Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Here," he offered a spoonful.

Yet Qi Yanyu's sickly face clearly spelled out his reluctance to eat.

Qi Muyao was patient, blowing on the steaming spoonful but not forcing him. "Wanna queue up again?"

They queued up again, same three paid carries as last time.

Qi Yanyu sucked at the game but loved jungling. He always locked in Xin Zhao, the easiest champ to play.

Qi Muyao went mage again. Once Xin Zhao cleared jungle, he rotated top.

Qi Muyao’s mage stuck to him, backing him up in every fight.

Qi Muyao popped off, hitting every skillshot. Even in a 2v3 (with their top dead), he clutched a triple.

Qi Yanyu, one hit from death, gaped at his brother’s insane plays.

Since when could his brother play like this? Didn’t he say he never played League?

This time, Qi Yanyu wasn’t hyper-focused on farming jungle. Instead, he noticed Qi Muyao’s mage tailing him relentlessly.

When he inted into fights, Qi Muyao’s mage covered for him.

When he face-checked, Qi Muyao’s mage peeled for him.

When he farmed, Qi Muyao last-hit for him, securing the gold.

"Stop babysitting me," Qi Yanyu muttered, clicking angrily.

"You wanted to fight, so I wanted to fight too." No one would believe Qi Muyao—usually so aloof—was babying him like this.

"I don’t want to fight." If Qi Muyao said one, he had to say two. He was determined to oppose him.

"Then you want to farm?"

"I don’t want to farm either."

It was a toddler-tier tantrum, but Qi Muyao read him like a book. "You just ate the mid-lane minions. I got no gold, so I’ll take some of your jungle camps as compensation."

How could a tantrum shake off someone this clingy?

Grudgingly, Qi Yanyu let Qi Muyao leech his jungle. Eventually, they trudged to bot lane—nicknamed the ‘duo lane.’

Enemies clash on sight. Even in-game, the moment they met, Qi Yanyu charged recklessly, with no patience for ambushes.

Qi Muyao’s mage had no angle, but Qi Yanyu inted anyway.

After the bot duo died, Qi Yanyu tried to abandon the mage and escape alone.

"You’re just leaving me?" Qi Muyao's mouse clicks sounded rapid yet faint from his side.

For once, Qi Yanyu ‘rescued’ the mage—only to feed a double kill.

"...You’re a walking death trap." Qi Yanyu didn’t bother hiding his tone.

"Too kind." Qi Muyao wasn't exactly humble either.

After finishing the game, the porridge had cooled and needed reheating.

Qi Yanyu finally had a bit of appetite. When Qi Muyao scooped up the porridge and brought it to him, Qi Yanyu didn’t open his mouth, just glanced down slightly and said, "Don’t waste your time..."

Qi Muyao knew there would be more, so he listened attentively.

The other man raised his eyes—black, pure, with lashes so long and thick they added a touch of delicate charm. "Just treat me the way you always do."

Qi Yanyu never believed they would show him leniency or kindness.

All gifts from fate come with a price already marked in secret.

Their current fake kindness was just laying the groundwork for later.

"We’re doing a checkup tomorrow." Recently, this was the only thing Qi Muyao wanted to do—take Qi Yanyu for an examination.

"I don’t want to go."

"Why not?" Qi Muyao stirred the spoon. "It’s fast. I’ll go with you."

"Tomorrow at 10 a.m. Sleep late, then head over after." They were going to a private hospital under the Qi family’s name, so there was no need to go early in the morning.

Qi Muyao’s tone brooked no argument.

Qi Yanyu knew that if Qi Muyao wanted something done, it would be done. Sooner or later, he’d haul him there kicking and screaming. Why the charade of asking now?

What was the point of this ‘nice guy’ act?

He wouldn’t care what he thought—his opinions had never mattered to him.

Qi Yanyu fell silent, but the spoon stayed poised at his mouth.

His elder brother’s voice was as steady as ever, but the tone carried rare concern. "After the checkup, you won’t have to stay home all the time."

Oh, really?

Did that mean he’d be set free?

Hope flared in Qi Yanyu’s heart. Could he... move out?

The next morning.

Before 8 a.m., Qi Yanyu woke up early. After he got up, the servants informed Qi Muyao, who showed up to dress him himself.

By noon, all the tests were done.

"The pathology slides will be sent to the capital for analysis," the doctor told Qi Muyao.

"Our hospital can’t handle it?"

"That’s correct. We can’t confirm whether third young master has 'mitochondrial disease'—it’s a rare condition. But it could also be a chronic stress-induced psychosomatic condition. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. The capital’s XX Hospital has a specialized department for this disease, so we’ll have their doctors confirm whether it’s the case," the doctor explained.

"What does mitochondrial disease do?" Qi Muyao had never heard of such an illness.

"Weakness in upper arms/thighs, eye muscle paralysis, nerve deafness, paralysis on one side, partial blindness, usually comes with epilepsy, migraines, and vomiting," the doctor listed the severe symptoms.

"Is there a cure? Will he recover fully?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Qi, there is currently no specific treatment for this disease."

Qi Muyao's voice softened as he asked, "What causes this illness?"

"It’s largely hereditary. But it's hard to say for certain."

"How severe could it get?"

The doctor chose his words carefully. "Everything depends on the biopsy results. If he frequently experiences angina, stomach cramps, or bone pain, stress could be a major factor too."

