Chapter 55: Zhou Zhuoyuan: Zhou Zhuoyuan Has Become a Regular at the School Infirmary…

Pei He’s worries were unfounded, for Zhou Zhuoyuan never even managed to get out of bed for school.

He pulled back the covers slightly and saw that Zhou Zhuoyuan had buried himself so deeply his face was flushed red. His eyelids were badly swollen, just as expected, and his slightly parted lips were dry and cracked.

Pei He had thought that once he cried it out, he could let the matter go.

Yet Zhou Zhuoyuan remained trapped in his nightmare, brow furrowed as he murmured, “Sorry…”

He couldn’t tell him that He Qinglan had only escaped disaster by choosing Zhou Zhuoyuan—that would mean watching helplessly as chains named “Killing He Qinglan” wrapped around him, digging into his flesh, impossible to escape.

He was too stubborn.

Even if Pei He repeated a thousand times, ten thousand times that it wasn’t his fault, Zhou Zhuoyuan would just apologize a thousand times, ten thousand times.

Pei He dampened Zhou Zhuoyuan’s lips with a bit of warm water, then gently shook his shoulder. “Little Yuan, wake up.”

Zhou Zhuoyuan was pulled briefly from his nightmare. He cracked his eyes open, his pupils dilated and unfocused, but he couldn’t stay awake and soon let his eyelids droop as he slipped back into sleep.

Pei He stopped trying. He carefully wrapped the blanket around him and lifted him into his arms. Last time, Zhou Zhuoyuan had mustered enough strength to lean against his chest; this time, he was utterly limp, devoid of any vitality. If not for the blanket holding him in place, his arms would have dangled limply.

Zhou Zhuoyuan had become a regular at the school infirmary.

After hooking up the IV drip, Pei He took hold of his right hand—roughened by thin calluses—and pressed it to his forehead.

He didn’t ask Zhou Zhuoyuan to be any stronger, for what he’d said yesterday wasn’t some deceptive lie. Pei He truly believed Zhou Zhuoyuan was already plenty strong.

He had told him to vent it all out so he could get on with his life properly, and Zhou Zhuoyuan had spent the entire night crying in earnest.

If his body hadn’t given out, Zhou Zhuoyuan never would have let anyone see his pain. He would have healed himself in secret, leaning on no one.

Once the bottle was empty, Pei He pressed the call bell on the bedhead. Glancing back, he noticed a thin, elongated scar snaking across Zhou Zhuoyuan’s palm, threading through the natural lines—not very noticeable.

But this was a scar faded by time; he could only imagine how deep the original wound had been, how much blood it had shed.

Why so many scars?

It was like squeezing toothpaste—each one emerging bit by bit, making Pei He’s heart ache. And he couldn’t even voice his pain, or it would startle the hand pressing down, refusing to yield another drop.

~~~

Zhou Zhuoyuan’s phone had been left in the dorm. The driver couldn’t reach him there and couldn’t find him either. Only after asking the homeroom teacher did he learn that the frail young master had landed in the school infirmary again.

Panting for breath, he called Zhou Zhuoli. A morning meeting had delayed him, and he arrived just as a nurse was changing Zhou Zhuoyuan’s IV bag.

The young driver informed Zhou Zhuoli, “The doctor says it’s a high fever from gastritis. We’ll hang these bottles and see if he wakes up.”

Zhou Zhuoli clenched his fist. “What do you mean ‘see if he wakes up’? Is he unconscious right now?”

The driver replied, “No, just not fully aware. He got up to vomit once earlier.”

“Contact a hospital for a transfer,” Zhou Zhuoli said. “I’ll go in and speak to the doctor.”

The moment he stepped inside, Zhou Zhuoyuan stirred awake. His face was paler than the infirmary sheets, his brows tightly knitted. Pei He hurriedly propped him up and held open a fresh vomit bag in front of him.

Perhaps because he’d already emptied his stomach once before, nothing much came up this time. Zhou Zhuoyuan clutched weakly at Pei He’s wrist, trembling from the discomfort.

Pei He sealed the bag and tossed it into the trash bin. While wiping his mouth, he patted Zhou Zhuoyuan’s back. “It’s all right now. The doctor said you’ll feel better once this bottle’s done. I’ll fetch some warm water. Got any appetite yet?”

Zhou Zhuoyuan could only stay upright by half-leaning against him. He didn’t respond, though his hand remained loosely draped over Pei He’s wrist.

Zhou Zhuoli poured a cup of warm water and passed it to the somewhat hesitant Pei He.

But Zhou Zhuoyuan refused to drink, clamping his mouth shut no matter what.

He had taken a cup down smoothly just before; Pei He couldn’t understand it but didn’t push. He set the water aside and eased him back down to lie flat. “I’ll go grab a nutritional meal from the hospital cafeteria. Your brother can keep you company for a bit.”

Zhou Zhuoyuan lay there listlessly, on the verge of sleep, offering no reply.

Once Pei He had gone, Zhou Zhuoli took his place. Before Zhou Zhuoyuan’s eyes fully closed, he said, “The school infirmary isn’t properly equipped. I’ll take you to a real hospital soon.”

Zhou Zhuoyuan rallied a sliver of energy and shook his head at him.

“You won’t recover here,” Zhou Zhuoli insisted.

Zhou Zhuoyuan parted his lips to speak, but no sound came through.

Zhou Zhuoli leaned in close to his ear and barely made out a few fragmented words: “…better soon… few days, exam… I won’t say… neighbor… billion…”

He could more or less guess the meaning of the first three words, but the rest left Zhou Zhuoli completely baffled. He couldn’t understand why Zhou Zhuoyuan—who had been so cold and distant with him these past few days—had suddenly spoken to him in such a pleading tone.

Zhou Zhuoli looked up. His younger brother was clearly getting better at bending him to his will, forcing him to compromise once again. “All right, I get it. No transferring hospitals for now. Doctor Song will come by this afternoon to check on you again. Just listen to what he says, okay?”

Doctor Song was the physician who had made several house calls to the Zhou Family to treat Zhou Zhuoyuan, and Zhuoyuan trusted him implicitly.

~~~

Thanks to Zhou Zhuoli’s disturbance, Zhuoyuan was still awake when Pei He returned. He set the prepared nutritious meal down on the table.

Zhou Zhuoli helped him sit up and propped two pillows behind his back.

Zhuoyuan still had no appetite. He held only half a spoonful of porridge in his mouth.

Pei He didn’t rush him. Taking care of Zhuoyuan was actually quite straightforward, since he always cooperated with the treatment to the best of his ability.