Chapter 9

After returning to school that time, Song Wenzhou asked Qi Ling for the exact date of Mu Chi’s birthday.

The date was too close, and since he couldn’t wait until the weekend to go home nor had enough time to carefully pick a gift, Song Wenzhou could only buy a pair of sports wristbands online and had them delivered to the school before Mu Chi’s birthday.

Mu Chi’s birthday was on a Wednesday, and he was well-liked in his class, so he received many gifts that day.

Unfortunately, the school was located in a newly developed area, and the surrounding neighborhood wasn’t fully developed yet. The school leaders were worried about security, so unless students had leave slips, they weren’t allowed to go out from Monday to Friday.

With no other choice, Mu Chi had to empty out most of the school’s supermarket to treat his classmates to snacks as a way of showing gratitude.

Later, on the Sunday before returning to school that week, he treated the three guys from his dormitory to a meal.

Their plan was to go straight back to school for evening self-study after dinner, so all of them brought their backpacks when they met up.

The dinner venue was a hot pot restaurant chosen by Qi Ling, which had a unique character.

Most hot pot restaurants offered at least four or five types of broth, but this one only sold beef tallow spicy broth.

Mu Chi didn’t know that until they arrived. He knew Qi Ling and Zhang Feiyu’s tastes well, so before choosing the spiciness level, he asked Song Wenzhou, “Can you handle spicy food?”

Song Wenzhou, smelling the fragrance drifting from the neighboring table, felt his appetite surge and replied, “It’s okay.”

He really liked spicy food, but his mother, Ren Suyi, usually didn’t let him eat anything too spicy, so he could only handle mild spiciness.

So Mu Chi selected a medium level of spiciness.

However, Song Wenzhou felt that this “medium” spiciness was far spicier than what he was used to at home, and it seemed to get spicier the more he ate.

The other three seemed to find the spiciness insufficient and added small chili peppers to their dipping sauces. Song Wenzhou had to keep drinking water to cope with the spiciness from the hot pot.

While Mu Chi, Qi Ling, and Zhang Feiyu were chatting, Mu Chi noticed out of the corner of his eye that Song Wenzhou was drinking one cup of water after another. He turned to look and saw that Song Wenzhou’s lips were red from the spice, and he asked with concern, “Are you okay?”

Song Wenzhou gasped, “I’m fine.”

Mu Chi raised an eyebrow. “…Your tongue is all swollen.”

Song Wenzhou, hearing this, stuck his tongue out and licked his lips.

“Don’t lick it,” Mu Chi quickly looked away, “The more you lick, the spicier it gets. Your lips are swelling.”

Saying that, he stood up and left his seat.

When he returned, Mu Chi had a bowl of brown sugar ice jelly in his hand. He pushed the bowl in front of Song Wenzhou and said, “Stop just drinking water. Eat this.”

Song Wenzhou hesitated for a moment, thinking he’d only have a little bit. To his surprise, the cooling effect was immediate. Before he knew it, he had finished the whole bowl, even finishing the last bit of crushed peanuts.

After finishing, Song Wenzhou continued with the hot pot. It wasn’t long before, with his eyes teary from the spice, he saw Mu Chi bring him another bowl of ice jelly.

“Tsk, showing off?” Mu Chi casually poured a bowl of water and placed it in front of him. “Dip your food in the water and eat.”

Song Wenzhou gave a thumbs-up. “It’s very spicy, but it’s really satisfying.”

He hadn’t felt this satisfied in many years.

However, satisfaction comes at a cost.

That evening during self-study, Song Wenzhou made four or five trips to the restroom. By the end, he was too lazy to wait for Mu Chi to let him out, so he simply pushed him inside and sat on the side by the aisle.

During the break before the last class, when Song Wenzhou came back from the restroom, he collapsed on his desk, nearly feeling like he was going to pass out.

Mu Chi reached out and poked his shoulder with a finger. Song Wenzhou shook it off and quickly said, “Don’t ask anything, don’t say anything.”

It was really embarrassing.

Mu Chi leaned over next to him, facing Song Wenzhou. After a while, he couldn’t help but say, “If it weren’t for the fact that the three of us are fine, I’d almost suspect that place put some kind of poison in the pot.”

“It’s my own fault.” Song Wenzhou muffled his voice.

He knew he couldn’t handle it but kept eating, just like Mu Chi said, he was showing off.

“You should go to the infirmary.” Mu Chi poked his arm again.

Song Wenzhou lazily responded, “I’m not going.”

Mu Chi moved a little closer and whispered, “At this rate, how much worse do you think your little ‘flower’ will be getting ravaged?”

Song Wenzhou was so angry that he weakly punched him back. “Get lost, disgusting.”

Mu Chi grabbed the small fist that came at him, thinking to himself how spoiled Song Wenzhou had become in front of him. He then went to the infirmary himself, got some anti-diarrheal medicine, and brought it with hot water to Song Wenzhou, watching him take the medicine.

After taking the medicine, Song Wenzhou gradually stopped rushing to the restroom, though he still felt weak and couldn’t gather any energy.

He looked at Mu Chi gratefully and said self-deprecatingly, “The medicine is quite effective.”

“It might not be the medicine,” Mu Chi teased, seeing how pitiful Song Wenzhou looked, “It could also be that you’ve emptied your stomach.”

Song Wenzhou punched him again.

—

That night, while Mu Chi was half asleep, he heard muffled moans from below. He squinted and peered down from the upper bunk, but it was too dark to see anything clearly.

Mu Chi listened carefully, but there didn’t seem to be any sound.

Just as he thought he might have been imagining it and was pulling his blanket back to sleep, the second-hand iron bed creaked loudly, and he could feel the extent to which Song Wenzhou shifted on the lower bunk.

At the same time, Song Wenzhou let out another painful groan.

Mu Chi immediately lifted the blanket and took several large strides off the bed, reaching out in the dark to touch Song Wenzhou’s body, lowering his voice to ask, “Song Wenzhou, what’s wrong?”

Song Wenzhou curled up like a cooked shrimp, pressing his hands against his abdomen, his brows furrowed tightly. He squeezed out a word through gritted teeth, “Pain…”

“Where does it hurt?” Mu Chi reached under the blanket and found his position, “Your stomach?”

“Stomachache…” Song Wenzhou bit his lip.

This was serious. Mu Chi quickly threw the blanket off, lifted Song Wenzhou out of bed, and slid his hands under his armpits. “Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital.”

Song Wenzhou pushed him.

“Don’t move around,” Mu Chi adjusted his hold on him.

Song Wenzhou pushed again.

“Stop being so stubborn, alright?” Mu Chi growled. “We have to go to the hospital!”

“…”

Song Wenzhou held back the discomfort in his stomach, feeling the smooth, hot skin where Mu Chi’s hands were touching him. Gritting his teeth, he said, “You… you put your clothes on first.”