and saliva.

Gradually, his pupils clouded over, and he lost himself in the moment.

But Juzi had no idea of his owner’s pleasure. Feeling neglected and seeing his little master restrained by the “bad man,” the kitten flew into a rage, leaping and bouncing across the soft bed, launching a fierce but futile attack on Gu Yilan’s back.

. . . . .

Wedding Day – September 22

Although they were already living together and didn’t need the traditional bridal procession, the sheer number of wedding preparations had them both up at five in the morning.

The makeup artist was already waiting in the living room downstairs, setting out cosmetics and ironing the suits.

After Su Zesui finished the noodles prepared by the butler—symbolizing longevity and togetherness—he was led to the makeup chair. Nodding off slightly, he let the artist pat, brush, and paint his fair skin.

Even little Juzi, still a kitten, was dressed in a tiny, fitted suit by the makeup assistant, who had thought of everything. Today, the kitten would be cared for by the nanny and attend the entire ceremony alongside his little master.

By seven in the morning, Su Zesui and Gu Yilan, both dressed in sharp suits, headed to the wedding venue to do a final check of the decorations and take some wedding photos.

The theme of their wedding was “Starry Sky.”

The wedding stage was a massive “Galaxy Gate,” decorated in deep blues, purples, and silvers, adorned with countless twinkling LED lights to mimic a dazzling night sky.

Above the stage hung a softly glowing “full moon,” surrounded by delicate star-shaped chandeliers, as if a sky full of stars was circling overhead.

In addition, the main stage corridor had been transformed into a “starry tunnel,” with glowing nebula-shaped decorations and streaks of light like falling stars projected along both sides—symbolizing “crossing time and space to reunite with your love.”

As soon as Su Zesui stepped through the main gate, he was so delighted that he could barely close his soft lips. He grabbed Gu Yilan, eager to take photos at every beautiful spot. Along the way, they changed into several different suits, creating multiple exquisite photo sets.

By one in the afternoon, after grabbing a quick bite, it was time to start the wedding rehearsal.

Stepping into the dreamy “starry tunnel,” Su Zesui felt his heart tremble. Memories of past hardships and pain surfaced—what a long and difficult journey it had been. Yet, fortunately, the ending was beautiful.

His eyes grew a little misty, and he gently poked Gu Yilan’s hand, whispering, “Brother… I really like you. What should I do?”

“I like you too,” Gu Yilan replied with a soft laugh, leaning down to kiss the boy’s forehead. “Don’t cry. The future is long… very long. And we’ll get to spend it together.”

After two rounds of rehearsal, both sets of parents and the wedding party—best men and bridesmaids—arrived at the venue first.

Su Zesui’s parents had long since let go of their previous prejudices against Gu Yilan. Attending the wedding this time, they both wore warm, affectionate smiles.

Father Su patted their shoulders and offered a few words of advice, telling them to take care of each other. Mother Su looked at her youngest son, whose face had grown even rosier, and with a heart full of joy, couldn’t help slipping him a bank card with a nine-figure balance.

Even Su Mingyu couldn’t help but shake his head in amazement at the scene of the wedding. Time had flown—just over two months ago, these two lovebirds had never met, and now… they were inseparable.

As for Gu Yilan’s parents, though they had once been displeased with their son’s “rebellion,” time had softened their hearts. Seeing that Gu Yilan was successfully managing the family business, they gradually came to accept matters regarding the next generation and attended the wedding.

Gu Yilan, however, merely nodded politely to them before turning to speak with Grandpa Gu, maintaining a courteous but distant demeanor—the familiar formality of acquaintances rather than family intimacy.

Today, Gong Chuang also arrived as the sole member of the best men’s group and immediately struck up a friendly conversation with the three young “bridesmaids.”

The three boys—Feng Chengwen, Tong Jing, and Yuan Mingcheng—never imagined that, still in the second year of high school, they would have the chance to attend a close friend’s wedding as “bridesmaids.”

Though initially a bit excited and shy due to their age, they quickly relaxed under the warm, chatty presence of Brother Gong Chuang, soon chattering happily among themselves.

By six in the evening, guests from all sides were arriving steadily.

Backstage, Gu Yilan, relying on his excellent memory, hummed through several versions of the wedding marches that would be played during the ceremony. Su Zesui, who had previously been severely shy in large crowds, was soothed by him until his eyes curved with joy, wanting kisses and cuddles.

At six thirty, the ceremony began with a video on the big screen.

The video showcased little moments from the couple’s life together over the past months. Many of the photos were ones Su Zesui didn’t even know Gu Yilan had secretly taken. While delighted, he was also deeply moved and instinctively held onto Gu Yilan’s hand.

Then the lights dimmed. Sophisticated starry projections cast constellations and shooting stars across the stage. Dressed in their stunning custom suits, the couple formally stepped onto the stage, exchanged vows and rings, and shared a brief, tender kiss.

The applause from the audience was enthusiastic and sustained.

Meanwhile, the nanny, holding little Juzi—dressed in a tiny suit and trying to dash toward his little master—fed him a can of cat food, finally calming him down.

Following Su Zesui’s earlier request, the butler livestreamed the entire ceremony on the boy’s social media account. The combination of this near-luxurious wedding and the striking appearance of the newlyweds sent the live viewer count soaring past 200,000.

By seven thirty, the ceremony concluded. The couple changed into simpler suits and began going table to table to toast the guests.

Su Zesui stuck to juice mixed with a little alcohol, while Gu Yilan, for the first time ever, picked up a glass of red wine, leaving the guests from the Gu family completely stunned. Several tables froze for a few seconds before hastily standing to toast.

By nine in the evening, the wedding concluded, everyone was in high spirits, and guests began to leave.

When the couple finally tidied up and returned home, it was already past ten o’clock at night.

After running from five in the morning straight through to ten at night, Su Zesui collapsed onto the soft, expansive bed in the master bedroom, too exhausted to even open his eyes, while little Juzi pawed at his fingers beside him.

It wasn’t until Gu Yilan leaned down to kiss him that he felt a flicker of energy, clumsily and passively responding, tasting the hint of wine on the man’s lips.

“It’s time to claim your reward,” the man said.

At those words, Su Zesui’s heart skipped a beat, and his eyes cleared slightly.

The reward he had been longing for so long was finally about to arrive. Excitement and anticipation surged through him, his heartbeat drumming wildly. Yet, exhausted as he was, he worried he might not do well enough for his very first time.

The clash of emotions filled his mind, reaching its peak just as Gu Yilan stood, scooped up the few-month-old kitten, and went to the bedside table to retrieve a small box.

Su Zesui felt a bit breathless. He nervously wrung his fingers, wanting to back away but not wanting to leave. He hesitated, conflicted, and stammered, “How about… how about… tomorrow night…?”

“It might be too late to say anything now,” Gu Yilan said, leaning down, taking the boy’s fingers, and guiding them down to explore, little by little.

But after only a few seconds of touch, Su Zesui recoiled as if shocked, the tips of his fingers burning, his entire body heating up. The area where their skin made direct contact had gone numb.

Mr. Gu hadn’t lied—he really had been drinking, and Su Zesui knew he couldn’t be an irresponsible “bride.”

