Chapter 7: Doctor Bottom x Celebrity Top

Three days flew by in the blink of an eye, and Jing Chi arrived at the variety show’s filming location.

He had gotten up extra early on purpose, but even then, he discovered that Feng Qinghan had already left for the hospital.

Lately, the man had been heading out at dawn and coming back late every night, leaving Jing Chi with barely any chance to exchange even a single word with him.

The most he could do was wait up until Feng Qinghan returned in the evening, bid him goodnight, and remind him of his presence.

But Jing Chi had noticed that the man’s complexion seemed to worsen with each passing day. He looked even paler than before, and paired with those icy eyes, he resembled a vampire straight out of a horror flick.

Jing Chi had felt a twinge of guilt over freeloading for so long and wanted to show some concern, only to get shut down with a curt “Mind your own business.”

Good intentions mistaken for malice, Jing Chi thought. It was his body, after all—if he didn’t care, why should anyone else? Hmph.

He just hated to see that handsome face going to waste under Feng Qinghan’s neglect. What a shame.

Over those three days, besides lounging around, Jing Chi had also done some digging on the celebrities invited to the show. That’s when he learned that the male star who’d been slinging mud at the original host was participating too.

What a coincidence.

This variety show taping was bound to be a spectacle.

Jing Chi rubbed his chin. He sat in the guests’ waiting area, watching the program group staff hustle about. After drawing a few strange looks upon arrival, no one paid him any mind, treating him like he was invisible.

The original host never could have handled that, but Jing Chi was made of sterner stuff. He observed everyone openly and without a care.

Just then, a voice dripped with malice from behind him. “Who let this stray in? This isn’t some place for any old nobody.”

Jing Chi turned, narrowing his eyes as he sized up the intruder.

Well, look who came knocking without an invitation.

It was none other than Bai Yusheng, the male artist who shared Jing Chi’s “style.”

The guy had passable looks, but they screamed plastic surgery from a mile away.

No wonder he was so terrified of the original host stealing his thunder—the original host’s natural features put him to shame.

Suddenly, Jing Chi peered past Bai Yusheng, snapping to attention with exaggerated reverence. “Teacher Ye, someone’s calling you a nobody here.”

Bai Yusheng’s face drained of color at the gesture. Thinking Film Emperor Ye was actually behind him, he whipped on a phony smile and stammered, “Film Emperor Ye, I didn’t mean—”

But when he twisted around, the space was empty.

Jing Chi let out a hearty chuckle, crossing his arms and tilting up his chin, mockery gleaming in his eyes. “Tsk tsk, and you fell for that? You’re dumber than I thought.”

Bai Yusheng’s fists balled up, fury blazing in his gaze. “You tricked me?”

Jing Chi’s expression shifted. He wagged a finger with grave seriousness. “Tricking implies effort. With you, it’s just taking the dog for a walk.”

Satisfaction bloomed as Bai Yusheng’s face turned an ashen shade of rage.

Bai Yusheng opened his mouth for more, but his assistant rushed up and cut him off. “Brother Bai, the director’s calling you.”

The assistant shot him a warning glance—too many eyes and ears around. One video hitting Weibo, and Bai Yusheng’s wholesome boy-next-door image would shatter.

Jing Chi had no such worries; he had no image left to ruin.

Jolted back to reality, Bai Yusheng shot Jing Chi a venomous glare before stalking off with his assistant.

“And he’s gone, just like that. How disappointing.”

Jing Chi shook his head. He’d expected more fight from the guy, but he was a paper tiger.

A soft laugh sounded from behind him then.

Jing Chi glanced up, and another stunningly handsome face filled his vision. His beauty radar pinged off the charts.

Unlike Feng Qinghan’s frosty allure, this man radiated gentle warmth, instantly putting people at ease.

“Hello, Teacher Ye,” Jing Chi said with a beaming smile.

Ye Shumo eyed the young man who’d been snarling like a wildcat moments ago, now all sunshine and compliance. He found it intriguing.

“You’re Jing Chi, right?”

The man’s smile was kind, his gaze steady—like a senior simply looking out for a junior, scandals be damned.

Jing Chi nodded, scratching his head bashfully. A faint blush colored his cheeks, the picture of a starry-eyed newbie meeting his idol. “I can’t believe Teacher Ye knows who I am. I’ve been a fan for ages.”

Of course, he liked all beautiful people.

