14: Sick

Zhou Langxing laid the truth before him, leaving no room for refusal.

Qin Yan cried while choking on his words.

“Why did he lie to me?”

“A person with mental issues can’t think in a normal way.”

“I shouldn’t have gone in there!”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It doesn’t matter that he lied to me. But I stayed up all night, and now it’s so late, I have to work tomorrow. I won’t be able to get up, I’ll be late!”

“What work? I’ll call in sick for you tomorrow, alright?”

“No, no, I told the kids I’d take five days off. I’ll meet them again after five days! I can’t break my word. Why do I always fail to keep my promises?”

Qin Yan cried for a long time.

He cried until his head felt heavy, his cheeks unnaturally flushed. Zhou Langxing reached out and felt his temperature—he had a slight fever!

“Do you have any fever medicine? How about a fever patch?!”

Qin Yan just cried, clutching his sleeve and sobbing. Zhou Langxing awkwardly wiped his tears away.

All the comforting words he had prepared had become useless.

He had expected Qin Yan to be sad and cry, just like at the funeral that day—silent tears that broke the heart. But now, the soft sobs shook him deeply, leaving him at a loss, his hands unsure.

The sounds of his crying were heart-wrenching.

Zhou Langxing had never comforted anyone before. This was his first time, but somehow, it came naturally.

He lifted the sobbing person onto his lap, adjusting his posture to avoid putting pressure on the injured leg. Zhou Langxing gently patted Qin Yan’s shoulder and back.

“Let it out, cry it out, yell if you need to. You’ve been holding it in for too long.”

His voice was deep and gentle, with a hint of the tone Zhou Shurong usually used. Qin Yan tightened his arms around his thin waist, and Zhou Langxing froze for a moment when he brushed against his sensitive skin.

After a pause, he softly caressed the trembling spine beneath him. “When he passed, did you cry like this, loud and hard?”

“Mm… no,” Qin Yan buried his face into Zhou Langxing’s chest, his voice muffled and hot.

“That’s why, when you’re sad, you need to release it! Bottling it up will turn you into a monster!”

“I’m not!”

“I didn’t say you are now, but if you keep bottling it up, who knows?”

“But I don’t want to cry, it’s so embarrassing!”

“There’s no one else here.”

“Aren’t you ‘someone else’?”

Zhou Langxing inhaled sharply.

“You’ve hurt my heart,” he pulled Qin Yan out of his embrace and pressed his palms to his warm face. “Change your words!”

Qin Yan’s lips turned up, his eyes swollen from crying, his face flushed with fever.

Zhou Langxing looked at his wet eyes, softened his tone, and spoke gently, “Ah-Yan, who am I to you?”

He made it clear now. Qin Yan had said before, people close to him called him Ah-Yan.

Qin Yan had no energy to struggle, and like a limp fish, he let Zhou Langxing rub him. Despite the treatment, he wasn’t angry. He sniffled and choked out, “A… good friend.”

Zhou Langxing chuckled softly. “A good friend isn’t just someone who’s not a stranger. They’re someone reliable, someone who cares, someone you can depend on. So go ahead, cry.”

Qin Yan cried out again.

Before long, Zhou Langxing’s palm was wet with tears. He gently released Qin Yan’s face and let him sleep on the couch.

“Alright, you’ve had your hug, now it’s time for medicine. Don’t you have any fever medicine or patches at home?”

Qin Yan shook his head through teary eyes.

“Then I’ll go buy some now, you get some rest.”

Zhou Langxing tried to stand up, but felt a slight tug from behind. He turned around to see Qin Yan clutching his shirt, five pale fingers twisting the fabric into a crumpled mess.

He understood now—no matter how strong a person was, when they’re sick, they become fragile and insecure.

When he was fifteen, he ran away from home, sick and emotionally vulnerable in a rented room, feeling like there was no one who loved him, wishing he could die right away.

Zhou Shurong had appeared just in time, casually saying, “You’re red like a boiled shrimp, so big that the pot at home can’t fit you.”

Zhou Langxing had cried and cried, feeling as if the sky was falling.

“Why did it take you so long to come and get me home!”

Then, someone gently rubbed his head.

…

The pressure around his waist increased slightly. Seeing Zhou Langxing lost in thought, Qin Yan pulled him back.

Zhou Langxing snapped back to reality.

Why had he suddenly thought of Zhou Shurong?

He was dead, and wouldn’t return. Once he accepted that fact, he had to cut him out of his life completely.

Otherwise, it would hurt the living.

Look, how much pain Qin Yan was in. When would he be able to move on from this shadow of “Zhou Shurong”?

He asked himself—when the three incense sticks were lit, didn’t he have even the smallest shred of hope left?

Zhou Langxing slowly pulled his shirt out from Qin Yan’s grip. The five fingers only caught air, and tears rolled down from Qin Yan’s eyes again.

It was like having a dream. In that dream, he wanted to grab something but couldn’t hold onto anything.

He looked at Zhou Langxing with a painful gaze.

A shadow passed overhead, and a hand lightly brushed the water-drenched eyelashes.

“You’re burning hotter. I should’ve made you drink that ginger soup.”

Zhou Langxing said, “Don’t feel bad. I’m not leaving you. I’m going to buy medicine. Actually… it wouldn’t be so bad if you wanted to pretend I’m Zhou Shurong and hug me for a while.”

Qin Yan nervously curled his little finger.

“Well, there’s no time now. When you’re better, you can hug me however you want.”

Zhou Langxing looked at him, then glanced toward the bedroom door. “Does he have clothes here? Grab one and wear it. Just pretend I’ve left, and he’s still here with you.”

Qin Yan nodded through his tears.