Blushing and flustered, Su Zesui turned over, burying his heated face into the pillow, and muffled out, trying to sound composed, “O-okay… tonight.”

---

1. 橘子(Júzǐ) or Tangerines. ↩︎

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Author’s Note: Case solved. Because Su Zesui often told Juzi stories about him and Gu Yilan, one day Juzi opened the Jinjiang app and wrote a book. That’s the very book you’re reading now (bushi 🐶🐶

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Finale

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The morning of September 8th was bright and sunny.

The preliminary round of the CPhO was scheduled to begin at 8:30 AM at City No. 1 High School, with an exam duration of three hours.

Since the first documentary had received such a great response online, the host school quickly arranged a second filming session, hoping to seize the moment and further boost the reputation of their physics competition team.

Carrying his exam pouch, Su Zesui waved goodbye to Gu Yilan, gave a shy smile toward the cameraman, and then walked into the school gates.

He wasn’t nervous about today’s exam. First, he had regained the memories of his past life as a gold medalist. Second, Gu Yilan had gone over all the key points with him again the night before.

The evening prior, though Gu Yilan had called him to dinner, Su Zesui couldn’t bear to cut off the livestream when viewers were reluctant to say goodbye. So, he simply took his phone with him and brought hundreds of thousands of live viewers downstairs to join him for dinner.

The dining table on the first floor was filled with his favorite dishes, and Gu Yilan even helped put food into his bowl while he was busy glancing at the comments—a warm, domestic scene. The chat instantly exploded with demands to see Gu Yilan.

After his own and others’ reputations online reversed at an astonishing speed, Gu Yilan went from being seen as the villain to a behind-the-scenes big shot who punishes evil and upholds justice. Coupled with his exceptionally impressive life experiences and outward qualities, this sparked endless speculation among netizens.

Su Zesui curved his eyes into a smile, turning the camera toward Gu Yilan’s bowl.
“Brother, say hi to everyone.”

To everyone’s surprise, the man who always looked frosty in interviews didn’t refuse outright. Instead, with a trace of helpless laughter in his low voice, he said: “Hello, everyone. Like this?”

The indulgence in his tone was unmistakable, and the livestream chat absolutely lost their minds.

[We thought you two were just in a loveless business arrangement… turns out it’s pure romance?!]

Hearing this, Su Zesui couldn’t help laughing, leaning closer to look at the comments flooding in—sure enough, the screen was once again full of requests for Gu Yilan to appear on camera.

But to him, that brief greeting was just a small bit of fun. He didn’t want to drag Gu Yilan into the center of public opinion, so he quickly changed the topic.

After dinner, viewers began worrying about the CPhO preliminary the next day.

Of course, there were still people questioning whether his performance in the school-level contest was just dumb luck. But even the doubts were phrased far more gently than before—followed by strings of emojis, as if the commenters were afraid of hurting his feelings.

Su Zesui had planned to review a bit that evening, but when he saw those comments, he decided to solve practice problems live on stream instead.

Just as he was setting up his desk, though, Gu Yilan came over with a packet of neatly organized “last-minute review notes” and said that, with his guidance, the material would work even better.

So, on camera, the viewers saw a packet of exclusive notes compiled by former physics gold medalist Gu Yilan resting quietly on the desk. Off camera, too lazy to fetch another chair, Gu Yilan simply pulled Su Zesui into his lap.

The livestream audience couldn’t see their movements, but they could hear the faint rustle of clothes and noticed Su Zesui’s hands framed between Gu Yilan’s arms. Instantly, they realized something was off.

To make matters worse, Gu Yilan chuckled softly and said, as if on purpose: “Come on, let brother teach you.”

With the serious study materials on-screen and the comment section spiraling with wild imagination, Su Zesui shifted awkwardly in the man’s lap, blushing from his neck to the tips of his ears. That night’s “review session” became unforgettable for him.

. . . . .

“The exam is about to begin. Candidates, please remain quiet. Place all unrelated items, such as phones and bags, outside the exam hall or in the designated area to avoid interference.”

“Ding-ling-ling—Invigilators, please distribute the exam papers and answer sheets.”

When Su Zesui saw the big problems printed on the crisp white pages of the CPhO preliminary, his eyes lit up despite having been confident all along.

The moment the bell signaled the start, his pen flew across the page.

These problems all fell within the scope of the key points Gu Yilan had marked for him last night. With a glance, the solution popped into his mind like an open, unobstructed highway.

Because the problems didn’t strain him much, he felt perfectly relaxed. As he worked through them, images of Gu Yilan explaining similar questions the previous night surfaced in his mind.

Sometimes, the man would guide his hand to circle overlooked information. Sometimes, while waiting for him to think, he would absentmindedly pinch his cheek…

Though the exam was scheduled for three hours, Su Zesui finished in just over one hour.

He wasn’t the type to hand in early, though. After checking his answers several times, he rested his chin in his hand and began thinking about his afternoon plans.

Yesterday’s all-day livestream had disrupted his and Gu Yilan’s original plan to go out shopping, but they could easily pick it back up this afternoon!

“Although this morning no little kitten accompanied him to the exam, this afternoon he would go home with Mr. Gu to pick up the little kitten and bring it home.

This morning, he hadn’t been accompanied to the exam room by

Last night, he had looked up pictures of different cats online—every single one was adorable, and he liked them all.

So instead, he focused on shopping for supplies: a cat bed, cat food, a scratching post, a litter box… maybe even some cute little outfits for the kitten.

Once they picked it up, he’d let Gu Yilan hold the cat, while he himself carried two ice creams—different flavors, both for him, eaten at once.

He’d heard that the shop had new flavors. He wanted to try them so badly…

Licking his lips, he daydreamed as time quietly slipped away. Finally, the bell rang to signal the end of the exam.

When the invigilators finished collecting the papers and announced dismissal, Su Zesui grabbed his bag and dashed straight out of the classroom toward the school gates.

Along the way, many people recognized him and quietly spoke words of encouragement and praise, wishing him peace and happiness in the future. Su Zesui politely whispered a “thank you” to each of them.

He ran to the front gate, and at first glance, he saw a man who stood out among the crowd.

Gu Yilan, just like he had that morning when Su Zesui first entered the exam hall, was leaning against the car door, lips curved in a smile, and silently opened his arms toward him.

Su Zesui’s eyes curved with happiness. He opened his arms and stepped into the man’s embrace.

By the time the preliminary were over, it was already 11:30 AM, and Su Zesui’s stomach was growling from hunger. They drove back to the villa, planning to have lunch together, freshen up a bit, and then go out shopping.

Excited, Su Zesui ate while scrolling through his phone, not worrying at all that someone might grab his food without him noticing.

On WeChat, many people congratulated him on finishing the preliminary. There was his big brother and parents, Brother Gong Chuang and Brother Ji Yuxing from A University, the butler who arranged the dishes at the table, the maid who delivered fruits daily, and his friends.

In the group chat, Feng Chengwen and others flooded the chat with emojis, drums, and firecrackers—celebrating and congratulating him exuberantly.