Ye Shumo raised an eyebrow. He had a feeling that Jing Chi didn’t like him quite as much as he claimed, but he wasn’t about to call him out on it. Instead, he nodded toward Jing Chi with a gentle smile and said politely, “I’m looking forward to your performance on the show.”

With that, he headed toward the broadcasting studio.

The man cut an impressive figure—tall and straight-backed, with broad shoulders and long legs. He was one of the few who could hold a candle to Feng Qinghan.

Still, this sort of gentle beauty was impossible to read. Their warmth was just a protective shell. Feng Qinghan, that ice block of his, was far preferable. You could always tell his mood from the chill in the air.

Jing Chi propped his chin on his hand, wondering what that guy was up to right now.

Meanwhile, Feng Qinghan had just returned to his office and settled into his chair.

He leaned back, his slender white fingers massaging his throbbing temples as he closed his eyes to rest. Soft sunlight filtered over him, casting his sharply contoured face in shifting shadows of light and dark. It formed a striking portrait, heavy with stark strokes of pallid, bone-chilling intensity.

“Teacher, you’ve been burning the candle at both ends for days now. You really should head home and get some proper rest, or your body won’t hold out.”

Feng Qinghan’s intern mustered his courage to speak up.

These past few days, Feng Qinghan had been going nonstop—first in the door, last out. Anyone else would have buckled long ago.

No wonder he’d climbed so high at such a young age. The man was nothing if not diligent and hardworking.

Feng Qinghan cracked his eyes open at the words and shot the intern a cool glance. “Have you finished checking the wards?”

The intern felt like a student caught without his homework at finals. “Teacher, I’ll get right on it.”

The moment he was gone, the office fell silent.

But Feng Qinghan didn’t close his eyes again. The intern’s words had suddenly brought Jing Chi to mind. The young man had said something similar once. How had he responded? Right—no need for him to worry about it.

He’d thought he’d forgotten that expression, but no, it was crystal clear in his memory.

Jing Chi’s eyes had gone wide, his cheeks puffing out in anger. He looked ready to snap but held back, then turned his head away with a haughty huff.

Truth be told, Feng Qinghan preferred going it alone. He didn’t need anyone fussing over him. Once you got used to that kind of attention, kicking the habit was harder than never starting. He knew Jing Chi’s interest was just a passing fancy—something fun and fleeting. All he was doing was putting the guy up for a bit.

As for the “boyfriend” excuse? Feng Qinghan, of all people, knew damn well whether anything had happened between them.

All he had to do was wait for Jing Chi to leave and draw a clean line.

But life had a way of defying expectations. When someone who’d spent a lifetime in solitude finally crossed paths with the one who set his heart racing, he might choose to pull away… but good luck reining in those traitorous beats.

.

Jing Chi’s first day of variety show filming wrapped up in no time.

It was just the opener, after all. The program group had the newbie actors show up to record simple self-introductions, padding out material for the premiere episode.

By the time Jing Chi got back to the villa, Feng Qinghan still wasn’t home.

That “mind your own business” line had Jing Chi set on skipping goodnight altogether tonight.

He showered in his room, then flopped onto the bed to scroll through his phone. While browsing Weibo, he accidentally tapped into the hot search list—and there it was, his show’s name lighting it up.

Out of morbid curiosity, he clicked through. Sure enough, about one in every five posts was ripping into him.

The tame ones went with “one bad apple spoils the bunch.” The rest? Straight-up venom.

Some even claimed he had a sugar daddy bankrolling him, which was why he got to share a show with their precious Brother.

Jing Chi laughed despite himself, equal parts furious and amused.

Bai Yusheng’s fans were leading the charge, and sure enough, a quick scroll confirmed the guy was throwing shade on Weibo without a shred of class.

Jing Chi wasn’t about to take that lying down. He had the System dig up photos of Bai Yusheng from before his plastic surgery.

Holy hell. The before-and-after was night-and-day.

He instructed the System to drop a comment from a burner account. High-tech like this was too good to waste.

Lazing on the bed, he drawled, “Just say: ‘Brother, your work is top-notch—no scars or anything. Mind sharing the clinic? Gotta recommend!’ Then slap the comparison pics right below. That oughta do the trick.”

“Got it, Host.” The System nodded eagerly, thrilled to finally be useful.

Sure enough, not five minutes later, Bai Yusheng’s post vanished.

But netizens were too quick with their screenshots. Bai Yusheng’s plastic surgery scandal shot straight to the top of the trending topics in no time. Nobody was cursing Jing Chi anymore—they’d all switched to munching on the fresh gossip.

