Before his business trip, Zhou Sicheng returned home.

His grandfather, Zhou Qingyun, was already eighty. Though he and Zhou Sicheng had little in common, Zhou Sicheng tried to set aside time each week to eat with him. They sat at opposite ends of a long rectangular table—the same seating arrangement that had existed since Zhou Sicheng lost his parents at age twelve.

Years ago, Zhou Qingyun had kept a stranglehold on the Zhou Fu Group. After his only son passed away, he reclaimed part of the shares belonging to his son and daughter-in-law. After years of struggling for power, Zhou Sicheng finally forced his grandfather to fully relinquish control four years ago.

Zhou Qingyun was still in good health and remained sharp-tongued. “Miss Tang is the most suitable match for you. If you don’t pursue her, are you waiting for Cinderella to appear?”

Zhou Sicheng: “Is the food not to your liking?”

Zhou Qingyun: “My biggest regret is being deceived by your smooth talk and not forcing you into an arranged marriage before I retired.”

Zhou Sicheng: “If I make you a bowl of noodles, will you end this conversation?”

Zhou Qingyun: “Cooking is for chefs. Your wealth grows by the second; don’t waste time on such things.”

Zhou Sicheng picked up a napkin, wiped his mouth, and stood up. “Fine. Let’s leave it at that. I’m going back to the office.”

“Zhou Sicheng!” Zhou Qingyun’s brow furrowed into deep lines, etched by decades of rigid, severe habits. “I heard you changed your car.”

Zhou Sicheng paused, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze unfocused. “And?”

Zhou Qingyun’s aged voice was filled with growing accusation. “One’s vehicle should match one’s status. Don’t forget how your parents died.”

Zhou Sicheng’s breathing didn’t change, though his hands balled into fists in his pockets before instantly relaxing. “I follow driving regulations. I won’t cause you to shed tears again.”

Zhou Qingyun: “I’ve already had that car towed to be scrapped. I don’t care what you drive, but it must be bulletproof.”

Zhou Sicheng nodded and walked away. “That’s the only power you have left to exercise.”

Zhou Sicheng wouldn’t blame the corporate security for the incident; he had left the car parked in the garage without a second thought. Nobody could predict the twisted logic of Zhou Qingyun’s mind.

The housekeeper chased after him. “Sir, you barely ate. Shall I have a meal sent to the office?”

Zhou Sicheng: “No need.”

As the housekeeper opened the car door, he muttered, “It’s almost June; the Old Master always has these episodes. Don’t take it to heart.”

Zhou Sicheng stood straight, leaning against the car roof. “Aside from the car, has grandfather heard any other rumors?”

The housekeeper confirmed: “None.”

In reality, Zhou Qingyun had long since stopped managing the group. Zhou Sicheng had eyes and ears everywhere in the house, so discovering Zhou Sicheng was driving a BYD had been sheer coincidence. An old friend visiting Zhou Qingyun had mentioned seeing Zhou Sicheng driving on the street, noting his “aggressive and spirited” driving style, and asked if he was planning to enter the electric vehicle industry.

Zhou Qingyun, however, immediately associated this with Zhou Sicheng’s lifelong penchant for “cheap, worthless things.” He assumed it wasn’t a test drive, but that Zhou Sicheng had actually bought one as his primary car.

Using the pretext of seeing his friend out, he ordered his driver to enter the Zhou Fu Group’s garage. Upon seeing the BYD parked there, he ordered his driver to crash into it without hesitation. The driver refused, but Zhou Qingyun was a man with a driver’s license of his own; fearing the old man might cause a scene, the driver could only lightly scrape the BYD’s front bumper.

The front end was badly scratched. Naturally, for someone of Zhou Sicheng’s status, there was no need for repairs—it was scrapped immediately. Zhou Qingyun could only cause this minor inconvenience; after he left, Secretary Gao would immediately arrange for an identical new car to be parked in that spot.

Zhou Sicheng told the housekeeper to check the old man’s blood pressure, then bent down to sit in the back of his Bentley.

He had been driving himself to and from work lately, a small habit he had nurtured over the past seven days. Because he didn’t give Xiang Zhen a ride this morning, he was carless for the commute home.

“Go back to Jiangge.”

The driver took him to Jiangge, a villa with a garden—Zhou Sicheng’s actual residence. He hadn’t been here for a while. The sunflowers he planted in the spring were opening their delicate, vibrant yellow petals, looking like a baby’s fingers.

These sunflower seeds were from his mother, Zheng Ai. Once, while conducting research in the Greater Khingan Mountains, she had found a cluster of wild sunflowers in a dense hazelnut forest. Admiring their tenacious, passionate vitality, she picked a few seeds from a mature flower head and brought them back for her son.

