Five years ago, the day after Zhou Zhuoyi was rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment, the entire family kept vigil there. But Zhou Zhuoyuan took a cab to school by himself.
He didn’t care what happened to Zhou Zhuoyi. Zhou Zhuoyi had stolen his life—even if he really died, it wouldn’t affect Zhou Zhuoyuan at all.
He was capricious, selfish, cold-blooded, and unrepentant in his wickedness, so it was only natural that nobody liked him wherever he went.
School was no different. He had hardly any friends. Only Guan Qi would inexplicably stick around, chattering away and filling up all his free time with self-indulgent monologues.
At first, Zhou Zhuoyuan didn’t mind the company, so he let it slide. He had no idea when it happened, but at some point, he started presumptuously categorizing Guan Qi as a friend.
He usually went home for lunch and caught a nap on the way, calling it his midday rest. But with Zhou Zhuoyi in trouble now, the house would probably be empty, so he skipped it and headed to the school cafeteria with Guan Qi instead.
The moment Guan Qi sat down, he started yammering nonstop. “The sun must’ve risen in the west! The Eldest Young Master eating at school—never thought I’d see the day. Try the beef bone shrimp I ordered. It’s no match for your family chef, but it’s pretty damn good. Your face looks awful today. Skip breakfast again? You can’t keep doing that. Starting tomorrow, I’ll bring you some every day…”
Zhou Zhuoyuan listened to the nagging while tucking into his food with focus, but right then, his phone rang out of nowhere.
It was Zhou Fuxuan.
He swiped at the screen a few times but kept missing the answer button. It wasn’t until the call dropped automatically that he finally called back.
Zhou Fuxuan sounded stunned that he’d actually returned the call. He paused, then unleashed a torrent of fury, hurling every filthy curse in his vocabulary as if he meant to verbally slaughter him right there over the line.
Guan Qi had gone quiet, but Zhou Zhuoyuan’s face was draining of color by the second. Unable to hold back, Guan Qi asked, “What’s going on?”
Zhou Zhuoyuan didn’t seem to hear him. He kept his head down, his slightly long bangs veiling his face.
“You okay? What happened?” Guan Qi’s voice took on a note of urgency. A terrible premonition gripped him all of a sudden. “Did something happen to Little Yi?”
Zhou Zhuoyuan ignored him.
A moment later, Zhou Zhuoyuan let out a low, bitter laugh. “Yeah, I’m a beast. A murderer who deserves to be hacked to pieces. But so what? The one who’s dead isn’t me—it’s your precious little darling.”
“Played this happy families game long enough, huh? Can’t keep up the charade anymore? Regretting bringing me back into the fold?”
“Guess the King of Hell doesn’t want me yet. What a shame. So what now? Gonna play vigilante and kill me to avenge your son? Fine by me. Worst case, we both rot in hell.”
He snapped the phone shut and went back to his meal like nothing had happened.
Guan Qi shot to his feet. He hurried to Zhou Zhuoyuan’s side and clamped down on his shoulders, panic in his voice. “What the hell? What did you mean by all that? Who’s dead? Revenge? You messing with me?”
Zhou Zhuoyuan was forced to look up. The pressure on his shoulders sent a strange sensation rippling through him, though he couldn’t quite place its source.
“Something came up at home. Got nothing to do with you,” he said flatly.
Guan Qi only got more worked up. “How the hell is it not my business? Who’s dead? Does Little Yi know? Is he alright?”
Zhou Zhuoyuan’s shoulders ached under the grip. He frowned despite himself and locked eyes with Guan Qi’s frantic expression. That odd feeling intensified.
“Say something! Who’d you kill? Little Yi’s not in any trouble, is he?!” Guan Qi bellowed the last part without a care for the consequences. The classmates around them froze mid-motion, their glances sliding over curiously.
So that’s how it was.
Zhou Zhuoyuan had a sudden realization. His so-called good friend was worried about Zhou Zhuoyi.
His lips quivered for a second before he barked out a laugh. “Relax. Zhou Zhuoyi won’t be getting any trouble—because I’ve pissed him off so bad he dropped dead!” The last words came out gleeful, like he’d just pulled off the prank of the century on Zhou Zhuoyi.
