After Marrying Professor Song 31

Chapter 31

The rain continued for several days.

The temperature dropped with the rain, and perhaps because of the draft from the open balcony door that night and the sweat, Lu Xuefeng seemed to have caught a cold.

His first cold of the year.

Song Muqing had warned him, and now he was sick.

He woke up with a cough, his throat slightly sore, but he assumed it was just from lack of sleep and didn’t pay much attention.

Until the following afternoon, when his symptoms worsened.

Even Lan Xin noticed his changed voice, slightly muffled and congested.

“Director Lu,” she asked, “are you sick?”

Lu Xuefeng considered this. His nose was stuffy, and he felt slightly feverish and weak.

“I think I have a cold.”

“There seems to be a flu going around. You should be careful, Director Lu.”

Lan Xin offered, “Should I get you some medicine?”

“No need,” Lu Xuefeng didn’t want to trouble her. “I have some at home.”

Good health was essential for dancers, and work couldn’t be delayed. Lu Xuefeng, fearing he might be contagious, put on a mask.

By the afternoon, he felt worse.

His nose was completely blocked, he was sniffling, and he felt dizzy and weak.

Jin Hong, seeing he wasn’t feeling well, told him to go home and rest.

Lu Xuefeng initially refused, but he felt increasingly unwell, the dizziness making him nauseous.

He wasn’t so dedicated to his work that he would ignore his health, especially not at his age.

So, he went home.

Song Muqing wasn’t home yet. Lu Xuefeng messaged him, saying he wouldn’t need a ride from the theater.

He didn’t mention his cold in the message. Song Muqing, busy with his classes, didn’t ask for details.

Lu Xuefeng found some cold medicine at home and took it.

Feeling cold, he went to bed, too dizzy to look at his phone.

The medicine made him drowsy, and he quickly fell asleep.

He vaguely felt someone touching his forehead.

He woke up to see Song Muqing squatting beside his bed, checking his temperature.

Lu Xuefeng blinked slowly, still sleepy, sniffling.

“…You’re back,” he murmured, his voice congested.

“Yes. Your forehead is warm. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“It’s just a cold.”

Lu Xuefeng didn’t think it was serious.

Song Muqing retrieved a thermometer and took his temperature.

Reading the result, he looked at Lu Xuefeng. “You have a low-grade fever.”

“…Okay.”

Lu Xuefeng felt a chill as soon as he lifted the blankets. Sitting up, he felt weak and dizzy.

He burrowed back under the covers. “It’s fine. I’ll be okay after some sleep.”

He had always recovered from colds and fevers this way.

Medicine and sleep, sweating it out.

He didn’t think it was a big deal.

But Song Muqing didn’t agree, asking if he felt hot or cold.

“Cold.”

Feeling cold without sweating indicated a cold.

Song Muqing considered this. “Did you catch a chill that night on the balcony?”

Lu Xuefeng wondered how he had made that connection so quickly.

Although phrased as a question, Song Muqing’s tone suggested he was certain.

He had been careless that night.

Lu Xuefeng blinked, denying softly, “…I don’t think so.”

Song Muqing touched his forehead; it was still warm.

Knowing Lu Xuefeng had just taken medicine and it was almost dinner time, he thought a warm, comforting soup would be good for him.

He had bought some pork ribs on his way home, intending to braise them, but making soup would be better.

“What would you like to eat?” he asked.

He could buy something else if Lu Xuefeng wanted.

But Lu Xuefeng shook his head, not feeling hungry, just wanting to sleep.

“Then I’ll make dinner. Have a little something.”

Lu Xuefeng murmured in agreement.

Song Muqing went to the kitchen to make pork rib and corn soup, which would take a while, giving Lu Xuefeng time to rest.

He also made two simple, light dishes, not cooking too much rice, as Lu Xuefeng wouldn’t eat much.

After everything was ready, he woke Lu Xuefeng up.

Lu Xuefeng put on a jacket. His stuffy nose prevented him from smelling the soup, but he could taste its savory flavor, enjoying it and having a bit more, along with some ribs and corn.

He took his medicine and went back to sleep.

The next day, Friday, Lu Xuefeng still wasn’t feeling any better.

Song Muqing had an 8 a.m. class, and after his first class, he took the rest of the day off.

Lu Xuefeng was still asleep, his body burning with fever, worse than yesterday.

The medicine wasn’t working, so Song Muqing took him to a nearby clinic for an IV drip.

Lu Xuefeng initially resisted, but Song Muqing insisted.

The small clinic was mostly filled with children, with a few adults. The children were chattering, making it quite noisy.

Lu Xuefeng and Song Muqing found a quiet corner, and he received his IV drip.

It was a cloudy day outside, and a large elm tree with lush foliage stood outside the window.

“Do you want to sleep?” Song Muqing asked, turning to Lu Xuefeng. “You can lean on me.”

Lu Xuefeng, lost in thought, his eyes lowered, turned slightly, replying softly, “I’m just a bit tired.”

He then asked, “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I took the afternoon off to be with you.”

Lu Xuefeng felt bad for disrupting his work.

He rarely got sick.

He considered himself relatively healthy.

But this cold had taken him by surprise, worsening quickly, giving Song Muqing the impression that he was frail. Even the doctor had said his immune system was weak and that he should exercise more.

Lu Xuefeng looked down. “I rarely get sick.”

“Hmm?” Song Muqing looked at him.

“I’m not that fragile.”

Song Muqing smiled faintly. “I don’t think you’re fragile.”

He took Lu Xuefeng’s hand; it was burning hot.

