Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Qi Xizhi on the ground coughed lightly as someone helped him up from the shattered glass, putting on a pitiful act as he pleaded, "It's my own fault..."

Even with halfway to the grave, Qi Yanyu still thought of summoning his last bit of strength to pretend to strike Qi Xizhi—would his comeuppance arrive sooner that way?

With that thought, he moved to act—

But his hand was suddenly grasped by another. A figure blocked his path.

"Brother,"

He glanced sideways—it was Qi Shaoli holding his hand. His younger brother's face was a jumble of shock, disbelief, pain, confusion, and frustration.

Good. Someone was trying to stop him. It seemed his act was convincing.

"I'm going to cripple him today..." Before he could even finish twisting his face into a snarl, Qi Yanyu's voice cracked slightly, and his brows furrowed uncontrollably.

Opening his mouth, he unexpectedly coughed up a mouthful of bright liquid.

Then, Qi Yanyu didn’t understand why the crowd around him broke into panicked whispers.

The next moment, his body lost all support, his vision blurred, and he collapsed to the ground like a marionette with cut strings.

From afar, Qi Shaoli saw his brother Qi Yanyu’s body sway like reed in winter, barely standing.

He rushed to steady him, but Qi Yanyu collapsed completely.

Moving fast, Qi Shaoli reached out to catch him—but someone was quicker.

Qi Muyao had long noticed his brother’s ghostly pallor. Before Qi Yanyu could hit the ground, he lunged forward and caught him in his arms.

Meanwhile, Qi Xizhi, helped up by guests and clutching his arm, stared in shock.

Qi Muyao cradled Qi Yanyu, his head hanging limp against his shoulder. "Move!" he barked at the guests, striding out of the greenhouse with his brother in his arms.

Behind him, Qi Shaoli, who had failed to catch Qi Yanyu, looked anguished and tormented.

What had happened to his third brother?

......

Qi Yanyu didn’t know how long he had been unconscious. When he woke, another stab of pain hit him.

This time, it wasn’t his stomach.

Qi Yanyu's mouth twitched upward, but before he could suppress it, he heard a soft, worried voice: "Brother, are you feeling better?"

Qi Yanyu looked up in surprise—shouldn't he have been locked in the study?

In the original story, after "pushing and injuring" Qi Xizhi in the greenhouse, he was confined by Qi Muyao for three days and nights. Starved until he was dizzy and weak, he'd toppled bookshelves and antiques—though unintentionally in the book.

Now, having transmigrated, he had planned to destroy Qi Muyao’s study on purpose.

That way, his retribution would come faster.

Yet when he opened his eyes, it was his younger brother Qi Shaoli before him.

The boy frowned delicately, his face pale as a rain-drenched sparrow: "Brother, can you hear me?"

Qi Yanyu’s heart didn’t ache as fiercely as it could have; his face was gently touched by the fingertips of the young Qi Shaoli, who was afraid of causing him pain.

But soon, he pulled away.

Young Qi Shaoli’s eyes inexplicably reddened. Like a wild bear cub, enraged by its mother’s capture in a hunter’s trap, with bloodshot eyes.

However, Qi Yanyu misjudged.

Those were not eyes of anger.

Just as Qi Shaoli’s fingertips were about to touch Qi Yanyu’s pale cheek, his gaze shifted slightly downward and saw that Qi Yanyu’s originally translucent lips had been tinged with a hint of red.

Disgusted, Qi Yanyu tried to push Qi Shaoli away. He had been lying in bed for days, relying on intravenous nutrition, and had little strength to lift his hand.

He only managed to rasp out, “Who let you into my room...”

His voice was so faint, like the buzzing of a mosquito, and so hoarse it barely sounded like his own.

But to Qi Shaoli, it was like sandpaper, harshly scraping against his tender heart.

Seeing that Qi Shaoli seemed not to hear or understand him, Qi Yanyu gave up on him.

He wanted to impulsively get out of bed.

With almost no strength, he wobbled like a water-filled bag, and the moment he got out of bed, he fell heavily to the ground with a thud.

