The Overbearing CEO Is Driven Mad by His Frail Canary 73

Chapter 73

The rain continued its relentless drumming.

When Yu Congyan finally parked at the suburban apartment, Xia Wansheng’s chat was still silent, only his own messages staring back at him.

Xia Wansheng hadn’t responded since sending that message, perhaps he was resting because he wasn’t feeling well.

Yu Congyan didn’t dare to speculate further, suppressing his unease, he took out the key tucked away in his inner pocket and opened the apartment door.

He hadn’t expected Xia Wansheng to give him a key.

After all, his reason for staying was mostly a lie, albeit a well-intentioned one, stemming from his concern for Xia Wansheng.

But Xia Wansheng hadn’t questioned him.

He had simply asked if he was truly staying, accepting his flimsy excuse of a dead phone without further probing, as if not caring about his motives.

Xia Wansheng had simply accepted his actions, asking questions when curious, ignoring them when not.

He, Yu Congyan, felt more like an NPC in Xia Wansheng’s world, occasionally boosting his favorability rating, nothing more.

This was the first time Xia Wansheng had sent him such a direct message, admitting his vulnerability.

Undeniably a good start for them.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar. Yu Congyan couldn’t see inside, so he cautiously pushed it open.

Then he saw Xia Wansheng curled up under the covers, only the crown of his head visible.

He seemed to be sleeping soundly.

He must have taken some medicine and fallen asleep after not receiving his reply.

Cold medicine had a mild sedative effect.

Thankfully, his breathing was even. Yu Congyan sat down beside the bed and gently touched his forehead.

His temperature had gone down, the fever subsided, he would be fine after some sleep.

His own heartbeat calmed in the quiet room.

But the steady rhythm was even more pronounced now, like waves gently lapping against the shore, filling his heart.

Yu Congyan stood up, preparing to make some porridge for him.

As he was leaving, he noticed Xia Wansheng’s left hand outside the covers and reached out to tuck it in.

He gently lifted his wrist, then noticed small, faint scars on his index finger, seemingly recently healed.

Yu Congyan felt a pang of worry, carefully turning his palm over to examine it.

Then he saw similar scars on his ring finger, his heart clenching.

As if he had repeatedly scraped it against a rough surface.

He wanted to ask about the cause of these injuries, but Xia Wansheng was asleep, he didn’t want to wake him.

He carefully applied band-aids to his ring finger to prevent further irritation.

Touching Xia Wansheng’s ring finger, Yu Congyan paused, a strange feeling despite the inappropriate time and place.

As if he was putting a ring on him while he slept.

This thought alone sent shivers down his spine.

But his movements were still gentle, carefully covering Xia Wansheng’s fingertip, frowning at the shallow but numerous cuts.

How did this happen?

After applying the band-aids, he finally relaxed, preparing to make porridge and wait for him to wake up.

Just as he was about to tuck in Xia Wansheng’s hand, he met his gaze. He was awake, staring at him intently.

Yu Congyan froze, his hand still holding Xia Wansheng’s.

Although his actions had been innocent, it felt like Xia Wansheng had seen through his thoughts.

As if he wasn’t just applying a band-aid, but truly putting a ring on him while he slept.

“Why are you here?” Xia Wansheng, who had just been awakened by a slight pain in his left index finger, assumed it was the continuation of a familiar nightmare. He blinked, finally recognizing Yu Congyan.

Seeing his slightly trembling eyelashes, Yu Congyan lifted his hand, “Just bandaging your wound.”

It should have been a heartwarming scene, but for some reason, although his fever had subsided, a sharp pain shot through his head whenever he touched his fingertip.

It was even more pronounced when he was half-asleep.

He had just been awakened by the sudden pain, his groggy mind even more muddled now.

Xia Wansheng turned over, facing Yu Congyan, the fever temporarily lowering his defenses.

“Am I dying…?” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Otherwise, why did he feel so warm, and why was Yu Congyan here, even though he hadn’t replied to his message?

“Don’t be silly, your fever has gone down, you’ll be fine soon.” Yu Congyan, unable to bear hearing such words, covered his mouth, stopping him from speaking.

Xia Wansheng, reassured, relaxed, his voice filled with childish complaint, “But it hurts…”

When he was awake, he relied on the pain for clarity, but now, his feverish mind muddled, he instinctively sought comfort.

He knew he shouldn’t be this sensitive to pain, but he couldn’t articulate it.

“It hurts when I touch the pages of a book, and I see strange images flashing through my mind,” he tried to explain, his voice soft, “Did…did I forget something?”

His tone was cautious, afraid of upsetting him.

“Do you want to remember?” Yu Congyan asked intently.

He subtly avoided his gaze.

Xia Wansheng didn’t understand why he was asking this, but he instinctively nodded.

Yu Congyan was still holding his hand, staring at the faint scars, unsure how to react.

He could easily lie and dismiss it.

Perhaps he should just let it be.

This treatment was cruel for both of them, he missed Xia Wansheng’s carefree spirit, continuing like this wouldn’t be so bad.

He had been determined to tell him the truth, but seeing his innocent eyes, he hesitated.

They would have to face this eventually, once the system left, Xia Wansheng would return to this state, perhaps even worse.

He might be able to stop him once or twice, but he couldn’t be there every time.

“Rest well, I’ll tell you when you recover,” Yu Congyan said gently, changing the subject, “Is there anything you want to eat? I’ll make it for you.”

Xia Wansheng, struggling to stay awake, shook his head and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.

Yu Congyan breathed a sigh of relief, glancing at his peaceful sleeping face, then left the bedroom.

Leaning against the wall on the balcony, he called the therapist, his voice cold and distant, “You better have a good explanation.”

Why was Xia Wansheng still hurting himself even after the system-related memories were blocked?

“He’s not afraid of death,” the therapist’s voice was calm and indifferent,

“And this is a sign of improvement, isn’t this a cry for help?”