After finishing a flurry of work, Zhou Zhuoli went to pick up Zhou Zhuoyi and take him home. He didn’t stop working even on the road. After dropping off Zhou Zhuoyi, he hurriedly rushed to a dinner engagement. Even though no one dared to force him to drink, Zhou Zhuoli still had to down a couple of glasses. He was too young, and striking too lofty a pose would displease their business partners.
By the time he returned home, it was very late, and his stomachache had flared up. He’d been spinning like a top all day and had been provoked by Doctor Song’s words as well.
Zhou Zhuoyi very thoughtfully fetched some medicine for him.
Zhou Zhuoli took the medicine and sat down on the sofa to rest for a bit.
The TV was playing Zhou Zhuoyi’s favorite costume drama. In the past, whenever Zhou Zhuoyuan was home, he always insisted on changing the channel to something else—even though there were plenty of TVs around, he had to snatch this particular one from Zhou Zhuoyi.
Sometimes Zhou Zhuoli couldn’t stand it and scolded him for it, but Zhou Zhuoyi would defend his brother: “I’ll watch whatever big brother is watching.”
Then Zhou Zhuoyuan would flash him a provocative smile.
But in the past six months, Zhou Zhuoyuan had rarely even left his bedroom, let alone snatch the TV from Zhou Zhuoyi.
Once his stomach settled down, his head started aching again. It was probably the Zhou Zhuoyuan from his memories that was getting under his skin.
Zhou Zhuoli loosened his tie and walked over to the window for some fresh air. Outside, a fine, dense drizzle had begun to fall.
One time, it had been raining and the driver got stuck in traffic on the road. Zhou Zhuoyuan couldn’t wait, so he took the subway back by himself. The rain that day had been much heavier than today’s; his umbrella was too small, so he’d gotten himself drenched like a drowned rat just to protect his backpack. The moment he got home, he started throwing a tantrum, demanding to know why they hadn’t told the driver to leave earlier.
Zhu Wan had distressingly taken the backpack off his back and urged him to hurry and change into some clean clothes.
Zhou Zhuoyuan had stopped being angry then, dragging his soggy pant legs toward his room.
Back then, Zhou Zhuoyuan had been in great physical shape—he hadn’t suffered at all from getting soaked like that. The next day, he’d been hollering “Big Brother, Big Brother” nonstop, so full of energy that Zhou Zhuoli had desperately wanted to shut his mouth.
Now, though, he was often listless and refused to call Zhou Zhuoli “big brother” anymore. Things seemed to be unfolding exactly as Zhou Zhuoli had once hoped, yet he was starting to feel deeply uncomfortable.
If he had the choice, he would want Zhou Zhuoyuan to regain that vibrant energy. He could put up with Zhou Zhuoyuan’s daily stream of mindless chatter, with frequently picking him up and dropping him off from school, with indulging all of Zhou Zhuoyuan’s random little whims.
But why had the driver been late?
Zhou Zhuoli frowned as the question suddenly flashed through his mind.
The driver responsible for picking up and dropping off Zhou Zhuoyuan had originally been Little Yi’s driver. In the previous ten years, he had never made a mistake like that—after all, every day, aside from school pickups and drop-offs, he had almost nothing else to do.
Zhou Zhuoli had someone call the driver over.
The driver was getting on in years. Ever since Zhou Zhuoyuan had started boarding at school, the Zhou Family had essentially been paying him for doing nothing.
Zhou Zhuoli tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose. “How many times were you late when picking up Zhuoyuan before?”
The driver froze, baffled as to why Zhou Zhuoli was suddenly holding him accountable.
This time, Zhou Zhuoli’s voice grew a touch colder. “How many times?”
The driver broke out in a cold sweat and answered honestly. “Maybe one or two days delayed each week.”
One or two days a week.
So that’s why he’d acted spoiled and begged for big brother to pick him up instead.
A sour, swelling ache filled Zhou Zhuoli’s chest. What had Zhou Zhuoyuan’s face looked like when he was turned down? Embarrassed? Confused? Helpless?
Zhou Zhuoli clenched his fists, unable to comprehend it. “Why were you never late or unreliable when picking up Little Yi, but you’re so irresponsible with Zhuoyuan?”
The driver hurriedly professed his loyalty. “Because I dote on Little Yi too—I didn’t want him waiting around impatiently.”
Zhou Zhuoli replied indifferently, “So Zhuoyuan was fine to keep waiting, then?”
The driver froze in place.
Zhou Zhuoli fired the driver on the spot. He stood there blowing the rain-laced wind for a while to clear his head.
The household staff might not like Zhou Zhuoyuan, of course—but if Zhou Zhuoli had paid him a little more attention, they never would have dared neglect him so blatantly.
But why hadn’t Zhou Zhuoyuan complained? Or had he simply thought it was normal for the driver to be late for some reason? Besides the driver, were there others taking advantage of his innocence to slight him?
Just then, Aunt Shen walked by while mopping the floor. Zhou Zhuoli remembered how Zhou Zhuoyuan hadn’t rejected her at all in the past, so he called her over.
He asked if anyone in the house had been bullying Zhou Zhuoyuan.
Aunt Shen leaned on her mop and thought for two minutes before telling him that there was definitely no overt bullying, but plenty of people ignored Zhou Zhuoyuan and only chatted with Zhou Zhuoyi on a normal day.
In other words, it was cold violence.
No wonder Zhou Zhuoyuan had insisted on boarding at school.
Zhou Zhuoli felt like he could barely catch his breath from the anger. He waved her off to leave, intending to have the butler replace a whole batch of servants.
He closed the window and went out to the balcony of his room to smoke. Zhou Zhuoli didn’t have a smoking habit, but right now, he desperately wanted a cigarette to soothe the agitation churning inside him.
His assistant sent him Lin Boxu’s contact information, and Zhou Zhuoli called to arrange a meeting time for the next day.
He thought for a moment and then forwarded the meeting time to both Zhou Fuxuan and Zhu Wan.
–
After Zhu Wan left, Pei He spread out the Gaokao Math Exam Paper from twenty years ago in front of Zhou Zhuoyuan. “I think the finale question from this year is particularly interesting. See if you can solve it.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan really wanted to ask if he had a heart, considering he’d just been feeling down moments ago.
But soon, his attention was completely drawn to the finale question.
The train of thought didn’t seem too difficult, so Zhou Zhuoyuan directed Pei He through a series of calculations, but the more they calculated, the stranger it got.
Pei He suggested another approach, and they did another round of calculations.
Zhou Zhuoyuan said unhappily, “We should have just kept calculating earlier—I was about to see the answer.”
Pei He: “Are you serious?”
Zhou Zhuoyuan glanced at the half-finished equation from before, then guiltily looked back at the problem. In a flash of inspiration, he said, “I got it.”
They ultimately discussed that finale question from seven o’clock until ten before finally solving it.
Zhou Zhuoyuan was a bit tired. He leaned against the headboard and watched Pei He pack up his things. “Let’s do English tomorrow instead.”
Pei He: “Yeah, it’ll have to be tomorrow. I’m getting sleepy now too.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan: “Will I be better tomorrow?”
Pei He met his dissatisfied gaze and ruffled his hair. “Probably not tomorrow—the doctors won’t let you go—but I guess the day after will be fine.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan: “Did your dad teach you that?”
Pei He: “He didn’t teach me. I’m just guessing.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan: “……”
