Chapter 9  

He Yang no longer paid attention to Jiang Xuehui, who was still sobbing incessantly. She walked over to He Cheng and checked his temperature.  

He Cheng tilted his head back, letting her do as she pleased. His fingers, tough as bamboo, gripped the edge of the bed tightly, while his slender, lean back arched in a submissive curve.  

Just standing in front of He Cheng, He Yang could feel the scorching heat radiating from his skin, washing over her like a wave.  

The young man before her had a flushed face, his eyes brimming with moisture. Her heart thumped a few unseasonable beats in her chest. She averted her gaze from He Cheng’s slightly vulnerable expression and crouched beside Jiang Xuehui, carefully picking through the medicine boxes scattered on the floor.  

He Yang found the fever-reducing medicine and placed it by He Cheng’s hand.  

She was used to taking care of herself. When she caught a cold or ran a fever, she would tough it out—her constitution was strong, and even with a high fever, a good night’s sleep would have her lively again by the next day. But the person before her was clearly different. Her younger brother at home, at the slightest discomfort, would have their parents fussing over him as if they wanted to summon every doctor to dote on him, cradling him like a precious jewel.  

He Cheng had even more reason to be pampered than her brother. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he frowned slightly, delicate and exquisite like a doll carved from diamond.  

Under He Cheng’s gaze, which was laced with discomfort, she unconsciously softened her tone. “You’re burning up. Lie down and rest for a while. I’ll go boil some water, and you can take the medicine later.”  

She then picked up the first aid kit, found a thermometer inside, and handed it to He Cheng so he could take his own temperature. Without another word, she turned to leave. At the doorway, she glanced at the sniffling Jiang Xuehui, her expression unimpressed. “Aren’t you coming, Jiang-jie?”  

Her eyes held a trace of mockery. “I don’t know where to boil the water.”  

Suppressing her shame and indignation, Jiang Xuehui went downstairs.  

He Yang already knew what Jiang Xuehui was thinking, but she had no interest in exposing it, nor did she care to humiliate her with words. She stood quietly by, waiting for the water to boil. In her mind, she reminded herself that this was someone else’s family matter—it had nothing to do with her. The only reason she was looking after He Cheng was out of gratitude for being allowed to stay the night.  

Besides, there was no one else to take care of him. The little housemaid before her had ulterior motives, and He Cheng was burning up to the point of delirium—he certainly didn’t have the energy to spare for her nonsense.  

She lowered her eyes as exhaustion washed over her. The sound of boiling water snapped her back to attention. She pressed Jiang Xuehui’s hand away. “I’ll handle it.”  

Jiang Xuehui was unwilling, but she didn’t dare test He Cheng’s limits again. The earlier strike hadn’t held back—her forehead still ached, and she wasn’t sure if it was bleeding. Dizzy, she turned and retreated to her room.  

He Yang carried the cup of water upstairs and checked the thermometer. The reading was nearing 40°C—no wonder He Cheng’s body felt frighteningly hot.  

Holding the thermometer, she wasn’t sure what to do. Outside, the rain poured relentlessly, thunder rumbling loudly. There was no telling if the roads were even passable. Clutching her phone, she nudged He Cheng. “Your fever’s too high. You need to go to the hospital.”  

He Cheng opened his eyes groggily and murmured her name. “He Yang…”  

She was about to go downstairs to call Uncle He. Earlier, she had assumed the housemaid was a woman and more attentive than Uncle He, which was why she’d thought to call for her. Who knew the housemaid had such improper intentions? She couldn’t fathom how the He family had hired someone like that.  

This was a massive villa—clearly, the family was wealthy. Yet here was He Cheng, burning up to the point of delirium, with no one to care for him.  

“…He Yang.”

He Cheng looked like a boiled crab, his entire body steaming with heat. Weakly, he pointed to the phone beside him.

“I have the doctor’s number… he lives nearby…”

He Yang immediately grabbed his phone, scrolled through the contacts, found the doctor’s number, and called. She briefly explained the situation.

Dr. Chen arrived quickly.

By the time he got there, He Cheng had already passed out from the fever. Any longer, and he might have suffered brain damage.

Dr. Chen hooked him up to an IV and sighed, “I haven’t dared to sleep soundly all night. Since spring arrived, the rains have been frequent, and the young master hasn’t had a single day of good health. He just stopped taking medicine yesterday, and today he’s burning up again. In all my years of practice, I’ve never seen anyone as troublesome as him.”

Dr. Chen was the He family’s private physician and had been by He Cheng’s side for years.

He Cheng preferred quiet. Aside from Uncle He, the driver, and Jiang Xuehui, the cook, everyone else in the villa lived in the adjacent house.

The ordeal left He Yang wide awake. Since she didn’t have school the next day, she perked up and asked curiously, “What’s wrong with him?”

Dr. Chen answered vaguely, “It’s not a specific illness. The young master has a weak constitution—the slightest thing can trigger a reaction. Simply put, his immune system is poor, and he doesn’t take care of himself. Just this month, there were two heavy rains. A normal person wouldn’t think much of it, but the young master can’t handle the cold. Yet he got drenched both times… One cold after another, nonstop!”

He Yang felt guilty.

