Compared to liking you, everything else is insignificant.

Sheng Tian’s condition was worse than expected.

Years of heavy labor and irregular lifestyle in middle age had left the man’s body riddled with problems.

Add to that years of alcohol’s “nourishment,” and the hometown doctor’s suggestion for him to seek medical treatment in Shanghai suddenly became completely reasonable.

Pain between the chest and ribs, restricted chest expansion, pulmonary dysfunction—all showed abnormalities. Sheng Tian’s current terrible condition could no longer be resolved by simple traction therapy or bone realignment. The only solution was surgical treatment.

Hospitalization was urgently needed.

During the medical consultation, Zhou Shiyu was handling company affairs in the corridor outside. Sheng Sui hadn’t wanted him to accompany her, facing the doctor alone with her father.

Director Hou, who had just rushed over from surgery, was quite talkative. Around fifty years old with a short, lean but sturdy build, wearing glasses that could be for either presbyopia or myopia, he squinted at the X-rays in the light and talked non-stop.

Sheng Sui couldn’t understand the medical terminology and listened absentmindedly throughout.

But seeing her father’s increasingly grim expression and the occasional words like “removal,” “success rate,” and “risk,” she knew the situation wasn’t optimistic.

After listening, the man was silent for a long time, first timidly glancing up at Sheng Sui, his hands unconsciously rubbing together:

“May I ask Director, about the cost approximately—”

“Including surgery and hospitalization together, let me calculate,” Director Hou quoted a figure. Seeing Sheng Tian’s face turn ashen, he kindly consoled, “The cost is indeed not low, but don’t you have a daughter?”

Then he looked at Sheng Sui and praised: “Your daughter looks kind-hearted and filial at first glance.”

Since the dean had personally ordered him to come, and Sheng Sui had such connections, regardless of her background, she must care very much about her father’s health.

“Yes, this child has been worry-free and sensible since childhood,” hearing his daughter praised, Sheng Tian smiled with wrinkles creasing his face, sighing guiltily,

“I’m the bastard father who used to beat her when she was small.”

“What parent doesn’t hit and scold when educating children? That’s called having high expectations,” Director Hou didn’t take it seriously, laughing cheerfully, “I just beat my little brat the day before yesterday—always skipping class and misbehaving, beat his butt until it bloomed.”

“…Director Hou, when you hit your child, do you also use wine bottles to smash people?”

The scene of two fathers harmoniously exchanging parenting experiences was truly grating. After long silence, Sheng Sui clenched her hands under her long sleeves and couldn’t help interrupting: “Do you also come home in the middle of the night, drag your child from bed to the floor, and hit them with whatever you can grab?”

The vast consultation room fell deathly silent, only Sheng Sui’s gentle, mocking voice remaining: “If not, then your child is luckier than I was.”

Indeed, saying these things now served no purpose.

Her one-sided venting, besides making everyone uncomfortable, couldn’t change anything from the past, couldn’t even awaken one bit more guilt in Sheng Tian as a father.

At that moment, Sheng Sui felt like a child in a supermarket throwing a tantrum when parents won’t buy toys, refusing to give up until achieving their goal.

She couldn’t watch her biological father die, would feel sad when the man cried out in pain during consultation, creating a strong sense of betraying her past self.

Even when the man showed small kindnesses or depended on or praised her, she uncontrollably felt a base satisfaction—finally receiving the paternal love she had lacked in childhood.

Unable to channel these complex emotions, they manifested as nonsensical verbal attacks.

“…Arrange hospitalization as soon as possible, everything according to the highest standards.”

When the atmosphere was frozen, the office door opened and Zhou Shiyu walked in with long strides, his gentle yet more dominant presence controlling the scene.

Sheng Sui saw the man stop in front of her, glance at Director Hou and nod slightly, saying softly with gratitude: “Regarding the surgery, please trouble Director Hou.”

The shrewd old doctor’s eyes turned, suddenly understanding, still smiling: “Small matter, small matter.”