She had mentioned a stout little sunflower seedling that likely didn’t get enough sunlight; it was only knee-high, and even in late autumn, it clung tightly to two leaves. Annual sunflowers could not survive the winter. She had intended to dig it up and bring it to a greenhouse, but her professional ethics as a wild biology scholar stopped her from disturbing a single blade of grass.

Zhou Sicheng was five years old that year.

Zheng Ai, struggling under the pressures of family and marriage, decided to follow Zhou Qingyun’s wishes and shift her focus to working alongside her husband, Zhou Qian. That was the last time she went into the mountains.

That same year, Zhou Qian renamed the company “Zhou Er Fu Shi” (Cycles and Recurrence). Zheng Ai taught her son how to plant sunflowers, telling him that all things in the universe cycle—that what is planted will be harvested, and what is lost will return in another form.

You must become the sunlight itself, and the seeds will sprout.

Zhou Sicheng grew seven generations of sunflowers until his parents died in an accident. Zhou Qingyun was furious, telling him that nothing in life had meaning except money.

It was Zhou Sicheng’s twelfth birthday. His parents were in Europe for a meeting and called their son, asking if he wanted a private island that was warm all year round, or the world’s largest transformer robot.

Zhou Sicheng wanted neither. Under his grandfather’s disapproving gaze, he told his parents: I want you to come home and spend my birthday with me.

Zhou Qian and Zheng Ai consulted each other and decided to give their son a surprise. They didn’t wait for the commercial flight the next day; they chartered a private plane, which crashed on the runway.

Zhou Qingyun lost his only son, and Zhou Sicheng became the outlet for all his grief and rage, subjected to high-pressure education.

Since the age of twelve, Zhou Sicheng was only allowed to do things that were “valuable.” Anything “cheap,” “worthless,” or “undignified” was strictly prohibited.

Because Zhou Sicheng needed love, he lost the only two people who loved him.

Because Zhou Sicheng didn’t care for money, his life became only money. No one’s legs were long enough to cross mountains of cash to love him for who he was.

Zhou Qingyun: “You are a repulsive child. Because you are foolish, no one will ever love you again. From now on, anyone who claims to love you is only doing so for your money.”

Zhou Qingyun wanted Zhou Sicheng to become a money-making machine for the Zhou Fu Group.

But “Zhou Er Fu Shi”—cycles and recurrence—did not mean this at all.

…

“Uncle Zhang, how are the seeds I gave you last time?”

Zhou Sicheng squatted by the flower bed, reaching out to touch the sunflower leaves.

Uncle Zhang had taken over the gardening chores since Zhou Sicheng was twelve. In his eyes, these flowers were relics of Madam Zheng Ai, so they had to be tended to with care.

“They’re all planted here.” Uncle Zhang pointed to a circle of blue-and-white porcelain pots around the flower bed. “One seed per pot. Once they grow taller, we’ll transplant them into the garden.”

“The weather is hot now, so the sunflowers are growing very fast. They’ll be ready for transplanting in a few days.”

Uncle Zhang hadn’t expected the CEO to still have an interest in gardening. Zhou Sicheng had long since abandoned these things, looking at them only briefly when leaving the house. Or, when he was in conflict with Zhou Qingyun, he would watch them for a long time. It seemed his mood was bad again.

“Growing very fast?” Zhou Sicheng’s mouth curled up, then flattened. “Won’t they be encroaching on the bed in a week?”

He couldn’t imagine how cramped the rental apartment would be when he returned from his business trip.

He decided he would introduce a job to Uncle Zhang: door-to-door sunflower recycling, 200 yuan per pot. Let’s see if Xiang Zhen loves money or sunflowers more.

Zhou Sicheng left a final instruction: “Leave some space, I have more to plant.”

After saying this, he went upstairs, walked into the study, and took an old notebook from the shelf, on which was written in black pen: Flower Observation Notes.

If one looked closely at the childish handwriting, one could see the雏形 (embryonic form) of the flourishes found in the CEO’s signature today. These were the planting notes he wrote as a child, with Zheng Ai drawing grids for him and him recording the growth of the sunflowers with crayons.

Zhou Sicheng picked up a pen, wanting to write something in the blank space.

Never mind.

He didn’t want to write.

The person in the family who loved sunflowers most wasn’t him anymore, nor was it Zheng Ai.

It was his wife.

…

[Xiang Zhen: Hubby, what time are you off work tonight?]

[Zhou Sicheng: Home by eight.]

