Chapter 36
Jing Ciying visited Pei Songji at the hospital a few more times, then his workload increased, and he no longer had the time.
Huaisi had secured several major collaborations, and he was assigned to lead some of the projects.
It was demanding, but everyone was excited and energized.
Long hours became the norm, and he often didn’t get home until midnight.
The constant stress and lack of sleep took a toll on his health, so he started taking supplements.
Pei Songji, knowing he was busy, contacted him less often.
But even when he did, Jing Ciying barely had time to respond.
Pei Songji continued sending him lunch every day.
Jing Ciying no longer refused. It saved him time, and the food, prepared according to his aunt’s recipes, was delicious. He had developed a fondness for it.
But despite the delicious food, his appetite remained poor, perhaps due to stress. He ate only a few bites, then discreetly gave the rest to his colleagues, not wanting Pei Songji to know.
“Jing, you eat so little! Even less than me! I’d be skinny if I ate like you,” a young female colleague commented one day.
He looked up from his computer. “You’re not fat. Health is more important.”
But he knew his own lifestyle was far from healthy.
He even started smoking again to stay awake and focused, something he hadn’t done since his days as Pei Songji’s secretary.
He knew he was pushing himself too hard, damaging his health.
But…
What choice did he have?
One night, exhausted after another late night at the office, he lit a cigarette as soon as he stepped outside.
Before he could take a puff, someone snatched the cigarette from his hand.
He turned to see Pei Songji, forcing a smile. “Mr. Pei.”
Pei Songji’s expression was grim. He broke the cigarette in half.
Jing Ciying wasn’t bothered by the loss of the cigarette, but he was annoyed by Pei Songji’s presumptuousness. His smile faded. “When were you discharged?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Yesterday.”
“And you came here to see me as soon as you were discharged?” He glanced at his watch. “At this hour? Aren’t you afraid of angering Elder Pei?”
“I’ll deal with my grandfather. That’s not important right now.”
“Then what is?”
He expected Pei Songji to lecture him about smoking, but he said, “It’s late. I’ll take you home.”
“Okay,” Jing Ciying agreed readily. He was too tired to argue.
He got into the car and realized there was no driver. Pei Songji had driven himself.
He was surprised but too tired for pleasantries.
Pei Songji broke the silence. “Why are you working so late?”
“I’m busy,” he said, leaning back in his seat.
Pei Songji seemed to want to say something, but seeing his reluctance to engage, he remained silent.
They didn’t speak again until they arrived at Jing Ciying’s apartment.
As Jing Ciying was getting out of the car, Pei Songji stopped him. “Wait.”
“What is it?”
“Take care of yourself.”
“Is that all?” Jing Ciying knew he wanted to say more.
Pei Songji seemed to struggle with his words, then shook his head.
But Jing Ciying, after years of deciphering his unspoken commands, understood.
“Okay,” he said, getting out of the car. As he closed the door, he tossed something onto the passenger seat.
Pei Songji looked over and saw a pack of cigarettes.
He looked up to see Jing Ciying waving goodbye.
“No more smoking,” Jing Ciying said, walking away.
Pei Songji stared after him, wanting to say something, but he was already gone. He picked up the pack of cigarettes.
It was a cheap brand he had never seen before.
A pang of concern shot through his heart. He was worried about Jing Ciying’s health.
But he knew he had no right to interfere, so he swallowed his concern.
He didn’t want to annoy Jing Ciying further.
He was treading carefully, his usual arrogance replaced by a cautious tenderness. He had never felt so… subservient.
But his inability to lecture Jing Ciying didn’t mean he couldn’t vent his frustration elsewhere.
He mentally cursed Ji Shuhuai for being such a demanding, inconsiderate boss.
Jing Ciying arrived home to find Happy waiting for him. The kitten jumped off the sofa, stretched, and then flopped onto its back at his feet.
His heart melted. He knelt down and stroked its head.
Happy purred contentedly, rubbing against his hand, as if saying, “I missed you.”
He wasn’t sure if it was because kittens grew quickly or because he had been so busy lately, but Happy seemed different every time he saw it, much larger than when it had first arrived.
He felt a pang of guilt, knowing it spent its days alone. He resisted his exhaustion, ignoring his need for sleep, and fed it treats and wet food.
Once Happy was fed, he went to the bathroom to wash up, then returned to his bedroom to find Happy waiting for him on the bed.
He changed into his pajamas and collapsed onto the bed, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
But his sleep was short-lived. He woke up to the sound of his alarm.
He groaned and turned it off, but it rang again.
He opened his eyes, seeing 7:00 am on the clock. Time to get up.
He dragged himself out of bed, got ready, and left the apartment, heading towards the subway station.
