Chapter 224: Applying Medicine

**Chapter 224: Dressing Wounds**

Wen Xian immediately pulled out his phone, intending to call Shen Zhao and tell him to stay in the classroom during Monday’s gym class and wait for him to come.

But as his fingers hovered over the dial button, he hesitated for a moment before heading downstairs to buy a prepaid phone card.

Shen Yuechuan was a cautious man, and Wen Xian feared he might investigate Shen Zhao’s classmates, tracing the call back to him. Given the competitive relationship between the Wen and Shen families, if Shen Yuechuan found out about their connection, it would only raise suspicions.

After inserting the new card, Wen Xian prepared an excuse—he’d say he was a classmate, that the teacher was hounding them about homework, and he had a question to ask.

But when he dialed, the phone rang several times before the dial tone cut in—no one had answered.

Wen Xian tossed the phone onto the bed and cursed, “Damn it.”

Whatever the Shen family had done, he couldn’t reach Shen Zhao anymore.

The next morning, Wen Xian arrived early. Standing by the school gate, he bought an egg pancake, using the vendor’s cart as cover while he watched the entrance.

At 7:55, the Shen family’s black Bentley pulled in.

The car stopped in front of the foreign language building. The driver stepped out and opened the door, and Shen Jixing jumped out first. He wasn’t carrying a backpack and strutted ahead like he owned the place. Shen Zhao followed a step behind, carrying one backpack on his back and another in his hand.

The workload at the foreign language school was heavy—pens ran out every three days, and the stack of exercise books from various subjects weighed a good ten pounds. Shen Jixing seemed to have deliberately stuffed the backpack to bursting, but Shen Zhao didn’t say a thing, simply trailing behind him.

To Shen Jixing, this barely even registered as bullying.

Wen Xian tossed the egg pancake into his bag and followed them at a distance. Fortunately, once inside the school, Shen Jixing toned it down. Walking all the way to the classroom door, he snatched the backpack from Shen Zhao, sending him stumbling before finally entering the room.

Wen Xian flexed his fingers.

He couldn’t help but wonder—had the stoic CEO he knew at home endured all this in his youth?

Was the so-called “great kindness” of the Shen family nothing more than treating him like a slave, walking all over him at will, even bullying him with cigarette burns and fists?

The scars from cigarette burns never faded, so Wen Xian had seen them. But what else had that thin, pale body suffered when Wen Xian wasn’t looking?

At that moment, Shen Zhao paused at the classroom door and spotted Wen Xian lingering behind. His eyes lit up slowly.

With his usual gentle demeanor, he smiled at Wen Xian and greeted him across the hallway, lip-syncing, “Good morning.”

Wen Xian thought to himself, *Not good at all—woke up early for you, now in a terrible mood, and exhausted.* He let out a dejected yawn, slumping against the railing like a large animal basking in the sun.

Shen Zhao smiled again, pointing near his own eyes. “You’ve got bags under your eyes.”

Wen Xian drooped his eyelids. “Yeah.”

*All for you—years since I’ve pulled an early morning like this. You owe me.*

With that thought, he raised a hand and pointed toward the classroom, mouthed silently, “Did Shen Jixing bully you?”

Shen Zhao froze, then looked away and shook his head. “…No.”

This was the exact expression he wore whenever he didn’t want to drag Wen Xian into things.

Wen Xian kept one hand in his pocket, his knuckles popping quietly as he returned the smile. “Good, then.”

What he really thought was: *I’ll kill Shen Jixing.*

The refined, gorgeous CEO—Wen Xian was the only one allowed to mess with him in bed. Who did Shen Jixing think he was dealing with, pulling this shit right in front of him?

Wen Xian had taken Shen Zhao from the dimly lit tenement where no sunlight ever reached and brought him home, feeding him well for several months before finally bringing out some cheerfulness in him. Yet after only two short days back at the Shen household, he had already reverted to this state.

Wen Xian clicked his tongue, thinking, *Can Shen Yuechuan even raise a kid properly? If he can’t handle it, hand him over to me—I’ll take care of him.*

Of course, Shen Zhao couldn’t know that. After exchanging greetings, they entered the classroom.

Class 1’s P.E. class was scheduled for third period in the morning, with a thirty-minute break in between for exercises and rest.

At Foreign Language School, attendance during exercise sessions was one of the key indicators for evaluating exemplary classes. Their homeroom teacher made a special appearance, rounding up the students like sheep, especially keeping an eye on troublemakers Wen Xian and Shen Jixing. During the exercises, students lined up by height—Wen Xian, being tall, stood at the back, while the shorter Shen Jixing was near the front, separated by about a dozen classmates. The homeroom teacher hovered at the back, and though Wen Xian was rebellious, even he didn’t dare skip out under the teacher’s watchful gaze.

