Chapter 29

Before leaving, Chi Zhihan went to Xi Qing’s house to gather some of the assorted grains she usually used for specific orders. She ground them into powder using Xi Qing’s grinder and packed them all up to take with her.

“I don’t believe the Qi family doesn’t have these things,” Xi Qing said, utterly exasperated.

“He’s very sensitive to noise, and the grinder is too loud,” Chi Zhihan replied, happily weighing the jars in her arms.

“…I think you’re still not thinking clearly,” Xi Qing poked Chi Zhihan’s forehead with her finger.

Chi Zhihan smiled sheepishly.

Honestly, it was already a miracle that she had managed to retain some semblance of rationality under the allure of someone as handsome as Qi Cheng. Today, she had even gone to Xi Qing to finally put her heart at rest—it was almost commendable.

For someone like him, giving her all to treat him well was already the baseline…

…

Chi Zhihan returned to the villa three hours later than agreed. Although she had been texting updates about her whereabouts, Qi Cheng had only replied with a single “okay” throughout the entire time. When she called him, he immediately hung up.

Feeling uneasy upon her return, she cautiously peeked into the entrance hall after opening the door.

The space was vast, and even with the small night light on, she could only see that the table on Qi Cheng’s bed had been raised again. He was drawing under the light, completely absorbed, not even lifting his head.

Just seeing him like this from afar made her heart ache softly, and she wanted to go over and ruffle his hair.

…

She took a deep breath.

Then she put on a smile.

“I’m back,” she said. She was wearing mid-calf boots, and as she struggled to take them off without leaning against the wall, she ended up sitting on the floor with her boots half-removed, just as Qi Cheng had expected.

“Huh…” The expected pain didn’t come. Chi Zhihan looked down and asked hesitantly, “Was there always a carpet here in the entrance hall?”

It felt so thick.

“Laid it this afternoon,” Qi Cheng replied nonchalantly.

Chi Zhihan had a habit of falling every time she took off her shoes, so when Dr. Zhao came over in the afternoon, Qi Cheng casually asked him and the security guard at the door to lay carpets throughout the entire house.

After all, she could trip anywhere.

Of course, he would never mention that Dr. Zhao, after spending the whole afternoon as a laborer, probably wanted to strangle him.

And she wouldn’t care either.

Just like now, she giggled, sat on the floor to take off her shoes, and then, clutching her precious jars, ran barefoot to the kitchen.

“This is great! I don’t even need slippers, and it’s not cold at all,” Chi Zhihan said happily, stomping her feet on the thick carpet.

A hint of warmth appeared in Qi Cheng’s eyes, and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly as he lowered his head to continue his drawing.

He hadn’t had a good day. The conversation with Dr. Zhao in the afternoon had been weighing on his heart like a boulder.

He felt disheartened, unable to understand why they insisted that someone who had been sick for ten years would definitely recover. He also didn’t understand why they couldn’t see that letting go could also be a form of relief.

Until Chi Zhihan returned.

Like a child, she marveled at the new carpet, walking barefoot and stomping around, her eyes and brows filled with joy.

If there really was a next life…

Qi Cheng’s brush paused, and his fingers tightened slightly.

If there really was a next life, it seemed he would still be without hope.

…

“Did Dr. Zhao come by?” Chi Zhihan noticed new medicine on the counter and picked it up to examine. It was all in foreign languages. “The medicine is different again.”

Qi Cheng changed his medication frequently, almost every two weeks. The only constant was the dosage—a small bowl filled halfway with colorful pills, which he would sit on his bed and swallow one by one with his head lowered.

Like a child eating candy, Chi Zhihan noticed that he always ate the colorful ones first, leaving the black and white ones for last, then swallowing them all at once.

Before meeting Qi Cheng, she had thought that the world of someone with depression was entirely gray.

After meeting him, she realized that he could also get bored, so he would eat his medicine slowly, count the drops during an IV, and then judge whether the nurse had secretly added sleep-inducing medication that day.

Slowing down every action was his way of passing the time spent lying in bed.

“Does changing the medicine mean you’re getting better?” Chi Zhihan asked nervously, sensing Qi Cheng’s low spirits since she had entered the room.

“Not better, not worse,” Qi Cheng replied, unwilling to elaborate. He pointed to a yellow folder on the counter. “That folder is for you.”

Inside was a formal contract authorizing the use of his comics for her winter video promotion this season—something that would make Lin Jingwu faint with joy.

The Qi Cheng she thought couldn’t take care of himself actually had his own job, a lawyer, and an agent.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she wanted to say thank you, and she also wanted to ask why he was helping her, but in the end, she said nothing, only emphasizing, “I will absolutely never tell anyone that you are Cheng Yi.”

“Mm,” Qi Cheng looked up and smiled.

He had never doubted that she would keep his secret. Telling her that he was Cheng Yi was not just to help her; deep down, he also hoped she would understand that he wasn’t entirely worthless.

But this seemed to be the last bright aspect of himself he could show her. He didn’t think he had anything better to offer.

He wondered if this would be enough to offset the image in her mind of him crawling on the bed like a monster, scaring her.

“Are you in a bad mood?” Chi Zhihan walked closer and sat on the carpet by the bed, her usual spot.

During his illness, except for the initial period when she had been awkward around him because of his appearance, Qi Cheng had been in a relatively good mood most of the time.

But today was different. Even the way he smiled at her felt lifeless.

“I’m hungry,” Qi Cheng replied, avoiding the question.