Qi Shaoli rushed to embrace him, but Qi Yanyu forced a laugh through gritted teeth, his voice as hoarse as ever, mustering all his strength to deliver a fatal blow: “Not going to see your half-brother, the illegitimate son, and come to see me make a fool of myself?”

"I'm sorry..." Qi Shaoli's eyes glistened with moisture, like the clear gaze of a wild bear cub. "I didn't know you were sick, brother."

A coppery tang filled Qi Yanyu's mouth.

He barely had the energy to react, using what little strength he had left to push Qi Shaoli away and stagger toward the bathroom.

He couldn’t even grip the sink for support, bending over it as he retched violently.

After days without food, there was almost nothing to vomit.

Only thin, watery bile dangled like frayed spider silk from his flushed lips, streaked with blood.

He gagged violently, but only specks came up.

Tears? Sweat? Something wet trailed from Qi Yanyu’s eyes.

Then, Qi Shaoli turned him around from behind, his wide, frantic eyes like a startled bear cub's. "Brother, hold on, I’ll call a doctor right away."

What act was Qi Shaoli putting on this time?

The original novel reads—

*[Qi Shaoli peeled Qi Yanyu’s fingers off the photo frame in disgust, his voice deliberate and cold: "Don’t dirty our family’s photo."]*

He hated himself to the core.

When the bastard attended his art exhibition, he would put on a show of surprised delight.

As an uninvited guest, when I brought gifts to his exhibition, the youth with rosy lips and white teeth twisted into a mocking smile: "What are you doing here? You're not welcome."

"Brother, is your stomach bothering you? Let me help you sit down first. The doctor will be here soon, and a shot to stop the vomiting will make you feel better."

Qi Shaoli tried to support him.

Qi Yanyu had no strength to push Qi Shaoli away, his efforts futile.

He could only grip the sink, attempting a weak, sarcastic smile at his younger brother: "Stop pretending. I ruined your coming-of-age ceremony—shouldn’t you hate me to the core?"

Yet what Qi Shaoli saw was that pallid face attempting to smile, only for the expression to falter weakly under the weight of illness.

Like a crabapple flower battered by wind and rain.

The wind could snap its branches, the rain could batter its petals, and everything could drag it down mercilessly from the clouds into the mud, crushing it utterly.

"Get out."

Qi Yanyu’s cold, fragile eyes met his for a brief moment—still aloof, still disdainful. Then his head drooped again, his voice feeble: "Don’t make me repeat myself."

In Qi Shaoli’s vision, Qi Yanyu turned on the faucet, the water rushing noisily over his lips, flecks of pitiful blood staining them.

But he could barely stand, his torso slumped heavily over the sink, letting the icy water drench his hair, his face, heedless even as his clothes clung to him, soaked.

Letting the water flow like sheets of ice down his neck, his chest, his abdomen.

A faint shiver ran through his bones from the cold.

Qi Shaoli rushed forward, shutting off the water. Ignoring Qi Yanyu’s weak resistance, he locked his arms around him from behind, whispering into his ear as he held him tightly: "Don’t do this... I know what’s in your heart."

The two struggled by the sink, one clearly too frail from illness to put up a fight, and soon Qi Shaoli scooped him up in a bridal carry.

He had rarely been carried like this before, and now, once more, Qi Shaoli held him in a princess carry.

The latter carried him to the bed, saying softly, "The doctor will be here soon. Your clothes are wet, brother—let me help you change..."

"Here to mock me, are you?"

Qi Shaoli froze, but then he saw his brother flinch, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain.

Driven by some unnameable urge, he reached out, wanting to touch that fragile, porcelain-pale face.

In the end, his hand shifted downward, peeling off the soaked clothes with care.

Qi Yanyu, thinking he meant to strip him for a beating, let him undress him in silence.

But Qi Shaoli continued, peeling the clothes off until his eyes fixed on the agitated, clawed-up stomach—then stopped.

Unable to resist, Qi Yanyu opened his eyes, hearing his brother’s voice, soft and brittle: "Brother... does it hurt here often?"

Qi Yanyu didn’t answer. His hair still dripped with water from the sink.

His younger brother reached up, brushing the wet strands back gently.

"Brother, if we just follow the doctor’s orders and take the medicine, the pain will go away."

