HL 15

I have to admit, during this month of sharing the apartment with Ying Yusheng, Xu Nanxiao’s quality of life had improved a great deal.

Not only were meals, housing, transportation, and daily necessities all taken care of by the housekeeper, but his workplace was also close by, making everything much more convenient. Most importantly, with someone around, the hooded man—aside from sending the occasional unsettling text message—had indeed not shown up in person.

However, as they spent more time together, Ying Yusheng began to reveal some subtle controlling tendencies.

On one hand, he would pry into Xu Nanxiao’s interpersonal relationships, trying to fill up all of Xu Nanxiao’s free time, and even required him to report in if he went out drinking at night. Those eyes of his still made Xu Nanxiao uncomfortable—calm and deep, as if they were trying to chew him up completely.

On the other hand, since he was living under Ying Yusheng’s roof, he couldn’t have bed partners. At first it was fine, but as a grown man with strong desires, he’d recently been feeling more and more frustrated with no outlet for his pent-up energy, and it was even starting to affect his daytime life.

But so far, it was all still bearable.

One morning, as soon as Xu Nanxiao woke up, he felt as if his head had been split open—even the slightest movement hurt terribly, and every joint in his limbs ached with a deep soreness. He struggled to prop himself up, but immediately collapsed back onto the bed.

Xu Nanxiao touched his forehead and, unsurprisingly, it was burning hot. Even without a thermometer, he knew he had a high fever.

There had indeed been a flu outbreak recently, but he hadn’t expected that even with his physique, he’d be taken down.

Going to the club in this state would just be asking to get beaten up. So he had no choice but to call his boss and ask for sick leave.

On top of feeling miserable, his absence meant losing his full attendance bonus and subsidy. Xu Nanxiao irritably squirmed back under the covers and buried his head in the blanket.

After a while, he felt his temperature rising even more and knew he couldn’t just tough it out. So he sent a text to Ying Yusheng.

An Owl: Is there any fever reducer at home?

An Eagle: Are you sick?

An Owl: ? When did you change your screen name to this stupid thing? Don’t call yourself that. Change it back.

An Eagle: Don’t you think it’s cute? It matches your screen name (chubby fox smiling.jpg)

Being sick, Xu Nanxiao didn’t have the energy to argue with Ying Yusheng, so he just continued: High fever.

An Eagle: ! There’s a little ibuprofen left, in the drawer under the coffee table. Wait for me. I’ll ask for leave and come home now. I’ll buy some more on the way.

An Owl: Don’t ask for leave.

An Eagle: Why? You’re sick!

An Owl: Don’t want to owe you a favor.

An Eagle: Nanxiao, don’t be so formal with me. Isn’t this just what friends do?

An Owl: Tch, I said, don’t come back!

After repeating himself, Xu Nanxiao couldn’t be bothered to read Ying Yusheng’s reply. He dragged himself over to the coffee table to find the ibuprofen.

There were only two tablets left—a single dose. Xu Nanxiao swallowed them with water, then stumbled back to his bedroom as if seeking shelter and dove headfirst into the bed.

He soon sank into a drowsy, half-asleep state. His body felt as if it were wrapped in a rubber shell, his senses dull and sluggish.

Gradually, under the sustained high fever, his mind began to flash with fragmented, chaotic images—like a reel of memories playing before death.

These images included all sorts of people, but many were just fair-weather friends whose full names Xu Nanxiao couldn’t even recall. The only familiar face was Lu Yingjie—Lu Yingjie as a child, Lu Yingjie crying, Lu Yingjie growing taller, Lu Yingjie grown up… and also, Mother.

Actually, Xu Nanxiao rarely called her “Mom.” He more often called her “that woman.”

That woman was the only person who took care of him when he was sick as a child.

Silently, she would change the warm, damp towel on Xu Nanxiao’s forehead over and over again. The coolness of the towel seeped in like a stream, flowing from his forehead into his heart. In his daze, young Xu Nanxiao could feel her cool fingertips carefully tucking in the edges of the blanket, as if mending a broken cocoon.

Through the long night, that woman sat by the bed, softly counting each of Xu Nanxiao’s breaths, one after another, as if nurturing an infant in a cradle.

At times like this, Xu Nanxiao would fall into confusion.

He would wonder—did his mother love him?

But if that woman loved him, why, when the old beast grabbed his head and smashed it repeatedly against the table until he was barely breathing, did she only dare to hide behind the door and watch?

Why, after tearfully promising him countless times that she would divorce the old beast, would she turn around and play the devoted wife and mother again the next day, even pledging her loyalty to the old beast and throwing him into the fire?

The answer was that that woman didn’t love him.

It was just that the vulnerability of illness made young Xu Nanxiao crave love more than ever, and he would rather take illusions and mere traces as proof that he was loved.

Yes, people are fragile when sick.

So fragile that they’d feel sad over no longer being able to touch those illusions and traces.

“Nanxiao… Nanxiao… Nanxiao…”

A voice pierced through layers of haze and cut into Xu Nanxiao’s faint consciousness. He opened his eyes and, through a watery film of saline, vaguely saw his mother.

She helped him sit up and fed him medicine and water.

As the cool liquid streamed down his esophagus, Xu Nanxiao’s awareness returned slightly, and he realized that the person before him was not his mother—wasn’t even a woman.

Ying Yusheng set down the glass, then used his index finger to wipe the corner of Xu Nanxiao’s eye, saying gently, “The fever’s that bad? Even your eyes are red.”

Seeing Xu Nanxiao turn his face away to avoid his touch, he didn’t insist, only asking considerately, “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

Xu Nanxiao shook his head, barely able to muster a whisper, yet still managing to curse, “I told you not to come back. Busybody.”

“But I was worried about you,” Ying Yusheng replied openly and frankly.

