Zhou Zhuoyuan didn’t know if he was asleep or awake. His chest ached fiercely, like needles stabbing into it, his breathing erratic and beyond his control. He remained trapped in a constant state of suffocation.
This had to be some form of torture, meant to punish him—Zhou Zhuoyuan—for the lives he had taken time and again.
He began to hate again, hating those inflicting this torment on him. He had already repented, sworn off harming anyone ever again, yet here they were, still putting him through this agony.
But hatred changed nothing. His body wouldn’t even let him open his eyes, let alone rise up and fight back.
Zhou Zhuoyuan’s thoughts grew fragmented, and visions of happier times flickered through his mind—delusions that brought him fleeting joy.
In one, he had never been switched at birth. He grew up basking in the love of Zhu Wan and Zhou Fuxuan, kind-hearted and talented, admired wherever he went. Brilliantly smart, he aced his way into X University. A handsome photo of him graced the honor roll, and below it, members of the Far God Fan Club hugged one another in excitement. “Aaaah, Far God is so handsome!”
In another, Aunt Wu encountered not the irritable, sickly Zhou Zhuoyuan who only worried her, but a capable doctor with the skills and resources to save her. He spotted her illness in time, cured her, and she went on to live a happy life.
Then there was He Qinglan, successfully admitted to a top university in Country A. He found a partner who seemed perfect in every way, only to be dumped soon after. Drowning his sorrows in drink, He Qinglan thought back to Zhou Zhuoyuan—the one he had abandoned back home—and was filled with regret.
Liu Kuo, fresh off the Gaokao, picked a fight with Zhou Zhuoyuan and got thoroughly beaten. Zhou Zhuoyuan lectured him earnestly: “Grow up. Take responsibility for your own life.” Liu Kuo turned over a new leaf, buckled down with his studies, and came to see Zhou Zhuoyuan as his guiding light.
Pei He ended up as his roommate at university too. Zhou Zhuoyuan looked after him devotedly, ready to go to the mat for him anytime. One day, out having fun together, some thugs harassed Pei He. Zhou Zhuoyuan leaped to his defense, shielding him with his own body from the attackers. Leaning close, he whispered tenderly in Pei He’s ear, “I’ll protect you.” Deeply moved, Pei He vowed to devote himself to Zhou Zhuoyuan…
The fantasy cut off there. A Pei He hell-bent on marriage felt too bizarre, even in his dreams.
Zhou Zhuoyuan heard voices—Zhou Fuxuan, blaming himself, saying it was all Dad’s fault, that Zhou Zhuoyuan was a strong kid who had to hold on this time too. After a while, Zhu Wan’s voice came through, declaring her deepest love for him, begging him not to leave.
So this was the second layer of delusion.
Even now, was he still craving his parents’ love and remorse?
Zhou Zhuoyuan felt confused.
His awareness fragmented further. Later, he caught Zhou Zhuoli prattling on about little trees, little flowers, little grasses—something about sending him to school. Childish nonsense, straight out of elementary school.
Zhou Zhuoyuan felt exhausted, irritated. He didn’t want to hear it anymore. The relentless suffocation filled him with utter despair.
Just as he forced himself to think, You’re dying soon, it’s almost over, Pei He’s choked sobs broke through.
Scalding tears splashed onto his forehead, jolting him awake like those droplets in the school infirmary that day.
He Qinglan hadn’t died.
Liu Kuo was in surgery, being saved.
Everything was turning for the better. Everyone was fighting hard.
Everyone except Zhou Zhuoyuan.
~~~
At 7:56 a.m., Zhou Zhuoyuan finally conquered his eyelids and cracked his eyes open just a sliver.
Coming to didn’t mean he was getting better. If anything, for a patient like him, greater awareness only amplified the suffering. But if he stayed unconscious, his condition would only deteriorate further.
Pei He’s fingers trembled lightly as he brushed the damp strands of hair from Zhou Zhuoyuan’s cheek. “Little Yuan, I know you’re in a lot of pain right now, but it’ll get better soon. Trust me. I’m going to ask you some questions. Just blink to answer, okay?”
Zhou Zhuoyuan gazed up at him, his long, wet lashes fluttering with the effort.
Pei He’s questions were simple: Were his lips thirsty? Did anywhere hurt? Was he uncomfortable? He relayed Zhou Zhuoyuan’s responses to the others, who adjusted his position accordingly. Then Pei He dampened his lips with a cotton swab.
At eight o’clock, Zhu Wan came in to relieve Pei He. Stray wisps of hair had escaped her ponytail, and exhaustion shadowed her eyes—until they landed on Zhou Zhuoyuan. Joy lit her face, but it faded quickly as she noticed his furrowed brow.
She didn’t dare ask if he was in pain or scared. Instead, she sat down and gently took his hand. “Mom’s right here with you.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan’s fingers twitched. His brow creased even deeper. Pei He spoke up. “You don’t need to hold on to him anymore. He’s awake now, and it’s making him uncomfortable.”
Uncomfortable? Zhu Wan had never heard such a thing. She wanted to argue with Pei He, but in the next instant, she saw the almost-tears expression on Zhou Zhuoyuan’s face.
As if burned, she yanked her hand back.
Zhou Zhuoyuan’s brows relaxed considerably.
Zhu Wan, as his mother, didn’t understand him as well as an outsider did.
Why was that?
Was it because she had interrupted him while he was showing her photos and recounting his childhood experiences? Because she had never once asked whether he’d had a good life in the Lin Family? Because she had never inquired if anyone had bullied him?
Because of her neglect, Zhou Zhuoyuan now refused to draw close to her. The boy who used to do his homework in the living room, waiting for her to ruffle his hair—the one who would cling to her, calling “Mommy” and showering her with all sorts of little trinkets—now recoiled from his mother’s affection.