Qi Yanyu retorted, "Medicine for what? There’s nothing wrong with me. I won’t take anything."

His brother paused, eyes lowering as he helped him into dry, soft clothes.

"If you don't take your medicine, it will hurt me." It would hurt me.

His voice was so soft, so soft that even Qi Yanyu couldn’t hear him clearly.

His hands, originally meant to hold a paintbrush—snow-white and slender, with jade-like fingers—buttoned up Qi Yanyu’s pajamas one by one.

Lowering his lashes, his voice was soft and lonely:

"Are you angry with me?"

Qi Yanyu was stunned for a moment. The next moment, Qi Shaoli embraced him, not letting him resist or push him off.

His head pressed against the back of Qi Yanyu’s neck: "Brother, I know I was wrong. I’m sorry, don’t be mad at me."

Qi Yanyu had no strength left in his body, utterly unable to push away the younger Qi Shaoli.

He let himself be held.

Qi Shaoli’s body was warm like a sunbaked cub, radiating a boy's earnest warmth.

·

Outside the room, in the villa.

Qi Xizhi’s left hand was heavily bandaged and in a sling against his chest. He spotted Qi Muyao busy in the study and knocked lightly on the open door, giving a faint smile:

"Eldest Brother."

Qi Muyao had called him there specifically, likely to discuss Qi Yanyu’s punishment.

Once allowed in, Qi Xizhi—his injured hand still in a sling—stepped inside. Unexpectedly, Qi Muyao’s assistant, Li Wei, was also present.

Qi Muyao hadn’t dismissed Li Wei but allowed him to stay in the study.

What did he want to talk about?

"A few days ago, the incident with Yanyu in the greenhouse..." Qi Muyao removed his gold-framed reading glasses. Without the veneer of refinement they provided, his face looked harsher, his words cutting.

Qi Xizhi, who had never treated his illegitimate status as a source of shame, was quick to smile: "Don’t blame Yanyu. I’m at fault."

In front of Qi Yanyu, he would address him as "Brother Yu." But when Qi Yanyu wasn’t around, he wouldn’t even call him "brother." In Qi Xizhi’s mind, their birthdays were too close—he hadn’t confirmed with Qi Yanyu yet, so who was older remained uncertain.

"Of course it was your fault," Qi Muyao held nothing back, his voice icy. "Who told you to provoke him?"

Qi Xizhi jerked his head up, while Li Wei stood there blank-faced, listening with lowered eyes.

Why was he scolding him in front of an outsider?

"Don’t provoke Qi Yanyu anymore," Qi Muyao said coldly, his manner anything but gentle. "He and you are not on the same level."

"..." After hearing this, it took Qi Xizhi a long moment to manage a hollow smile. "Understood, Eldest Brother."

Coming to the study with his injured hand in a sling, only to be lectured.

Pathetic and demeaning.

"You’re dismissed. Go heal."

Qi Xizhi left the study, clenching his jaw, telling himself to swallow it. The move in the greenhouse—one he had thought was foolproof—had turned into a blunder.

After Qi Xizhi left, Qi Muyao turned to Li Wei and asked, "Have you checked? Who has Third Young Master been associating with outside over the past six months?"

Li Wei handed the list to Qi Muyao and explained, "They're just drinking buddies, nothing too deep. Occasionally, they drink and dine together, but not frequently."

"How often?"

"About once or twice a month. He turned them down a few times."

"Why did he refuse?"

"His claim was that he was seeing his boyfriend."

"What kind of people has he been dating?"

"Just an excuse. Third Young Master has been single for the past six months, hardly ever with anyone."

Qi Muyao blinked and looked at the name that appeared most frequently on the list—Song Yuanting, while Zhou Yuran was midway down the list.

"Is he intentionally meeting Zhou Yuran?"

"No. Usually, Zhou Yuran wasn’t present at the gatherings Third Young Master attended. Zhou Yuran would show up halfway through."

"So he’s avoiding Zhou Yuran?"

"Yes."

"Did his test results come back?" Though Qi Muyao had already flipped to the test report.

"They have. The report shows no signs of drug use."

The conclusion on the report matched Li Wei’s words—negative.

