Xiang Zhen looked at Zhou Sicheng with a pale, panicked face, forgetting everything for a second: “Hubby, have you gone crazy?!”

Fan Hao interjected, “You bet he’s crazy! The way he resigned on the spot and walked out, I thought he was about to jump off the building!”

Xiang Zhen was truly terrified by Fan Hao’s words: “Resigned?”

Fan Hao: “He just publicly resigned from his position as CEO. He’s unemployed now.”

Xiang Zhen felt as if his throat were being choked, an unexpected surge of anger rising within him. He closed his eyes, bit the second knuckle of his index finger, and took deep, shuddering breaths.

Zhou Sicheng pulled away his mistreated finger, gently pinched his cheek, and said softly, “I’m stepping down for now. Let’s go home.”

Zhou Sicheng squatted down.

“Hubby, don’t…” Xiang Zhen looked at Zhou Sicheng’s broad back; it was what he yearned for, but also what he feared.

Seeing him hesitate, Zhou Sicheng reached back, hooked his hands around Xiang Zhen’s thighs, and with a surge of strength, hoisted him onto his back before striding toward the elevator.

On his back, Xiang Zhen thought of Zhou Sicheng in the conference room—that distant, untouchable three-piece suit was now right beneath his palms, and the high-and-mighty Zhou Sicheng was right before his eyes.

Zhou Sicheng had given up his empire for him.

Filled with a mix of intense emotion and sorrow, Xiang Zhen covered his mouth with his hand.

Zhou Sicheng felt one of his hands loosen and guessed he was using it to cover his mouth. “If you want to throw up, just do it.”

The next second, a damp warmth soaked into his shoulder.

Like an icy rain falling onto Zhou Sicheng’s heart.

His meticulously prepared suit—if he had known, why bother ironing it? He might as well have worn the shirt his wife had slept in.

Zhou Sicheng: “Count it as once. I’m not eating today.”

Xiang Zhen almost burst into tears. Zhou Sicheng was being so unfair, waiting until he finished throwing up before saying that! “Hubby, don’t count it… don’t skip meals.”

Humans would die if they didn’t eat.

When they had left home earlier, both of them were dressed in million-yuan custom suits. Now, both were stained with vomit—anyone on the street looked more presentable than them.

Zhou Sicheng entered the elevator and pressed the button for the B2 floor. The elevator’s mirrored walls clearly reflected the messy state between him and Xiang Zhen. “It’s fine. We’ll just clean up when we get home.”

Xiang Zhen scrambled up slightly, holding back his nausea, and wrapped both arms around his husband’s head. It was an intimate embrace he hadn’t initiated in a long time. He tilted his head, eyes wide as he stared at Zhou Sicheng.

“Hubby, don’t force me.”

“I am forcing you.”

Zhou Sicheng was deliberately using Xiang Zhen’s love for him to drive that nausea away to the ends of the earth.

He was using the typical capitalist tactic of forcing a choice—except he was using it on his own wife. He was a despicable villain.

Xiang Zhen closed his eyes, not daring to look at the radiant sun again. Like a withered flower, he curled up helplessly against Zhou Sicheng’s back.

When getting into the car, he refused the front passenger seat. The moment Zhou Sicheng put him down, Xiang Zhen sprinted to the back seat as if the front seat would burn him, curling his legs up and lying down facing the backrest, turning his back to Zhou Sicheng.

He couldn’t throw up again today.

Zhou Sicheng rested one hand on the front passenger door, remained silent for a moment, and then closed the door.

How else could he force him?

Xiang Zhen refused to cooperate.

Arriving home, Xiang Zhen didn’t need Zhou Sicheng to lead the way. Having lived here for a month and spent that whole month looking for his husband, he had found every safe in the house and learned all the passwords—the only thing he hadn’t managed to touch was a single hair on Zhou Sicheng.

He was already more familiar with this home than Zhou Sicheng was.

Xiang Zhen ran swiftly toward the bedroom, encountering even more bodyguards along the way than before.

Zhou Sicheng was prepared, afraid that Xiang Zhen would resist or try to run away.

Xiang Zhen ran to the bathroom to rinse his mouth, stripped off his clothes, rushed to the bed, and wrapped himself tightly in the blanket like a zongzi, kneeling on all fours.

This way, even if Zhou Sicheng pulled away his blanket, he wouldn’t have to face Zhou Sicheng directly.

He couldn’t look at his husband anymore; he couldn’t throw up anymore.