“Everyone gets sick. I just want to be here for you.”

He patted his shoulder. “Lean on me. My shoulder is wide enough.”

Lu Xuefeng couldn’t help but smile, leaning his head against his shoulder.

He had a headache and felt weak, needing the support.

The IV drip took a long time, and Song Muqing found a magazine to read. The sounds of children chattering and Song Muqing turning the pages filled the clinic.

Lu Xuefeng gradually drifted off to sleep.

He had a series of fragmented, disturbing dreams.

He dreamt of being a child, sick with a fever, his parents ignoring him, huddled under the covers, shivering and burning all night.

The blurry shadows of his parents loomed large in his mind.

They were saying, “So annoying,” and “He’s a burden.”

His grandfather’s death, his grandmother’s tears.

Lu Xuefeng, looking out the window of his room, suddenly fell.

He woke up with a start, covered in a thin layer of sweat.

The clinic was quiet now, the noisy children gone.

He looked down; he was still holding Song Muqing’s hand.

Tightly.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Song Muqing asked, turning to him. “You were gripping my hand very tightly.”

Lu Xuefeng tried to pull his hand away, but Song Muqing held on.

He took a deep breath, replying softly, “I think so. It was too chaotic; I don’t remember clearly.”

The sensation of falling was still vivid, and hearing Song Muqing’s familiar voice, feeling his hand in his, calmed him.

He didn’t want to talk about his dream, and Song Muqing didn’t press him.

At some point, the afternoon sun had emerged from behind the clouds, shining through the window, illuminating the windowsill and the elm tree outside.

The light filled the clinic.

The shadows of the branches swayed gently.

Lu Xuefeng still felt dizzy but much better than before.

The IV bag was almost empty.

Their legs touched lightly, and Lu Xuefeng listened to the sound of the wind rustling the leaves outside and the steady beat of his own heart.

He felt a sense of peace.

More importantly, Song Muqing was there with him.

When they returned home, the doctor said he needed two more days of IV drips.

They made a note of it.

Back at the apartment, Song Muqing’s parents sent a message.

They had planned to take Ollie to a pet event at a farm this weekend, but since Lu Xuefeng was sick, they decided not to go.

Mu Ting called soon after.

Learning about his cold, she expressed her concern, urging him to take his medicine and rest.

“It’s been rainy and windy lately. It’s easy to catch a cold.”

Mu Ting also complained about the fluctuating weather, making it difficult to dress appropriately.

“Did you take your temperature? Are you feeling any better?”

“We just got back from the clinic. He’s much better now,” Song Muqing answered for him.

“That’s good. Rest well at home.”

Mu Ting said they could go to the farm another time; there was no rush. His health was more important, and with the flu going around, it was best to avoid crowded places.

Lu Xuefeng agreed obediently.

They spent the weekend at home, except for the trips to the clinic.

Song Muqing took good care of him, cooking delicious meals.

On Saturday evening, Mu Ting and Song Hongfan, returning from their walk with Ollie, came to visit, checking on Lu Xuefeng.

They had been worried about him.

Lu Xuefeng was touched; it was just a fever, nothing serious.

He was recovering well with the IV drips.

Knowing he was feeling better, they were relieved.

They had brought takeout from a restaurant, and they all had dinner together.

Ollie sniffed at Lu Xuefeng, seemingly sensing he was sick, and quietly lay down by his feet, keeping him company.

Before leaving, Mu Ting told Song Muqing to make ginger tea for Lu Xuefeng.

She always made it for him when he was sick.

It was a simple recipe, using ginger, scallions, and brown sugar, but effective in relieving cold symptoms.

Later that evening, Song Muqing followed his mother’s instructions, making ginger tea in the kitchen.

He sliced the ginger and scallions, added brown sugar, and brought it to a boil, letting it simmer for a while.

Lu Xuefeng, wearing a beige cardigan, walked over and saw Song Muqing stirring the tea in the saucepan.

“Go and sit down. I’ll bring it to you,” Song Muqing said, noticing him.

Lu Xuefeng didn’t reply, but walked behind him and hugged him.

Song Muqing paused, chuckling softly. “What’s wrong?”

Lu Xuefeng leaned against his broad back, closing his eyes, feeling a sense of peace and comfort.

“Nothing,” he replied softly. “I just wanted to hug you.”

He couldn’t explain it.

It wasn’t because he was feeling vulnerable; he simply wanted to hold Song Muqing.

It felt calming and reassuring.

There was no particular reason.

“Hug me for as long as you like. I like it when you hug me,” Song Muqing said.

They stood there, embraced.

Lu Xuefeng’s body was still slightly warm from the fever, and Song Muqing’s embrace was equally warm.

Like the warmth of spring.

The ginger tea simmered on the stove, the sweet aroma filling the kitchen.

“You should have some too. I don’t want you to catch my cold,” Lu Xuefeng suggested. It would be good for him even if he wasn’t sick, to ward off the chill.

Song Muqing wasn’t worried about catching his cold.

But he smiled and agreed.

He turned off the heat, the scent of ginger permeating the kitchen.

He was about to pour the tea into bowls when he realized Lu Xuefeng was still hugging him, not letting go, a hint of dependence in his embrace.

Song Muqing smiled, turning around.

Lu Xuefeng seemed different today, the light-colored cardigan making him look softer.

Song Muqing gently caressed his ear, his gaze lowered. “Xuefeng, you…”

He paused, meeting Lu Xuefeng’s eyes. “Being so clingy makes me want to do something to you.”