Then why does he frequently suffer from stomach pains? It seems he needs a more thorough medical examination.

"What about him…" Qi Muyao didn’t quite believe such a clean investigation result. "Does he pay for sex?" Noticing Li Wei’s expression, he rephrased, "Does he hire male escorts? Have you checked the hotel records?"

Li Wei answered plainly, "The hotel records mostly just show Third Young Master by himself. He’s been living in hotels outside for six months, always alone."

Li Wei thought Qi Muyao’s questioning stemmed from an overbearing big-brother attitude.

But unexpectedly, Qi Muyao said, "I’m just worried he might have picked up something. Who knows if someone like Zhou Yuran, who sleeps around in that crowd, has passed anything to him."

"Third Young Master has kept his nose clean these past six months." No more men, it seems. Li Wei answered.

He didn’t dare say the latter part aloud.

Qi Muyao, however, exposed it. "Too well-behaved—is that what you mean?"

Li Wei naturally didn’t dare admit it directly, only hinting, "Perhaps Third Young Master has cleaned up his act."

"Those people were just using him to get ahead. How could he be so stupid not to see that?"

Even after half a year, his boss Qi Muyao was still bitter.

It seemed the taint from Zhou Yuran still loomed in his boss’s heart.

He knew his boss was dead set on protecting his younger brother—only his methods were too heavy-handed.

Too hard, it snaps; too much love, it burns out. You’d think he’d know that.

At that moment, a servant knocked and entered, interrupting Qi Muyao's conversation with Li Wei. He had previously instructed the servant, so he knew what the report would be: "Is he awake?"

"Yes. Young Master Shaoli is with him now," the servant replied.

By the time Qi Muyao could finally visit, Qi Yanyu was asleep in his room again.

Earlier, after waking briefly, Qi Yanyu had been held by the boy, listening to his incessant chatter. Too annoyed to argue but too weak to shoo him off, worn out, he drifted back to sleep.

When Qi Yanyu woke again, the doctor who had given him the injection had long since left.

The last of the daylight seeped into the room.

Fresh-cut pink-blue water lilies lay in loose arrangements, their crisp, rain-fresh scent lingering through the air.

Qi Yanyu couldn’t tell whether hours or days had passed.

He jerked slightly, blinking until he realized it was his younger brother, Qi Shaoli.

The boy stirred awake from the edge of the bed and sat up.

He looked thinner, his clothes hanging looser. There was a trace of weariness about him, but upon seeing Qi Yanyu awake, his eyes sparkled like a sunlit but fading blue lake.

"Brother, do you want some water?"

Thoughts still swam sluggishly in Qi Yanyu’s mind, not fully clear.

For someone of Qi Shaoli’s usual impatience, it was unthinkable that he would stay by his sickbed.

A weak nod was all he managed. After days of sleep, his skull felt stuffed with wet cotton. His head drooped, eyes lightly closed, his upper body propped upright more by muscle memory than strength.

Qi Shaoli quickly got up to pour water, then brought the cup to his brother’s mouth with both hands.

Not wanting him to tire his neck, he supported Qi Yanyu’s back—barely strong enough to stay upright—and let him slide into his arms. Eyes still closed, Qi Yanyu managed just enough to wet his lips.

"Would you like a little more?" the boy coaxed softly.

It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to Qi Yanyu so gently. Hardly enough to swallow, yet even that little bit sent a thread of warmth through his numb body, as if he were coming back to life.

The thought of living again made him weary.

"Would sweet rice porridge be okay? The doctor said as long as you wake up and your stomach doesn’t hurt, you can have a little food," the boy’s voice murmured tenderly in his ear.

The words came softly, nor did they grate against his nerves.

The tenderness felt like an old, half-forgotten song.

Like the muffled voices of a childhood memory.

Had death come gently, then?

In that hazy twilight, Qi Yanyu couldn’t tell if this was a dream or hell. He didn’t even know if he was still alive.

His head hung low, and the boy, not wanting him to tire his neck, let him rest against his shoulder.

"A touch of sugar and cream—not too bland, with a light, mellow fragrance."

The way the boy coaxed him took him back to being coaxed as a child.