If he didn’t exercise restraint, he would reach a lethal threshold of vomit counts for Zhou Sicheng today.

His husband was simply too fragile and easy to die.

Zhou Sicheng followed him in a step slower. The summer silk duvet was very thin, clearly outlining Xiang Zhen’s posture beneath it.

It was the look of a frightened child hiding under the covers.

Zhou Sicheng: “Zhenzhen.”

Xiang Zhen didn’t respond.

Zhou Sicheng sat at the foot of the bed, resting his forearms on his knees, utterly defeated.

If he didn’t force Xiang Zhen, they could still maintain an online-like romance like the sun and the moon—never meeting, yet deeply in love.

Was he satisfied with that? Zhou Sicheng asked himself. Are you satisfied?

Every drop of blood in his body roared no.

“Tell Little Aoi-Bot what you want for dinner,” Zhou Sicheng said softly, patting Xiang Zhen’s bottom through the duvet.

His main goal wasn’t to torment Xiang Zhen and make him throw up endlessly.

Zhou Sicheng wanted to torment himself. Seeing him just once a day was enough reason for him to go without food for the entire day.

“No capitalist would ever let himself starve to death, so you don’t need to worry too much,” Zhou Sicheng added.

Xiang Zhen didn’t believe him. As stated in Das Kapital, with a 300% profit, a capitalist would dare to risk the gallows.

Zhou Sicheng stood up and left the room.

His abrupt announcement of stepping down into the background was a massive shift. For a large conglomerate, stepping back was not entirely unprecedented, but Zhou Sicheng was still so young that the public was stunned.

For such a major event, the phone was bound to explode.

Zhou Sicheng glanced at his phone—countless missed calls, including three from Zhou Qingyun.

Zhou Sicheng called back.

“Get your ass back here!”

Zhou Sicheng let out a soft laugh. At this point, what did the old man have left to threaten him with?

Yet out of duty and reason, Zhou Sicheng needed to return to the ancestral estate. There were things he had to say face-to-face.

Leaning on his walking stick, Zhou Qingyun was nearly exploding with rage. The little brat had fought him tooth and nail back then to seize control of the Zhoufu Group, and now he was tossing it away just like that!

Zhou Sicheng walked in from the door.

Zhou Qingyun immediately threw a teacup at him to assert his dominance.

Zhou Sicheng looked at the cup that shattered two meters away from him and raised an eyebrow.

Zhou Qingyun: “What on earth do you think you’re doing?! Do you think I don’t know who or what you’ve been keeping?! I turned a blind eye, but that doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want! The CEO of Zhoufu Group—only someone from our Zhou family can sit in that chair!”

“Your parents put so much blood and sweat into designing that equity structure for controlling power back then—are you worthy of their sacrifices?!”

Zhou Sicheng closed his eyes: “I think they would understand.”

Zhou Qingyun: “Well, I don’t!”

Zhou Sicheng said earnestly: “Grandpa, I’ve thought about it for sixteen years. I still feel that love is more important than money.”

Zhou Qingyun sneered: “You bastard! Then hand all the money back to me! Go be a penniless loser!”

Zhou Sicheng produced an equity transfer agreement: “All of Zhoufu’s shares—I can return them to you.”

Zhou Qingyun froze, but quickly figured it out: “Give them to me? You’re taking advantage of the fact that I only have one grandson, aren’t you?! When I die, won’t it all be yours anyway?! Don’t put on an act in front of me!”

Zhou Sicheng: “Fair point.”

Zhou Qingyun was furious beyond belief. A grandson who wanted nothing was utterly invincible—he couldn’t even find the words to scold him.

Zhou Sicheng spoke slowly: “I love someone, but being with him conflicts with my identity.”

Now that things had reached this point, Zhou Sicheng possessed a bit more patience. Even if his grandfather couldn’t understand his thoughts, he genuinely felt the desire to confide his troubles to an elder. He only had this one elder left; whether the old man liked listening or not didn’t matter—Zhou Sicheng couldn’t even control his own feelings anymore.

Zhou Sicheng: “He only seems to like the penniless version of me.”

Zhou Qingyun sneered: “There’s actually such a person?! Did the Vice President set up a pig-butchering scam for you?!”

Zhou Sicheng: “Sometimes he really is as mechanical as Little Aoi-Bot.”

Zhou Qingyun said with absolute certainty: “He must be someone Wang Jianbin trained!”

Zhou Sicheng: “He’s very cute. A true proletarian warrior.”

Zhou Qingyun wanted to take a stick and strike some sense into his love-addled brain.