After the emoji parade, Feng Chengwen gleefully told him that the official notice of Zhou Qizhao’s expulsion from school had been released, and everyone in the school’s group chat was talking about it.

Zhou Qizhao seemed to have lost his mind over the matter. Some passersby had photographed him looking disheveled, wreaking havoc on the streets like a madman, until annoyed onlookers called the police and he was taken away.

Yuan Mingcheng sent a long string of “hahaha,” along with screenshots of apologies—texts, images, and videos—from people who had previously cyberbullied Su Zesui. The messages were dense, sincere, and seemingly endless.

Tong Jing, the ‘hype man’ of the group, finished commenting one by one and added that they loved Su Zesui’s game room, promising to visit it over the weekend.

Su Zesui couldn’t help but smile. He typed quickly on his phone, but before he could notice, Gu Yilan had shoved a piece of rib into his mouth.

After sending his messages, he set down his phone, picked up his chopsticks, and was about to feed Gu Yilan in return.

After a lively and cheerful lunch, it was time to head out.

Su Zesui carried his favorite blue bag and wore a baseball cap. Unlike before, when hats were used to hide from strangers, this one mainly shielded him from the harsh summer sun.

Looking at the man ready to go, Su Zesui “complained” playfully: “When we got married, you promised you’d lock me in the room forever, so I wouldn’t have any contact with the outside world. Why break that promise now?”

Gu Yilan, holding the sports car keys, smiled and raised an eyebrow. “You need exposure to get used to the outside world. Only then can your body recover and be ready for my reward. To fulfill the more important reward I promised, I had to let go of the other promise. And this time, don’t hide behind me again.”

“I-I won’t. I even learned a few simple greetings now,” Su Zesui puffed his pale cheeks and said, “But you—you can’t shipping about us when others talk to me.”

Gu Yilan didn’t expect Gong Chuang to tell everything, and he found it a mix of helpless and funny. “Alright. I guess it’s my turn to get desensitized too.”

Following Gu Yilan to the villa’s entrance, Su Zesui instinctively stopped, imagining the old routine of standing there while the man drove up from the underground parking lot.

But this time, Gu Yilan also stopped, turned back, and reached out his hand. Smiling, he said, “Come on, let’s go together.”

Su Zesui paused for a moment, then placed his hand into the man’s warm palm, nodded, and said firmly, “Together.”

In that brief pause, memories of his time in the psychiatric ward surfaced.

During those dark days, he had met many kind people who wanted to pull him out of the mire without expecting anything in return. They genuinely wanted to be his friends.

Those people were all wonderful—he just hadn’t been good enough.

Everyone has their own path in life, but back then, he was trapped in memories, stuck in one place. Gradually, all those delicate connections had broken, leaving no intersection in their lives.

But now, feeling Gu Yilan’s burning warmth, walking confidently together, their futures seemed intertwined, inseparable by anyone or anything.

They had each walked alone for far too long, finally finding each other.

Both brave, both strong, both ready to step into each other’s future.

---

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Eating melons (2/2)

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Elsewhere in a cafe, Su Mingyu was busy soothing his distraught parents while calling his assistant: “Go to my house. Get Suisui’s middle school hospitalization records—and his diagnosis of severe depression. Post them from the company’s official account to prove he’s telling the truth.”

While he scrambled to comfort his parents and direct his assistant, Gu Yilan looked strangely calm, almost leisurely. He even had the mood to ask, “Did you bring the wooden box?”

Su Mingyu grabbed the small box from the floor and dropped it on the table with a sharp thud, then went back to his phone call.

Gu Yilan slowly picked up the box, unlocked its rusty latch with the code Su Zesui had given him, and opened it.

Inside lay a diary with a blue cover, as if gifted across time itself—

[My mood is steadier today. The nurse gave me a little notebook. I’ve decided to use it to record the people and things I can’t forget. 🙂]

From the phone nearby, a young, clear voice echoed the words in the diary: “Why was I able to endure with such determination? Because there are people and things I love. And that’s why we have to keep living.”

Just as Su Zesui had said, the diary recorded not only treatment notes and memories from the past, but also the letters Gu Yilan had once written to him, transcribed in full.

Some pages were slightly wrinkled, stained with tear marks that seemed to cut across parallel worlds—proof of the boy’s suffering during that time.

But on the very last page, there was only a silly drawing of a smiling sun, with three words beside it: The dawn’s here.

In the livestream, not once did the boy bring up Zhou Qizhao’s name again.

Instead of hating or condemning the one who twisted the truth, he shared his story of walking out of darkness, comforting other victims of bullying, and explaining the harm of campus bullying along with ways to prevent it.

His Suisui had grown into a sky of his own—someone who could bring light to others.

. . . . .

Su Zesui also saw the Su Group’s official account release his medical records.

But since regaining his memories, those diagnosis papers were already etched into his mind, so when netizens began fervently discussing them, he didn’t bother leading everyone to check that trending topic again.

Soon, however, new hashtags began appearing one after another—

#A City Quantum Mechanics Lab Members Speak Up for Su Zesui#
#A City No.1 High School, Class 2-4 Students Say: Su Zesui May Be Moody, But He’s Not a Bad Person#
#Renowned Psychologist Gui Yuping Confirms He’s Su Zesui’s Current Counselor#
#Even the Gu Family’s Butler and Maids Create Social Accounts to Voice Support for Su Zesui#

Su Zesui’s finger paused mid-swipe on the tablet. His nose prickled, and a warm current flowed through his chest, like sunlight pouring over him—gentle, bright, and full of strength.

Earlier, he hadn’t even clicked into the trending topic with the medical proof, even though it was the strongest weapon for guiding public opinion.

But when it came to these heartfelt statements of unconditional support, he read every word carefully, and responded with genuine gratitude to each one.

Among them, of course, were Mr. Gu, his big brother, and also Feng Chengwen, Tong Jing, and Yuan Mingcheng, who had already been protecting him all along.

The boy was sincere and open-hearted. When faced with vicious comments, he would fidget with his fingers in discomfort. But when he saw words of encouragement, his eyes shimmered with tears, his voice choking with emotion.

That raw, genuine presence—combined with his habit of reading out everything he saw, whether good or bad—drew in a flood of onlookers.

The scandal had already flipped multiple times, involving countless people and an overwhelming amount of information. Many onlookers couldn’t piece things together, their understanding scattered and contradictory.

But now, in Su Zesui’s livestream, he actively guided everyone through the newest trending topics, while the comments filled in gaps. The information imbalance was gradually erased, and the situation began moving forward rapidly.

Even so, because there were too many questions in the comments and Su Zesui spoke slowly, the livestream stretched on for seven or eight hours. In all that time, he didn’t eat a single thing.

Neither did anyone at the cafe. None of them had the appetite, and they pushed through until six in the evening.

Finally, the PR team reported excitedly to Gu Yilan: “Mr. Gu, the trending topics are all positive now. The situation has completely reversed!”

At that, everyone at the table let out a long sigh of relief. Some cheered and pumped their fists; others, overcome with emotion, cried tears of joy for the hard-earned victory.

