LCP Ch 10

The ultrasound showed multiple internal hemorrhages, but fortunately, a matching blood source was found. Chi An put Xiaofu on oxygen, administered hemostatic and painkilling injections, and transfused 50 ml of blood. Xiaofu slowly began to show a response.

His colleague had just asked Sister Chen from the front desk to accompany the boy as he waited in the hallway; at the moment, only the two of them were in the room. Chi An took off his gloves and whispered: “Last time he came alone as well, saying his name was Sun Qian and that his parents weren’t around recently. He paid for everything himself in the end, and my name was temporarily put down under owner on the file.”

“This won’t do—it’s risky, and this is the second time,” his colleague shook his head in disagreement, dropping his voice even lower. “Besides, with such a short interval… could it be abuse?”

His colleague’s suspicion wasn’t without merit. As Chi An listened, he realized he was unconsciously biting the inside of his lip, so he quickly spoke up: “I suspected that too, but last time he came to watch over the puppy almost every day after school and spent the entire weekend at the hospital. Just now, you saw him crying like that—it didn’t look like an act.”

“…Then could it be someone at home?”

The boy was drenched in dirty water, walking the dog alone, without a collar.

Chi An walked over to the door and said before opening it, “Let’s keep the puppy hospitalized first. In the meantime, I’ll try my best to get his parents’ contact info.”

Chi An pushed the door open and stepped out to see Sun Qian sitting blankly on the bench, his legs rhythmically trembling, shaking his already loose shoelaces along with them. He squatted down in front of the boy:

“Xiaofu’s condition is stable for now, but he still needs to be kept here for observation for a few days,” Chi An paused, softening and slowing his tone even further. “Did your dad let you come out to walk the dog alone?”

The boy kept his head down, eyes cast downward: “I… I thought of it myself. Xiaofu wanted to go out and play, and dad hasn’t been home these past few days.”

“So you’re at home all by yourself?”

“Grandma is there too, but she’s sick…”

The boy had very long bangs that looked like they hadn’t been trimmed in a long time, now hanging wetly by the sides of his face. He lowered his head even further.

Chi An simply sat down on the floor, picking up Sun Qian’s shoelaces, wrapping them around, threading the loops, and tying both sides securely for him. Sun Qian’s legs stopped trembling.

“Can I add your dad on WeChat? Seeing you walk the dog and come to the hospital all by yourself makes us really worried.”

After saying this, Chi An gently tucked the bangs hanging over Sun Qian’s cheek behind his ear. As he did, the boy’s left ear was revealed; Chi An saw three crooked ear piercings on it, all inflamed, looking terribly red and swollen.

Realizing that Chi An had noticed something, Sun Qian frantically dodged his hand and turned his head to the side: “Sure.” He answered quickly, though it was an obvious attempt to cover things up.

Acting as if he hadn’t noticed anything unusual, Chi An sent a friend request to the boy’s father and led him to the front desk to pay. Seeing that Chi An didn’t press any further questions, Sun Qian gradually relaxed and started talking about the puppy’s follow-up treatment.

“If his condition remains stable, you can take him home in about a week. He might need medication afterward—can your dad help you take care of him?” Chi An asked.

The boy shook his head.

“If his nutrition can’t keep up after discharge, low immunity can easily lead to other complications,” Chi An spoke gently, but at a very slow pace, as if emphasizing every single word. Then he paused to think for a moment, making what seemed like a casual suggestion: “How about you save my phone number? If any issues pop up later, you can call me directly.”

Sun Qian hesitated for a moment before nodding after a brief silence.

Chi An had never gotten an ear piercing because Liang Ce had said he would go with him to get one, but Liang Ce forgot.

Yet Chi An had had plenty of other piercings. During those years when he was most obsessed with pain, he had gotten lip rings, tongue rings, eyebrow rings, and even nipple piercings. Every time he used the tools, he bit his tongue unconsciously from the sheer pain, his teeth clashing against the metal and tearing the flesh beside the piercing, feeling as though he was permitted to go on living.

After his condition improved a bit, Chi An removed all the metal jewelry and let the holes heal one by one, because they had been pierced so hideously: piercings meant for pain were entirely different from those meant for beauty—the latter was to please oneself, while the former was purely to receive punishment. How was Chi An worthy of being punished by beautiful things? So every time he made a hole, he kept his eyes wide open, pressing down carelessly like someone carelessly ripping paper. At times like that, he didn’t dare imagine how Liang Ce’s hand would rest against his ear, softly telling him not to do it. Because Liang Ce could relieve pain, and Chi An wasn’t worthy of that either.