Xiang Zhen’s trust in his husband remained 100% throughout the day.

The Sun God was the embodiment of light; he believed Zhou Sicheng wouldn’t do anything sordid.

But he absolutely had to check his husband’s phone—he couldn’t let the Little Sunflower Bag misunderstand.

At 7:50, Xiang Zhen paced downstairs, waiting for Zhou Sicheng.

Zhou Sicheng, having been tipped off by Shi Ting, got out of the car 200 meters from the complex and walked the rest of the way home.

“Hubby! You’re back!”

“Mn.” Zhou Sicheng wasn’t used to being called “hubby” in public. He reached out and pinched Xiang Zhen’s earlobe. “Keep it low-key.”

Xiang Zhen linked his arm with Zhou Sicheng’s and walked a few steps before suddenly realizing something was wrong. “Hubby, where’s our car? You didn’t drive home?”

Zhou Sicheng didn’t drive the new, identical car from the garage; he felt it wasn’t the first car he shared with Xiang Zhen, and he didn’t want to lie to him. “It crashed. Sent for repairs.”

Xiang Zhen was horrified, looking Zhou Sicheng up and down. “Hubby, are you okay? Are you hurt? Was it this morning? I should have gone to work with you.”

Xiang Zhen was deeply annoyed. Zhou Sicheng was truly a careless genius—if it weren’t for his sudden change in shift, Zhou Sicheng wouldn’t have been in an accident.

It was all his fault for not trusting his husband.

Zhou Sicheng: “Rear-ended. I’m fine. Insurance will cover the repair costs; I don’t have to pay.”

Xiang Zhen: “Don’t drive anymore in the future. Let’s take the bus to work together.”

The bus drivers were professional veteran drivers hired by the government; they were surely more capable.

Zhou Sicheng didn’t want to squeeze onto the bus. “We’ll talk about it when I get back. I’m going on a business trip tomorrow, so I won’t need it anyway.”

At 8:00 AM tomorrow, Zhou Sicheng would head straight to the airport for the capital. At the government’s invitation, he would represent emerging tech giants and meet with foreign political and business teams alongside state dignitaries.

Unsurprisingly, Zhou Sicheng would appear in the news.

But media reports focused on the guests, not the attendants. Zhou Sicheng intended to minimize his personal exposure, and the cameras wouldn’t be trained on him. He also had a set of tactics for dealing with such situations.

Unsurprisingly, Xiang Zhen, who only watched videos of dogs, wouldn’t watch the news.

Unless Xiang Zhen stumbled upon his silhouette amidst the flood of short videos.

Zhou Sicheng decided to restrict Xiang Zhen from watching short videos for a week until the heat died down.

“Xiang Zhen, have you noticed that short videos take up most of your energy after work, leaving less time for me?”

Humans always love restricting family members’ phone usage. Xiang Zhen hid his phone in his pocket. “I’m not doing it for entertainment; I’m learning.”

Fairies were different from humans; to them, short videos were streams of fragmented information to quickly understand the world.

Zhou Sicheng: “If you don’t watch short videos for a week, I’ll bring you a gift when I return from my business trip.”

Xiang Zhen looked at him suspiciously. Could it be that Zhou Sicheng saw him learning things from “Sister Wang” and was acting out of a guilty conscience?

The comment sections were full of wives saying their husbands got annoyed the moment they heard Sister Wang’s voice.

Zhou Sicheng stood calm and composed under the gaze, appearing strategically masterful and unfathomable.

Xiang Zhen bit his lip. It was the first time his husband said he wanted to give him a gift.

But if he uninstalled the app, he wouldn’t be able to learn from Sister Wang.

Zhou Sicheng saw Xiang Zhen’s reluctant expression, and the image of a muscle-man posing in a video flashed across his mind. He decisively upped the ante: “I will scour the entire capital for the most delicious cakes for you.”

Xiang Zhen’s mouth watered uncontrollably. Zhou Sicheng was the most skilled cake buyer he had ever met; he had a sharp eye for finding desserts but a stern heart for maintaining healthy blood sugar levels.

“Okay, hubby.”

Xiang Zhen moved his fingers and obediently uninstalled the app.

Zhou Sicheng rubbed the back of Xiang Zhen’s neck. If he were any more disobedient, he would have to use his private connections to limit Xiang Zhen’s account recommendations so he could only watch cartoons.

He didn’t want to do that unless absolutely necessary.

He wasn’t afraid of Xiang Zhen discovering his true identity—if he discovered he was worth hundreds of billions, Xiang Zhen would only love him more.

