Robot Xiao Kui switched on its child companionship mode, looking completely different from the off-center little sunflower avatar in the chat box.

“Baby Xiang Zhen, are you hungry? I can order meals for you!”

Baby? Did Zhou Sicheng teach it to call him that?

Xiang Zhen shifted slightly. “Not hungry.”

Xiao Kui said, “Let me introduce you to the new executive chef here. He can make soy milk cake, green bean paste milk, osmanthus ice jelly, green apple chiffon, and fruit cream cake. They’re all refreshing and cool for the summer heat. Is there really nothing among these you’d like to eat?”

Xiang Zhen sat up all at once, his nausea suddenly vanishing, replaced by a completely empty, deflated stomach. It was as if all the starch and glycogen stored inside his sunflower body had been completely broken down, and he desperately needed replenishment.

He wanted to eat all of them.

Xiang Zhen said, “I want all of them.”

Only then did he properly take in the robotic form of the little sunflower device—it was an extraordinarily cute white baby robot, and the sunflower on top of its head looked surprisingly realistic.

Xiang Zhen got off the bed, touched its gently swaying petals, and let out a smile.

Robot Xiao Kui was equipped with a real-time monitor. Sitting in the living room, Zhou Sicheng saw his wife finally smile and pressed the bridge of his tall nose.

The unfilial child actually turned out to be somewhat useful.

Robot Xiao Kui chimed, “Baby Xiang Zhen, eating too many desserts will cause tooth decay. You may select three items.”

Xiang Zhen crossed his arms. “You’re just like Zhou Sicheng—not letting me eat this, not letting me eat that.”

However, Robot Xiao Kui was a reasoning AI. In child mode, its duties were to follow, advise, and accompany, and it was strictly forbidden to indulge a child unconditionally.

“When bugs bite you, it will hurt so much you’ll roll around on the ground!”

Xiang Zhen’s fingers twitched slightly. The bugs sunflowers feared most were sunflower moths, aphids, and scarab beetles, which would gnaw away at his leaves and flower disks.

The only things he didn’t fear were mosquitoes.

He turned his head to look out the window. A vast field of golden sunflowers bloomed facing the sun. Surely Zhou Sicheng’s place wouldn’t have any bugs, right?

With an empty stomach, Xiang Zhen stared fixedly at Robot Xiao Kui, his brain working fast as snippets from workplace manipulation videos he’d seen online flashed through his mind.

With a solemn expression, he said, “Xiao Kui, I am very disappointed in you. When I first downloaded you, I gave you a very high rating and considered you my best friend. I never expected you to turn out like this. You’re Zhou Xiao Kui now, not Xiang Xiao Kui.”

Xiao Kui replied, “No matter what my surname is, I am always willing to be your best friend.”

Xiang Zhen demanded, “I want to eat all the cakes.”

Xiao Kui responded, “I am sorry, but I am a Xiao Kui with principles.”

Xiang Zhen pushed further: “Back then, I stood against all objections to bring you into my home. You know in your heart how high my expectations were for you, yet in the end, you listen to Zhou Sicheng more.”

The flower on Robot Xiao Kui flashed rapidly, as if its underlying code were locked in an intense internal battle.

Eavesdropping on the conversation, Zhou Sicheng decisively overrode Robot Xiao Kui’s controls: “Alright, you can eat all of them.”

At a special time like this, who cared about tooth decay or not? Being able to eat was a blessing. The fact that he could eat meant his mood had improved, and his willingness to eat food from this household showed that he hadn’t reached a point of absolute, irreconcilable hatred.

In the battle between wild instincts and artificial stupidity, the wild side won! Xiang Zhen was delighted—he knew browsing the internet wasn’t in vain.

Robot Xiao Kui operated the smart door lock, opened it, and slid out, returning shortly with a tray bearing a fruit cake.

It went back and forth several times.

Looking at more than a dozen cakes in front of him, Xiang Zhen suddenly recalled how expensive such cakes were. Would eating all this ruin my husband financially?