From Sheng Sui’s perspective, she could only see Zhou Shiyu’s broad shoulders and back, and when he looked at the cowering Sheng Tian, his dark eyes behind the glasses flickered with heavy scrutiny.

After an infinitely drawn-out three seconds, Zhou Shiyu smiled slightly and said gently:

“Long time no see, Mr. Sheng.”

Half an hour later, Sheng Tian was smoothly admitted to a VIP ward, with medical staff beginning to prepare his surgical arrangements.

Sheng Sui was at the nurses’ station filling out admission paperwork. For a moment, only the two men remained in the spacious ward.

In the room, Zhou Shiyu sat beside the hospital bed, long legs crossed, leaning back in his chair, looking down at his well-defined hands holding a fruit knife and apple respectively, methodically peeling.

His knife technique was skilled and decisive, the removed peel showing almost no flesh. His fingertip pressed tightly against the thin peel on the knife’s back, making observers worry that the blade might cut his finger at any moment.

In the faint rustling sound of peeling, Sheng Tian, leaning against the headboard, couldn’t help looking up again at Zhou Shiyu across from him.

During the peak spring season when hospital beds were scarce, his quick admission was obviously due to the capabilities of the man before him.

“…I think I’ve seen you in Sheng Sui’s social media posts.”

“May I ask what your relationship with my daughter is,” after long hesitation, Sheng Tian carefully probed,

“Also, you said ‘long time no see’ earlier—have we met before?”

“Sheng Sui is my beloved.”

Zhou Shiyu stopped his movements, looked up with a slight smile, his tone gentle and refined: “We met long ago. Mr. Sheng probably has a poor memory.”

He deliberately paused, his dark eyes behind the glasses smiling unfathomably, thin lips parting unhurriedly: “Oh, that’s right,”

“Should I address you as ‘Sheng Tian’ or ‘Sheng Qi,’ sir?”

“…”

The moment these words fell, the curiosity and gratitude in Sheng Tian’s eyes instantly transformed into shock and terror.

That name was last mentioned over ten years ago during the medical dispute incident, when his personal information was completely exposed online—from name to workplace to home address, every detail.

During that period, whether opening his phone or stepping outside, curses and condemnations came from all directions, word by word breaking down his spirit.

Even after changing his name and moving, rumors and gossip were hard to escape. For a considerable time afterward, he could only survive amid face-to-face insults and whispered conversations behind his back.

Even these recent years of illness felt far better than those days of constant fear.

He never dared recall this dark past, but now it was mentioned so casually by the man who seemed to be his daughter’s husband.

The young man smiled warmly, wearing delicate gold-rimmed glasses with elegant demeanor, yet Sheng Tian felt coldness spreading throughout his body.

An invisible hand gripped his throat. Not knowing the other’s intentions, he said tremblingly: “…How do you know these things? Did Sheng Sui tell you?”

Zhou Shiyu raised his eyebrows upon hearing this, pointing the knife tip toward Sheng Tian, curving his lips with interested scrutiny of the trembling man.

“Don’t be afraid.”

“I’ll give you the best treatment,” he looked down to continue peeling the apple, his gentle tone unhurried, “Not only that, I’ll have someone escort you home and personally care for you until the day you die.”

When mentioning “die,” Zhou Shiyu’s fruit peel broke, falling to the floor along with his gentle low voice:

“In exchange, I just want to see Mr. Sheng’s frightened expression. That’s not too much, is it?”

Zhou Shiyu glanced at the fallen peel, looking up with a smile: “I still repeatedly savor Mr. Sheng’s ‘heroic’ video from back then.”

Sheng Tian’s back was already soaked with cold sweat.

In just those few exchanges, he determined the young man opposite was a smiling maniac, stammering: “…This is between me and my daughter! What exactly do you want? Must you kill me?”

“How could that be? I hope Mr. Sheng can live consciously and ‘well.'”

Zhou Shiyu’s dark eyes held faint laughter, the sharp knife casually spinning in his hand as he suddenly found some familiar feel from years past, his voice still gentle:

“After all, death is the simplest thing in the world.”

