Xiang Zhen slept holding Zhou Sicheng’s Planting Diary, pretending to be the sunflower raised by Zhou Sicheng in its pages.

Before falling asleep, he thought that he didn’t want to sleep on such a large bed anymore.

He had a sweet dream. In the dream, what Zhou’s mother brought back from the Daxing’anling Mountains was not a handful of sunflower seeds, but a tiny sunflower. It did not follow the natural biological laws of endless cycles; instead, it remained short and small, kept carefully and doted upon like a treasure.

The teenage Zhou Sicheng wrote down his doubts in the diary—

[A year has passed, and it only grew two more leaves. Can its root system not absorb nutrients?]

[Measured its height today; it grew two centimeters.]

As the sunflower gradually grew, the boy also grew up step by step. It accompanied the boy through his studies and reading, only able to watch cartoons for a little while each day.

[It’s reached 1.6 meters now. When will it finally bloom?]

[Mom said we could add extra phosphorus fertilizer to promote blooming, but I don’t think there’s any rush.]

[Blooming and setting seeds is too exhausting; it drains all the nutrients from the branches and leaves. Just being a sunflower is good enough.]

When Zhou Sicheng was about to take the college entrance examination, the sunflower hurriedly bloomed, though it still couldn’t keep up with the young man’s rapid growth spurt.

It still had to tilt its flower head upward to look at the young man, who had already grown to 1.9 meters tall.

…

The monitoring wristband sent a warm, peaceful signal to Zhou Sicheng—Xiang Zhen was fast asleep and having a sweet dream.

Holding a ring box in his hand, Zhou Sicheng opened the door lightly and stepped into the bedroom.

He didn’t turn on the light. Only the Little Sunflower robot glowed with a faint, floral light. Recognizing its owner, Little Sunflower Bag silently yielded the space beside the bed.

Xiang Zhen was sleeping on one side of the bed. On such a large bed, he hugged the very edge, as if trying to save room for his husband.

Zhou Sicheng knelt on one knee on the floor, keeping his breathing shallow and suppressing his heartbeat. In the dark, he stared at the data on the wristband.

He hadn’t woken up; thank goodness. Xiang Zhen wouldn’t vomit simply from sensing his presence while asleep.

Slowly, Zhou Sicheng slid his hand under the blanket along the bedsheet and found Xiang Zhen’s hand.

He paused for a moment, then gently intertwined his fingers with Xiang Zhen’s.

Though his identity had been exposed for only two days, it felt like two centuries. It had been so long since holding Xiang Zhen’s hand didn’t trigger his struggling or dry-heaving.

That such a simple gesture had turned into a luxury.

Zhou Sicheng pulled Xiang Zhen’s hand out, revealing a porcelain-white wrist. He remembered the faint blue veins bulging on this very hand when the Chinese medicine practitioner inserted the needles earlier.

“I’m sorry.”

Zhou Sicheng lowered his head and gently kissed the back of his hand.

“Wife, marry me.”

Proposing face-to-face had become impossible.

Zhou Sicheng silently opened the ring box, retrieved a sunflower diamond ring, and lightly slid it down Xiang Zhen’s ring finger to the base.

It matched Xiang Zhen’s hairpin—a round yellow diamond in the center surrounded by eight white diamonds, shining in mutual radiance.

Zhou Sicheng recalled when he gave Xiang Zhen the sunflower hairpin, and Xiang Zhen asked if there was a ring inside.

In the end, because of his arrogance, he had given it far too late.

Zhou Sicheng brushed aside the overly long bangs on Xiang Zhen’s forehead and helped re-clip the hairpin that was about to slip off.

Tonight, he had spoken on the phone with several prominent psychologists both at home and abroad. Thanks to his fluency in several languages, he understood every expert’s meaning directly without any translation loss:

Give him space; give him some time.

Admittedly, Zhou Sicheng agreed as well.

Because Xiang Zhen had already entertained the thought of moving out this morning, and since Zhou Sicheng wouldn’t allow it, he could only have Fan Hao pick Xiang Zhen up for work.

Every expert had asked him bluntly: Stress responses often stem from psychological trauma. There’s no need to deny it—have you ever hit or scolded your wife? To put it more harshly, have you ever forced your wife into anything?

