After all the dishes had been served, Zhou Zhuoyuan couldn’t resist lifting his eyelids to glance at Zhou Zhuoli—two of the dishes on the table were among those he’d listed off to him earlier.
Zhou Zhuoli noticed and arched a brow at him.
But beyond that one look, Zhou Zhuoyuan showed no other reaction. He didn’t even roll his eyes.
Still, the impact of food that suited his taste was plain to see. He picked at his meal far more than usual.
After dinner, following the doctor’s orders, Zhou Zhuoyuan dutifully swallowed all his pills, then burrowed under the covers to wait for evening self-study to end.
Maybe because he’d slept so much during the day, he wasn’t sleepy yet. He lay in bed scrolling through online lessons instead. He’d just started the second one when someone knocked on the door.
No matter who it was, he had no desire to see them. Zhou Zhuoyuan bit his lower lip, shut off his phone, and pretended to sleep.
“Yuanyuan, it’s me.” Ji He’s voice drifted in from the doorway, hushed like secret agents on a drop.
~~~
“What are you doing here?” Zhou Zhuoyuan sat up and watched Ji He—who had his arm in a sling—nervously shut the door behind him. A headache and exasperation washed over him.
Ji He glanced at the cold, hard chair and opted to plop right down on the edge of the bed. “It was the class monitor. He said you seemed kinda down and asked me to check on you.”
“I’m not down.” Zhou Zhuoyuan fiddled with a spot on the blanket. “It’s them not letting me go to school.”
Ji He had a great impression of the Zhou family members. “Probably ’cause you’re still feverish, right? Sharpening the axe won’t delay chopping wood—you gotta take care of yourself first.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan had no idea how to explain it to him. He couldn’t help grumbling inwardly that the guy was dense. Couldn’t he figure out it was because his fight had come to light? He’d told him about it before.
So Zhou Zhuoyuan could only protest, “I’m not sick anymore.”
He seemed embarrassed, hemming and hawing for a bit before pressing on in his quacky voice. “Could you… could you maybe plead with them for me? I’ve really recovered.”
Ji He gazed at Zhou Zhuoyuan, who looked even frailer than his own broken-boned self. With his good hand, he reached out and felt the boy’s forehead.
Since he needed the favor, Zhou Zhuoyuan fought back the impulse to slap the hand away. He kept his eyes downcast and waited quietly.
“You’re still sick, Yuanyuan.” Ji He gave a helpless smile at the chronic liar. “You haven’t gotten better yet.”
But this was the first time Zhou Zhuoyuan had ever asked him for help. Ji He couldn’t hold firm for long under that sad, disappointed stare. “Fine,” he relented. “I’ll go talk to Auntie.”
~~~
Ji He’s mission ended in failure. Zhu Wan’s fondness for him didn’t waver, but neither did she budge an inch. If anything, her words subtly blamed him for dragging Zhou Zhuoyuan around everywhere, which was how he’d gotten sick in the first place.
Ji He didn’t even get to go upstairs for one more glimpse of Zhou Zhuoyuan before being politely shown out.
Zhou Zhuoyuan took the bad news calmly enough. “Got it. Thanks.”
Ji He replied, “Don’t overthink it. I’ll swing by tomorrow.”
That road was closed too. Did that mean he really had to beg Zhou Zhuoyi? Zhou Zhuoyuan wondered as he turned down Ji He’s offer.
He’d always seen himself as tough. Even in the hellish circumstances of his last life, he’d fought hard to carve out a path forward. No way was he giving up easily now.
The meds must have kicked in. Sleep dragged at Zhou Zhuoyuan’s eyelids until he couldn’t keep them open. In his haze, he knew he wouldn’t manage a phone call with his boyfriend.
Sure enough, he slept right through his alarm and into the next morning. His phone held a dozen-plus messages and missed calls.
He Qinglan’s last one read: I’m ready to pick you up anytime.
Zhou Zhuoyuan texted back that he was okay and summoned the doctor to check his temperature.
Still thirty-nine degrees. Not a fraction lower.
Forget anyone else—even Zhou Zhuoyuan himself was stunned.
Why? he thought.
He’d been so good, taking his medicine on time and eating properly. Why hadn’t he gotten any better?
He didn’t dare push it anymore. He ate lunch in his room, with Zhu Wan bringing the tray up herself.
Once she’d cleared the dishes and stepped out, a teacup shattered somewhere down the hall. She rushed back to find Zhou Zhuoyuan gripping the bedside table, veins bulging on the back of his IV-punctured hand. He was doubled over the trash bin, vomiting endlessly.
The ordeal dragged on until noon before Zhou Zhuoyuan finally passed out.
His pre-sleep temperature check was back in the normal range. Zhu Wan let out a relieved breath.
But before afternoon dinner, the fever roared back—higher than ever, ferocious as if it meant to swallow him whole.
When noise jolted Zhou Zhuoyuan awake, he felt wretched all over, his irritability at an all-time high. That’s when he realized someone had scooped him up again. This time, it was Zhou Fuxuan holding him.
The embrace of his father that he had once longed for in childhood now filled Zhou Zhuoyuan with nothing but disgust. He thrashed like a small fish tossed into a sizzling wok, struggling with all his might, his voice shrill with panic and rage: “Let—me—go! I—don’t—want—you!”
After all, he was a grown man. Zhou Fuxuan nearly got thrown off by the sudden resistance and had no choice but to set him down first, scolding harshly: “What’s gotten into you?! I’m taking you to the hospital, and you’re throwing a fit when you’re this sick!”