Once the exercises ended, Wen Xian glanced ahead—Shen Jixing was already gone.

He had a bad feeling. “66 said something would happen during third-period P.E., but what if it goes down during the break?”

As soon as the music stopped, Wen Xian shoved his way through the crowd and headed straight back to the classroom. Shen Jixing’s seat was empty, but a few cigarette butts lay scattered by the doorway.

Wen Xian’s stomach dropped.

Without hesitation, he skipped the next math class and made his way back to the sports field.

66 had mentioned the small grove behind the field, but the area was vast, with trees encircling most of the perimeter. Scattered groups from other classes were playing basketball at the edges.

Across half the court, Shen Jixing was lighting a cigarette.

Two entitled rich kids flanked him, forming a loose semicircle. Shen Jixing brushed dust off his pants and sneered, “Hey brainiac, know why we’re here?”

He pressed the burning tip of his cigarette against the tree trunk behind Shen Zhao. The ember hissed against the dry bark, sending up a wisp of white smoke. Just a little to the right, and it would have scorched Shen Zhao’s sleeve.

Shen Zhao lowered his gaze, looking almost defensive. “I wasn’t trying to cause trouble. It’s just that Uncle Shen offered to fund my college education. My family is poor—I need the support.”

Shen Jixing scoffed. “Oh, ‘Uncle Shen’? Just here for the handout? Come on, brainiac. My dad wants to change your name—wants to add you to our family tree!”

Shen Zhao remained silent.

His face was hidden in the shadows beneath the trees, flickering in the dappled light. He kept his head down, playing meek, but the corner of his lips curled faintly in quiet mockery.

The silence stretched, grating on Shen Jixing. He shifted the cigarette slightly to the right, the ember grazing the fabric of Shen Zhao’s uniform. Shen Zhao flinched.

Shen Jixing tsked, examining his palm. “Shen Zhao, you know what I hate most? That holier-than-thou act you aces pull—it makes me sick. Tell me, why does my dad like you so much? I’m his actual son. Is it just because of your grades? Or because you’re pretty?”

Shen Zhao met his gaze coldly, refusing to engage.

He had known what to expect long before choosing this path.

He had researched the Shen family thoroughly—Ji Mingzhu was domineering and neurotic, Shen Yuechuan a smiling hypocrite, their only son spoiled rotten. Left unchecked by Ji Mingzhu’s tight leash, Shen Jixing would’ve been worse than the delinquents at 33rd Middle School.

A slap or a cigarette burn was nothing unexpected—just the necessary price.

But mental preparation was one thing; the body’s instincts were another. As a child, Shen Zhao had been burned while cooking, hot oil searing his skin and leaving blisters that kept him up at night. Yet the next day, he still had to light the stove—otherwise, there’d be no food. If that cigarette hit bare skin, it wouldn’t hurt any less.

But he had no choice.

He stiffened under his uniform. Unable to help it, Shen Zhao shut his eyes. A whoosh of air whipped past his ear, followed by a sharp cry.

The heat of the cigarette vanished from beside his arm. When Shen Zhao opened his eyes, he caught sight of a basketball rolling on the ground.

Shen Jixing clutched his ear, dazed from the impact. The ball had been hurled from a distance, hitting him hard enough that he slumped against the tree, struggling to stand. Then, a voice drawled from a distance, “Hey, I tossed my ball this way—anyone see where it went?”

It was Wen Xian. Shen Zhao froze, momentarily stunned. He stared as Wen Xian approached, silhouetted by the sun, the dappled shadows of the trees dancing across his uniform. The light blurred his edges, his slightly sweat-damp hair framing his face in a youthful arc. Hands in his pockets, he radiated laid-back confidence.

Shen Zhao’s eyes suddenly stung with tears.

Just moments ago, when Shen Jixing had wanted to hit him, he had remained calm and indifferent. But at the sight of this familiar figure, resentment welled up inside him.

He wanted to hug Wen Xian.

Wen Xian strolled casually under the tree. Shen Jixing was right in front of him, and to prevent him from revealing anything inappropriate in front of Shen Yuechuan, Wen Xian deliberately avoided looking at Shen Zhao. He picked up the basketball, dusted it off, and pretended to be a passerby retrieving his ball. “Huh, so it landed here. I was wondering where it went.”

Over there, Shen Jixing was seeing spots, taking a long time to recover. Finally catching his breath, he saw Wen Xian casually picking up the ball and immediately exploded in anger. “Wen Xian, what the hell is wrong with you? Fuck your mother! Who the hell do you think you’re hitting?”