Gu Yilan, who had silently orchestrated everything from start to finish, allowed a rare smile to touch his lips. He looked toward the lawyer. “Have all the blockchain records been secured?”

The lawyer, practically shaking with excitement, replied quickly: “Yes, secured—every single one. Not a trace can escape.”

“Good.” Gu Yilan closed the diary in his hand and stood. “Send the lawyer’s letters. They get two choices: those who are truly remorseful can post a public apology of no fewer than a thousand words, and we’ll let bygones be bygones. The ones who refuse—we’ll sue them into bankruptcy if that’s what it takes. Time and cost aren’t an issue.”

The final meeting adjourned, and everyone felt as if they’d just emerged from a brutal battle.

As Gu Yilan walked toward the exit, he stopped in front of Zhou Qizhao, who was huddled at the doorway. For once, he crouched down to meet the boy’s eyes—the very instigator of all this.

His brows arched, but his dark eyes carried not the faintest smile. The oppressive, suffocating aura around him was like that of an asura returning from the depths of hell, sending chills through the room.

Zhou Qizhao’s jaw began trembling uncontrollably.

He had his phone with him—he knew the online tide had turned completely. His account with hundreds of thousands of followers had already been banned. Now, he was nothing more than a rat crossing the street, condemned by all.

Zhou Qizhao incited public opinion and bullied his classmates, yet he was more thin-skinned than anyone.

Reading the insults about him online, his face flushed red with shame and anger, his hands clenched into fists, his whole body wound tight like a bowstring ready to snap—yet with nowhere to release his fury.

Now seeing Gu Yilan, he was so overwhelmed by a sense of failure that he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t help but roar, “You’re so powerful, if you have the guts, kill me right here in this society governed by law!”

Gu Yilan looked at Zhou Qizhao, whose face still bore the mark of a slap, and replied coolly, “Sometimes, dying is far easier than living.”

Zhou Qizhao’s body shuddered, but he still forced himself to sneer: “What do you mean?!! What are you trying to do?”

“Nothing much,” Gu Yilan said. “I was just thinking—perhaps your parents haven’t had time to tell you why they’ve been swallowing their pride so much lately.”

Zhou Qizhao froze. “Why?”

“Because there was a problem with your company’s finances, and I found it,” Gu Yilan explained “kindly.” “All of your relatives are in high-level positions at the company, right? Good. They’ll all be going to jail one by one soon. But you’re a minor, so you can escape.”

Zhou Qizhao’s expression went stiff instantly, like he’d been struck square in the chest. His pupils shrank sharply, filled with disbelief and shock.

He had grown too accustomed to the life of a pampered young master. He couldn’t even imagine what his life would look like if his family went bankrupt—how miserable it would be.

“Just take on their debts and live out there, working hard to pay it back,” Gu Yilan continued. “Anyway, you can’t study right now either.”

Zhou Qizhao stammered, stunned: “…Y-you’re making this up.”

“I just spoke to the principal of No.1 High School. You’ve been expelled for bullying your classmates,” Gu Yilan said flatly. “Not that it matters—you can’t stay in A City anymore, so whether you’re still enrolled or not makes no difference.”

Zhou Qizhao’s face went deathly pale. His lips trembled, but no words came.

He knew exactly what Gu Yilan meant. He had become a public enemy—walking down the streets of A City would get him pelted with rotten eggs. Wherever he tried to find work, no one would take him.

Work? Just a week ago, he had still been the pampered young master of the Zhou family, wanting for nothing… Now, this humiliation was worse than death.

Rage, shame, pain, and despair tangled into a knot inside him, and Zhou Qizhao collapsed onto the ground, his whole body wracked with uncontrollable shudders.

Gu Yilan glanced at the trash at his feet, then indifferently withdrew his gaze and walked toward the door.

What goes around comes around.

. . . . .

In the master bedroom, Su Zesui had long forgotten hunger and time. His throat was dry, but he still kept reading the comments streaming past in the livestream.

At some point, the tone of the chat had shifted—it became warmer, kinder, filled with concern and support, wrapping him in a fresh wave of comfort.

Many asked him about the details of his bullying experience.

Normally, Su Zesui’s PTSD made him avoid such topics completely. But now, for the sake of awareness and education, he no longer resisted, patiently recounting the events to his viewers again and again.

The audience responded with genuine care, promising to stand firmly against school bullying in the future…

When Su Zesui had started streaming in the morning, the sunlight had been bright, spilling into the master bedroom like gold. So he hadn’t turned on any lights.

But now, as the hours passed, dusk had settled in. Even the afterglow of sunset had faded, leaving the room darker and darker.

Immersed in the glowing words on the screen, Su Zesui hadn’t even noticed.

Lit only by the white glow of his phone and tablet, he kept tirelessly reading, forgetting entirely about the light switch.

Until the bedroom door slowly opened. Bright light from the hallway spilled through the crack like a sudden dawn, as if someone had torn open the darkness.

Startled, Su Zesui finally lifted his gaze from the comments and turned—

Gu Yilan stood framed in that glow, holding the familiar blue diary in his hand. With a faint smile at the corner of his lips, he said, “Suisui, it’s all over now. Let’s have dinner together.”

After pausing briefly for a few seconds, Su Zesui curved his eyes and smiled as well: “Coming.”

---

---

Eating melons (1/2)

---

“You said you took his phone away! How did he get it?” Su Mingyu exclaimed. “Browsing the internet is one thing, but livestreaming?!!”

Gu Yilan furrowed his brows, his dark eyes deep in thought.

Lately, Su Zesui’s behavior had been unusual—on the surface, more positive and cheerful than before; but in reality, abnormal.

His emotions were changing too fast, his relaxation too extreme.

Facing unpredictable online abuse, such behavior suggested the boy had already made a firm, secret decision. He was just waiting for the right moment.

With that, his emotions would naturally remain steady.

“Where’s the platform manager? Log into the admin account and shut down Su Zesui’s livestream,” Su Mingyu said, regaining composure. “Gu Yilan, go home and check on Suisui—don’t let him do anything foolish.”

Though Su Mingyu organized everything methodically, the man beside him remained still.

A few seconds later, Gu Yilan said, “No need.”

Su Mingyu immediately erupted. “No need?! The doctor said he’s at a crucial stage of recovery! Tomorrow morning, he has the CPhO preliminary. And you’re just going to let him face online abuse alone?!”

It was understandable he was emotional—the CPhO is a once-a-year exam, like an exam you can’t retake. Fail the preliminary, and his physics competition path is ruined, leaving only the college entrance route.

And this was a critical psychological stage for Su Zesui. One wrong move could shadow his entire life in cyberbullying trauma.

Gu Yilan lowered his gaze to the screen full of vicious comments. His fingers clenched unconsciously, knuckles whitening, yet his voice remained calm and low. “It’s a half-hour drive. By the time we get back, it’ll be too late.”

Su Mingyu couldn’t believe it. “Too late? And you’re just giving up?!”

Gu Yilan exhaled softly. “I think it’s fine. I trust him.”

Su Zesui had suffered too much before, which is why Gu Yilan always wanted to protect and compensate him, to ensure nothing could ever hurt him again.