"What if it's a psychological condition?"

"Mental health issues are on the rise in young people these days. If family or friends don’t step in, the physical manifestations of mental illness can severely impact a patient's life."

"His physical examination results were already concerning. If it truly is a rare disease, the family should prepare themselves."

"What kind of preparations?" Qi Muyao already understood but wanted the doctor to spell it out clearly.

"Get him mentally ready—patients usually can’t handle news like this well. He could also end up with paralysis, deafness, or near-blindness."

In the VIP lounge.

Qi Yanyu received a call from the cemetery. Just as he picked up, he saw Qi Muyao walk in.

"Who’s calling my baby brother?" He laughed lightly, his voice warm.

But to Qi Yanyu, it was just another invasion of his privacy.

"I placed an order earlier, and they asked me to come take a look," he said, half-truthfully.

He really did need to check out those high-end burial plots.

Qi Muyao’s face was blank, just a faint smile. "Oh? What is it? Let me take you there." None of the worry from the doctor’s office showed now.

No way was Qi Yanyu letting him tag along—"Another time," Qi Yanyu replied.

"Alright."

During the ride back, Qi Yanyu mentioned the freedom Qi Muyao had promised regarding the checkup. "I’ve finished the examination," he began, but didn’t get to finish.

"Hmm," Qi Muyao said from the passenger seat, clearly not keeping his promise. He glanced at the medical report in his hand. "You never told me about your chronic gastritis? Do you even eat right when you’re out?"

Qi Yanyu finally mustered the courage to say what he had long wanted to:

"I’m moving out—" But before he could finish the word "live,"

Qi Muyao turned to him, his gaze settling on his chest. "Does your heart hurt a lot?"

"I’m moving out. For good." This time, Qi Yanyu summoned all his resolve and firmly stated his request.

Yet, a hand pressed against the left side of his chest. "Here? How often does it hurt? Why’d you dodge the doctor’s questions, huh?"

Qi Muyao, in his thirties and still unmarried, was a tyrant in business, and his favorite pastime was controlling them.

His striking face, those dark eyes mirroring Qi Yanyu’s sickly pallor, spoke quietly—but brooked no argument.

"I was clear with the doctor..."

Before he could finish, knuckles dug into his cheek, forcing his face upward to meet Qi Muyao's gaze.

The Qi Muyao of the past hated it when he lied. Clearly, that hadn’t changed.

"Do you not want to get treated?" Qi Muyao's expression was cold, his voice hard as he stared at him.

Now the act was completely dropped.

Just last night and the days before, Qi Muyao had still been playing the patient caretaker. Now, he wasn’t even bothering to pretend.

"Let go." Qi Muyao wasn’t using much force, but it still burned enough to make him wince.

"Have you seen a doctor?" Qi Muyao suspected he already knew what was wrong with him—that he was self-destructing, refusing medication, refusing treatment. "Do you already know you're sick and just don’t care? You’d rather rot than see a doctor?"

Qi Yanyu struggled against his brother’s grip, and they nearly came to blows in the car.

The driver kept glancing in the rearview mirror but knew better than to interfere. If he dared speak up between the two brothers, Qi Muyao would be the first to reprimand and fire him.

Shoved against the window, half his body slumped on the seat, Qi Yanyu still heard Qi Muyao’s icy, merciless words: "Qi Yanyu, do you want to relive what happened six months ago?"

That same superior, controlling bastard.

Treating him like his personal possession.

It didn’t take much effort for that man to pin him effortlessly against the seat, leaving him unable to break free no matter how he struggled.

Qi Yanyu closed his eyes, his features contorted, swallowing down pain. He wanted to grit his teeth, but his breaths came in shallow, broken gasps. "Why don’t you just break my leg again and throw me out."

"Or hand me over to some CEO you do business with," Qi Yanyu actually said such words.

Put me out of my misery. I’m begging you.

Qi Muyao’s knuckles weren’t pressing hard against Qi Yanyu’s jaw, but they left him pale, then feverish.

"So this is how you see me, Qi Yanyu?"

The driver, ignoring the risk of being fired, saw the third young master pinned down by the eldest and, with limited visibility, couldn’t quite make out what was happening. Mistaking the struggle for strangulation, he urgently called out, "Eldest Young Master, calm down… The third young master is young, he doesn’t get what you’re going through…"

Perhaps it was the look of sheer agony on that man’s face, or maybe the driver’s words snapped him back to reason. Qi Muyao released his grip, but the other still kept his eyes shut, wheezing violently.

The doctor had just mentioned that Qi Yanyu had bronchitis and likely asthma. But when asked if he had asthma, Qi Yanyu had lied straight to the doctor’s face, insisting everything was fine, that he’d never experienced shortness of breath.

Yet conditions like bronchitis and asthma, which caused frequent breathing difficulties, could be easily detected with a stethoscope—the lungs would produce sounds different from those of a healthy person.

The doctor later told Qi Muyao that the patient might be resistant, defiant, and needed more care and guidance from his family.

Even without the doctor’s words, Qi Muyao had already noticed—during the consultation, Qi Yanyu had been evasive, answering questions carelessly and vaguely.

What was he doing?

Was this his revenge? For tearing him and Zhou Yuan apart? Holding a grudge, coming home a walking sickness, letting himself deteriorate just to punish him?