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A black Rolls-Royce sliced through the heavy rain, speeding down the avenue. Inside, the heater was so warm it made people feel feverish. In the haze of warmth, Chen Shuyin broke into a sweat, propping herself up with the back of her hand. Her chin was held by something, and as she stirred, a deep male voice sounded, clear and alert:
“Are you feeling unwell?”
The windshield wipers rhythmically swept away the mist, while the rain outside pounded relentlessly, making a deafening noise. Everything felt unreal. She brushed away the hand holding her chin and croaked hoarsely, “What happened to me?”
Driving in the rain required intense concentration. Pei Yu kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead, only glancing at her occasionally as he patiently explained, “You fainted from a high fever. I gave you some fever medicine, but your temperature spiked again soon after. I told Grandma to rest, and I’m taking you to the hospital.”
Chen Shuyin’s mind lagged, her reaction sluggish. Her cheeks were flushed, and every breath she took seemed to squeeze out tears of heat. She nodded and turned her head away, closing her eyes again.
The two of them had never been good at conversation. Even the slightest accidental contact usually led to exaggerated efforts to “cleanse” themselves, as if scrubbing away invisible contamination. Moments like this—sitting together in harmony—were rare.
Silence filled the car.
Upon arrival at the hospital’s underground parking lot, water pooled thinly on the ground. Pei Yu stepped out, his black boots splashing through the puddles, then opened the passenger door and lifted her into his arms.
She resisted instinctively, but the illness had weakened her, dulling both her words and actions.
Her left ear pressed against his chest, her fevered face nestled against his ribcage. She could hear his heartbeat—strong and rhythmic. His structured coat was pushed apart by her weight, and he tugged the lapel over her body.
His movements were smooth and natural, but for Chen Shuyin, it stirred old memories—being tenderly cared for by her parents when she was sick as a child. Had it really been that long ago?
She gazed absentmindedly at Pei Yu’s sharp jawline. Were they really so incompatible? Maybe… not.
Back in her third year of university, she had joined a research group led by senior students to visit rural areas. Their mission was to help the village secretary locate impoverished households in remote regions. While navigating a steep mountain slope, their vehicle broke down, all four tires sinking into the muddy ground.
With weak signals and intermittent communication, they lost contact with the outside world.
Stranded in the wilderness, surrounded by dense overgrowth, twisting paths, and waist-high grasses with sharp edges that cut into their clothes, they had no choice but to retrace their steps.
As night fell, the moon reflected off water surfaces, casting a cold glow.
Her sleeves and pant legs were tattered, and her once-delicate features were smeared with dust.
Apart from murmurs of complaints, whispers of giving up spread among the group. The mood was contagious—her eyes burned red.
At that age, her thoughts often leaned toward extremes.
Someone seized the communicator from their team leader, desperate for a last chance to reach the outside world. One by one, they tried.
When it was her turn, she dialed Pei Yu’s number.
She hadn’t planned it, but when the voicemail tone played, she found herself pleading with him, lowering her pride for the first time.
She begged him—if not for her sake, then at least for Grandma’s kindness over the years—to look after her.
Just as she was about to hang up, a deep male voice suddenly interrupted, cool and restrained.
“Where are you?”
She had no idea when he had picked up the call, nor how much of her desperate plea he had heard.
His voice was indifferent, but his urgency betrayed him.
“Give me your location.”
An hour later, Pei Yu’s private plane retrieved them from the mountains.
Inside the cabin, she sat across from him, silent.
She expected him to mock her, to scold her for her recklessness—for not conducting proper background research before venturing so far alone.
But he said nothing.
His cold gaze swept over her, then he tossed a woolen shawl over her and ordered a meal.
He sat beside her, watching as she ate a proper meal in peace.
—
The hospital was crowded with patients, the atmosphere chaotic.
Nestled in Pei Yu’s cool yet steady presence, Chen Shuyin avoided drawing attention to herself.
Looking back, she once pushed herself hard for academic credits, certificates, and GPA rankings—competing fiercely against him without fear of hardship.
Now, slumped weakly in his arms, she felt utterly defeated.
When the nurse inserted the IV needle into her hand, Pei Yu shielded her line of sight with his broad palm.
“I’m not afraid of pain,” she said stubbornly.
Pei Yu averted his gaze, but his hand didn’t move.
“I’m afraid,” he replied.
She forced a small smile.
Of course—back in their school basketball tournament, after she casually taunted him with, “Don’t drag our class down,” he had played so fiercely to win that he ended up with bruises all over his leg.
Even then, while getting his IV drip, he had threatened her into covering his eyes for him.
This coward—no matter how much fame he gained over the years—was still just as timid.
—
IV drips took at least two hours.
Since the patient rooms were full, she was placed in the corridor, sitting on a long stainless-steel bench next to a little girl.
Pei Yu leaned against the wall beside her, one arm resting near her IV hand.
She glanced at his wristwatch. It was past ten at night.
“Where’s Zhu Xi being treated?” she asked, feeling a little better.
“Here.” His response was brief, unwilling to elaborate.
“You can go see her. You don’t have to stay with me,” she suggested diplomatically.
Pei Yu frowned, displeased.
“Do I need a sick person to tell me my priorities?”
His words silenced her. Fine. Whatever.
Just as she was about to ignore him, he suddenly asked, “Are you cold?”
The metal bench was freezing, but her fever kept her warm. “No.”
“Still burning up,” he murmured, pressing the back of his hand against her forehead.
“Come to my place to rest while you’re on the IV?”
Before she could refuse, he added, almost too quickly, “No one else is there.”
That extra comment made it seem all the more suspicious.
Did he really think they could be alone together like that?
Just as she was about to refuse outright, his phone rang.
He answered in a few curt sentences.
“Family’s sick. I’m with them.”
“Mm. I’ll take a few photos and leave.”
“Alright.”
Hanging up, he looked down at her, meeting her curious gaze.
His tone was natural, as if reporting to her, “I’m just going to cooperate for a few photos. I’ll be back soon.”
Back? Why say it like that?
It felt wrong.
She shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t have to come back.”
He dismissed her with a simple “That won’t do,” before heading to the elevator.
—
The little girl beside her, still getting her IV, suddenly asked, “Sister, is that your husband? He’s so gentle.”
Chen Shuyin’s ears burned.
“How could he be? No way.”
The little girl giggled. “But he’s tall, handsome, and takes care of you! My mom says that’s the kind of man I should marry.”
At that, the little girl’s face fell slightly.
“Otherwise… I’d end up like my dad. When I got sick, he used to hit me with a whip. He never visited me.”
Her voice was light, as if recounting an ordinary memory.
Her mother quickly covered her mouth, smiling awkwardly.
“Kids say the darndest things. Don’t mind her.”
Chen Shuyin looked at the girl’s bruised hands and tattered sleeves and said nothing.