Jing Chi set his phone down with satisfaction and drifted off to sleep.

Night fell, with the moon hanging high amid the treetops. The entire villa lay hushed and still, save for the faint moonlight slipping through the windows to dapple the floors.

Jing Chi woke in the dead of night, parched. Yawning and squinting sleepily, he shuffled toward the stairs for a glass of water.

As he passed the living room, a dark shadow caught his eye, nearly giving him a fright.

He rubbed his eyes and peered closer. It was Feng Qinghan, sitting silently on the sofa in the small hours.

Jing Chi said in exasperation, “What are you doing sitting here in the middle of the night instead of sleeping?”

No answer came. Jing Chi suddenly sensed something was wrong.

He flicked on the light and approached. Feng Qinghan’s face was deathly pale, his eyes squeezed shut, cold sweat beading on his forehead. His whole body trembled faintly, as if beyond his control.

For all the commotion Jing Chi had made, the man hadn’t stirred. Jing Chi bent down and touched his forehead. Burning hot, just as he’d suspected.

The guy was a doctor, yet here he was, feverish to this degree and doing nothing about it.

Perhaps sensing the touch, Feng Qinghan’s lashes fluttered. He struggled to open his eyes, a rare fog of confusion clouding them.

“Do you even realize you have a fever? It’s bad.”

Jing Chi’s tone was stern. If he hadn’t gotten up for water, the man might have passed out unnoticed.

Feng Qinghan tried to brush away the hand on his forehead, but he was too weak. He merely turned his head aside, drawing a shallow breath. His voice came out hoarse. “I’m just resting here for a bit.”

“Still acting tough.” Jing Chi scooped him up by the waist and headed for the stairs.

Feng Qinghan felt himself lifted clean off the ground. It was the first time anyone had carried him bridal-style while he was fully conscious. Panic flickered across his face. He scowled fiercely. “Put me down right now. I can walk on my own.”

Jing Chi snorted. Look at the state the man was in—still trying to play the hero.

Deliberately, he gave Feng Qinghan’s backside a light smack, mimicking the man’s usual stern demeanor as he threatened, “Shut your mouth, or I’ll do it again.”

The sudden move startled Feng Qinghan. A flush crept over his pale cheeks—pure embarrassment.

No one had treated him like that since he’d grown up.

Satisfied that his charge had finally gone quiet, Jing Chi smirked.

“This isn’t me barging into your room on purpose, you know.” With that, he nudged open the door to Feng Qinghan’s bedroom.

He’d half-expected the man to protest entry, maybe guarding some secret inside. But the room was stark and empty—bare enough that even a burglar would pass it over.

Jing Chi eased him onto the bed, then rummaged through the wardrobe for pajamas.

“What are you doing?” Feng Qinghan’s voice held little strength, robbing it of conviction.

He propped himself against the headboard, forcing his eyes open to watch Jing Chi. His head swam, but he clung to awareness, knowing someone was there.

“Finding your pajamas. You can’t sleep in that, right?” Jing Chi dug all the way to the bottom drawer.

“Not tha—” Feng Qinghan watched in horror as Jing Chi opened the drawer with his underwear. He clapped a hand over his eyes, his headache worsening. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Third cabinet from the right.”

Jing Chi sheepishly shut the drawer and cracked an awkward grin to lighten the mood. “Pretend you never saw that.”

Now that he knew where to look, he grabbed the pajamas in short order.

Less than a minute later, his earlier embarrassment was forgotten.

He set the sleepwear beside Feng Qinghan and grinned cheekily. “Pick your poison, Brother—want me to help you change, or do it yourself?”

Feng Qinghan shot him a glare and rasped out two words: “Myself.”

Jing Chi’s unwavering stare made his head spin even more. Struggling, Feng Qinghan said, “You… out.”

“I’m just looking out for you. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.”

As the man’s expression soured, Jing Chi decided not to rile the patient further. “All right, I’ll go fetch some fever meds.”

He dashed downstairs and found the medicine kit tucked under the TV cabinet, just as expected.

With the antipyretic in hand, he poured a glass of warm water in the kitchen.

When he returned to Feng Qinghan’s room, the man had already changed.

It looked hasty, though—the clothes were rumpled, a far cry from his usual impeccable neatness.

That disheveled air made him seem oddly… cute to Jing Chi.