But he had never forgotten—the seemingly soft and obedient boy had once miraculously saved himself in a hospital at the brink of despair, possessing extraordinary willpower. He should never be underestimated.

Gu Yilan’s resolute expression didn’t look the least bit fake, leaving Su Mingyu stunned for a moment before blurting out in confusion, “…What are you talking about?”

Gu Yilan repeated without hesitation, “I said I trust him—he can handle this on his own.”

Su Mingyu frowned. “Even if you want to show your trust, isn’t this the worst possible time?”

“He’s already made his decision. All we can do is support him.” Gu Yilan gestured with his chin toward the livestream on his phone screen and then told the private investigator, “Set up an account and get ready to release the video evidence.”

The investigator nodded and immediately began working on his phone.

They had long since prepared surveillance evidence of Zhou Qizhao bullying multiple classmates, but because of laws protecting minors’ images, they hadn’t been able to make it public. However, just last night, Zhou Qizhao himself had lost control and posted the uncensored video of Su Zesui hitting him—effectively breaking the taboo first.

Once the most urgent PR steps were in place, Gu Yilan’s cold gaze shifted to the three members of the Zhou family sitting at the table. His voice was as icy as if dipped in frost: “We don’t need your help. You can leave.”

Hearing this, Zhou’s parents panicked and tried to plead with him, but when that failed, they attempted to force Zhou Qizhao—their only so-called lifeline—to stay, hoping to somehow turn things around.

But Zhou Qizhao, the prodigal son, showed no awareness of the situation. Even now, he had no remorse at all, spewing vulgar curses in defiance.

Enraged, Father Zhou slapped him hard in front of everyone, then whispered a few furious words to him before he and Mother Zhou left the scene with forced smiles.

Clutching his swollen cheek, Zhou Qizhao thought of his father’s harsh threats. Breathing heavily with resentment, he still didn’t dare leave, glaring instead with frustration at the powerful group seated at the table.

But none of the “villains” so much as spared him a glance—because Su Zesui had begun reading the livestream comments.

Perhaps because he was too naive to filter what to read, or perhaps simply because most of the comments floating by were negative, every line Su Zesui read out loud was cruel and vicious.

The boy’s eyes drooped with sadness, yet he still read them carefully: “Why do you bully others just because you have backing… do you think you’re that great?”

He usually struggled even with normal conversations, let alone answering such spiteful questions. After holding it in for a long while, his eyes shimmering with tears, he whispered, “…N-No, that’s not true.”

Gu Yilan shut his eyes, temples throbbing. His thin lips parted as he instructed the platform manager, “Arrange moderators. Delete any comments with provocative wording.”

The manager quickly agreed, then asked, “Should we also delete the skeptical comments that could harm public opinion?”

Ever since Zhou Qizhao had posted that surveillance footage last night, Su Zesui’s livestream had been flooded with insults and doubts.

Gu Yilan pressed his lips together, his voice hoarse. “Leave the doubts.”

Watching his younger brother suffer such humiliation, Su Mingyu covered his face, speechless. He could no longer bring himself to oppose Gu Yilan’s decision.

But in truth, Su Zesui wasn’t as crushed as they all imagined.

In the master bedroom, he was seated properly at his desk for once, instead of lounging on the soft bed as he usually did.

The morning sunlight streamed through the window lattice, spreading a warm glow across the floor and over the boy’s figure, lending him strength.

Gu Yilan had indeed hidden the boy’s phone in a very secret spot in the master bedroom—so well hidden that even the servants, after a thorough cleaning, might not have found it.

But he had forgotten one thing: he had once shown Su Zesui where he kept his folding knives tucked away in hidden corners of the bedroom, unintentionally revealing his favorite hiding spots.

And since he never guarded against the obedient boy, Su Zesui had searched each of those places one by one, quickly finding his powered-off phone.

He had decided to do this back on the day at the flower shop, when he first saw the online comments.

Mr. Gu had told him that the internet has no memory—that with time, no one would remember the cruel words once thrown at him. And he himself had always claimed not to care about rumors.

But Su Zesui remembered. And he cared deeply.

He remembered the slander and false accusations against Mr. Gu.

He remembered how Mr. Gu’s company was dragged into the mess, leaving him endlessly overworked.

He remembered Mr. Gu’s bloodshot eyes, surviving each attack only by clinging to him, again and again, with desperate kisses.

Mr. Gu had held up an umbrella for him through the storm; his big brother, in the prime of his career, still rushed around and flew from place to place for his sake; Feng Chengwen, Tong Jing, and Yuan Mingcheng all went against the tide of online opinion to release videos supporting him.

So many people were protecting him selflessly, hoping he could pass through this brutal wave of cyberbullying without having to face the wind and rain.

But he didn’t want to always hide behind everyone else, a cowardly turtle shrinking into its shell while others bore the pain that should have been his to face.

He, too, had people he cared about.

He, too, wanted to stand up and protect the ones he loved.

With a firm resolve and a heart full of love, he was no longer afraid of the malice outside, but brave enough to face it all.

He didn’t know how long it would take before Mr. Gu and his big brother discovered that he had gotten hold of his phone and cut off the livestream. So he clung to every second, reading the comments scrolling across the screen, trying to respond and clarify as much as he could.

The comments were cruel, vulgar, filled with the harshest curses people could spit out. But if he could answer, he would still try.

Gradually, as the minutes ticked by, Su Zesui realized the tone of the livestream had shifted.

The vicious comments had nearly disappeared. Instead, many people were discussing the newly released “surveillance footage compilation.”

So he turned on his phone’s hotspot, connected the tablet to the internet, and tried to watch the videos everyone was talking about live with the viewers.

His phone was on Do Not Disturb, but the moment the Wi-Fi connected, a five-minute-old unread WeChat message popped up—

[11th Dimension: Suisui, you can do it.]

He hadn’t cried when reading the curses. He hadn’t cried when people using IDs that once supported him now turned against him. But when he saw these four simple characters and two punctuation marks, his eyes stung red.

He sniffled, and only after the message faded away on its own did he open the social media app, follow the trending searches, and click into the newest piece of surveillance evidence. Then he flipped his phone camera, setting the tablet within view so he and the livestream audience could watch together.

The video had been carefully edited, compiling nearly every incident over the past year where Zhou Qizhao had verbally or physically bullied classmates—faces all thoughtfully blurred out.

Who had prepared it so long in advance was obvious.

The clips showed Zhou Qizhao standing on a chair, mocking a classmate. Him cornering another student at the bathroom entrance with his gang. Even shots of him laying hands on someone.

It left no doubt about Zhou Qizhao’s long history of campus bullying.

“Were you ever bullied by Zhou Qizhao too…?” Su Zesui read a scrolling comment aloud, hesitating. “I…”

After a long pause, he turned the camera back toward himself. With lowered eyes, he slowly rolled up his short sleeve, revealing a cruel scar.

He had always thought it ugly and never shown it to anyone. On his very first blind date with Mr. Gu, he had even worn slightly longer sleeves to cover it.

