Chapter 30

Chapter 30

When the rain let up slightly, Qi Yuanhan resisted the urge to turn on his computer for gaming and instead grabbed his homework to cram on assignments at the library. Staying in the dorm would only tempt him to play games.

By seven in the evening, Gu Jinglan returned to the dorm and found it deserted. However, spotting a white lab coat hanging on Qi Yanyu’s bed, his heart leapt—had he returned?

But as his gaze lowered, he saw the bed was not a single thing out of place, exactly as it had been a week ago, with no signs of disturbance.

Gu Jinglan, drenched from the rain, took a shower and changed clothes. When he stepped out, the dorm was still empty.

Outside, dancing tree shadows mingled with the sound of wind and rain, creating a desolate, rhythmic patter like the lonesome sound of rain on banana leaves.

After finishing his homework at the library, Qi Yuanhan headed to the food street near the west gate to grab a bite. On the way, he called Gu Jinglan to ask if he was in the dorm and whether Qi Yanyu had returned. He had bought stir-fried rice vermicelli, skewers, and grilled oysters and wanted to know if they wanted any.

“Are you kidding me? Of course he’s not here,” Gu Jinglan replied over the phone.

“Oh. Then why don’t you ask him when he’s coming back?” Qi Yuanhan mumbled through a mouthful of skewers, phone wedged between shoulder and ear, umbrella in hand.

Gu Jinglan chuckled. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Though Qi Yuanhan and Qi Yanyu’s relationship seemed like oil and water on the surface, Qi Yuanhan had been asking about Qi Yanyu’s return frequently these days—deep down, his constant asking betrayed his concern.

But why keep asking others for updates instead of reaching out himself?

After some aimless banter, they hung up. Gu Jinglan recalled the times he had called Qi Yanyu—each time, the number you dialed is powered off, with a prompt to try again later.

On the nights Qi Yanyu was absent, Gu Jinglan had asked their homeroom teacher about him. The next day, the teacher replied: Qi Yanyu had been taken home by his family. In other words, nothing had happened to him outside.

That evening, the class monitor sent an ultimatum about the autumn outing. This time, wisely, he directed his question to Gu Jinglan.

Without a word, Gu Jinglan transferred the money without hesitation for Qi Yanyu’s trip to the monitor.

The monitor, surprised by the instant payment, asked while accepting the money, “Is he going?”

Gu Jinglan simply didn’t want Qi Yanyu to miss out if he returned. Casually, he replied, “Of course he is.”

Tonight was rare—no competitions, no group discussions, no student council work. The dorm was also unusually quiet, with only Gu Jinglan inside.

Leaning against his bed, he glanced at Bed No. 3.

Between his fingers, a slender cigarette burned, releasing faint wisps of smoke.

His sharp features, half-hidden in the haze, carried a distant gaze as he stared at the desk and bed across from him.

His thoughts wandered far and wide before circling back to the owner of that space.

A sickly pale face, defiant eyes, and the faint marks of grass stains.

Then, labored breaths, a pleading, exhausted face.

In his drowsy half-sleep, Gu Jinglan had gotten up multiple times, worried he might stop breathing—only to find him sleeping peacefully, the steady rise and fall of his chest reassuring.

Later, the image shifted to Qi Yanyu’s calm, composed demeanor during their arguments about whether something was cooked enough.

How strange. Why not fantasize about a woman instead? With that, Gu Jinglan turned away.

Outside, wind and rain lashed the darkness—lightning flashed, the waning moon watched petals fall, and occasionally, a lone crow streaked across the sky.

Each autumn rain brought deeper chill. “All life is but a dream; how many autumns bring such cold?”

Just passing through, nothing more. Later, Gu Jinglan received a sudden message about last-minute changes to the competition’s experimental protocol, requiring two computers to operate simultaneously.

Huang Shaoze and Qi Yuanhan had taken their laptops to the library. Gu Jinglan thought of calling Qi Yanyu to borrow the laptop in his dorm room.

He called, but the phone was still off, so he sent Qi Yanyu a message instead.

Gu Jinglan didn’t touch anything else—he wasn’t the type to snoop.