Just close your eyes and all suffering ends forever.

That’s precisely why he wanted Sheng Tian to live consciously and fearfully—just like the shadows he had left on Sheng Sui, he could spend the next few decades slowly repaying his sins.

“…The hospitalization and surgery are all arranged.”

At this moment, the door opened as Sheng Sui entered with various documents, seeing Zhou Shiyu actually peeling an apple. She frowned at Sheng Tian on the bed: “The doctor said to do a full-body examination tomorrow first, then determine the surgical plan.”

Sheng Tian was still immersed in terror. Seeing Sheng Sui was like encountering a savior: “Sui Sui, Dad doesn’t want to stay here anymore. Let’s change hospitals.”

“Not staying here?” Sheng Sui felt baffled, impatiently saying, “What exactly do you want—”

Before finishing, from her peripheral vision she saw Zhou Shiyu’s fruit knife suddenly slip, the sharp point grazing his left thumb, a half-inch wound appearing on his pale skin.

The wound was shallow without bleeding, but enough to catch her attention. Sheng Sui’s eyelid twitched as she turned to frown and remind: “Are you okay? Be careful.”

“I’m fine,” Zhou Shiyu smiled reassuringly at her, turning to look at the interrupted Sheng Tian, thoughtfully asking, “Mr. Sheng, would you like some apple?”

His fingertips nimbly rotated the knife handle, the tip sinking straight into the peeled apple, sweet juice seeping along the blade.

“My hands aren’t convenient, so I won’t cut it into pieces,” Zhou Shiyu held up the knife with the apple, smilingly offering it to the trembling Sheng Tian, his behavior refined and elegant,

“Anyway, no matter how you change it, the result is the same, right?”

“…”

Ten minutes later, under Sheng Tian’s pleading gaze, Sheng Sui left the hospital alongside Zhou Shiyu, finally escaping the pungent disinfectant smell.

Conflicted the whole way, Sheng Sui still couldn’t understand. On the way to the parking lot, she asked: “Why did you peel an apple for him?”

Not just that, but also helping Sheng Tian find the most experienced doctor and arranging the best ward.

…There was no need to go to such lengths.

“Because doing these things won’t burden my conscience.”

Zhou Shiyu took her hand and put it in his pocket, saying gently: “If both saving and not saving burden you, I can at least bear the ‘saving’ half.”

Feeling Sheng Sui’s direct gaze looking up, Zhou Shiyu smiled down at her, raising his hand to brush away stray hair at her temples:

“As for other emotional outlets, remember not to wrong yourself.”

“Zhou Shiyu.”

“Mm?”

When they were almost at the hospital entrance, Sheng Sui saw a cotton candy vendor among the seven or eight stalls outside and suddenly remembered something, saying softly: “When I was little, there was a period when I was obsessed with watching clouds. I always felt that the cotton candy sold outside tasted the same as clouds in the sky.”

“There was a cotton candy seller right across from my house. I saw other children had eaten it, so I pestered my dad every day to buy me some. Later, until I got diabetes and couldn’t eat it anymore, he never bought me any.”

“I used to think cotton candy was the most delicious thing in the world,” Sheng Sui couldn’t explain why she brought up this old story, only that looking at Zhou Shiyu made her smile foolishly,

“But I’ve recently discovered there are many things in the world more delicious than cotton candy. I just hadn’t encountered them before.”

Zhou Shiyu looked down at her sweet smile, saying gently: “Such as?”

“Such as,” Sheng Sui deliberately drew out the sound teasingly, pretending to think for a few seconds before continuing, “compared to cotton candy, I like every dish you’ve made for me much more.”

After speaking, she hesitated and pursed her lips for a moment, finally nodding to affirm her statement.

Zhou Shiyu asked timely: “From your tone, this sentence seems to have a second half.”

Hearing this, the laughter in Sheng Sui’s eyes deepened. She revealed not another word, only quietly telling her thrilling secret to the gentle spring breeze.

—Compared to cotton candy, I like every dish you’ve made for me much more.

—But compared to liking you, everything else is insignificant.