She had promised to cook him vegetarian noodles for dinner…

But she had gone to Xi Qing’s place because she was feeling unsettled, and by the time she returned, it was already nine at night.

The nurse had said he had eaten two hundred milliliters of rice paste for dinner, so he shouldn’t be hungry yet.

“Vegetarian noodles?” Chi Zhihan tilted her head, trying to sound cheerful.

Seeing Qi Cheng nod, she got up and went into the kitchen, not pressing further about his mood.

Qi Cheng’s condition shouldn’t have worsened. After agreeing to join the treatment plan, Dr. Zhao would send an email to Qi Peng every night around ten, copying her as well.

So she knew that, based on his physical condition and psychological test reports, Qi Cheng was improving. All his indicators, except for the suicide risk factor which remained in the danger zone, were fluctuating but slowly approaching the passing mark.

In yesterday’s email, Dr. Li had even interjected, asking Chi Zhihan to trick Qi Cheng into getting out of bed and moving around.

He had actually used the word “trick,” because he believed Qi Cheng had a negative attitude toward recovery, his weariness with life making him want to sleep forever.

He had even bolded and highlighted the words “sleep forever” in red, instructing Dr. Zhao not to delete them.

In recent emails, Qi Peng had started attaching information about hospitals in the United States. They were preparing for two outcomes: if the current treatment plan succeeded, everyone would be happy; if it didn’t, before Qi Cheng’s suicidal tendencies worsened, he would be sent to the U.S.

Dr. Zhao had been urging Qi Peng not to rush, insisting that the treatment plan was sound. While Qi Cheng’s suicidal tendencies hadn’t shown significant improvement, his other indicators were getting better, meaning things were still moving in a positive direction.

He seemed strongly opposed to the idea of Qi Cheng going to the U.S.

Throughout all this, Chi Zhihan had never voiced any opinion. She simply checked her emails daily and continued her work as a caregiver and private chef.

She was clear about her role in this plan: she was more like a prop, with a few extra functions due to Qi Cheng’s favor.

Because Dr. Zhao had never explained the treatment plan to her from beginning to end.

Every time they met, he would speak earnestly, repeatedly emphasizing Qi Cheng’s character, history, and the cause of his illness, but he never clearly told her what her next steps should be.

And deep down, she had a lingering doubt: their interactions were always under camera surveillance, so Dr. Zhao must have known about that moment when Qi Cheng had made her heart skip a beat, almost leading them down a dangerous path.

Yet, no one had mentioned it.

Desensitization therapy. Qi Cheng’s previous breakdown had been triggered when someone he secretly admired maliciously brought up his most vulnerable issues in front of others. So after that incident, Chi Zhihan had started to suspect that by allowing two adults of opposite genders to be alone together, Dr. Zhao might actually welcome Qi Cheng’s feelings toward her.

And the treatment plan Dr. Zhao had never disclosed—could it be that the final outcome would mirror the cause of Qi Cheng’s illness? To make him fall for her, only for her to betray him cruelly?

A melodramatic, real-life reenactment.

Chi Zhihan lowered her head, her hands applying more force while washing vegetables, pinching off a tender leaf, a bitter smile on her face.

Dr. Zhao probably hadn’t considered what would happen if she ended up falling for Qi Cheng too.

Maybe he hadn’t thought that a normal person could fall for someone as ill as Qi Cheng, or perhaps in a doctor’s eyes, gender differences truly didn’t matter. After all, from the very beginning, Dr. Zhao had candidly told her that this was just treatment.

She was the one who had jumped into the pit with full knowledge. Being so stupid, really… foolish.

The bitter smile on her face became impossible to hide. Chi Zhihan simply looked up at the man still drawing on the bed and raised her eyebrows. “Qi Cheng, can you come help me?”

Qi Cheng looked up, frowning.

“Can you wash the vegetables?” She pointed to the already clean greens.

Qi Cheng looked at the water droplets on the vegetables and shook his head.

“…Then can you get me a bowl?” She changed her request, ignoring the bowl already placed nearby.

Qi Cheng maintained his frown, not moving.

“…Can you just come stand here for a bit?” Chi Zhihan also stopped what she was doing, biting her lip as she looked at him.

Just for today, just for this moment, she particularly wanted him to be close.

She liked to play dumb, but she wasn’t actually stupid.

The two paintings that had been like a lifeline, the pen name Cheng Yi, the newly signed contract, the carpet laid while she was away because he knew she often tripped, and the extra-warm floor heating by the bed where she often sat—every little detail in their daily life was for her.

Even now, when she made such a request, Qi Cheng only hesitated for a moment before silently getting out of bed. He didn’t stand too close, just at the edge of the counter.

He was tall, but not intimidating.

He was still wearing a dark gray turtleneck sweater and cotton casual pants, which seemed a bit thick in the warm room, but his hands and feet were still cold.

Just like the temperature when he had touched her cheek that day.

Chi Zhihan wiped her hands and went to the entrance to get cotton slippers for both of them, bringing him a light jacket while she was at it.

“Just stand here for a bit, okay?” As she handed him the jacket, Chi Zhihan looked into Qi Cheng’s face. His eyes, usually smiling, now held a complex mix of emotions.

“Okay.”

Qi Cheng’s voice.

Both of them had crossed a line.

But all she wanted to do now was stand quietly with him in the kitchen, watching the water in the pot slowly come to a boil, waiting for the bubbles to rise before adding a handful of noodles.