After receiving approval, Zhou Langxing entered Qin Yan’s room. To him, his beloved’s room was mysterious and full of longing.

But this time, he didn’t linger. He hurriedly opened the wardrobe, his gaze sweeping over a row of familiar clothes. He selected a grayish suit jacket.

After putting Zhou Shurong’s clothes on Qin Yan, Zhou Langxing left.

It was too late—it was already 1:30 AM. Luckily, a 24-hour pharmacy was open nearby.

He lit a menthol cigarette, took a deep drag, then stepped into the elevator.

Zzi—Zzi—

Inside the room, the small light bulb on the wall flickered, blinking on and off, but it remained firmly lit.

Qin Yan, drowsy, could barely stay awake. But in his foggy state, he sensed a shadow standing in front of him.

His confused brain couldn’t track the passage of time.

He couldn’t tell how long Zhou Langxing had been gone.

Had Zhou Langxing come back?

The figure on the couch had half its face hidden in a grayish suit jacket, with exposed skin still damp and flushed, like crystal shrimp dumplings freshly steamed from a bamboo basket.

That gaze lingered for a long time.

A hand gently rested on Qin Yan’s forehead, cold as ice. Qin Yan thought: How could a human body be so cold?

Maybe Zhou Langxing was putting a fever patch on him.

Qin Yan struggled to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt like they had melted together from the temperature, and he couldn’t separate them.

After struggling for a while, he grew tired and finally fell into a deep sleep.

…

“Wake up… Ah-Yan… Wake up, take your medicine.”

Qin Yan opened his eyes, feeling the coolness on his forehead. His mind was still fuzzy, and he reached up to touch it.

“What’s this?”

Zhou Langxing quickly grabbed his hand. “It’s a fever patch. Come on, take the medicine.”

He held the capsule near Qin Yan’s lips. Qin Yan obediently took it, accidentally biting down on a finger. He didn’t notice and rolled the capsule under his tongue.

The feverish person’s mouth felt sticky, hot, and moist, occasionally brushing against the soft tip of his finger. Zhou Langxing’s heart trembled, and he tried to maintain his composure as he slowly pulled his finger back.

His index finger felt as though it had been poisoned, stiff and immovable, while the rest of his fingers were free to move, flexible and nimble.

He felt as though he had caught Qin Yan’s fever—his face, neck, and ears were all burning.

It wasn’t until he saw Qin Yan struggling to swallow that Zhou Langxing snapped out of his endless affection and carefully helped him drink some water.

After taking the medicine, Qin Yan’s eyelids grew heavy again, sticking together.

“Ah-Yan, do you want to go to bed? Ah-Yan…” He couldn’t wake him.

Zhou Langxing was at a loss. He couldn’t carry him since his own leg was injured.

He had no choice but to let Qin Yan sleep on the sofa for the night.

Zhou Langxing collapsed on the floor. The day had been full of ups and downs. His injured leg hadn’t gotten any rest and was beginning to act up. After sitting down, deep bone-crushing pain surged, like someone was maliciously tapping it with a small hammer.

He pounded his leg, but unfortunately, the thick cast made it impossible to scratch the itchy spot. The unbearable pain left him agitated.

The yellow lamp above him buzzed, flickering as if it might go out at any moment.

“Hah…” He exhaled, deciding not to rest any longer. The pain was too much; he needed something to distract him.

On the sofa, Qin Yan turned over, letting one arm dangle.

His skin was pale and delicate, his long fingers with clearly defined knuckles, his fingee wrapped in an unsightly band-aid.

Zhou Langxing grabbed his hand and peeled off the wrinkled band-aid, revealing a pale wound on his thumb. From the look of it, the wound had been exposed to water.

He looked down into the medicine box.

Qin Yan was too frail; even a small bump could cause bruising. Just now, Zhou Langxing had pinched his face, and faint finger marks were still visible. He had bought a lot of home medicine for situations like this.

Found it!

A whole box of band-aids. The packaging had cartoon characters, with a pink background.

Zhou Langxing couldn’t help but smile, imagining Qin Yan’s expression when he saw the cartoon designs.

After placing the new band-aid on Qin Yan, he returned his hand to rest and checked the bruises from earlier in the week. They were almost healed.

What to do next?

Zhou Langxing looked at the glass coffee table in front of him. Two candles stood at diagonal corners, already burned down to the end, leaving behind pools of solidified wax.

He found a nail clipper on the TV stand, used a file to scrape off the wax, and swept it into the trash. Then he turned his attention to the incense burner. A layer of incense ash covered it, and when he shifted the ash, he noticed the dark, charred dirt mixed in, resembling grave soil.

The soil from his brother’s grave…

Zhou Langxing’s expression turned complicated. After a moment, he decided not to touch the incense burner.

Just then, his phone rang.

It was the butler, Uncle Lin, calling late at night. He hesitated before answering.

“Ah-Xing, Master has fainted. You need to come back quickly!”

Zhou Langxing’s heart skipped a beat. He glanced at Qin Yan on the sofa, gritted his teeth, and whispered back, “I’ll be right there.”

He hung up the phone and approached the sofa.

Qin Yan was fast asleep, completely unaware of his gaze. His cheeks were flushed, as if someone had spilled rouge on him. There was no need to test it—he was still burning with fever.

“I’m leaving… I hope you feel better when you wake up tomorrow.”

Zhou Langxing grabbed the trash bag, turned off the lights, and left Qin Yan’s house again.

After a moment of quiet, the curtain by the window fluttered, moving without any wind.

A man appeared silently. The cold moonlight illuminated him, and there was no shadow beneath his feet.

Upon closer inspection, his feet weren’t touching the ground.