She remembered the first time she met He Cheng—he had given her his umbrella, leaving himself exposed to the rain. The next day, Li Kexin mentioned that He Cheng was sick and had taken leave. At the time, He Yang didn’t know who He Cheng was, so she hadn’t connected the dots. Now, thinking back, both times he got soaked were because of her.

After packing his medical kit, Dr. Chen prepared to leave. He Yang stopped him, “Please stay.” If something happened in the middle of the night, she wouldn’t know what to do.

Dr. Chen refused. “I’m just next door. One call, and I’ll be here in no time. The young master should be fine now. Just make sure to change his IV bottle when it’s time.”

He Yang wanted to argue, but Dr. Chen added, “Young Master He doesn’t like too many people in the house. If I stay here tonight, he’ll be upset when he wakes up.”

He Yang couldn’t help but roll her eyes. What kind of ridiculous habit was that?

Grumbling, she stayed behind. Even Uncle He, who had woken up, didn’t come upstairs. She carefully closed the door and saw Dr. Chen out.

Yawning, she dragged a chair to the bedside and propped her head up, idly passing the time. She alternated between checking the IV bottle and the drip rate. In the silent night, the rain had stopped, leaving only the tireless scraping of the wind.

Her gaze involuntarily drifted to He Cheng’s face.

In deep sleep, He Cheng looked unusually serene. His dark hair was disheveled, his brows and eyes carrying an air of innocent simplicity. His lips were slightly pale, yet even in sickness, his beauty was startling. If she had to describe him, he resembled an elven prince from the depths of the forest—ethereal and mysterious.

He Yang stared blankly for a moment. The alarm rang a few times. She waited for the medicine in the bottle to finish, replaced it, and set the timer again.

Finally, she succumbed to overwhelming drowsiness.

Sinking into a deep slumber.

……

He Yang rented a one-bedroom, one-living-room apartment.

The landlady was a kind-hearted auntie. The apartment was close to the university district and commercial area, attracting many young renters. During their conversation, the auntie mentioned wanting young tenants to feel the warmth of home, so she had put effort into the decor. The bathroom had a bathtub, which He Yang genuinely loved.  

Coming home from work, filling it with hot water, and sinking in—all the exhaustion washed away.  

He Yang staggered through the door.  

For a moment, her vision blurred. The layout of the room was almost identical to her rented apartment, just mirrored. The furnishings were sparse and hollow, like a showroom, with nothing inside. Black curtains hung over the windows, casting an eerie, suffocating atmosphere that seemed to clutch at her feet.  

Yet she didn’t notice these differences. Tossing her bag aside, she pushed open the bathroom door.  

The showerhead poured out a steady stream of hot water, steam filling the room like a soft, white veil.  

A thin layer of water rippled across the floor, shimmering under the light. The surface seemed to bubble, tiny blossoms bursting and popping, one after another—a sight both mesmerizing and unsettling.  

Then, through the mist, a man’s chest came into view—pale and slender as a peeled egg, his narrow waist disappearing beneath the water. His eyes were closed, long lashes resting gently against his cheeks. His face, delicate as an elf’s, had shed its youthful softness, replaced by the rugged maturity of a grown man—yet beneath it all lurked an unspeakable sorrow.  

Like a fallen angel.  

Or a withered rose.  

Amid the swirling, sunset-hued water, he drifted deeper into sleep.  

Eternal sleep.  

He Yang let out an involuntary scream.  

Then she was thrust into the water.  

She clamped a hand over her mouth, not daring to make another sound.  

The steam pressed against her chest, stealing her breath. Gradually, her throat dried up, leaving her voiceless.  

Terror seized her mind. Wide-eyed, she watched helplessly as the mist dissipated, revealing the bathroom’s true scene—  

The man’s arms hung limp.  

Blood trickled from his wrists.  

Drip.  

Drip.  

He Yang’s ears failed her. She heard nothing, only saw everything unfolding before her.  

Time seemed to freeze on that final frame.  

Trembling, her legs gave out. She collapsed onto the radiant water, sending up splashes that scalded her bare skin like boiling liquid, searing through her flesh before turning to bone-deep cold, numbing her limbs.  

Her gaze locked onto the man’s sickly pale face.  

For what felt like an eternity.  

Her lips blanched with fear. Struggling against the paralysis, she finally forced her mouth open—  

And screamed.  

……  

“He Yang…”  

“He Yang…”  

“He Yang, wake up.”  

Her eyes flew open, vision swimming. Gasping for air, her mind still trapped in the nightmare, slow to resurface.  

The alarm blared incessantly.  

He Cheng struggled upright, watching her with concern.  

Gradually, He Yang’s focus settled on He Cheng’s face.

She recalled the terrifying scene from her dream and let out another uncontrollable scream before collapsing backward onto the floor.  

He Cheng immediately moved to help her, but after burning with fever all night, his body was weak. Seeing her fall, his heart clenched.  

“What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?”  

He Yang sat dazed on the floor for a long moment before wiping the cold sweat from her forehead. Gripping the chair leg, she stood up and murmured, “It’s nothing.”  

Under He Cheng’s concerned gaze, she replaced the medicine bottle and glanced at the dawn light breaking through the darkness outside. Her throat was too dry to speak, so she picked up the water glass on the table and drained it in one gulp.  

“I’m going home. Have Uncle He change the last bottle of medicine.”  

Without another word to He Cheng, she walked out.