Chapter 48 – “While I’m Injured… I’ll Be Counting on You, Jie”

Qin Shi stands behind the door in blue silk pajamas printed with little yellow ducks. He’s noticeably thinner, faint stubble shadows his jaw, and from the knee down his left leg is swallowed by a white cast. One hand grips a crutch, the other the doorknob; his dark eyes rest heavily on Li Huan‑huan.

Caught off guard, she looks away, then back at the food box in her hands. “The cook knocked and you didn’t answer, so I took it for you,” she says evenly.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t reach for the box; instead he shifts aside, creating space. An unspoken invitation.

She steps in, explaining almost breezily that both their mothers asked her to check on him: “If you need anything, just call me.”

“Call?” His tone turns plaintive. “Jie, you deleted my contact. Am I supposed to yell across two doors?”

Her back stiffens—there’s that mock‑sweet “jie” again, soaked in grievance. She busies herself setting the box on the table. “We can add each other back,” she offers.

“Only ‘not right’?” he murmurs. She sighs. “Fine, I was wrong.”

“So how will you compensate me?” he asks, chin propped on his hand like a wounded duke demanding tribute.

“Co—compensate?”

“For ditching our ‘couple act’ at the wedding and ghosting me. My friends think you dumped me; they’ve laughed at me for a month.”

Heat creeps up her ears. In truth his teammates only teased out of concern, but he twists the story to keep her hooked. Finally she croaks, “All right—I owe you.”

“Good.” Relief flickers behind his poker face as he starts eating. He even asks if she’ll join; she’s already eaten.

Silence thickens until she blurts, “Where’s Barbecue?”
“Staying with a friend—can’t walk him now,” he says, tapping the cast.

“How did you get hurt?”
“An… accident.” He spares her the stalker horror, only adding, “It’s settled—they won’t bother anyone again.”

After dishes go into the washer, she asks if he needs more help. “Add me back,” he says, handing over his phone. Voices on speaker from his tactical meeting drift out; she retreats behind the wall until he mutes them.

He casually gives her the unlock code. Pulse quickening, she enters it, saves her number, and hands the phone back—fingers brushing, both jolting. Her own phone immediately rings: his unsaved number.

“That’s me. Don’t delete me again, Jie. If I fall at home with no way to call, I might die.”

Sarcasm drips, yet underneath is real need. She presses her lips together. “Got it. I’ll head back, then.”

He waves the phone. “Thanks, Jie. While I’m laid‑up, I’ll be counting on you.”

She escapes, only to receive a text seconds later:

“Jie, help! 😖”

Looks like her caregiving shift starts right now.