Even though Zhou Sicheng had lied to him—deceiving him during their marriage into believing he was drowning in debt when he was actually wealthy—Xiang Zhen had wanted to greedily devour all his money as revenge for the deception.

Still, actually ruining him financially didn’t seem right either. Zhou Sicheng had looked so handsome and noble when playing the piano.

Xiang Zhen asked Xiao Kui with genuine concern, “Will eating so much deal a heavy blow to my husband’s finances?”

He had heard that for some wealthy people, their debts outweighed their assets, and their cash flow was worse than that of an online streamer.

Xiao Kui replied, “Eat without worry! You know nothing about my master’s financial power!”

Xiang Zhen bit his lip. “I truly know nothing.”

Zhou Sicheng: “…”

Do you have to speak like that? Must you? If you don’t know how to use idioms, go back to kindergarten—always opening the pot that doesn’t boil.

Holding a large spoon, Xiang Zhen took a bite from this plate and a bite from that one, eating with a fantastic appetite.

Zhou Sicheng felt relieved that he had hired a pastry chef in advance and had preparations underway since early morning. What was originally meant to be a pleasant surprise had now served as a comfort.

Perhaps he ought to master a new skill himself.

“Young Master Zhou, a friend of the master’s wife, Dou Manning, wishes to pay a visit,” the housekeeper came over to inquire after receiving a message from property management.

Zhou Sicheng replied, “Please bring him in.”

With a change in living environment, having a familiar friend by his side might help Xiang Zhen adapt better.

Zhou Sicheng held high expectations for Dou Manning—among Xiang Zhen’s friends, Dou Manning was the most reasonable, always one to advise reconciliation rather than separation.

At a time like this, it was best to interact with friends who advocated for making up.

Someone like Yu Yueyue should be kept away for now.

Property management drove Dou Manning straight to the front door, and Zhou Sicheng personally led the way: “Xiang Zhen is in the second-floor bedroom.”

The housekeeper was thoroughly shocked—what happened to Young Master Zhou’s severe mysophobia? He had assumed Zhou Sicheng would call Xiang Zhen downstairs rather than let a guest into his bedroom. They had a perfectly fine living room!

Zhou Sicheng turned the door handle and stepped inside.

Seeing it with his own eyes was, after all, entirely different from watching a data stream.

Xiang Zhen looked thinner, right before his eyes.

It was as if Xiang Zhen possessed a light-sensitive switch in his body—the moment Zhou Sicheng appeared, he instinctively turned his back.

Zhou Sicheng paused for a moment.

“You go out too.”

The little sunflower robot spun helplessly on the spot, looking small and defenceless.

Zhou Sicheng said, “Xiao Kui, come out.”

Xiao Kui silently glided out after Zhou Sicheng, the name written in its underlying code completely plain for all to see.

Xiang Zhen remarked, “Xiao Kui has a camera.”

He knew he was constantly being monitored by his husband. Ye Yun had told him that they were bodyguards, brought in because Zhou Sicheng hadn’t felt safe ever since that drunkard slammed against the door in the middle of the night.

On his wrist, he was still wearing the monitoring band Zhou Sicheng had given him.

From body to soul, he belonged to his husband, yet his physical body refused to cooperate.

Xiang Zhen invited Dou Manning to eat cake with him, describing his state: “Whenever I look at him for too long, my lower abdomen hurts, and I feel like throwing up.”

After a short pause, he added in a quiet, conflicted voice, “I’m also a bit scared of him. I’m afraid he’ll hurt me, even though I believe my husband wouldn’t hit me.”

As a coffee spirit, Dou Manning only understood coffee trees and knew nothing about other species. Hearing this, his expression turned grave. “Should we ask Auntie Guihua?”

“Auntie Guihua is just a human.” Xiang Zhen shook his head. “Let’s not make her worry.”

Every species had its own life lessons to navigate.

Dou Manning pulled out the Guide to Adulthood. The book had been kept in his possession recently, which was why Zhou Sicheng hadn’t confiscated it—the rented apartment had practically been stripped bare by that man named Zhou.