But there was no prank about it.
A chill swept through Guan Qi.
Zhou Zhuoyi’s congenital heart condition meant the Zhou family had always coddled him. Everyone from the family to the household staff treated him with kid gloves. Anyone who might interact with him got drilled beforehand: no upsetting him, watch your words, nothing that could make him overthink.
Before meeting Zhou Zhuoyi, Guan Qi had figured the Zhou family was going overboard with the protection. But after spending time with the Little Young Master, he realized it was anything but.
Innocent, kind-hearted, sensitive, and fragile—he deserved to be treasured by one and all.
No one had ever dared to tease Zhou Zhuoyi, let alone make him angry. No one knew if it might worsen his condition and lead to irreversible consequences.
Yet Zhou Zhuoyuan had done exactly that. He acted like an ignorant, cruel child, willfully smashing the precious thing everyone had painstakingly protected all this time. Then he showed up at school as if nothing had happened, cheerfully bragging about his misdeed.
It was utterly terrifying.
Guan Qi stared at his smiling face, his heart churning with anger and pain. He swung a hard fist.
Zhou Zhuoyuan tumbled backward, trying to steady himself on the table but knocking over the tray instead. Soup splashed all over him.
“Hiss—” Clutching his cheek, he looked up in disheveled fury. “Have you lost your mind?”
Guan Qi loomed over him, his eyes burning with hatred that seemed ready to incinerate him on the spot. “You’re the one who’s lost it! Ungrateful wretch!”
“Little Yi was always so good to you—he even asked me to look after you! You don’t deserve anyone’s concern! Without Little Yi, do you think anyone could put up with your rotten temper?”
“You petty, spiteful, selfish little creep. I must have lost my mind, staying friends with scum like you for so long. It’s disgusting!”
Finally, in a voice cold as ice—one he’d never used before—he spat, “The wicked bring destruction upon themselves. Just wait for your comeuppance!”
Zhou Zhuoyuan’s eyes widened. He drew in two heavy, ragged breaths.
Zhou Zhuoyi again.
So many of the good things in his life had come from Zhou Zhuoyi’s charity.
Zhou Zhuoyuan sat there on the floor for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. The onlookers were starting to grow restless when he finally hauled himself to his feet, brushed the soup and dust from his clothes, and put an end to the farce with a single sentence: “Dumbass, why don’t you go join him sooner rather than later.”
His face was even paler than before. The right side of his cheek was prominently swollen and red, and water still dripped from his sleeves and pant legs.
No matter how cold his expression or how straight he held his back, everyone could only see how wretched and pitiful he looked.
The pitiful often have something hateful about them, Guan Qi thought bitterly. He would never forgive Zhou Zhuoyuan. He wouldn’t speak to him again.
He had no idea then that Zhou Zhuoyuan would never return to school.
It was the last time they would ever meet in this lifetime.
~~~
Zhou Zhuoyuan had actually been mulling over one question: What kind of retribution was he in for?
More than one person wanted him to get his. Starve to death? Freeze? Get hit by a car?
But he was still alive and kicking. Sure, he was poor and sickly, but that was about it.
Could it be that, under the System’s coercion, becoming a stepping stone for Zhou Zhuoyi’s perfect life was his punishment?
Even after rebirth, Zhou Zhuoyuan couldn’t figure it out. He decided to let Guan Qi off the hook for now and ponder the age-old problem of curses lasting a thousand years. “Get lost.”
Guan Qi, however, had no sense at all. He kept trying to defend himself. “Who said what to you? After all these years we’ve known each other, you believe him over me? Who was it?”
His voice rose with anxiety. “Say something!”
The shout made Zhou Zhuoyuan’s head throb. He finally stopped holding back his rage, lunged forward, grabbed Guan Qi by the collar, and swung with all his might. The IV needle in his hand ripped free, sending beads of blood flying.
Still sick, Zhou Zhuoyuan couldn’t muster his full strength. Guan Qi merely jerked his head aside. Frustrated, Zhou Zhuoyuan tried for a second punch, but Guan Qi—now prepared—caught his wrist.