So when Chi An saw the holes on Sun Qian’s ear, he recognized what they were at a single glance. He knew he had to get Sun Qian’s phone number. Chi An typed his number into the boy’s phone and called his own phone back: “There, all set,” he held up his screen to show the incoming call page. “In the future, if anything comes up with Xiaofu, you can contact me first.”

Chi An drove Sun Qian home. The boy insisted on getting off at the gate of his residential complex, and Chi An didn’t force the issue. Driving Liang Ce’s ET9 on the way back today, Chi An kept an eye out for message notifications on the car stereo, but Sun Qian’s dad still hadn’t accepted his WeChat request. Only after he returned to the underground garage and parked the car safely did his phone finally ring—unfortunately, it was just Mo Fan.

“I can talk now! About that pure pervert thing you mentioned yesterday,” Mo Fan announced.

“I already figured that one out implicitly,” Chi An opened the car door, wrapped his overcoat tightly around himself, and after a moment’s thought, chose to confide selectively: “My mental state is a bit unstable right now. I encountered a puppy in terrible shape today. It was a struggle to save it, and it made me recall past things… I feel like I need to clear my head.”

Mo Fan thus tried his best to keep the topic lighthearted: “I don’t start my shift until tonight, so I have time right now. Come, let me help you swap your brain out. Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Haven’t seen him in two days, and he went on a business trip today. I miss him so much—is this being a pervert?”

Chi An checked the time and estimated that Liang Ce would be landing shortly. His urgent desire to see him had been successfully suppressed by the sudden emergency earlier; but now, after dropping Sun Qian off and returning home, smelling the familiar perfume at the entryway, he suddenly really wanted to be held by Liang Ce for a while.

Mo Fan chuckled softly: “That’s not being a pervert. That’s called love.”

Reassured, Chi An couldn’t help showing off again: “He always adds a heart emoji after writing ‘Breakfast is in the microwave.’ He remembers everything I say. I’m going to send him nudes.”

Mo Fan was swooning during the first half of the sentence, but had to slam the brakes on the second half: “Hold on, that is being a pervert—”

Toward evening, Liang Ce landed at Ganzhou Airport. He had slept for an hour, but felt even more exhausted, his head feeling as though it were soaked in a pool of bloated mud. In vain, he stretched his neck, opened his phone, and saw Chi An’s messages and missed calls laid out in a crowd. In his groggy state, Liang Ce felt a wave of happiness.

Chi An sent him—

【Got the food】

【The ribs are delicious】

【Have you landed yet?】

Then came a selfie and a voice note. Chi An was wearing Liang Ce’s pajamas, buttons undone, camera held high: “I can’t sleep.”

Liang Ce rapidly closed the full image, then tapped it open again. Closed it again, then tapped it open again. He picked up his suitcase while still holding up his phone.

Liang Ce felt completely awake now. Goodness, reality felt like a daydream.

⋆⋆⋆

Pei Jin had arranged to meet them backstage at eight o’clock, making it too late to head back to the hotel first. Lu Xi carried his bag straight to the restroom to change into his matching outfit for the photo, while Liang Ce bought a hot drink from a convenience store to ease his headache before standing outside across from the restroom to call Chi An.

It rang twice before being picked up, Chi An’s voice sounding thick and sleepy: “Hello?”

“I’ve landed. Are you at home?”

Chi An gave an “mm,” the rustling sound of blankets coming through the phone: “I’m in your bed.”

Liang Ce’s ears began to feel hot again—Chi An possessed this exact ability: he would state a completely mundane fact—night had fallen, and he was lying on the only double bed in their home, perhaps scrolling on his phone, reading a book, or getting ready to sleep. Yet he could precisely select those few words to make Liang Ce’s heart itch.

Wearing his noise-canceling headphones, Liang Ce lowered his voice in surrender: “…Saying it like that will make me overthink.”

Chi An seemed happy because of Liang Ce’s rare candor, a touch of laughter entering his voice: “Do you even need to overthink? Didn’t I send you a photo?”

“I saw it. I really like it…”

Liang Ce expressed his shyness by admitting it. The image rose before his eyes once more—Chi An was so gorgeous. Too gorgeous. So beautiful that he could step all over him, and Liang Ce would only worry whether his feet hurt: “I turned down the underfloor heating before I left. If you’re wearing less, remember to turn it up a bit.”

According to Chi An’s usual habits, at this point he should have asked: How much do you want me to wear?—with the emphasis on “less,” so that the conversation could remain light, bypassing the things he wanted to hide, as well as the things Liang Ce hadn’t said.