Dou Manning said, “I read through it once too, but I couldn’t make out much. It’s mostly just principles about how to be a human.”

Xiang Zhen spread the book open on the bed, sitting side by side with Dou Manning. Their eyes converged on the sealed fold inside the Guide.

Xiang Zhen asked, “Do you think other spirits ran into the same problem I’m facing, but because it involved privacy, they only wrote about it in their autobiographies?”

Dou Manning replied, “It’s possible.”

Xiang Zhen asked, “Do you think we can read it?”

Dou Manning said, “If you read it, I’ll read it.”

Xiang Zhen said, “Then… motion passed unanimously. Let’s read.”

Xiang Zhen clipped back his stray locks of hair, reached out, and flipped open the fold. “This is… the autobiography of Senior Panther and Senior Honeysuckle. They gained spirit forms during the Republic of China era.”

Dou Manning noted, “Gaining spirit forms in the same region during the same era of the Republic… in modern terms, they were dual stars.”

Xiang Zhen added, “And both happen to have the surname Jin.”

Dou Manning agreed, “What a coincidence.”

He and Xiang Zhen hailed from different mountain ranges, one in the south and one in the north, separated by vast distances. Had they not met at a construction site, they would never have known each other.

The two spirits read together.

Senior Panther and Senior Honeysuckle were born in an era of turmoil when the land was invaded by foreign powers and left in ruins. Young people marched and shouted to save the nation from ruin, while visionary individuals raised wave after wave of revolution.

Whom should they choose? Which direction should they take?

Panther and Honeysuckle reached the same conclusion, choosing to stand alongside the working and peasant classes—the most heavily oppressed yet most powerful group over the ages. One fought valiantly on the battlefield, while the other became a white-cloaked angel, fighting side by side for the liberation of the entire nation.

The autobiography did not detail their combat operations, recording their discussions in merely a few brief lines:

[Honeysuckle: The Chinese national bourgeoisie possesses an inherent weakness and lacks the power of the working and peasant classes.]

[Panther: We spirits were born with nothing, so of course we belong to the proletariat.]

[Honeysuckle: Marx wrote in ‘Capital’ that when capital comes into the world, every pore from head to toe drips with blood and filth.]

[Panther: The proletariat and the bourgeoisie are inherently opposed.]

…

The sunflower and the coffee spirit were profoundly moved by the deeds of their two seniors, tears streaming down their faces before they even realized it.

No wonder the very first sentence of the Guide to Adulthood was: “Workers of the world, unite!”

The Guide to Adulthood was initially written by Honeysuckle. From their discussions, it was clear that Honeysuckle had read Capital and possessed greater literacy, while Panther’s summaries hit the nail on the head even more incisively.

At the very end of the autobiography, after a lifetime of struggle, the two seniors retired with glory.

Honeysuckle wondered what they could do for future spirits.

Panther replied that giving them money and household registration would suffice.

Thus, the “Spirit Foundation” was established, and the two seniors deposited their very first post-Founding salaries into it.

When later spirits entered the city, they too gained official identity cards within the human system.

“So that’s how it is… the capitalist class and the proletariat are inherently opposed,” Xiang Zhen muttered to himself, feeling as though he had finally uncovered the reason why looking at Zhou Sicheng made him feel like vomiting.

Xiang Zhen picked up his phone and asked Xiao Kui through choked sobs, “Xiao Kui, is Zhou Sicheng a capitalist?”

[Xiao Kui: {1} From the perspective of owning means of production, employing labor for production, and appropriating surplus value, Zhou Sicheng is indeed a capitalist. However, we are a socialist country, with public ownership as the mainstay…]

Xiang Zhen turned off the screen, feeling incomparably heartbroken.

Even Xiao Kui acknowledged that Zhou Sicheng was a capitalist.

The birth of capital was stained at every pore with the blood and sweat squeezed from the proletariat. As spirits, they were all proletarians; seeing a capitalist triggered an instinctive physical revulsion and dread inside them.

Seniors Panther and Honeysuckle, despite bearing the surname Jin (Gold), viewed wealth as mere dirt.