Zhou Sicheng felt humiliated by the line of questioning.

What trauma could there be? Trauma left behind by poverty?

Looking at the sleeping Xiang Zhen, Zhou Sicheng thought, “You could accept that I’m a dominant S, so why can’t you accept that I have some capital?”

In his dream, Xiang Zhen turned over with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

What kind of wonderful dream was he having?

Zhou Sicheng sat for a little while longer before standing up to leave. “Goodnight, my proletarian warrior wife.”

I will give you time.

…

He was not in the sunflower’s dream.

Zhou Sicheng had scored first in the district exam. Uncle Zhou and Auntie Zheng happily celebrated for him, buying a massive cake.

The sunflower stood with hands on its hips, sharing in the glory.

At night, Zhou Sicheng stood in front of the sunflower, gazing down at its flower head.

His middle finger caressed the golden floral down, getting pollen all over his hand.

How could he touch it so casually? The sunflower shrank back and closed its stamens.

“Are you going to set sunflower seeds?”

…

With a flushed face, Xiang Zhen sat up, a certain part of his body still contracting with lingering sensation.

He reached out and felt the bedsheet—phew, thankfully it wasn’t wet.

How could he dare soil the capitalist’s expensive bedsheets?

Just as he was about to recall the dream, his finger caught on something.

Xiang Zhen raised his hand and saw a dazzling diamond ring on his ring finger.

He certainly wouldn’t think this was some cheap item now.

?

Pouting, he went to the bathroom to change his underwear.

Zhou Sicheng’s bathroom was as big as his rented room, and right next to it was a massive walk-in closet.

Xiang Zhen stepped into the walk-in closet and, among rows of tailored suits, took out one of his husband’s white dress shirts.

When they shared an apartment, Zhou Sicheng had only brought a few outfits over, yet the wardrobe still ran out of hanging space. Later, the small sofa was piled high with clothes so nobody could sit on it, leaving the bed as the only option.

Zhou Sicheng’s shirt was too large, so Xiang Zhen took one of his leather belts as well, cinching the loose hem into his pants.

His husband’s shoes were still way too big.

Xiang Zhen slipped his feet in, took a step, and with a wobble of his calf, kicked the leather shoes right off.

Xiang Zhen walked around, making a mess of many things. His rented room used to be messy, and Zhou Sicheng would always clean up right behind him.

Finally, he accidentally touched a mechanism somewhere; a cabinet shifted aside, revealing a three-sided full-length mirror.

Xiang Zhen was startled. Seeing himself in the mirror, he rolled up the shirt sleeves.

The front view, left profile, and right profile were displayed simultaneously, the mirror surface as clear as water.

Xiang Zhen’s rented room never had such a large mirror—only a tiny one above the sink in the bathroom that could barely show a face, and even its smudges couldn’t be wiped clean.

Seeing his solitary reflection in the morning, he missed his sun-god husband so, so deeply.

Once fully dressed, Xiang Zhen stepped out of the walk-in closet. Little Sunflower Bag rolled in pushing a dining cart. “Baby Xiang Zhen, would you like to eat in the bedroom or go to the dining room?”

Xiang Zhen: “Where’s my husband?”

Little Sunflower Bag: “Master has already left for work!”

Running off so quickly—was he afraid of being seen by him?

Xiang Zhen sat on the bed. “Then I’ll eat here.”

His husband’s presence felt stronger here.

After Xiang Zhen finished breakfast, Little Sunflower Bag pulled a pouch of brown beverage from the dining cart.

“Baby Xiang Zhen, this is the plum juice I stole for you. Please enjoy it after your meal.”

Having dawdled in the walk-in closet for a while, it was nearly time for work. Xiang Zhen took the plum juice and walked out while sipping it.

The sour plum flavor carried hints of fresh grass leaves and root fragrance; it tasted quite good.

Xiang Zhen checked the packaging—it was freshly filled with no label attached.

In the small reception room.

Fan Hao met Zhou Sicheng. Having not seen him for two days, Zhou Sicheng looked even more exhausted than during his busiest period back then.

Fan Hao comforted: “Your family has been in business for three generations, while Xiang Zhen’s family has been farming for three generations. Just pretend it’s the 1950s right now; with such a massive class gap, it’s normal for your wife to need some time to accept it.”

