Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Unable to lie flat due to the stomach pain,

he curled up like a cooked shrimp, his face buried in the pillow.

Yet Qi Muyao ignored his protests and cradled his face, lifting it despite his resistance.

His tone was unusually gentle: "I've already called the doctor. Where does it hurt?"

His sickly pale face, clenched brows, and crumpled expression were partially obscured by disheveled black hair. When fingertips brushed the strands aside, they were met with a gritted-teeth refusal:

"Not. Necessary."

Qi Muyao knew he was angry at him.

His attitude softened considerably compared to before: "The doctor will be here soon. Let me see—where exactly does it hurt?"

He tried to straighten the other’s armadillo-tight curl to get a clearer look at Qi Yanyu’s face.

But the slightest touch made him tremble faintly, his brows furrowing even tighter.

Recognizing the severity, Qi Muyao coaxed him gently, "Just hang on—the pain will ease soon."

Such words were rare from Qi Muyao.

Who would have thought: after more than half a year apart, the same Qi Yanyu who had once stubbornly refused to bend, insisting on staying with that pretty boy,

would now appear before him so utterly broken, tears refusing to fall.

A hand hovered, wanting to stroke Qi Yanyu’s head, those soft black locks.

But the slightly tousled hair only accentuated the sickly pallor of his face.

In the end, the hand didn’t land—as if he couldn’t stand himself for wanting to.

Finally, fifteen minutes later, the doctor arrived in a hurry and asked Qi Yanyu where the pain was.

There was no response.

The man only curled tighter into an unyielding ball. The doctor hesitated to diagnose blindly and instead glanced at Qi Muyao’s grim, worried expression, waiting for him to break through the patient’s resistance.

For the first time, a trace of pleading humility surfaced on Qi Muyao’s handsome, imposing face: "I’m sorry. It’s my fault. Tell the doctor—where does it hurt?"

"..." Nowhere hurts.

He wanted to throw back a cutting retort at Qi Muyao, but the pain left him too weak to muster even such words.

Even the family butler coaxed him gently in the room: "Master Yanyu, the doctor is here. Tell him where it hurts."

The doctor tried again, "Is it stomach pain? Have you..." He trailed off, hesitant.

Qi Yanyu’s brows remained tightly knit, his drained face incapable of mustering even a reassuring look for the old butler.

Left with no choice, Qi Muyao lifted Qi Yanyu upright, holding him as the doctor unbuttoned his shirt.

Once the shirt was opened, they revealed the skin beneath Qi Yanyu’s chest—clawed raw by his own hands.

There was older bruising and fresh, shallow scratches.

Qi Muyao's eyes darkened as he realized these wounds weren't fresh. There were also densely clustered bruises and yellowish-brown pigmentation, indicating he must have been clutching at himself in agony days prior.

In the past, Qi Muyao would have coldly snapped, "If you keep this up, I'll tie you to the bed for a month—no moving, no going out."

But just moments ago, he had clearly seen that fleeting expression on Qi Yanyu's face—one of composed despair, eerie anticipation, and even hatred for life.

Qi Muyao no longer dared to use his usual disciplinary methods.

Too rigid, and it’ll shatter—too harsh, and it’ll break.

He pulled Qi Yanyu into his arms, gripping his wrist, only to realize the man had no strength left at all.

His body was wasted away, fragile as kindling, his energy utterly drained.

His head slumped weakly against Qi Muyao's shoulder, eyes tightly shut. With his hands restrained, he couldn't press against his spasming stomach, so his fingers curled into fists, desperately trying to suppress the pain.

The doctor, seeing the bruises and bloodstains where he had clawed at himself, pegged it as acute gastritis.

Wanting to examine his throat, the doctor said, "Easy now, let the doctor look."

But Qi Yanyu couldn't hear him. Qi Muyao coaxed softly, "Be still, let the doctor check your throat."

His fingertips barely pressed against the sides of Qi Yanyu's jaw. His skin was so fragile that even this slight pressure left red marks, as if imprinted by Qi Muyao's fingers.

Qi Yanyu had been struggling, but his resistance was as futile as a moth against a flame—pitifully weak, utterly insignificant.

After examining his throat, the doctor moved to press on his abdomen, intending to ask where else hurt besides his stomach.

But then Qi Muyao felt the weight of Qi Yanyu's head slip against his neck—completely still.

"The pain knocked him out cold," Qi Muyao said flatly, glancing sideways at the unconscious face resting on his shoulder.

He released his grip on Qi Yanyu's pale, slender wrist, instead cradling his chest and lifting his shirt.

His gaze lowered, as if etching the sight of those claw-marks into his memory.

A tumult of emotions twisted inside him, shadowing Qi Muyao's eyes.