She was a thoroughly unqualified mother.
But why was it Zhu Wan who fell short, while Zhou Zhuoyuan was the one left suffering?
Tears blurred her vision as she gazed at her child—pale as paper with tubes snaking into him, so frail he seemed on the verge of dissolving into nothing. Why was the world so profoundly unfair? They were the ones in the wrong, yet her innocent boy bore all the pain.
In these past few days, Zhu Wan had wept more tears than in the previous several decades combined. She had no idea what she could do to make Zhou Zhuoyuan recover right away, no method to wipe away the scars of his past hurts and transform his faint will to live into a fierce one.
Pei He gently wiped the sweat from Zhou Zhuoyuan’s forehead with a damp cloth. “Auntie, if you can’t steady your emotions, let me keep looking after Little Yuan.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan’s eyes flickered. He knew Pei He was exhausted and wanted to tell him he could manage on his own, but the breathing tube prevented him from speaking.
He shot an irritated glare at the offending tube.
Pei He was caught off guard by the sheer cuteness of it and couldn’t suppress a faint quirk of his lips. But this wasn’t the moment to let his guard down; his smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Patiently, he added, “Once the doctor checks you over again and things look better, we should be able to remove the ventilator by noon.”
There was nothing left for Zhu Wan to do, and she refused to leave. She sat there stubbornly, watching as someone else soothed her child—watching as his gaze never once turned her way.
At long last, after enduring this prolonged chill, she realized the truth: her child no longer needed her.
The time Zhou Zhuoyuan had begged Zhu Wan to study alongside him had been the very last occasion he needed his mother. She had turned him down, and from then on, he wanted nothing more to do with her companionship or care.
~~~
Zhou Zhuoyuan’s first “Daddy” had come on the drive back to the Zhou Family. Zhu Wan had coaxed him tenderly, so he sat up straight with nervous tension, first turning to her. “Mommy.”
Then, under her encouraging gaze, he looked over at Zhou Fuxuan. “Daddy.”
Zhou Fuxuan had responded at the time with a curt, rather stern “Mm.” The reaction clearly displeased Zhou Zhuoyuan. For a long while after they got home, he remained wary and distant from his father.
That changed only after Zhou Fuxuan slapped him in public.
Zhou Zhuoyuan launched a cold war against Zhou Fuxuan. At the dinner table, he would chat with Zhu Wan, then Zhou Zhuoli, then Zhou Zhuoyi—going down the line one by one—but never once with Zhou Fuxuan.
If they crossed paths elsewhere in the house, Zhou Zhuoyuan would fix him with a deliberately aloof glance before veering wide to avoid him.
Zhou Fuxuan seethed with frustration, convinced that Zhou Zhuoyuan was hopelessly immature and utterly unwilling to own up to the consequences of his actions.
For all his anger, though, when it came time for the family elder’s birthday banquet, Zhou Fuxuan still brought Zhou Zhuoyuan along. He couldn’t very well let outsiders assume the boy was some unacknowledged bastard from the Zhou Family.
It was then that Zhou Fuxuan noticed something: Zhou Zhuoyuan, who normally loaded up a plate with food, ate it off to the side, and only then returned to join them, hadn’t touched so much as a sip of water all evening.
He hovered at a careful distance from Zhou Fuxuan, his body instinctively going rigid whenever his father glanced back—though he seemed oblivious to it, his face locked in that same feigned indifference.
Only then did Zhou Fuxuan grasp the depth of the harm his actions had inflicted on a boy who had only just reunited with his parents and already felt so profoundly insecure.
Plagued by guilt, Zhou Fuxuan did something unprecedented that evening after they returned home: he personally carried a tray of food—prepared ahead of time by the chef—straight to Zhou Zhuoyuan’s bedroom. There, he explained his impulsive outburst, apologized sincerely, wired over a generous allowance, and patiently coached his son on how to handle such situations in the future.
Zhou Zhuoyuan had been so agreeable back then. Hands folded neatly in his lap, he forgave the father who had failed to protect him and instead humiliated him in front of everyone. “I understand, Daddy.”
But that pliancy gradually eroded away beneath the onslaught of Zhou Fuxuan’s day-after-day disdain. Zhou Zhuoyuan sharpened like a blade, his subtle barbs growing ever more keen.
Daylight had fully broken, sunlight spilling across the entrance to the Intensive Care Unit and casting an unexpectedly icy gleam.
Zhou Fuxuan couldn’t say why those long-ago memories had resurfaced so abruptly. Perhaps because, in both crises, he had proven himself so utterly useless.
Perhaps he was still missing that Zhou Zhuoyuan who forgave him so readily… and who had such a healthy body.
Busy medical staff hurried back and forth through the halls. Once again, the scene flashed through Zhou Fuxuan’s mind: Zhou Zhuoyuan collapsing into Pei He’s arms right in front of them all.
They had known from the start that the kidnappers hadn’t done anything truly heinous to him. They had braced themselves for his accusations, his fear. But the moment they stepped out of the car, there he was—plunged into a coma, robbing them of even the chance to speak.
That boy had been so robust back then. He could go a whole night without food or water and barely feel it. He could win the 100-meter race without breaking a sweat. Yet in just three short years under their care, they had turned him so fragile.
Zhou Fuxuan hadn’t even realized how unhealthy he was until the day Zhou Zhuoyuan collapsed, gravely ill, on their doorstep.
It was their own irresponsibility, plain and simple—yet they had berated him for hiding it. If he hadn’t beaten and scolded the boy so often, would Zhou Zhuoyuan have been too scared to tell him about his condition? What child, struck down by illness, wouldn’t want their parents by their side?
the fact they only care about him now that he is legit dying – oh o no no, yall can go to helll