Even after making such a witty jab, Zhou Sicheng didn’t even bother to argue with him. Fan Hao thought to himself: It’s over, total despair.

Zhou Sicheng glanced at the monitoring feed from Little Sunflower Bag. “He’s ready.”

Fan Hao finished his tea in one gulp and stood up: “Alright, I’ll head out then.”

Zhou Sicheng: “I’m entrusting my wife to you.”

Fan Hao: “Guaranteed he won’t get lost.”

Fan Hao walked briskly over to his Hummer and waved at Xiang Zhen: “Over here, over here.”

Xiang Zhen stood at the entrance. The shirt under his suit jacket was visibly ill-fitting, with loose cuffs peeking out, looking like a pitiful beauty who had started wearing random clothes without his husband around.

His eyes scanned the surroundings, feeling in his gut that Zhou Sicheng hadn’t left for work yet.

He didn’t find him.

Xiang Zhen squeezed out the last drop of plum juice. Before he could even look for a trash can, the attentive housekeeper took it from his hand.

Xiang Zhen got into the car.

Through the window, Zhou Sicheng saw the sparkle of the diamond ring on his finger as he pulled the seatbelt.

Does this mean he accepted it?

The seatbelt in Fan Hao’s car was so hard to use; his wife pulled on it several times.

Zhou Sicheng felt anxious inside, desperately wanting to go down and help fasten it for his wife.

He wondered if Xiang Zhen could buckle it properly, or if it was pressing against his stomach.

The Hummer’s engine roared to life with quite a loud sound.

Understanding the unsaid, Fan Hao dawdled for a while—neither hurrying into the car nor rushing off—before finally stepping on the accelerator with peace of mind.

Once driving onto the main road outside, Fan Hao began chatting aimlessly: “The day after tomorrow is the Dragon Boat Festival. My fridge is completely full of zongzi now.”

Could social pleasantries stop involving zongzi for once?

Xiang Zhen remembered Auntie Guihua saying the zongzi would be delivered here today. The address he had given was still the rented room, so Manning would have to sign for them.

Xiang Zhen sent Manning a message, his small face sinking into silence.

He had originally planned to make a video call with Auntie Guihua on the Dragon Boat Festival, bringing his husband along to introduce him to her.

Under the current circumstances, that was no longer possible.

Would things get better by the Mid-Autumn Festival?

Fan Hao continued: “Dragon Boat Festival is on June 19th, and the Summer Solstice is on June 21st. Do you know about the Summer Solstice?”

Xiang Zhen nodded: “In our region, rain and heat occur in the same season; it’s the day with the longest daytime and shortest night in the Northern Hemisphere.”

“These holidays overlap this year—the Summer Solstice even coincides with Father’s Day.” Fan Hao honked the horn, gradually steering toward the main topic, “Zhou Sicheng was actually born on the Summer Solstice, you know.”

Xiang Zhen froze: “My husband’s birthday is coming up?”

His husband was born on the Summer Solstice, no wonder the sun lingered the longest on that day.

His husband was truly the embodiment of the sun.

“What should I get him?” Xiang Zhen picked at his palm, saying sadly, “I can’t celebrate his birthday with him, I can’t blow out the birthday candles with him, and we can’t cut the cake together.”

“Don’t worry, he never celebrates his birthday.” Fan Hao said bluntly.

Xiang Zhen: “Why?”

It was one thing for Xiang Zhen himself not to remember his sprouting date and fill in Awakening of Insects instead, but why didn’t Zhou Sicheng celebrate when he remembered his own birthday?

The Summer Solstice was such a wonderful day.

As if realizing he had said too much, Fan Hao said, “Sorry, that’s not for me to say. Wait for him to tell you himself.”

Xiang Zhen: “Just tell me. My husband and I can’t talk right now.”

Fan Hao sighed: “Because that day is also the anniversary of his parents’ death.”

Xiang Zhen was stunned. He had thought Zhou’s father and mother simply didn’t live with Zhou Sicheng—how had they already passed away? Did his husband have no family left? Was Zheng Ai gone too?

No wonder Zhou Sicheng didn’t mention his family situation during the blind date and could make his own marriage decisions.