After sending the message, he opened Qi Yanyu’s laptop, which wasn’t password-protected. He pulled up the browser and saw Qi Yanyu had left it running—a paused cartoon about a dog was still up.

Maybe he hadn’t finished it; the progress bar was only a third of the way through.

He checked the webpage title—this movie was called *Doug’s Special Mission*.

"Seriously? Cartoons?"

He pulled up a new tab and typed in the URL for the medical school’s competition experimental platform. Once logged in, he located the ongoing experiment, followed the revised procedure to resubmit it, then logged out and shut the platform.

He left the movie tab open and went to close the laptop when his cursor accidentally hit the paused screen, causing the film to resume playing.

·

Back at the manor, the patient had already been moved from the hospital’s intensive care unit back home.

But he was still in the same state—lying just as he had in the hospital.

He was still hooked up to an ECG monitor, EEG monitor, and other equipment. A backup fiber-optic bronchoscope was also kept in the room.

Qi Muyao’s usual energy was gone, leaving just exhaustion, numbness, and a hollow daze.

Standing by that person’s bedside, he grabbed the dark, lifeless phone.

He unlocked it like a snoop.

He went through everything.

And pored over every little thing.

This included: credit card transactions, shopping platforms, social chats, ride-hailing apps, call logs, text messages, photo albums, contacts, mobile games, student platform apps, medical exam question banks, and more—nothing was overlooked.

Without exception, the records were either spotless or sparse as scattered stars.

His credit card and payment apps had nothing but everyday buys—cafeteria meals, water, cigarettes, and other daily necessities.

The only big spend was a barbecue trip the week before.

Even the shopping platforms had almost no purchases.

No jewelry, no clothes, no romantic stuff—nothing.

But one thing in Qi Yanyu’s shopping history made Qi Muyao freeze.

A glaring order stood out—a burial plot.

When he opened the chat with the cemetery’s rep, Qi Muyao discovered that Qi Yanyu had been going back and forth with the manager for months about what kind of plot to choose.

When the manager asked who it was for and made suggestions, Qi Yanyu said it was for his dog.

The manager replied that they had a pet cemetery and suggested choosing a dedicated one so the beloved pet could have companions.

Qi Yanyu's response, however, was incoherent and illogical: "No, my dog is like me, and I am like my dog. He can't stay in a pet cemetery—he must be buried in an adult's grave." On the surface, his words made no sense.

Thinking the owner was just grieving hard, the manager said it was no problem and asked Qi Yanyu when he would visit the cemetery.

Qi Yanyu replied that he would go on August 6th.

But when August 6th arrived, the manager repeatedly asked, "Mr. Qi, have you come to see the cemetery yet? Need me to show you around? Are you still there?"

He was a no-show. What happened?

It finally clicked—August 5th was Qi Shaoli's birthday, and on August 6th, Qi Yanyu fell ill, which was why he couldn’t make it to the cemetery.

Later, the manager rescheduled with Qi Yanyu.

This time, they agreed on August 27th, but again, he didn’t show up.

Qi Muyao thought for a long while before remembering—that day, he had tricked Qi Yanyu into going for a medical checkup. Later, Qi Yanyu blew up at him and then had an asthma attack.

Qi Muyao skimmed the purchase history on the shopping platform. Qi Yanyu had bought a few books—other than work stuff, there was one titled *A Dog of Flanders*.

What even was this book?

Why was everything related to dogs?

Did Qi Yanyu even have a dog? Did he like dogs?

Finally, he opened the photo album—there wasn’t a single picture inside. No selfies, no snapshots. Nothing. It was blank as snow, even the trash had not a single file.

A sharp pang stabbed through Qi Muyao’s chest—like a needle jabbing into his heart, or perhaps the ache of regret.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

Like a fist clenching around his heart, even with his chest tight as a drum, he kept scrolling through every app on the phone.

When he tapped into the social media app, what popped up was a locked post from long ago.

Most posts were probably deleted over time.

Only stuff from six months back was left.

130+ locked posts, all set to private.