A few stray strands of hair clung to his forehead, and Feng Qinghan’s cheeks had paled once more, his lips barely tinged with color. He sat there motionless, fragile and serene like a priceless heirloom.

The man reclined against the headboard with his eyes closed, only stirring to slowly open them at the sound of approaching footsteps. The sluggish gaze brought on by his fever lent him an air of vulnerable docility.

This was probably the only time anyone ever saw this side of him.

Jing Chi mused to himself as he walked over.

He handed the medicine and a glass of water to Feng Qinghan. “Here, take your medicine. Be a good boy and finish it all—there’s a reward waiting.”

Feng Qinghan stared at the young man, a faint twitch pulling at the corner of his mouth in response to such childish coaxing.

He wasn’t a child, after all. Only this guy still had such a youthful, playful spirit.

But this time, he offered no rebuttal. He simply took the glass and swallowed the pill.

Jing Chi set the glass on the bedside table and prodded him. “Now lie down properly and get some sleep.”

Satisfied to see the man comply so readily for once, he nodded to himself.

Feng Qinghan closed his eyes. Moments later, he felt a warm pressure settle on his forehead.

He kept his eyes shut, listening as Jing Chi’s voice dropped to a whisper right by his ear. “This is the reward for good boys. Good night.”

He had assumed sleep would elude him as it always did, but Jing Chi’s kiss carried some strange magic. Combined with the severe sleep deprivation of recent days, Feng Qinghan soon slipped into a deep slumber.

Truth be told, his relentless busyness lately wasn’t just due to hospital duties. Ever since his rebirth, falling asleep had become a struggle.

Even when sleep came, his dreams relentlessly replayed the moment his hand was ruined—the blood-soaked scenes unfolding over and over, the bone-deep agony seared into his very nerves.

He would jolt awake from these nightmares, and then sleep would never return.

Rather than lie there wasting time, he poured himself into work at the hospital. This vicious cycle would wear down even the sturdiest of men, and in the end, it had laid him low with illness.

Yawning, Jing Chi returned to his own room. “Wake me up in two hours,” he told the System.

The System sounded puzzled. “Host, why are you getting up so early?”

Jing Chi explained, “To check if our neighbor’s fever has broken, obviously. If it hasn’t, I’ll have to take him to the hospital. A high fever that won’t quit can be fatal.”

The System’s tone warmed with admiration. “Host, you’re so considerate.”

Two hours later, roused by the System’s alert, Jing Chi hauled himself out of bed through sheer force of will.

Still groggy, he shuffled into Feng Qinghan’s room.

On instinct, he reached out and touched the man’s forehead. The fever had broken, but his skin was slick with cold sweat.

That snapped Jing Chi awake. He leaned down and saw the deep furrows in Feng Qinghan’s brow, his teeth clenched tight, and faint, mumbled words escaping his lips.

Drawing closer, Jing Chi strained to make them out—fragmented syllables like “hand” and “pain.”

It confirmed his earlier suspicions about the man’s rebirth.

Without a second thought, Jing Chi seized Feng Qinghan’s right hand, willing his own warmth into it as he murmured reassurances. “It’s all right. Don’t be scared. That’s all in the past now.”

He kept whispering softly into the man’s ear.

Whether it was his words or the grip on his hand that did the trick, Feng Qinghan’s furrowed brow gradually eased. Yet his fingers clamped down on Jing Chi’s like a drowning man clutching a lifeline.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook Jing Chi. With Feng Qinghan refusing to let go, he simply climbed onto the bed, pulled the man into his arms, and drifted off into heavy sleep.

Feng Qinghan’s internal clock chimed at six on the dot, coaxing his eyes open. The first thing he saw was Jing Chi’s handsome face.

The young man’s long lashes cast delicate shadows over faint dark circles beneath his eyes. Even closed, those eyes remained strikingly beautiful.

Yesterday’s memories flooded back. Feng Qinghan flexed his fingers and realized his right hand was cradled securely in Jing Chi’s grasp.

The hazy voice that had accompanied him through last night’s dream, along with the steady warmth suffusing his hand—it all made sense now.

For the first time since his rebirth, he hadn’t been jolted awake by visions of his past life. And it was all because of the man lying before him.

His fingertip brushed lightly over Jing Chi’s brow, unbidden images of their time together flickering through his mind.

Feng Qinghan gazed at him, his expression shadowed and inscrutable.

Perhaps having someone at your side wasn’t so bad after all.

The thought arose unbidden in his mind.