His head pounded even harder. Panting, Zhou Zhuoyuan tried to shove the eyesore away. “Let go! I told you to get out!”
“What the hell’s wrong with you? Stop thrashing!” Anger crept into Guan Qi’s voice as he forcefully pressed Zhou Zhuoyuan back onto the bed. “Lie down. I’ll get the doctor.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan ignored him, struggling to sit up and land another blow. Blood still oozed steadily from the needle site on the back of his hand.
“I said stop moving!” Guan Qi bellowed. “Don’t you know you’re sick?! Whatever it is, we can talk after you’re better. I’m not going anywhere!”
The roar left Zhou Zhuoyuan dizzy and disoriented. Cold sweat soaked his forehead, his fingers trembled uncontrollably, and he was in such bad shape he could barely resist.
Seeing the struggling ease, Guan Qi hurriedly grabbed a cotton swab from the cabinet. He pressed it firmly over the bleeding puncture while hitting the call button on the bedrail.
The doctor hadn’t arrived yet when He Qinglan hurried back. He froze in the doorway for a second before rushing forward to take Guan Qi’s place. Even his usually even-tempered voice carried a note of reproach. “What happened? I was only gone a minute, and you turn it into this! Guan Qi, I never thought you’d stoop to bullying a patient!”
Guan Qi was shoved aside. He opened his mouth to defend himself but stopped short at the last moment. In the end, if they dug into the matter, it was still his fault.
Seeing that it was He Qinglan, Zhou Zhuoyuan finally stopped struggling. The tension in his nerves eased slightly, and only then did he register the throbbing pain on the back of his hand.
He Qinglan met his gaze and offered some comfort. “It’s probably swollen. The doctor will be here any minute. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have left you alone like that.”
“Tell him to scram,” Zhou Zhuoyuan said in halting bursts. “He wasn’t bullying me. I hit him. I just… didn’t want him here.”
He Qinglan paused for a beat but didn’t press the issue. Instead, he turned to Guan Qi with a quick apology for the misunderstanding. “Sorry about that. I jumped to conclusions without knowing what was going on. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but he’s hurting pretty bad right now. Could you give us some space?”
Guan Qi, of course, had no intention of leaving. He stood there rigidly, rooted to the spot.
A nurse arrived shortly to reinsert Zhou Zhuoyuan’s IV. “You’re hooked up to fluids and still manage to yank it out? How’d that happen?”
Zhou Zhuoyuan stayed quiet, none of his earlier ferocity in sight.
For some reason, the nurse picked up on a hint of grievance in his demeanor. Spotting the bloodstains on the bed as well, she assumed Guan Qi had been picking on him—after all, these two were the only ones there, and He Qinglan had spent the whole night before keeping watch.
Her heart went out to the boy. She turned a stern glare on Guan Qi. “What class are you in? Shouldn’t you be back at school?”
Guan Qi started to protest but held his tongue with outsiders present and Zhou Zhuoyuan giving him the cold shoulder. He could only mutter, “We’ll talk when you’re feeling better,” before being forced to leave.
The earlier scuffle had aggravated Zhou Zhuoyuan’s condition. Once he’d choked down his porridge, he shooed He Qinglan away too. Alone at last, he curled up under the covers, lost in thought about the meaning of it all.
Truth be told, eighteen-year-old Zhou Zhuoyuan had a robust constitution. Even after taking two brutal beatings in the span of a few days, he bounced back quickly enough to endure a grueling thirty-plus-hour hard-seat train ride all by himself to the Northern Small City.
If he hadn’t pushed himself to the brink with his recklessness, he hardly ever fell ill.
But now… with his fever spiking and crashing from all the emotional turmoil, how was he any different from that frail weakling Zhou Zhuoyi? A body like this—what was the point of rebirth?
Still, he wouldn’t fault himself for the malice he’d harbored toward Zhou Zhuoyi back then. He’d never blame himself, no matter what. Even with a fragile frame, he could make the most of life. No one else had to care if he lived or died; his own concern was enough.
