You Sure Have a Lot of Guests at Home
"Su Yu! Look what you’ve done! How could you beat up Xiaopeng like this?"
The woman’s features were blurred, but the little fat boy standing beside her was unmistakable—chest puffed out with borrowed courage, his face adorned with a few scratches courtesy of Su Yu.
In the corner stood a small boy, silent, lips pressed tightly together in stubborn defiance. His tank top and shorts were ill-fitting, dirty, hanging loosely on his thin frame.
"You never say a damn word. No dinner for you tonight either!"
The woman grabbed his ear, twisting it hard. Su Yu’s earlobe burned with pain. Small and powerless against an adult, he could only struggle uselessly.
"But he—he stole my food—"
The chubby boy stuck out his tongue, grinning triumphantly.
——
The young man in bed jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat, his eyelids fluttering before snapping open. He sat up abruptly, gasping for air.
Su Yu scanned the room—not the dark, grimy orphanage of his nightmares, but a clean, minimalist space.
Then the hangover hit. His head throbbed.
Why did I dream about that now? It had been years since those memories resurfaced.
His first instinct was to grab his phone, scrambling to piece together the missing fragments of last night.
[Shen Le: Bro, you alive? If Ji Yanli beat you up, call the cops.]
[Shen Le: I can call for you, but send me your location first.]
The messages reeked of Shen Le’s signature idiocy. Su Yu replied with a single period.
After tossing the phone aside, he got up and circled the room. No wonder it felt familiar—he’d been here once before, back when Ji Yanli still had his memories.
The cold, sterile decor was unmistakably Ji Yanli’s.
Su Yu glanced down at the oversized white loungewear he’d been changed into. His eyebrow twitched.
Did Ji Yanli change my clothes? What the hell happened last night?
Unfortunately, his memory was a black hole.
He pushed the door open and stepped out. Ji Yanli wasn’t here—probably at work. As his "assistant," Su Yu had shockingly few actual duties. He was more like a mascot.
Descending the stairs, Su Yu squinted against the glare of the chandelier. Halfway down, the murmur of voices grew clearer—not one person, but what sounded like a whole committee.
"Yanli, that’s where you’re wrong. Everyone needs to learn. Let my son be your assistant—guide him, consider it a favor to your Uncle Yang."
The man’s voice was gratingly familiar. Su Yu’s eyes narrowed at the bloated figure below.
Well, well. If it isn’t that two-faced old bastard.
Beside "Old Bastard Yang" sat a young man, slouched with a cocky grin, one leg draped over the other.
Ji Yanli’s long legs were visible on the opposite side of the sofa, his face obscured by the angle.
"Dad, stop pushing. I’m not cut out for this stuff."
Director Yang fumed. "You useless brat! Who’s going to take over the family? You think I’ll live forever?"
The young master remained unbothered, thumbs flying over his phone game.
"You look like the God of Longevity. Maybe you will."
Su Yu hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but the words slipped out. He sauntered downstairs.
Two heads swiveled toward him. The Yang heir’s eyes lit up, his game forgotten.
Director Yang, however, looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.
"Yanli! I just warned you about keeping disreputable company. What is he doing here? Your father would roll in his grave!"
Su Yu strolled to the sofa, finally getting a full view of Ji Yanli’s impassive face.
"No need to vent at me, Director Yang. I just crashed here for a night. What, never had friends stay over in your youth?"
Before the older man could retort, Young Master Yang blurted, "You looking for more friends?"
The click-clack of Ji Yanli’s sandalwood beads grew louder.
"You useless!" Director Yang smacked his son’s head. "We’ll settle this at home!"
He turned to Ji Yanli, who hadn’t spoken a word. "Think it over. Do this old man a favor."
Though the word "useless" hadn’t been aimed at him, Su Yu’s pulse spiked. He smirked.
"Actually, I am short on friends. Consider it done."
One "useless" guy to another—seems fair.
The Yang heir beamed, abandoning his game to exchange contacts. Director Yang nearly bit through his dentures as he dragged his son out by the collar.
Even after they left, Ji Yanli remained silent, fingers working his beads, eyes downcast.
Weird. Suspiciously quiet. Twelve out of ten on the weirdness scale.
Su Yu flopped onto the vacated sofa. "Got a spare toothbrush? I need breakfast."
No response. Just more bead-clicking.
Is he...?
Su Yu tested the waters. "Ji Yanli... did you remember something?"
"What should I be remembering?"
Finally, Ji Yanli looked up, gaze piercing.
His mood was foul. That name Su Yu had mumbled last night—whose was it? Who do you like?
Su Yu exhaled internally. "Never mind. You’ve got quite the social calendar. That old man wants to plant his son as your assistant, huh? Should I step aside?"
"You’re not lacking in friends either."
Today’s Ji Yanli was especially prickly, every word barbed.
"Wow, someone’s salty. Of course I have friends—people like me. You could learn a thing or two. Might save you from dying alone, surrounded by geriatric vultures."
Ji Yanli’s eyelids lifted lazily. "I don’t need friends."
Just you. And you don’t need anyone but me.
He chewed on the words silently—until Su Yu stood and ruffled his hair like patting a dog.
"Enough with the brooding act. Where’s the toothbrush? I’m starving."
Ji Yanli stiffened, lips parting, an odd conflict flashing across his face.
"...Follow me."
Stubborn words, obedient body.
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