“It’s nothing.” His voice remained calm, without a ripple, no suppressed pain.
“You’re hurt.” An Luo pointed it out directly. “The blood smell is so strong—you must be seriously injured.”
Meieruita sat in the chair, looked up at An Luo, then lowered his head again, saying nothing—a somewhat passive resistance, or perhaps tacit admission.
His hand was very cold to the touch, like an icy stone sculpture.
An Luo softened his voice and asked quietly, “Does it hurt a lot?”
Meieruita stayed silent for a long time. An Luo thought this question wouldn’t get an answer either, but eventually, Meieruita responded—very softly, like a water drop falling into a pool, vanishing in an instant.
An Luo stood looking down at him, appraising him from top to bottom. He felt Meieruita seemed particularly fragile. He touched Meieruita’s face, then his forehead—it was a bit hot, probably a fever.
“Have you treated the wound?” he asked.
“Mm.” Meieruita replied, his tone still calm, as if the wound were on someone else. “No risk of infection. With my current constitution, it’ll heal in about a week.”
An Luo knew this was true. Wizard apprentices differed from ordinary people in many ways, including physical quality. The magic power gained through meditation continuously transformed the body, making it stronger and wounds heal faster.
He was about to say something when he suddenly remembered one thing.
Meieruita hated people getting close when he was injured and weak. In his haste earlier, An Luo had forgotten that trait. Now recalling it, his heart stung. He immediately let go of Meieruita’s hand and stepped back.
“Are you back to grab something?” An Luo thought for a moment. “Wait a second. I’ll prepare some semi-finished food for you to take to the Underground Laboratory.”
The Underground Laboratory served as Meieruita’s safe house, the best place for him to recover from injuries.
An Luo added, “Or do you want to buy something? Make me a list, and I’ll go get it for you.”
“By the way, did you drink the Healing Potion? I’ll go buy some for you.”
Meieruita’s left hand had been lightly resting on the armrest, but after hearing An Luo’s words, it instantly clenched tight. His pair of gray-green eyes stared intently at An Luo, then slowly closed. When they opened again, he said calmly, “I’m not going to the Underground Laboratory.”
“The Healing Potion… won’t work either. The medicinal power conflicts with my injury.”
An Luo was startled and frowned. “It won’t work…?”
“Mm.”
Meieruita grasped An Luo’s hand and pulled with a bit of force, drawing An Luo back. An Luo felt a little nervous—nervous about Meieruita’s current condition, and also nervous that Meieruita might feel disgusted by his presence here.
His hand was gripped tightly by Meieruita’s, which was chillingly cold. Paired with his pale, chillingly cold face and scarlet thin lips, he looked just like a vampire.
Meieruita pressed An Luo’s hand against his cheek. With his eyes lowered, gazing down from above, An Luo could only see his long, straight eyelashes and deep eye sockets.
Meieruita’s face felt feverish. He closed his eyes, tilted his head slightly, and leaned more of his weight onto An Luo’s hand. Now An Luo’s palm and the back of his hand experienced ice and fire—one scorching, the other cool.
The anxiety and tension in his heart vanished. An Luo took a proactive step forward, drawing closer. He didn’t ask any more questions. “Lie down on the bed. You’ve got a bit of a fever.”
Meieruita didn’t speak. He had been more silent than usual since getting injured, but he obediently stood up and followed An Luo to the bedside. An Luo helped him unbutton his Wizard Robe, took off his shoes, and got him settled on the bed.
Then he pulled over a chair, fetched a basin of water, soaked a towel in it, wrung it out, and wiped Meieruita’s face before placing it on his forehead for physical cooling.
A Wizard Apprentice’s constitution was quite strong; he didn’t need this kind of care—even a few days of enduring it would heal him fine. But An Luo felt it would make Meieruita more comfortable.
Every so often, he’d re-soak the towel and repeat the process. “Feeling any better?”
Meieruita lay on the bed, his head slightly turned, gray-green eyes fixed on An Luo. “Mm.”
The room fell silent, broken only by the occasional sound of water.
After a while, Meieruita spoke softly. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.”
He said calmly, “In the past, when I was injured or sick, I couldn’t make a sound. If I cried out in pain, it would disturb the other slaves in the same room, and they’d throw me out. So I got into the habit of staying quiet. I just haven’t broken it yet. Don’t be mad.”
An Luo: “…”
Halfway through the night, he woke up, sat up, and slapped himself twice. I’m such an idiot!
He grew uneasy, a strong sense of guilt surging through him. “…Sorry.”
The explanations he’d been mulling over in his mind about Meieruita’s traumatic childhood now seemed utterly inadequate. This was the second time An Luo realized how much damage he had inflicted on Meieruita.
Meieruita responded calmly with a soft acknowledgment. He smiled faintly, his voice turning a bit hoarse, perhaps due to the low fever.
“I’ve told you before, there’s nothing to apologize for. You have to give something to gain something. Without those past experiences, I probably wouldn’t be as adept as I am now.”
He closed his eyes, took hold of one of An Luo’s hands, and pressed it to his cheek, murmuring, “Besides, you’ve arranged such a brilliant future for me. You have nothing to be sorry for. There are plenty of people suffering in the world—who else will achieve what I will?”