But now, in front of hundreds of thousands watching live, he exposed it himself, speaking of the trauma he once carried like PTSD:

“Back then, someone tricked me into the gym where there were no cameras. They pinned me down… and poured boiling water onto my arm. In that moment, the whole world felt black. But somehow, I held on. I kept going. And that’s how I was able to meet so many people who love me…”

“…Resist campus bullying.”

He read the flood of comments filling the screen, then said thoughtfully, “If you’re being bullied, you have to stay strong and seek outside help. And if you’re a bystander, even an anonymous report or telling a teacher is an act of kindness.”

“Does anyone actually believe him? He’s obviously making this up for sympathy.”

In the camera, Su Zesui rubbed the scar hard until the skin turned red. Looking straight at the lens, he said firmly, “It’s real. Not makeup.”

To open your heart in front of someone who slanders you takes immense courage—because one misstep might send you plunging into an even darker abyss. But by some miracle, the innately kind and pure Su Zesui was born with that kind of courage.

---

---

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!!”

---

---

Reversal (1/2)

---

Before entering the design firm, Su Zesui had noticed the flower shop next door.

Perhaps because as a child, his big brother often brought flowers home, he had a natural fondness for them.

Flowers in bloom were a celebration of life, a display of vitality and resilience. He hoped this freedom and brilliance could give Mr. Gu some strength as well.

The shop was run by an elderly woman with kind eyes. Despite being in the middle of a busy street, she calmly trimmed her flowers—a woman who seemed both well-off and passionate about life.

As soon as he entered, the woman occasionally glanced at him, making socially anxious Su Zesui nervous. He quickly picked a few tulips and moved toward the counter to pay.

At that moment, the woman finally spoke, smiling kindly. “Young man, I have a good eye for people. I think you’re a very good child.”

Su Zesui was a little confused and didn’t fully understand her meaning, but politely said, “Thank you.”

“Don’t let the voices online affect you. There are many people quietly supporting you who can’t speak up.” The woman gently pushed away his card. “Consider these flowers a gift from me.”

“Th-Thank you.” Su Zesui was far from naive. Memories from two lifetimes gave him a wealth of experience, and he instantly grasped the key meaning behind her words.

He fidgeted with his clothes, standing in place. Just as the woman returned to her small stool to trim flowers, he finally mustered the courage to ask, “W-What happened online?”

Thinking of Gu Yilan’s recent state, he hurriedly added, fearing rejection: “I don’t have a phone… c-can I borrow yours to see?”

The woman hesitated, initially about to refuse.

But the boy, holding a few flowers and lowering his head, occasionally muttering a pleading word, looked as if he might cry at any moment. It stirred sympathy.

The woman sighed and handed him her phone. “If your family doesn’t want you to see it, there must be a reason.”

But Su Zesui couldn’t hear her words.

It was as if he had finally glimpsed a shadow of the truth through a thick fog. He struggled to chase after it, desperate to see the reality someone had hidden behind their back. In his panic, nothing else mattered.

He fumbled to open the social media platform. Without searching, the negative trending topics were already prominently displayed.

Tapping into them, he found mockery and derision of his past live streams, interspersed with vicious personal attacks. Some came from IDs he recognized—people who had once praised him lavishly during live sessions.

And now, as if they were different people, they cursed him, slandered Mr. Gu, called him a scourge, threatened to block the entrance to his company, and said they would team up to ruin him financially and drive his company into bankruptcy…

——Mr. Gu had been so good. This was clearly his own fault—why, why was Gu Yilan being dragged into it?

Su Zesui felt struck by lightning. His legs gave way, and he sank to the ground, trembling uncontrollably, nauseous, yet his fingers continued scrolling through the hateful comments.

Gu Yilan had shielded him from such storms, giving him a sense of peace. Until he voluntarily peeked out from beneath that protective umbrella, he hadn’t realized how ferocious the outside storm could be.

Before he could scroll any further, the phone was abruptly snatched away.

A pair of strong arms lifted him into a warm embrace, conveying heat and safety.

Only then did Su Zesui notice the elderly woman approaching, worry etched across her face, speaking words of concern he didn’t hear fully. Behind her, Gu Yilan was holding him, somehow having arrived at the same spot.

His back was gently stroked, the fallen tulips were picked up, and Gu Yilan’s familiar voice sounded in his ear: “It’s okay. Don’t be afraid.”

“Brother, they—they’re all insulting you…” Su Zesui clutched him tightly as they walked out, voice trembling and breaking, “They’re wrong. They’re all talking nonsense.”

“I know.” Gu Yilan nodded to the elderly woman and carried him toward the car. “Forget them. Let’s go home, okay?”

But the hateful words had been too vicious. Su Zesui, caught in the whirlwind of online abuse, continued to speak, voice choked with tears: “Why did they say that? None of it is true! Why say those things? They used to… they used to like us.”

Gu Yilan didn’t know how to comfort him.

Faced with real malice, words felt utterly powerless.

Seeing the boy in such a fragile state, he didn’t trust leaving him in the passenger seat alone. He decided to send their location to the driver.

“Let’s go home, sleep, and forget all of this, okay?” Gu Yilan felt the dampness on his clothes, paused, and continued, “We’ll delete the account. We’ll never use that platform again.”

Su Zesui hiccupped through his tears, sniffing and sobbing, “I… I want to… explain to them.”

“No need,” Gu Yilan replied without hesitation. “Sometimes avoiding something isn’t cowardice—it’s a way to handle emotional stress. What you need to do now is just… forget it.”

“But… but… they’re insulting you,” Su Zesui protested.

“I don’t care,” Gu Yilan said calmly.

Su Zesui sniffled again. “B-but… they’re saying really nasty things.”

“The internet is like that,” Gu Yilan explained. “It amplifies the worst in people. But after a while, the insults die down. No matter how harsh they are now, no one will remember them later.”

Su Zesui didn’t speak anymore. He was silent, though the wet patches spreading across the chest of his shirt told Gu Yilan everything—he was crying even harder.

“There’s no memory on the internet. It’s really okay,” Gu Yilan said, feeling powerless to comfort him with words. Instead, he patted the boy’s back firmly, over and over, trying to convey some sense of security through touch.

They waited outside the flower shop for about half an hour. Once Su Zesui was safely seated in the car’s backseat, Gu Yilan’s phone rang again.

It was Su Mingyu.

Su Zesui felt the vibration too, and he knew Gu Yilan hesitated to answer because he didn’t want anything else to disturb the boy’s mood.

“I-I won’t listen,” the boy said softly, pressing a hand to his ear. “Brother, you take it.”

His voice trembled with a soft sob, revealing the helplessness and fragility he could not hide. Yet the words he spoke were considerate and heart-tugging.

Gu Yilan ruffled his hair and picked up the call.

“Hey, you free? It’s urgent. Get your team together for a meeting,” Su Mingyu’s anxious voice came through the receiver.

Glancing at the shivering boy in his arms, Gu Yilan swallowed, then spoke plainly: “Suisui knows.”

“What?! How did you let him know? You’re with him, right? How’s he doing?” Su Mingyu’s voice shot up several octaves.

“He’s not doing well. I’m taking him home to rest,” Gu Yilan said.