But today, he suddenly really wanted to actually confide. Wrapped in the warm blanket, he found the courage to see if the bed would collapse: “I miss you so much. Work was really exhausting today.”

Then, without giving Liang Ce a gap to answer, he continued: “Do you remember that puppy with parvo from last time? The owner is a primary school kid, and they came back again today. I feel like something is very wrong. The puppy was hit and sent flying by a motorcycle—how long has it even been since last time? That kid’s ear is covered in holes—not normal ear piercings, but like he poked them himself, or like he’s being abused by someone. I’m really worried.”

Liang Ce pondered for a moment before asking: “Do you have his parents’ contact info?”

“I sent a friend request to his dad on WeChat, but it hasn’t been accepted yet. He also left his own phone number.”

“If it really is abuse, contacting his parents might not be a good idea. You said he’s in primary school—did he go wearing his school uniform?”

“Yes,” Chi An recalled. “The red-and-white color-blocked athletic style uniform.”

“Is it from Experimental Primary School No. 2?” Liang Ce offered a line of thought. “It’s one bus stop away from your hospital. When I go wait for you to get off work, I often run into their dismissal time. The intersection gets terribly jammed, packed with uniforms of that color.”

Chi An’s attention was dragged off course: “You can even see primary school dismissal? From what time do you start waiting for me to get off work?”

Having said too much, Liang Ce had no choice but to confess: “Back when I was pursuing you, if I didn’t have work that had to be done at the company, I’d go over earlier… I was afraid you’d leave early sometimes.”

“That’s not called pursuing me,” Chi An flipped over, his pillow squeezing out a bit of cheek flesh as he pointed out seriously. “Coming so early to wait for me to get off work—telling me back then would be called pursuing me. Keeping me in the dark means you were having a secret crush, too.”

Chi An’s voice over the phone was very soft, and Liang Ce wasn’t sure if he had misheard that “too.” He didn’t press the matter, habitually wanting to resolve Chi An’s problem first so he wouldn’t stay anxious: “Do you know the boy’s name? A college classmate of mine was assigned to work there; I’ll go ask him. Don’t worry.”

“His name is Sun Qian—the ‘Qian’ from ‘Qianxu’ (humble).”

“Got it.” Liang Ce noted it down in his memo app. Just as he was about to continue chatting, he saw Lu Xi emerge, trying to break off a security tag sticking out from the back of his clothes in a contorted posture: “Left in too much of a hurry and forgot to cut off the tag. Do you have scissors or a pen or something? Anything that can snap it off works.”

Liang Ce reached into his bag’s inner pocket to feel for his pen, but found nothing. Flipping through his bag, he muttered: “I could swear it was right here?”

“Are you talking about that black pen?” Chi An answered him on the other end of the line. “I stole it. You never come home.”

…It was just a pen! Did he have to make it sound so flirtatious? Give him a break! Clamping the phone between his shoulder and ear, Liang Ce snapped the security tag off for Lu Xi using both hands. Flustered beyond help by the teasing, he said: “I’ll be back right after filming. You’re not allowed to return the pen to me.”

He was even stirred with a rare competitive urge, thinking that Chi An’s heart rate ought to be as fast as his was right now, so he added indignantly: “Whoever took it owns it—remember to take responsibility for it.”

In full makeup, wearing a highly stylized suit jacket and sharp trousers, holding a security tag in one hand and his suitcase in the other, Lu Xi listened in utter bewilderment, looking stunningly dazed: “You can even flirt over this? I’m begging the two of you, please.”

In March, Ganzhou experienced a vast temperature difference between day and night. Having arrived wearing only light windbreakers, they slid straight into a taxi to head to the scenic shooting location, met up with their contact person, and then transferred to a sightseeing cart to reach the cultural street set up for filming. Pei Jin was participating in a gala related to local folklore—likely a gig he had accepted before his period drama blew up a while back. By the time Lu Xi and Liang Ce arrived, he was dressed in Hanfu, surrounded in the middle of the street by a crowd of staff members and cameras.

Pei Jin maintained a gentle expression without uttering a word, while beside him stood a man Liang Ce had never seen before. Slightly chubby with a shaved head, the man was shouting loudly at a young girl: “How many times have we said it?! The moment Xiaojin spots someone taking sneak shots on set, we leave immediately! Look at how many people are holding up phones right now! How on earth are you managing this site?!”

Liang Ce glanced around: the extras’ phones had already been collected, and they were currently standing off to the side in small groups, looking dazed. The only ones holding shooting equipment were influencers and photographers specifically invited by the platform to shoot preview photos and interactive short videos. Reasonably speaking, everything should have been cleared with the team in advance; it was unclear why they were suddenly going back on their word now.