“Was it an accident?” Xiang Zhen asked. His husband was still so young; most humans at this age had both parents alive, and some were still treated like babies in their parents’ eyes.

Fan Hao: “It was an accident. When Zhou Sicheng was twelve, he wanted his parents to come back from Europe to celebrate his birthday with him. Uncle Zhou and Auntie Zheng wanted to give him a surprise, but who could have known the plane crashed.”

“Nobody dares to bring up this accident, and you won’t find the specific details online either. Zhou Sicheng felt it was his fault, and his grandfather thought so too—that he demanded too much love.”

Xiang Zhen felt his nose sting: “How could anyone foresee an accident? It wasn’t my husband’s fault.”

So, Zhou Sicheng’s planting diary only went up to age twelve. Dreams really were opposites of reality; his parents couldn’t celebrate him getting first place in the college entrance exam after all.

Fan Hao: “The fact that he pretended to be poor to live with you also has to do with the high-pressure elite education his grandfather subjected him to later.”

“Zhou Sicheng’s birthday wish is to have the person he loves by his side, not to amass more and more money.”

“Xiang Zhen,” Fan Hao said earnestly, “you are the person he met when he tried once more to break out of his shell in search of love. I could hardly believe he was actually driving for a ride-hailing service.”

“I know he was indeed in the wrong this time. As a friend, I just hope things work out between you two.”

“He wasn’t in the wrong,” Xiang Zhen said with red-rimmed eyes, his voice resolute.

Fan Hao: “His birthday wish this year is just for you not to vomit when you see him.”

“I… I don’t want to either…” Xiang Zhen sniffled, a intense wave of heartache for Zhou Sicheng surging in his heart. He wanted to promise Fan Hao something right away, but the moment he opened his mouth, his throat choked up. He quickly pulled out a tissue to cover his nose and mouth, dry-heaving violently several times.

Seeing this, Fan Hao pulled over in front of Zhoufu Bank.

The building’s metal frame and glass reflected the sunlight, piercing through the car window and illuminating the diamond ring on Xiang Zhen’s finger.

For the first time, Fan Hao realized that someone could truly feel nauseated by money.

Fan Hao hurriedly brought out the thermos prepared by Zhou Sicheng, unscrewed it, and handed it to Xiang Zhen.

“Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it. Think about our work today. We’re doing branch inspections today; we’ll be mystery shoppers.”

Fan Hao was anxious out of his mind. Zhou Sicheng had warned that Xiang Zhen would vomit even from thinking about him too much, so he needed to be careful when talking to him.

This was truly an unsolvable dilemma.

When Zhou Sicheng called him last night, Fan Hao already knew what he needed to tell Xiang Zhen.

No one dared to bring up the plane crash; among those who knew the truth, Fan Hao was the only one who could say it.

He was also the most suitable person to say it.

Fan Hao had been surprised that Zhou Sicheng would make that call.

Under no circumstances would Zhou Sicheng ever use his parents’ fatal accident to achieve a goal. There were many news reports praising Zhou Sicheng as young and capable, but not a single one mentioned his orphaned status to add a dramatic touch.

When Zhou Sicheng decided to tear open his own scar to play the pity card, Fan Hao knew his brother was truly out of moves.

Driven into a corner, acting unfilial and disrespectful.

All because he wanted to defend himself, to win back the loved one who was like family to him.

Fan Hao babbled in Xiang Zhen’s ear to wash his brain anew: “The branches are so lively today! Customers depositing a hundred thousand get a bunch of mugwort, two hundred thousand gets them zongzi-making sessions, and private banking clients—I’ll wrap zongzi for them myself… The branch has grand deposit rewards for Dragon Boat Festival: a roll of toilet paper for ten thousand, a bucket of sunflower oil for twenty thousand. Do you have any private savings to deposit?”

Xiang Zhen finally stopped dry-heaving: “I have two hundred thousand to deposit. Can I get peanut oil instead?”

The house-buying money he and his husband saved was no longer needed now.

Fan Hao: “Sure, peanut oil is a bit pricier, but two hundred thousand qualifies for it.”

Right now, he didn’t dare imagine what Zhou Sicheng would do if even playing the pity card proved ineffective.