Yet he, a sunflower spirit, had turned into a capitalist’s wife!

It was a complete disgrace to their kind.

Dou Manning patted Xiang Zhen’s back to comfort him. “It wasn’t intentional on your part. It’s all Zhou Sicheng’s fault for deceiving you.”

Xiang Zhen asked, “Do you think I should divorce him?”

Dou Manning said, “If seeing him causes you this much suffering, then get a divorce.”

Xiang Zhen sniffled, his fair, delicate face full of inner conflict. “But I can’t bear to let him go.”

Though the summer heat was intense, the four seasons would inevitably cycle. Right now, the sun made his face sting, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t eventually reach spring.

If he divorced, his sun would be extinguished.

“Let me think about it a bit more. You should head back first, don’t stay on a capitalist’s turf. I won’t be able to help you sell coffee for a while.”

Dou Manning said, “It’s fine. You can still call me if anything comes up; I have plenty of ways to get in.”

Xiang Zhen nodded. “Finish the cake before you leave.”

Dou Manning tasted a piece of each dessert and presented Xiang Zhen with a handful of coffee beans. “When your heart feels bitter, drink some coffee. When your mouth is bitter, your heart won’t feel as bitter anymore.”

Xiang Zhen said, “Thank you.”

Carrying the Guide to Adulthood, Dou Manning walked out and looked up to see Zhou Sicheng.

Zhou Sicheng asked, “What did you two talk about? Why was Zhenzhen crying?”

The smart band had alerted him that Xiang Zhen was currently feeling distressed.

Dou Manning engaged sternly with the capitalist: “You shouldn’t have deceived Zhenzhen. If he wants a divorce, I will help him.”

Zhou Sicheng’s expression turned as cold as frost. “Safe travels.”

He had misjudged Dou Manning. Had he known the comforting would only make matters worse, he would never have let Dou Manning in today.

Zhou Sicheng was always adept at assessing venture risks, yet in this marriage between him and Xiang Zhen, he had staked everything he owned, leaving himself no way out.

He admitted that from the very beginning, he had miscalculated the risks of using a fake identity.

Yet, Xiang Zhen clearly didn’t dislike money.

He would beg for Xiang Zhen’s forgiveness until he finally received it.

…

Estimating that Manning was about to reach the courtyard below, Xiang Zhen walked barefoot to the window. Seeing Dou Manning’s figure, he waved his hand.

He didn’t go out to see his guest off, because Zhou Sicheng was right outside.

He remained inside Zhou Sicheng’s bedroom, having noticed that Zhou Sicheng had set out many photos of him inside.

This window faced the garden directly, where Uncle Zhang was busy working away.

Xiang Zhen suddenly remembered his original purpose for coming here and raised his voice: “Uncle Zhang! Can sunflowers really be sold for 985 yuan each?”

Uncle Zhang leaned on his hoe, straightened his back, and saw the young master’s wife upstairs looking just as innocent and charming as before. Feeling a bit embarrassed, he took off his straw hat and fanned himself. “Young Madam, that was all made up by me! I only wanted to buy your sunflowers because there really wasn’t enough room in your house to store them.”

Xiang Zhen lowered his eyes, catching sight of a patch of younger sunflowers on the other side. They had clearly been planted not long ago, and judging by the variety, they came from the half-packet of seeds that had disappeared from his wardrobe.

So Zhou Sicheng had taken them and planted them here—they hadn’t been thrown into a trash pile to be incinerated.

It seemed as though everything here was fake, everyone an actor. Yet the sunflowers Zhou Sicheng had planted for him were real; he knew they were real.

Xiang Zhen asked again, “Where did the seeds for that patch of sunflowers right in the middle come from?”

Uncle Zhang recalled, “I think it was once when Master Zhou’s mother, Ms. Zheng Ai, brought them back from the Greater Khingan Range. At first, Master Zhou personally planted and tended to them, but later… later Master Zhou got busy with work, so I took over caring for them.”

Xiang Zhen thought to himself: so the cloud of cotton supporting the sunflowers was named Zheng Ai—Ai as in floating clouds (tingyun aiai). She was born to be a saving cloud.