“…”

Xu Nanxiao had no strength to answer. He brushed aside Ying Yusheng’s hand and lay back down. But he could sense that Ying Yusheng’s presence hadn’t left—he just kept sitting by the bedside.

Though he didn’t want to admit it, Xu Nanxiao actually felt reassured. At least, if he burned to death like this, there’d be someone to collect his body.

After that came fragmented memories.

He vaguely recalled that halfway through his sleep, Ying Yusheng suddenly pulled him up and said sternly, “No, you really need to go to the hospital. You’re already showing pre-fever convulsions.”

“I’m not going… so cold…” Xu Nanxiao’s whole body was freezing—the chill seeped from his bone marrow into his flesh, pressing heavily on every inch of his skin. His body shivered involuntarily, his teeth chattering.

“We have to go. Here, put on your jacket.”

Xu Nanxiao absolutely refused to leave the warmth of his bed and struggled fiercely. Ying Yusheng tried to hold him down but couldn’t. Eventually, he let go, paused for a moment, then suddenly lowered his voice and said:

[“Try moving again, I dare you.”]

Xu Nanxiao froze instantly, as if seized by a pair of invisible giant hands—even the trembling subsided. Those few short words were more chilling than the cold in his body.

“Good boy.” Ying Yusheng’s voice softened again, and he even patted the top of his head. “Can you walk on your own? Or do you want me to carry you?”

Damn it, this kid hypnotized me again.

That was the last thought before Xu Nanxiao lost consciousness.

When Xu Nanxiao opened his eyes again, he found himself in an unfamiliar room.

Because it was a private room, he didn’t realize it was a hospital ward at first—until he caught the smell of disinfectant, then moved his eyes and saw the IV drip slowly falling.

Just then, Ying Yusheng pushed the door open with a towel in his hand. Seeing that Xu Nanxiao had regained consciousness, he immediately walked over with obvious delight, though his tone remained steady and calm.

“Nanxiao, how are you feeling?”

“…You brought me here?”

“Yeah, because you were groaning and convulsing—I felt something wasn’t right.” Ying Yusheng pushed up his glasses. “If the doctor hadn’t given you an injection of hormones in your glute, you might have burned with fever for another day or two.”

Xu Nanxiao stared blankly for a moment, like an old computer slowly booting up. After a dozen seconds, he turned to Ying Yusheng and asked in disbelief, “They gave me a shot in the butt?”

“Yeah. You kept struggling when I pulled your pants down, saying you didn’t want the needle—I even helped the doctor hold you down, heh.”

“Fuck!” Xu Nanxiao yelled, then forcefully turned his back, leaving only the back of his head to Ying Yusheng.

Ying Yusheng paused, then couldn’t help but laugh. “Embarrassed? There were no strangers—only me and the doctor who saw.”

Xu Nanxiao was at a loss against his shamelessness, thinking to himself, what makes you think you’re not an outsider?

But Ying Yusheng quickly changed the subject. Holding the towel, he walked toward Xu Nanxiao. “Perfect timing—since you’re awake, let me wipe you down. You sweated a lot last night—aren’t you uncomfortable?”

Only then did Xu Nanxiao realize his whole body was sticky and clammy, even itchy under the covers, as if he were lying on a bed of moss. But seeing Ying Yusheng approach, he immediately assumed a defensive posture and croaked, “What are you trying to do?”

“Helping you wipe down. I just rinsed this towel.” Ying Yusheng didn’t seem to mind. “We’re both men—what’s the problem?”

“It’s precisely because we’re both men that it’s disgusting,” Xu Nanxiao said, as unpleasant as ever.

Ying Yusheng sighed and raised his hands in surrender. “Then wipe yourself down, okay? I have OCD—I can’t stand seeing people all grimy.”

Xu Nanxiao hesitated for a moment, then took the towel from Ying Yusheng’s hand. Ying Yusheng sat sideways in the chair by the bed, picked up a book from the nightstand, and continued reading.

After making sure Ying Yusheng was no longer staring at him, Xu Nanxiao reached both hands behind his back, grabbed his shirt, and pulled it off in one motion, revealing his beautifully muscled, fair-skinned upper body. Then he began to wipe himself down.

Ying Yusheng had been reading for about five minutes when his gaze quietly shifted to Xu Nanxiao.

Xu Nanxiao was wiping himself with great care, so he didn’t notice Ying Yusheng’s eyes. In Ying Yusheng’s view, Xu Nanxiao was like a big cat meticulously licking its own fur.

He recalled that moment when their fingertips had brushed during the towel exchange—the other’s skin still burning hot. He turned a page expressionlessly, thinking to himself: if he went in while he had a fever, it would definitely be extra warm—like an automatic heating Fleshlight.

And since Xu Nanxiao was sick, he probably wouldn’t have much strength—he was confident he could completely control him. With that thought, he turned another page. At that point, he’d only be able to curse and struggle while being forcefully taken, crying—tears from both ends.

However…

Ying Yusheng shook his head with a smile. Doing that now would scare him off. We’ll see when the time is right later.

Just then, he heard Xu Nanxiao ask in a muffled voice, “Why… why are you taking care of me?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Ying Yusheng replied, “Isn’t that what friends do? I can’t just let you burn to death in bed, can I?”

Xu Nanxiao was silent for a moment, then let out a sardonic chuckle and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have many friends—don’t try to fool me.”

“Your previous friends were all that heartless? They wouldn’t lend a hand when you were sick? Then you should reflect on whether they were real friends.” Ying Yusheng paused, then his eyes curved with a smile as he answered, “And besides, why would I fool you? I’m not good at lying.”

Xu Nanxiao continued wiping himself without answering. But his heart stirred slightly, and he unconsciously tightened his grip on the towel.