“Ugh… why now, of all times?” Su Mingyu muttered. “Listen, Suisui’s old friends from high school spoke up. They revealed how Zhou Qizhao bullied him back then. Damn it, Suisui never told me. I always thought he was doing fine at school… no wonder he didn’t want to go anymore…”

“Uh, anyway, things online have taken a turn. Some people think even a cornered rabbit will bite, while Zhou Qizhao’s die-hard fans claim no one should hit him. Both sides are clashing, and we need to seize this chance to turn the situation around.”

While listening to Su Mingyu’s summary, Gu Yilan checked the latest developments online.

Sure enough, three teenagers, around seventeen or eighteen, had independently recorded and uploaded videos without any request from Su Zesui.

The videos, lasting over ten minutes, detail how, before they started hanging out with Su Zesui, Zhou Qizhao verbally bullied Su Zesui, encouraged classmates to isolate him, and even teamed up with his clique to play pranks on him.

Whenever Su Zesui tried to resist, the bullies would mock him, “Can’t handle it?”—then heap more shame on him.

The three faces were familiar—it was the same group of rich kids who had come to their house to play games with Su Zesui that day: Feng Chengwen, Tong Jing, and Yuan Mingcheng.

Additionally, a few other classmates who had also suffered under Zhou Qizhao’s bullying stepped forward from silence to speak up, calling him out and defending Su Zesui.

Faced with these accusations, Zhou Qizhao, used to being admired, cracked under the pressure.

Having endured cyberbullying, he was visibly gaunt in the livestream, his face looking increasingly haggard. He even publicly lost his temper, lashing out and cursing at the netizens who insulted him, which caused more fans to turn against him and ultimately backfired, worsening the negative attention.

On his live stream, visibly weakened by the online backlash, his complexion turned sallow and he looked increasingly unhealthy. He even lost control and lashed out at his viewers who insulted him, which only drew more former fans to turn against him, causing the heat of public attention to backfire.

The online debate over this was in full swing—

[Isn’t Zhou Qizhao the one pretending to be innocent? People have dug up his past—he used to start his account by flaunting his wealth. How can so many people still blindly support him? (images)(images)]

[How much did the person above pay per comment? First, they deleted negative comments, now they’re using the “victim is to blame” tactic? Zhou Qizhao’s injury is real, but who knows if those speaking up for Su Zesui were paid by Gu Yilan.]

[I hate school bullying the most. Enough is enough. No more tolerance. Supporting Su Zesui this time.]

[Even if the verbal manipulation (PUA) is true, it still doesn’t justify hitting someone. One is a moral issue, the other crosses the legal line.]

. . . . .

Gu Yilan hung up Su Mingyu’s call, reported and deleted some of the worst comments, and only then held the phone up in front of the boy’s reddened eyes.

Su Zesui had been covering his ears the whole time. When he finally saw the screen, he slowly lowered his arms and looked at the man behind him, puzzled.

“There are a lot of people silently supporting you,” Gu Yilan said. “Your old friends also want to stand up for you. Don’t overthink it. I’ll take care of everything. All you need to do is rest and prepare for the preliminaries, okay?”

Su Zesui saw Feng Chengwen on the screen, along with the netizens defending him. His tear-swollen eyes widened slightly, a mix of disbelief and worry.

——Would they get scolded for speaking up for him too?

Seeing the boy staring blankly, his pupils gradually unfocused, Gu Yilan put the phone away and asked, “Feeling dizzy?”

Su Zesui nodded.

His head felt heavy and foggy, as if filled with paste, and his vision was blurring with black spots. His stomach was also churning, and he felt the urge to retch.

This was a lingering effect from previous psychiatric treatment—whenever his emotions hit extreme lows, his body manifested physical symptoms.

“Rest for a bit,” Gu Yilan said, placing a hand over his eyes to shield him from the harsh light. “Once we get home, I’ll carry you downstairs.”

Su Zesui didn’t even have the strength to nod. His head tilted, and he nestled into the man’s embrace, falling asleep.

Even in sleep, he seemed uneasy. He murmured incoherent words, his body twitched occasionally, and a cold sweat formed on his forehead, as if trapped in one nightmare after another.

Gu Yilan’s eyes were tinged with red. One hand patted the boy’s back gently, while the other kept typing urgent instructions to Su Mingyu.

Once home, his phone, which had only just been quiet, began buzzing with missed calls again.

He comforted the boy until his trembling body gradually calmed, then picked up his silenced phone to continue handling the online harassment.

---

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Kiss (2/2)

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When he returned home, Su Zesui was still awake, lying on the bed with a competition book, waiting for him.

The boy’s pale, slender legs swung back and forth, a quiet hum escaping his lips—a cheerful tune, judging by the lightness in his mood.

As soon as Gu Yilan opened the door, Su Zesui ran up and hugged him. “Brother, you’re home!”

Gu Yilan lifted the boy, who was barefoot on the floor, and gently placed him back on the bed.

“Mm,” he acknowledged.

“Brother… what happened to your hand?”

Su Zesui loved physical contact—its warmth and reality gave him a strong sense of security. Ever since being with Gu Yilan, one of his favorite pastimes was exploring the lines and calluses on his hands.

Now, after just a couple of touches, he felt the crescent-shaped scratches on Gu Yilan’s palm.

The sensation was abrupt, with clear traces of blood. It was obvious that a great deal of force had been used at the time, as if trying to endure or suppress something.

Gu Yilan’s fingertips paused for a moment, a fleeting emotion crossing his eyes, but he didn’t withdraw his hand from the boy’s careful inspection.

He hadn’t expected to slip up at such a vulnerable moment. Pressing his lips together, he simply said, “There’s been a little problem at the company. So I’ve been busy lately.”

He had promised never to lie to Su Zesui—and technically, he hadn’t. He simply avoided the heavier truth and offered a partial explanation.

Su Zesui didn’t doubt him at all. Cradling his hand, he blew gently on it, then looked up, his eyes bright with concern. “Is it serious?”

The concern and tenderness in the boy’s gaze instantly dissolved Gu Yilan’s fatigue and irritation. He smiled faintly. “It’s manageable.”

Su Zesui sat up, puffing out his cheeks, and began firmly counting off his rules: “Then… you can’t hurt yourself with tools, can’t pinch yourself, and can’t bite yourself. But you can kiss me.”

Gu Yilan couldn’t help smiling. He leaned down and lightly pressed his lips to the boy’s. “Okay.”

Psychological illnesses are like physical ones—they require professional treatment or medication and cannot easily be fought off by sheer willpower.

After a tense flare-up in the cafe that evening, Gu Yilan inevitably succumbed later that night.

In the darkness, an unnamed fire burned in his mind, clouding his reason, a veil of blood-red mist coating his vision.

Suddenly, violent thoughts surged, his body tensing uncontrollably, veins bulging in his arms—he wanted to deal with everyone who had wronged him.

Yet unusually, despite the intensity and suddenness of this episode, he felt only the discomfort of being restrained; he had no urge to harm himself.

It seemed that over the past few days, his brain had finally learned a way to endure these episodes without self-destruction.

“Kiss me,” he murmured to the boy sleeping soundly in his arms, his voice dry and husky.

“Mm.”