But they read more like logs of the movies he had been watching—

January 13th: *All Dogs Go to Heaven, All Dogs Go to Heaven 2, Lady and the Tramp, Lady and the Tramp 2.*

January 14th: *Super Buddies.*

January 15th: *My Dog Skip, The Cat in the Hat.*

January 17th: *Balto, Puss in Boots, A Bug’s Life, The Tale of Despereaux, Shark Tale, Isle of Dogs.*

January 18th: *The Jungle Book, Rock Dog 2, Turbo.*

January 27th: *Rudolf the Black Cat & Friends.*

January 28: "Woody Woodpecker (2017)."

January 30: "The Secret Life of Pets."

January 31: "Two Goofy Dogs, Cool Dog Goes to School."

February 1: "Khumba, Alpha and Omega."

February 6: "Open Season."

February 7: "Richard the Stork."

February 8: "Bolt."

February 9: "Pororo: The Snow Racing Adventure."

February 13: "All Dogs Go to Heaven."

February 14: "Charlotte's Web."

……

……

Each time he finished a movie, he would post a text record of the title, as if whiling away the days to numb his feelings.

On heavy days, he could watch up to six movies in a single day.

Almost every day, or every few days, he watched one.

The period recorded on the social platform was after Qi Yanyu had severed ties and kicked him out, spending his days in a hotel wheelchair or by the bed, killing time with movies.

Qi Muyao felt as if speared through the chest. For a moment, he couldn’t tell whether it was his gut or his heart aching.

He nearly fell from his chair.

Gasping for breath, his lungs burned like a broken bellows, his frantic gasps refusing to calm.

A visceral agony wrenched his chest and gut—whether affliction or retribution, he couldn’t tell.

He didn’t know how long it took for his ragged breathing to steady.

His vision blurred, then cleared.

He read and reread every private post on Qi Yanyu’s social media.

He clicked the default avatar over and over, then checked every detail, every clickable link. He wanted to see more of Qi Yanyu’s words.

Later, he opened Qi Yanyu’s following list and the handful of followers. Most were bot accounts, but one might have been Qi Yanyu’s new college roommate.

The roommate had posted lab class photos—students in white coats, one of them standing with hands behind his back, eyes fixed on the workstation, clutching a live bullfrog so tightly its pale belly bulged.

That person was Qi Yanyu. Next to him were others from their dorm, Room 413.

The photo captured most of Qi Yanyu’s back and a sliver of his profile, the bullfrog in his hand disturbingly clear.

There were also nighttime photos taken on the sports field, students doing drills by the soccer pitch. The lighting was dim, the image out of focus.

But faintly, he could see his Qi Yanyu—his Xiao Yu—out of step with the others, expression focused, gaze locked onto the instructor.

The person next to Qi Yanyu was strikingly handsome.

Qi Muyao let out a scoff—wasn’t this the very person who had brought Qi Yanyu home?

Qi Muyao scrolled further through this roommate’s social media, finding the latest posts featuring prime cuts of wagyu and sizzling barbecue spreads from various angles.

In one food photo, Qi Yanyu’s face was half-caught in the shot.

He seemed bent over his food, his skin unnaturally pale.

Qi Yanyu looked obedient in all the photos.

Black hair, fair skin, yet bold enough to grab a toad with his bare hands, clutching it behind his back while observing the teacher’s experiment.

He even took the exercises seriously, though the roommate had jokingly captioned it “And... action!”

—“Let me borrow your notebook to access the lab platform.”

Unexpectedly, at that moment, Qi Muyao’s phone buzzed with a new message.

Qi Muyao stared at the sender’s name—Gu Jinglan.

He pondered.

His chest tightened with resentment.

Years of bitterness made him want to make him suffer too.

So, imitating Qi Yanyu’s tone, he sent a message:

In the dorm room.

Gu Jinglan received the text and saw it was from Qi Yanyu.

—“I don’t feel well.”

A few minutes later, Qi Muyao received a reply:

“What happened? Are you seeing a doctor? Rest well.”

Qi Muyao scoffed. He had expected this person to show concern, to call immediately, to press for details about Qi Yanyu’s illness.

But this person was cold, detached, indifferent.

What did Qi Yanyu see in someone like this?

Just like how he himself had once fallen for someone like Zhou Yuan.