Zhou Sicheng: “I want to be with him. But he doesn’t like me as a capitalist, and I have no other choice.”

Zhou Qingyun suddenly froze, seeing the exact same look in his grandson’s eyes as he had sixteen years ago.

How many years had his grandson maintained a tough, cold image before the world? Zhou Qingyun realized late that his grandson was actually complaining to him about the troubles of his first love—though he hadn’t cried yet, he looked like he was on the verge of tears.

Just like his parents—holding onto each other even in death, their bones inseparable.

In an instant, Zhou Qingyun felt his age weighing down on him. After his wife passed away, he had never remarried, leaving him with only one son, Zhou Qian. When his son died, he placed exceptionally high demands on Zhou Sicheng.

A grandson raised under high-pressure control—once he fell in love with someone, he threw all caution to the wind.

Zhou Qingyun dug his heels in: “No one doesn’t love money. You’d better look for other reasons.”

Zhou Sicheng: “Grandpa, between power, wealth, and you—I choose you too.”

Zhou Qingyun was taken aback. Hearing such a line at the ripe old age of seventy was really…

“Get out, get out, get out!”

Zhou Sicheng pinched his forehead: “I do have a lot of things to handle. I came today specifically to explain things to you. I’ll take my leave now.”

He paused, then said to Zhou Qingyun: “Grandpa, it seems I’m actually a bit more like you.”

Zhou Qingyun: “What do you mean?”

Zhou Sicheng didn’t explain and strode away.

He was indeed more like Zhou Qingyun; he couldn’t be like Zhou Qian, letting Zheng Ai head into the undeveloped Greater Khingan Mountains with a research team for months on end.

He couldn’t let go of Xiang Zhen. He would wake up startled in the middle of the night, terrified that his wife might be carried off by a wild boar.

He possessed an endless desire to control Xiang Zhen—desires that Xiang Zhen had fed him bite by bite, and he simply acted upon them.

Zhou Sicheng spent the entire day handling the handover.

Day turned into night.

The next morning, the sky over Haishi remained dark and overcast.

It took Zhou Sicheng a immense effort just to dig Xiang Zhen out from under the covers for a single glance.

Xiang Zhen held onto the blanket for dear life. After tugging back and forth twice, Zhou Sicheng gave up, saying as he walked out: “It’s fine if you don’t look at me. I’ll just treat it as if you threw up.”

Xiang Zhen was furious—wouldn’t that mean he lost out?!

He missed out on seeing his husband, yet his husband didn’t get to eat for an extra day either!

Zhou Sicheng had already gone twenty-four hours without food.

Xiang Zhen calculated the time, anxious beyond measure. At night, thunder began to rumble outside. He heard Zhou Sicheng drag an armchair to the bedside and sit down, not moving an inch after that: “I’ll stay with you. Hide well in the blanket; don’t be scared.”

Unable to meet face-to-face, yet needing to accompany Xiang Zhen through the stormy night, this was his only way.

Little Aoi-Bot: “Master, you haven’t drunk water for a day. Water is the source of life; please pay attention to hydration.”

Xiang Zhen asked frantically from under the blanket: “You’re not drinking water either?!”

Zhou Sicheng: “No.”

By eight o’clock at night, Zhou Sicheng had gone 36 hours without food or water. He still looked relatively fine, sitting there reading a book, though his lips were somewhat dry.

Xiang Zhen was genuinely worried about him. He pulled open a thin crack in the duvet and stole a look in the dim glow of the nightlight. Meeting Zhou Sicheng’s fierce, resolute gaze, his lower abdomen twitched, and he accidentally dry-heaved.

Zhou Sicheng actually managed a laugh: “Peeking at me? Great, no food tomorrow either.”

Xiang Zhen wanted to argue his case—he clearly hadn’t actually thrown up! But he feared that arguing would make him vomit for real. Little Aoi-Bot paced around in circles anxiously, acting as if Zhou Sicheng were its biological father, begging Xiang Zhen to persuade him. But what could Xiang Zhen possibly do?

Outside, thunder rolled and rain poured, the fierce wind shaking the window frames.

Xiang Zhen shivered.

Zhou Sicheng instinctively reached out, wanting to hold Xiang Zhen.

He stood up, but due to low blood sugar, his movements lagged for a moment. Holding Xiang Zhen right now would only backfire, so he had no choice but to sit back down.

“Hubby is right here, don’t be scared.”

Xiang Zhen: “Mm.”

The thunder grew louder, and flashes of lightning lit up the room in sharp bursts.