But this timing had to be under his control—it could absolutely not happen while they were separated, nor before Xiang Zhen thoroughly fell in love with the ordinary Zhou Sicheng.

Zhou Sicheng reflected that, in truth, he hadn’t fully executed the “pretend-to-be-poor” plan; he still showed his wealth.

The way Xiang Zhen’s eyes sparkled at the sight of a credit card, the way his golden hair trembled with excitement—Zhou Sicheng would never forget these moments as long as he lived.

This was the small significance of wealth.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

Thinking about being separated from his new bride for seven days, Zhou Sicheng found this unsightly rental apartment suddenly more pleasant.

Because there were many important messages to coordinate tonight, Zhou Sicheng took his phone into the bathroom to avoid Xiang Zhen seeing it.

Xiang Zhen watched as Zhou Sicheng took the phone. In the past, whenever Zhou Sicheng showered, he would leave the phone on the bed.

Stop, stop… He had decided to trust his husband and not check his phone!

Sister Wang said, the consequences of confronting your husband aren’t something you can necessarily handle—and sure enough, his husband got into a car accident.

After Zhou Sicheng finished his shower, the two lay quietly in bed, each playing on their own phones in a very tender atmosphere.

Xiang Zhen rested his head on his husband’s arm. “Can I lean on you all night tonight?”

“When is it that you don’t lean on me all night?” Zhou Sicheng shifted his arm to make Xiang Zhen more comfortable.

Xiang Zhen rolled his eyes. Yesterday and the day before, that wasn’t the case.

Because he was going on a business trip tomorrow, Zhou Sicheng didn’t go out to work out that night; he just wanted to stay quietly with Xiang Zhen.

The next day, while Zhou Sicheng got up early to use the bathroom, Xiang Zhen immediately notified the Little Sunflower Bag—

“We all misunderstood my hubby! He didn’t go out last night; he was sleeping at home the whole time, so everything before was a misunderstanding!”

[Sunflower: No! The chain of evidence is incomplete! Most men themselves are incapable of engaging in sexual activity for three consecutive days.]

Xiang Zhen scratched his cheek. Incapable of three consecutive days?

[Sunflower: I’ll tell you the honest truth. Prolonged sitting directly affects sexual performance. Your husband is a ride-sharing driver; he sits for over 8 hours a day, leading to pelvic blood congestion and suppressed testosterone secretion. He is very likely to suffer from erectile dysfunction. Let me ask you: does your husband’s car have ventilated seats?]

Xiang Zhen froze. He knew absolutely nothing about Zhou Sicheng’s car; he was too unconcerned about his husband.

[Sunflower: That means it doesn’t. Let me tell you, poor local heat dissipation indirectly leads to a decrease in sperm quality.]

Xiang Zhen was stunned. So, driving for a ride-sharing service had risks in that regard—no wonder they didn’t have a sex life.

The Little Sunflower Bag was really knowledgeable.

[Sunflower: I guarantee you, your husband’s sexual performance isn’t enough to last three consecutive days. Not going out last night was normal.]

[Sunflower: The only way to permanently dispel your doubts is to check his bills.]

At that moment, Zhou Sicheng’s phone was on the pillow.

Xiang Zhen was completely convinced by the Little Sunflower Bag. A mysterious force drove him to pick up Zhou Sicheng’s phone.

Unlocked. Entered WeChat.

Payment history: No abnormalities.

My Bills: No abnormalities.

The corners of Xiang Zhen’s mouth were already curving upward. His husband’s bill was cleaner than his face; he almost never bought anything.

Finally, he clicked on [Balance] – [Transaction Details].

5/13 [Smart Charging Station] -75 yuan

Balance 3001

5/14 [Family Breakfast Shop] -18 yuan

Balance 2585

5/15 [Convenience Store] -38 yuan

Balance 1949

Wait, wait!

At first glance, it seemed fine—Zhou Sicheng’s life, apart from charging, was just fueling himself. But the balance was wrong.

Xiang Zhen took a photo and sent it to the Little Sunflower Bag.

[Sunflower: It’s obvious. Between the 13th and the 14th, 398 appeared out of thin air. Between the 14th and the 15th, 598 disappeared into thin air. It proves your husband deleted the records out of a guilty conscience.]

[Xiang Zhen: The numbers are different! He goes to 1620 every time, which means he didn’t transfer it to 1620!]

[Sunflower: Different prices just mean different services.]

Click.

Zhou Sicheng opened the bathroom door, coming out with dripping wet hair, only to see his wife with teary eyes.

He dropped his towel and pulled Xiang Zhen up. “What’s wrong?”