"Besides stomach pain, what else could be wrong with him?" He lifted his head, and the doctor caught the displeasure in his expression.

Without any prior examination, the doctor didn't dare make assumptions. Afraid of provoking Qi Muyao's anger, he cautiously replied, "He must have been enduring stomach pain for days without proper treatment. As for other possibilities, we’d need scans and labs for an accurate diagnosis."

The doctor could only give him a shot for the pain, though Qi Yanyu was already unconscious.

After relaying some basic instructions—jotted down by the butler—the doctor made to leave.

But Qi Muyao stopped him. "What about ointment? His chest is shredded like this."

The doctor, less observant than him, earned an icy glare.

The unspoken accusation was clear: "Did you even go to medical school? Even I noticed this before you did."

The doctor had arrived in a hurry, rattled by Qi Yanyu's earlier refusal of treatment and anxious about Qi Muyao questioning his competence. In the chaos, he had overlooked the wounds.

He hastily moved to lift Qi Yanyu's shirt again.

But Qi Muyao blocked his hasty hands. The doctor froze, realizing the older brother was worried his roughness might jostle the wounds.

But the man had already blacked out early.

This...

The doctor didn’t dare complain further and obediently applied ointment to the man’s torso, which was covered in nail marks and scratches, using a cotton swab.

He left extra ointment behind, instructing the old butler and servants on how to use it.

Qi Muyao paid close attention, asking, "Any dietary restrictions? Will it leave scars?"

The doctor hurriedly advised avoiding spicy foods and soy sauce to prevent scarring.

Qi Muyao pressed further, "His stomach hurts—what should he eat when he wakes up?"

"Light congee or liquid food. Preferably something easy to digest that won’t irritate his stomach," the doctor answered anxiously, then proceeded to list every medical instruction and precaution in extreme detail to Qi Muyao.

Finally, the old butler and servants escorted the doctor downstairs.

Only Qi Muyao and the unconscious man remained in the room.

Qi Muyao gently tugged the sleeping man’s clothes aside to avoid smearing the freshly applied ointment.

His fingers then brushed aside the messy bangs that might prick the man’s eyelids uncomfortably.

Meanwhile, in the villa, Qi Xizhi—the recently acknowledged illegitimate son—watched as the butler saw the doctor out. Puzzled, he asked, "Who in the family is sick?"

"Young Master Yanyu," a servant answered.

Qi Yanyu? What’s he doing back here?

Qi Xizhi’s expression remained composed as he continued, "I thought he lived elsewhere?"

"The eldest young master fetched him today."

"Fetched him today?"

Qi Xizhi’s expression was still well-controlled, showing no abnormal emotions yet.

Privately arrogant, he thought of Qi Yanyu’s situation and remarked casually, "Since the doctor was called, did the eldest brother not hold back?"

He assumed Qi Muyao had tortured Qi Yanyu to the point of needing a family doctor.

Qi Muyao was known for physical punishment. Word was that a year ago, Qi Yanyu’s leg had been broken.

"I heard the third young master wasn’t feeling well, so the eldest young master called the doctor."

The servant’s words made Qi Xizhi’s face tighten slightly. "Oh, is that so? Hmm?"

After the servant left, Qi Xizhi stood in place. The thought of Qi Muyao calling a doctor for that man filled him with disdain. He concluded: Bet anything Qi Muyao beat him up and only then called the doctor.

Good. Without discipline, that guy Qi Yanyu wouldn’t know the meaning of discipline.

Qi Yanyu woke up in the early morning.

Empty stomach drenched in sweat, he blinked, thinking he’d come to his senses.

Through bleary eyes, there was actually someone in his room.

Like he’d been startled, the person had a weird look on his face. To Qi Yanyu, it seemed—

Qi Muyao saw that he had woken up. He’d meant to slip out before the other woke up and come back only after he was awake.

That way, Qi Yanyu wouldn’t have to know he had kept watch over him all night.

He’d never seen who received his elder brother’s kindness.

At least he knew it wouldn’t be saved for him.

Yet Qi Muyao asked in a gentler tone, “What would you like for breakfast?”

His tone was gentler now, none of the usual sharpness when disciplining him.

Qi Yanyu didn’t answer, merely averting his gaze, his demeanor cold.

He wanted to lower his eyes and turn away to sleep again.

But the next moment, Qi Muyao’s hand actually pressed against the spot below his chest.

His brother’s hand was warm, radiating a quiet heat.

Qi Yanyu tried to shove him off, but Qi Muyao caught his wrist as he resisted and held it gently:

“Does it still hurt?”

Qi Yanyu snapped back, his expression indifferent. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Qi Muyao seemed to recognize when he was lying. He undid the buttons of Qi Yanyu’s shirt before the latter could stop him—

The hand that had hovered over his clothes now pressed fully against the spot below his chest, rubbing slow circles.