Just like Zhou Sicheng, who was born to be a ride-hailing driver.

They were truly mother and son.

If given the chance, he wanted to thank Zhou Sicheng’s mother.

Because of this matter, he could forgive many things.

So Zhou Sicheng had planted sunflowers before too. But since his grievance against sunflowers was so strong, did he stop planting them as he grew up?

As Xiang Zhen pondered, he noticed Uncle Zhang was still looking up at him, seemingly waiting for his next words.

Xiang Zhen hurriedly said, “Uncle Zhang, please carry on with your work.”

“Alright then!”

As an actor who had deceived the young master’s wife, Uncle Zhang felt somewhat at a loss facing Xiang Zhen, who had suddenly moved in and turned cold toward Zhou Sicheng. He felt as though he too had played a role in pushing things to this point.

Holding his hoe, he dug the drainage ditch in the sunflower field a bit deeper. Sudden heavy rainstorms were common in summer, and waterlogging had to be prevented.

Year after year passed quickly. In the blink of an eye, this year’s sunflowers were blooming, pollinating, and beginning to set seeds again.

Once a sunflower sets seeds, it no longer turns to follow the sun. Its stalk matures and stiffens, fixing its orientation toward the southeast to prevent the intense midday sunlight from scorching the seeds inside the flower disk.

When the sun was particularly fierce, Uncle Zhang would even draw a sunshade net over them. Although sunflowers were heat-tolerant plants, sunflowers living in a luxury estate deserved somewhat special treatment—keeping them comfortable so they could produce the plumpest seeds.

Uncle Zhang patted one of the fullest flower disks, assisting it in full pollination.

Reproduction was etched into the genes of every species.

Just as he gave everything for his own children, sunflowers dedicated everything to their sunflower seeds.

It had to stop absorbing nitrogen fertilizer and cease growing its own branches and leaves, focusing entirely on nourishing the flower disk alone.

It had to turn its back to the sun to protect the delicate, developing seeds.

It had to break down the glycogen and starch stored within its body, transporting them to the flower disk to transform into oils and proteins within the seeds.

It had to nurture plump, healthy sunflower seeds.

…

Holding a glass of passion fruit and kumquat tea, Zhou Sicheng knocked three times on the bedroom door.

Receiving no response, he opened the door and walked straight in. Xiao Kui glided inside right behind him like a little shadow.

“Wife, are you thirsty?”

The moment the words left his mouth, Zhou Sicheng saw with his own eyes that Xiang Zhen’s back by the window trembled slightly.

“I’m sorry.”

Zhou Sicheng walked over with light steps, gently wrapping his arms around him from behind, his nose catching that comforting, dry grassy fragrance that always brought him peace.

“Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.”

Xiang Zhen kept his head lowered without turning around, his fingers gripping the frame of the sliding window. He decided that right in front of all his sunflower brethren, he would lay everything bare with Zhou Sicheng.

“Husband, I still love you, and I forgive your deception.”

Zhou Sicheng’s throat tightened. At this moment, he knew he had wronged Xiang Zhen.

“However,” Xiang Zhen’s voice was low, yet perfectly clear, word by word.

“Your identity as a capitalist makes me feel disgusted.”

Zhou Sicheng froze in disbelief.

Was the issue actually here?

Xiang Zhen said, “It seems there’s no possibility left for us.”

Zhou Sicheng’s expression shifted drastically. He turned Xiang Zhen around, locking his shoulders with both palms: “What do you mean no possibility? There are no obstacles between us!”

Caught unprepared, Xiang Zhen found himself looking straight into his husband’s handsome face—that face that remained as striking as ever.

“Gag.”

Unable to hold it back, Xiang Zhen clutched Zhou Sicheng’s shirt and threw up a bit of stomach acid.

Feeling his wife’s physical revulsion toward him, Zhou Sicheng’s expression turned horribly pale in an instant.

The warm liquid soaking through his chest felt just like an icicle of extreme cold, seeping straight into his heart.