Zhou Sicheng watched his wife trembling under the blanket with every peel of thunder. At the moment his wife needed him most, he was utterly powerless.

Would doing this actually change anything?

If it were another man—a man with a modest income and an ordinary background—he could hold Xiang Zhen in his arms right now, cover his ears, and tell him not to be afraid.

When held close, skin pressed against skin, Xiang Zhen wouldn’t be afraid.

Just contemplating the possibility of letting go brought an agonizing ache that rippled through his internal organs. A sharp, spasmodic pain shot through Zhou Sicheng’s stomach, causing him to double over as the book on his knees fell to the floor with a loud thud.

Hearing the noise, Xiang Zhen threw off the blanket. Seeing his husband in evident pain, panic seized his heart—was his husband about to starve to death?! He squatted by Zhou Sicheng’s feet, reaching out to cover his stomach, transferring his sunflower solar power into Zhou Sicheng through his palm.

“Hubby, drink some warm water, okay?”

Zhou Sicheng suddenly grabbed his hand tightly, his voice raspy: “Do you still feel like throwing up?”

Xiang Zhen instantly turned his head away, “I… I don’t…”

Zhou Sicheng saw him digging the diamond face of his ring forcefully into his thigh, using pain to suppress the nausea.

Zhou Sicheng hardened his heart and closed his eyes: “I’m not drinking.”

Xiang Zhen froze on the spot, a sudden realization washing over him: It wasn’t that Zhou Sicheng couldn’t leave him—it was that he couldn’t leave Zhou Sicheng. He should have left long ago. Why drag things out until his husband suffered real harm?

Suddenly, a massive bolt of lightning split the sky. The lighting in the entire villa short-circuited, plunging the bedroom into darkness for a brief second.

“Wait for me to return,” a soft voice whispered, its trailing echo dissolving into the rumble of thunder.

Go where?!

Zhou Sicheng hurriedly reached out to grab him, but when the light strips flickered back on, the space before him was completely empty, leaving only the delayed reverberation of thunder behind.

Zhou Sicheng felt as though he had plunged into a void.

Half a minute later, the entire villa lit up brightly. Amidst the noisy storm, dozens of bodyguards searched for Xiang Zhen together.

He was nowhere to be found.

Zhou Sicheng rushed out the door and drove out to search. Passing by the patch of sunflowers, he suddenly slammed on the brakes.

He had an intuition—Xiang Zhen was right here.

In such a short time, there was no way he could have escaped the villa grounds.

The torrential rain poured down, battering the sunflowers out of alignment.

Xiang Zhen couldn’t run too far while dodging the surveillance cameras, so he had transformed into a sunflower identical to the rest, hiding right inside the sunflower patch. Thanks to Zheng Ai, it was fortunate that his kindred sunflowers were planted here and currently in bloom, allowing him to blend in perfectly.

He watched helplessly as Zhou Sicheng appeared amidst the wind and rain—his eyes dark, his entire body soaked, water dripping from his fingers. The flashes of lightning illuminated the night, and using the very light he feared most, he saw his beloved sun clearly: Zhou Sicheng looked slightly thinner, the lines of his face even sharper and harsher.

The sunflower’s heart leapt into its throat: How on earth did Zhou Sicheng find him?

Countless high-powered flashlights and searchlights beamed onto the pitch-black patch of flowers. Xiang Zhen didn’t dare move a muscle, swaying only with the angle of the wind and rain. Rainwater slammed against his flower head, bringing a sticky, dull pain.

“Zhenzhen.” Zhou Sicheng looked through them flower by flower. The height of a sunflower and a human was roughly the same, and he carefully distinguished whether a dark silhouette belonged to a plant or his wife.

Suddenly, the intense beam of a flashlight caught a sharp, blinding reflection.

A flash of diamond fire caught Zhou Sicheng’s eye.

Zhou Sicheng froze, turned his head to the right, and directed the bodyguards: “Focus the search right here.”

The hair clip in Xiang Zhen’s hair had reflected the light—he was right there.

Xiang Zhen realized it too and frantically shook off the hair clip. Oh no! He had remembered to take off his ring, but forgot about the hair clip he had been wearing on his head for so long!

The hair clip landed a meter away.

With so many eyes watching and so many closing footsteps approaching like an invading army, Xiang Zhen didn’t even dare to breathe heavy. He could only watch as Zhou Sicheng parted the sunflower stems, closing in step by step.

This was their first time meeting in this form—separated only by a pouring curtain of rain from the heavens.