His other hand, which still had some strength, was held firmly by his elder brother. He heard Qi Muyao say, “The doctor will come again at seven.”

Perhaps it was the weakness after waking from illness—he was too worn out to fight.

In the end, Qi Yanyu closed his eyes and let his brother have his way.

In his heart, he might as well have been a dog, long past caring how others treated him.

With his eyes shut, Qi Yanyu slipped back into a groggy sleep without realizing it.

Qi Muyao watched him, having done so all night, noticing how faint his eyebrows were in sleep—not dark, but faint like mist over hills, carrying a touch of delicacy.

He grazed Qi Yanyu’s cheek with his knuckle.

But then he remembered how violently he’d fought back yesterday, preferring to curl up like a hedgehog in pain. So he withdrew his hand.

Qi Yanyu slept until noon. The doctor came at seven, gave him another shot, prescribed new medication, went over aftercare, and told him to get checked at the hospital before leaving.

When Qi Yanyu woke, he was sweating buckets under the heavy blankets. He kicked the covers off and staggered upright, only for his legs to give out, sending him crashing down.

Whether from the impact or sugar crash, he couldn’t tell—his vision went black.

The room tilted—then suddenly he was being lifted.

“Bathroom run?”

“I can manage.” Why the hell was his brother still here??

The man carried him into the bathroom, where Qi Muyao's reflection in the mirror appeared tall and handsome.

Only then did he realize his build was nothing compared to his eldest brother’s.

"Leave."

"What if you fall?"

"...I won’t." Qi Yanyu gripped the edge of the sink, struggling to lift his gaze to meet Qi Muyao's reflection behind him in the mirror.

Qi Muyao was strikingly handsome, his face perpetually cold and aloof. But today was different—his eyes flickered with quiet concern.

"Fine, then prove you can walk by yourself."

Qi Yanyu attempted to shuffle forward, gripping the sink, only to stumble again. Qi Muyao caught him in an instant and hauled him to the toilet.

"Need me to hold you up?" He said it plainly, without innuendo.

"?" But to Qi Yanyu, it might as well have been a proposition.

At lunchtime, Qi Xizhi—noticing Qi Muyao’s absence—asked, "Is elder brother still in his room?"

"Yes, the eldest young master is still tending to the third young master," replied the servant standing by the dining table.

Qi Xizhi hesitated.

His appetite gone, he headed upstairs. He knocked politely on Qi Yanyu’s door and called out, "May I come in?" Hearing no reply, he waited a beat before easing the door open.

To his shock, Qi Muyao was helping Qi Yanyu into his clothes—like he’d just given him a bath.

What the hell was this?

Qi Xizhi’s face went blank for a second before he plastered on a polite smile.

"Just checking in on third brother. Feeling better? I’m Qi Xizhi."

Qi Yanyu’s face twisted further. He was deathly pale, like he’d been put through the wringer, sweat-soaked hair stuck to his forehead.

If Qi Xizhi wasn’t fazed, then the awkwardness was everyone else’s problem. So he maintained his smile, appearing perfectly composed.

Qi Yanyu’s face twisted further. He closed his eyes, as if unwilling to see him. "Get out."

Qi Xizhi hadn’t expected such an unwelcome reception.

What was he pretending for?

Had Qi Muyao not knocked the attitude out of him yet?

But shockingly, his eldest brother humored the brat and said to him, "Go on. Visit your third brother again when he’s better."

Qi Xizhi blinked. "...”

"Alright," he forced a slight smile. The second the door closed, his smile dropped.

His hands balled into fists—then relaxed at the voice behind him: "Third brother is back, isn’t he?"

Qi Xizhi turned and, upon seeing who it was, relaxed his fists discreetly, offering a refined smile. "Yes. But he’s… not up for company right now."

The person behind him was none other than the youngest son of the Qi family: Qi Shaoli.

Beside Qi Shaoli’s legs was a sturdy, well-built golden retriever with an exceptionally well-groomed coat. He had just returned from abroad, his expression subdued as he glanced at the golden retriever circling his legs before lifting his gaze. "Was he... punished by Eldest Brother?"

"Not sure. But he... isn’t in the best mood." Qi Xizhi gave a small, resigned smile. Though an illegitimate son, he carried himself with the ease and forgiveness of a legitimate heir.

The young Qi Shaoli tightened his grip on the golden retriever's leash, lowering his head in thought before murmuring quietly, "That’s just Eldest Brother's way."

The illegitimate son Qi Xizhi was about to respond with a magnanimous "It’s not his fault."

But then he heard Qi Shaoli’s words: "He’s always getting bullied, so he gets a little upset sometimes."

The corners of Qi Xizhi’s lips, which had been lifted in a gracious smile, froze for a moment.