As he reached the entrance of his apartment building, he saw a familiar car parked there, and Pei Songji leaning against it, waiting for him.
He hesitated, then approached him.
Pei Songji looked up, smiling. “Good morning.”
“Did you even leave last night?” Jing Ciying asked, suspicious.
“Of course I did,” Pei Songji said, opening the car door for him. “I’ll give you a ride.”
Jing Ciying felt a sense of inevitability, like a frog being slowly boiled alive. Pei Songji had given him rides before; refusing seemed petty. He got into the car.
Pei Songji handed him a thermos. “Eat while it’s hot.”
He opened it to see shrimp congee and red bean steamed buns.
It wasn’t unusual; Pei Songji often sent him this for breakfast, knowing his preference. But as he ate, he noticed a subtle difference.
“This tastes different,” he said, curious.
“Different? How?” Pei Songji asked, turning to look at him.
Jing Ciying didn’t answer immediately, just took another sip.
“What’s different?” Pei Songji asked again, his curiosity piqued.
Jing Ciying looked at him for a moment. “Did you make this?”
Pei Songji was surprised. He had never cooked before, and Jing Ciying had never tasted his cooking. “How did you know?”
“Because it’s not as good as the ones you usually send,” Jing Ciying replied.
Pei Songji: “…”
He shouldn’t have asked.
Seeing his crestfallen expression, Jing Ciying realized he had been too harsh. Pei Songji had driven him home late last night, probably hadn’t slept much, and had then gotten up early to make him congee. He had been ungrateful. “It’s not bad,” he said quickly, trying to make amends. “Just not as good as your professional chefs. It tastes more… homemade. It’s the closest to my aunt’s cooking I’ve ever tasted.”
“Really?” Pei Songji’s face brightened.
“Really. I’ve never lied to you.”
Pei Songji tried to suppress his smile, but the corners of his lips twitched upwards. “Then finish it all.”
Jing Ciying usually had a small appetite, especially in the mornings, but he couldn’t refuse. “Okay,” he said.
He finished the congee, but he couldn’t manage the steamed buns.
Pei Songji didn’t press him. “You’re not eating much today,” he commented.
He usually shared his lunch with his colleagues, but he couldn’t tell Pei Songji that. “I don’t have much of an appetite in the mornings,” he said.
“I see. What do you want for lunch, then?”
He had been eating Pei Songji’s catered lunches lately, so he didn’t hesitate to request something. “I’d like some soup. Pork rib soup.”
“Okay.” Pei Songji agreed readily. “It’s still early. You can sleep in the car if you’re tired.”
Jing Ciying glanced at the time. They had plenty of time. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
He hadn’t been asleep long when a sharp pain stabbed him in the gut.
He gasped, his body curling inwards, his hand clutching his stomach, his forehead slick with cold sweat.
“What’s wrong?” Pei Songji asked, alarmed, seeing his pained expression.
“Nothing,” Jing Ciying said, waving his hand dismissively. “Just a stomach ache.”
“I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s an old problem. It’ll pass.”
“An old problem? What kind of problem?”
“I used to have irregular meals. My stomach acts up sometimes.”
“You…”
Pei Songji wanted to say something, but seeing his distress, he remained silent, turning the car around.
When Jing Ciying finally felt better, he realized they were at the hospital.
“Why are we here?” he asked.
Pei Songji unbuckled his seatbelt. “Let’s get you checked out.”
“No, really, I’ll be late for work.”
“I’ll call Ji Shuhuai and explain.”
“You!”
He wanted to protest, but Pei Songji had already pulled him out of the car, leading him into the hospital.
Seeing the serious atmosphere, he knew it would take a while, so he called his office and requested a day off.
He had assumed it was just a stomach ache, but the doctor’s serious expression and the battery of tests he ordered suggested something more serious.
“Doctor, what’s wrong with me?” he asked, his voice laced with anxiety.
“It’s too early to say. We’ll know more after the tests.”
“Okay.” He felt a sudden unease, his heart pounding.
Some of the test results wouldn’t be available until the afternoon.
He didn’t want to go back and forth, so he had lunch and then rested in Pei Songji’s car, returning to the hospital later to collect the results.
He took the reports to the doctor, who studied them carefully, his expression growing increasingly grim.
Jing Ciying braced himself for bad news. Acute gastritis? Appendicitis?
Pei Songji, equally concerned, asked, “Doctor, is it serious?”
“Yes,” the doctor nodded, looking at Jing Ciying, then back at the reports. “Your alpha-fetoprotein levels are elevated, over 400 μg/L, and they’re rising. We’ve also detected some thrombi in your liver, so…”
“Cancer?” Jing Ciying interrupted, his voice barely a whisper.
“Yes,” the doctor said sadly.
“Based on these results, it’s highly likely to be liver cancer.”