Though soft, Gu Yilan’s voice carried through the darkness. Half-awake, Su Zesui blinked a few times before understanding, then eagerly wrapped his arms around Gu Yilan’s neck, pecking repeatedly on his lips. “Kiss kiss kiss.”

Gu Yilan lifted his hand to press on the back of the boy’s head, kissing his light and soft lips. Without a moment’s hesitation, he extended his tongue, prying open the still-naive lips and teeth, sweeping wantonly through the moist, soft mouth, and exchanging breaths and saliva with him.

This left Su Zesui’s tongue with nowhere to go, so he could only groggily follow the man’s rhythm, moving his own tongue and becoming entangled with his.

. . . . .

Through the boy’s earnest kiss, Gu Yilan passed the episode without injury or pain.

But life didn’t allow him sick leave. The next morning, he had to return to dealing with the fallout from the online harassment.

Though Zhou Qizhao was a minor internet celebrity, his malicious influence had amplified through thousands of naive, blind followers, eventually focusing on the person he targeted.

This was the power—and the terror—of the internet.

Over time, as the platform gained control over the public narrative, the scandal’s heat gradually subsided.

But Zhou Qizhao refused to give up. He went live, connecting with viewers and planted “actors,” releasing even more shocking rumors about Su Zesui’s private life and Gu Yilan’s complex family background.

Each explosive livestream, each trending topic, reignited the scandal.

Where Zhou Qizhao fled by plane remained unknown. His incompetent parents had failed to bring him back, forced to watch helplessly as the situation escalated, turning their family into a laughingstock in the industry.

Gu Group, too, inevitably suffered.

Even with top-tier PR skills, the company couldn’t override Gu Yilan’s decision to protect Su Zesui. He firmly rejected any suggestion that the boy appear publicly to clarify the situation, even insisting on suppressing all mentions of Su Zesui online. PR efforts were restricted, and the stock price dipped slightly.

Gu Yilan didn’t care much about the company’s losses—he had other priorities.

The cost: in just a few days, his phone was bombarded with calls from shareholders, his parents, even his grandfather.

Everyone tried to reason with him, urging him to hand Su Zesui over, or at least have the boy release a short video explaining the situation. But Gu Yilan’s resilience was unshakable; nothing could move him.

Days of high-pressure work left him visibly tired, which even Su Zesui noticed, frequently asking about the company.

Gu Yilan would only smile silently, stroking the boy’s head, and say, “It’ll be over soon.”

Su Zesui’s phone had been turned off and hidden somewhere in the room, leaving him only able to watch downloaded online lessons on the tablet. The Wi-Fi throughout the large villa had also been shut off, turning it into a kind of modern-day retreat—completely cut off from the internet.

But the boy was obedient. When told he couldn’t go online, he didn’t try to find his phone or complain about being bored. Instead, he would turn to comfort Gu Yilan, wanting to kiss him or help massage his shoulders.

Multiple forces were pulling at them, and events kept unfolding.

Once the online storm had passed and public attention had completely cooled, they could take the rumor-mongers to court, and the matter would be fully resolved.

In theory, it was only a matter of time.

Yet even someone like Gu Yilan, who was used to meticulously planning and controlling everything, couldn’t help but overlook certain details amid so many complex affairs.

That night, while taking a cold shower, the phone on his nightstand suddenly buzzed, catching the boy’s attention as he watched his lessons.

The private investigator had an urgent update and had called Gu Yilan several times. Thinking the earlier calls had gone unheard, they kept trying.

When Gu Yilan stepped out of the bathroom, he saw Su Zesui lying on the bed, eyes fixed on the vibrating phone.

The boy seemed to be wondering who the contact labeled “Private” might be—whether he should bring the phone to the bathroom or answer it to let the other party know he was busy.

Seeing Gu Yilan appear, Su Zesui stopped thinking and hurriedly handed him the phone.

No sooner had the phone reached Gu Yilan than a message from the investigator popped up on the lock screen: the surveillance evidence involved the privacy of a minor and likely could not be disclosed online.

For a moment, Gu Yilan’s breath caught.

Along with the sudden fear came guilt.

Guilt at getting priorities backward—being so caught up in handling everything, running from one task to another, that he had overlooked the boy right in front of him, who knew nothing but still cared about him. Su Zesui’s preliminary competition was just a few days away; he was the one who needed care the most.

Gu Yilan set aside his tasks for the moment, silenced the phone, and the next day took Su Zesui out to relax and see their new home.

Their new home was still an empty shell.

Gu Yilan brought Su Zesui to a professional interior design firm, Imperial Haven. The firm was top-tier, equipped with all the latest tools, allowing designers to simulate any style the clients wanted using 3D technology.

With enough budget, anything—from the exotic to the extravagant—was possible.

Su Zesui’s eyes curved with delight as he tapped through the design options on the tablet, his lips never once closing as he watched the 3D renderings change before him.

Until now, the idea of a “new home” had been just a vague concept for them, something they could mention but couldn’t imagine clearly. Now, seeing a house transform in real time according to his choices, the “new home” felt tangible, real, and within reach.

“Moving is a fresh start,” Gu Yilan said with a small smile. “If we time it right, we can move in after your finals are over.”

Su Zesui clapped happily. “Great!”

Gu Yilan asked, “Do you want to try other styles? I’m free all day today. Later, we can also go check the actual house.”

“W-Wait. You pick here first. I—I’m going out to buy something,” Su Zesui said, patting the card in his pocket and pointing to the front door.

The mention of a “fresh start” made him think of the tulips a nurse had shown him when he was hospitalized. Their upright stems and delicate petals symbolized resilience, and the flowers’ meaning was “rebirth and love.”

He knew Gu Yilan had been busy and stressed lately, so he wanted to give him tulips—something to lift his spirits and mark a new beginning.

“I’ll go with you,” Gu Yilan said without hesitation.

But Su Zesui, wanting it to be a surprise, quickly stopped him. “N-No, it’s just next door. I’ll go myself. You stay here.”

Seeing the boy insist, Gu Yilan relented. “Alright, I’ll wait here.”

Only after the boy’s bouncing figure disappeared out the door did Gu Yilan return his attention to discussing finer design details with the designer.

Three minutes, five minutes… ten minutes passed, yet the boy still hadn’t returned.

And without a phone, there was no way to contact him.

“Wait a moment.” Gu Yilan frowned at the time on his phone, raised a hand to stop the still-chatty designer, and strode out. “I’ll go find him.”

The design firm was located on a bustling commercial street, surrounded by all kinds of shops.

The boy hadn’t told him exactly what he wanted to buy. Gu Yilan frowned, thinking it might be difficult to find—but then, just next door at a flower shop, he saw Su Zesui.

Amid clusters of fragrant flowers, the boy was half-squatting on the ground, his body stiff in a self-protective posture, trembling slightly as though he had seen something unbelievable. The lighthearted joy he had shown just moments ago had completely vanished.

His gaze was fixed on the phone he was holding, trembling in his hands.

Looking closely, he saw that the comment section of his social media account had already been completely overrun; at a glance, it was still full of vicious words, endless and never-ending.

---

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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.

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