Wen Xian replied, “Oh, isn’t this Young Master Shen? Did my ball hit you? Ah, sorry about that. You know how bad I am at basketball.”

This wasn’t a lie. Though Wen Xian was tall and had often been roped into basketball teams since childhood, and even though he occasionally got the itch to shoot hoops during P.E., his skills were genuinely terrible. Out of ten shots, seven would miss, one would go out of bounds, and two would hit someone. The ball flying from the edge of the court to land on Shen Jixing’s head was just typical for him.

Wen Xian and Shen Zhao had never crossed paths before—one had always been at a foreign language school, while the other had tested into their current school from the 33rd Middle School. One was a class slacker, the other the school's top student. Their family backgrounds were worlds apart, and no one had ever heard of any connection between them. So no one linked Wen Xian’s actions to Shen Zhao, assuming it was just an accident.

Shen Jixing was in pain. No one had ever hit him like this before—the basketball strike hurt worse than a slap. His ears were ringing, and Wen Xian’s indifferent attitude only fueled his rage. His eyes reddened, and he reached out to grab Wen Xian’s collar. “Wen Xian, fuck your mother, you hear me? I’ll—”

Before he could finish, Wen Xian swung his fist, landing a solid punch right on his face.

Wen Xian stood over 185 cm tall, while Shen Jixing barely cleared 170 cm. The impact sent Shen Jixing staggering, and two drops of blood trickled from his nose.

Wen Xian grabbed his collar with one hand, dragging him forward like a ragdoll. “Shen Jixing, to others, you’re the untouchable rich kid. But my family’s just as powerful as yours. My mom is your mom’s cousin. What were you saying just now? Care to repeat it?”

Shen Jixing was dazed. He stared at Wen Xian in disbelief, as if unable to comprehend that he’d actually been hit. “What the hell’s wrong with you? You dare hit me? I’ll—”

Before he could finish, Wen Xian slapped him twice more. He held back just enough—no broken nose or knocked-out teeth—but the force was undeniable.

Shen Jixing’s goons wanted to intervene but hesitated, too intimidated to step forward. Even among the rich second-generation circles, there were hierarchies. Wen Xian and Shen Jixing were on the same level, while they were far beneath. Meddling in a fight between these two would bring no benefits, only trouble. They could only tug weakly at Wen Xian’s sleeve, making token attempts to intervene. “Hey, hey, Bro Wen, stop, stop. It’s all a misunderstanding.”

Wen Xian sneered. “I was just picking up my ball. I apologized for hitting someone. What more do you want? Dissing my mother like that—did you really think I’d just take it?”

Though Wen Xian had thrown the first punch, the basketball had been an “accident,” and he had apologized. Shen Jixing’s vulgar insults toward the wife of the Wen family, if judged fairly, meant he had it coming.

After taking several hits, Shen Jixing was completely dazed. Supported by his two lackeys, he could only shoot daggers with his eyes at Wen Xian, not daring to say another word.

Wen Xian stubbed out the cigarette with his shoe. “Jesus, you killed my basketball buzz. Still not leaving? Want me to throw you out?”

Shen Jixing spat but ultimately said nothing, letting his crew haul him off.

The grove went quiet.

Wen Xian, who had been leaning against the tree, straightened up once Shen Jixing was gone. He frowned at Shen Zhao. “Did he do anything to you?”

Shen Zhao had clearly been dragged here forcibly by Shen Jixing. His uniform was half-unbuttoned, and a portion of his shirt hung untucked.

Shen Zhao shook his head. “I’m fine—ah!”

Before he could finish, Wen Xian placed a hand on his waist, pressing lightly into the dip. Shen Zhao let out a hiss of pain.

Wen Xian said, “Let me see.”

“Wait, don’t—”

Before Shen Zhao could stop him, Wen Xian had already lifted the hem of his shirt. On the pale skin of his waist, especially where the sun never touched, livid bruises stood out starkly.

Wen Xian’s scowl darkened.

Shen Zhao squirmed uncomfortably as Wen Xian’s gaze fixed on his exposed skin, the redness and swelling prickling with heat like a burn.

He tugged at his shirt with one hand while pushing Wen Xian away with the other. “It’s nothing—I just got pushed and had to hurry.”

Wen Xian stood up and gripped his wrist. “Come with me.”

Shen Zhao stiffened. Unable to pull free, he had no choice but to follow reluctantly. “…Where to?”

“Where else?” Wen Xian retorted. “The infirmary. We’ll get ointment—I’ll put it on for you. Otherwise, it’ll keep hurting.”

“…”

Put it on for him?

At the thought of where the bruise was located, Shen Zhao went rigid for a second, then his ears turned beet red.