The more Meieruita said this, the guiltier An Luo felt. Meieruita’s low fever finally broke as evening fell with its dim yellow light. An Luo carefully withdrew his hand, trying not to disturb him, but Meieruita’s eyes snapped open before slowly lowering his lashes again.
“I’ll make you some soup,” An Luo said. “Keep lying down, or take a nap.”
Meieruita murmured his assent in a low voice. An Luo stepped away to prepare dinner. He had plenty of prepped semi-finished foods, but they were all heavily salted and spiced—too intense for now.
He simmered a pot of light meat soup with minimal seasoning, just meat and vegetables. It was more like porridge than soup, thick with ingredients. He covered the pot and let it bubble gently, the savory aroma filling the air. Once ready, he ladled a bowl, cooled it in cold water until it was drinkable, and brought it to Meieruita.
Meieruita had sat up, wearing a white shirt and leaning against the headboard, his black semi-long hair hanging down—a stark contrast to his usual appearance.
He wasn’t reading. His gray-green eyes followed An Luo’s movements, wider than usual. An Luo handed him the bowl and spoon; he seemed a bit at a loss, hesitating for a long moment before reaching out to take them.
After he finished the bowl, An Luo took the bowl and spoon away and asked, “Feeling better now?”
Meieruita didn’t speak, just nodded. His head dipped, then lifted again, his gaze burning into An Luo before flicking away to the side. But less than half a minute later, it snapped back.
It was still early for bedtime, so An Luo fetched him a book. Meieruita didn’t focus much, flipping pages absentmindedly—sometimes rereading four or five pages because nothing stuck, the pages rustling like wind-tossed leaves.
Once An Luo was sure the fever had broken, he picked up his own novel. This time felt fresh: he sat at the desk while Meieruita was on the bed—the roles reversed from usual.
Meieruita’s open notebook lay on the table; An Luo still couldn’t make sense of its contents—pages of fluid, elegant script sprawling like clouds. He noticed Meieruita had picked up some habits from the Witchcraft Book: excessively long sentences with sparse punctuation.
He pushed Meieruita’s notebook aside and set his novel down. Meieruita had a real knack for picking books. An Luo continued from yesterday and soon lost himself in it.
Meieruita leaned against the headboard, book splayed on the covers. He didn’t read; his eyes fixed on An Luo’s back. Every page turn, small gesture, occasional note—An Luo’s subtle shifts made his shadow dance on the wall. Meieruita didn’t want to miss a single detail. He watched for what felt like mere minutes, but when he snapped out of it, the room had darkened—An Luo had blown out the desk candle and was coming to bed.
He held his breath, feeling as if he’d stolen someone else’s identity. An Luo stepped over him carefully, avoiding contact, and settled into the bedding.
“You’re not sleeping yet?”
Meieruita heard himself make a vague sound in response. An Luo, drowsy, murmured, “Alright, you’re still injured. Get some rest soon.”
An Luo yawned, scooted toward the wall, and fell asleep quickly.
Meieruita sat rigidly in place, glanced at the open book on the covers. The whole night passed without him finishing a single page.
Some time later, he lay down too, still suspecting he’d usurped someone’s role—but an odd excitement stirred within him. His wounds ached faintly, but the pain carried a different flavor. He turned to look at An Luo, who slept peacefully with eyes closed, breathing steadily, stray hairs scattered on the pillow.
Meieruita stared half the night, finally dozed off into hazy, strange dreams. When he woke, he couldn’t recall them. It was early, sky not fully light, air cool. His recovery was swift; the wounds barely bothered him now as long as they didn’t reopen.
He changed clothes and washed up. Cold water droplets rinsed his hands—cool and damp. Emerging from the bathroom, Meieruita felt chilled all over, damp with moisture. He touched his forehead with those same cold, wet hands, then smiled faintly. He sat at the desk and opened his book.
The text’s academic rationality and detachment stared back, but the lines blurred as his mind wandered into light, warm dreams. The morning air settled coolly on his shoulders; he propped his chin and smiled.
An Luo woke from a full night’s sleep to find Meieruita already at the desk, inwardly impressed.
Usually, he’d lounge in bed longer, but today he worried about Meieruita’s injuries and got up quickly, changing clothes.
Drawing closer, he spotted large wet patches on Meieruita’s Wizard Robe—even the cuffs—damp and chilly to the touch.
An Luo’s eyelids twitched wildly. Meieruita turned, face still calmly composed, but his cheeks burned with an unhealthy flush, voice hoarse. An Luo froze, touched his cheek and forehead—scalding hot!
Meieruita remained utterly calm. “Good morning.”
An Luo couldn’t even describe his mood. “Good what?! Not good at all!”
He snatched the book away in a panic. “Change out of those wet clothes!”
Meieruita looked a bit dazed but stood and complied. When he emerged from the bathroom, his hands were frighteningly cold, but his face and forehead blazed like fire.
Unbelievable!
He’d barely gotten Meieruita somewhat better yesterday, but this morning, not only had there been no progress—it had regressed, straight into the negatives.
Worse than before!
For once, An Luo was firm, marching Meieruita back to bed. Meieruita put up a token resistance before lying down. His cheeks and lips were blood-red, radiating heat. Lying there, his gray-green eyes gleamed brightly, unblinking as they fixed on An Luo.
An Luo: “…”
Sigh, what a handful!
Are all you academics like this?