Would Qi Yanyu really like this kind of person?

Qi Muyao had started typing the diagnosis the doctor had given him about Qi Yanyu’s condition: “Aortic valve stenosis. Ever heard of it?” But as he hesitated, finger frozen mid-air, he paused.

Four days earlier, he had spoken to the exhausted doctor who had just emerged from six hours of life-saving efforts:

“He made it, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Having finally composed himself, he continued to ask, "What is his illness?"

"The patient likely experienced frequent heart discomfort and had been taking aspirin for a long time, severely damaging his stomach lining—hence the bloody vomit."

"What do you mean, aortic valve stenosis?" He couldn't help but repeat the doctor's term.

"Between the left ventricle and the aorta is the aortic valve, which acts as a gate between them. If the aortic valve is stenotic, it means the valve between the aorta and ventricle can't open properly. It fails to open when it should and can't close when it should. This leads to symptoms like shortness of breath, chest pain, and fainting."

"What I'm asking is, is this a heart disease?"

"Yes, it's a type of heart disease."

"He never had heart disease, nor was it hereditary—no one in his family has ever had this illness!"

"Aortic valve stenosis isn't always congenital; it can develop later in life. The patient might have had infective endocarditis or possibly suffered lung trauma leading to valve damage..."

"...How is he now?"

"His heart stopped for too long, causing brain ischemia, which may result in irreversible brain damage." The doctor phrased it carefully.

"What does that mean?"

"He might be in a coma for some time." The doctor was being too gentle, perhaps afraid of the family's reaction, and didn't dare to say 'vegetative' outright.

In the villa within the estate.

Inside the bedroom, Qi Muyao turned to look at Qi Yanyu lying on the bed—his face pale, his hair splayed limply across the soft pillow.

Most of his face was obscured by the breathing mask. The hospital gown now hung loose on him.

Qi Muyao brushed his fingers along the sleeping man's hollow cheek, exposed outside the mask, like he used to poke the chubby cheeks of Qi Yanyu when he was just one or two years old.

But pent-up emotions could be ignited by the smallest thing, boiling inside Qi Muyao.

His resentment simmered, lingering unrelieved. He was furious that Qi Yanyu could like men, and even more resentful that the men he liked were distant, indifferent, and half-hearted toward him.

Meanwhile, in the dormitory, Gu Jinglan saw his roommate finally return. Qi Yuanhan, noticing he was about to leave, called after him, "Where are you going? Have some skewers first!"

But Gu Jinglan still left the dorm.

In the distant hallway, after all this time, he finally made the call.

Just as Qi Muyao was boiling inside, the phone rang loudly.

His gaze fixed on the caller ID displaying "Gu Jinglan."

Only after the phone rang for a full two minutes did Qi Muyao answer, but he remained silent.

The voice of the man Qi Yanyu liked came through the phone—calm and detached, just as he imagined, belied by the tone:

"What illness? Is it serious?"

Qi Muyao checked his anger a little more, still silent.

"Did you get examined? Are you in the hospital? Has your family come to see you?"

Qi Muyao's cold gaze returned to the peaceful face of the man sleeping beside the bed, and his expression softened slightly.

The silence on the other end made Gu Jinglan uneasy, yet he recalled Qi Yanyu's usual erratic temper.

Sick people are bound to be in a foul mood.

His eyes wandered to the shadowy lawn outside his dorm.

Their dormitory was west-facing, with an eastward layout, U-shaped, with buildings one and two on either side. The courtyard inside the U-shape was lined with low shrubs, with a lawn at the center. The night rain tapped against the leaves and grass, a lonely, hollow sound.

The autumn air had a sharp bite. The mood of someone who was ill must be just like this autumn scenery.

Gu Jinglan spoke slowly, "Will you be back after midterms? The class is planning to..." He trailed off before saying 'autumn outing.'

"Aren’t you coming to see him?"

Finally, the person on the phone spoke.

The voice was soft, edged with mockery, and slightly nasal.

It wasn’t Qi Yanyu’s voice—it sounded older than his.

A brief pause—had he heard this voice before?

Perhaps the last time he had answered Qi Yanyu’s phone, when that person had asked where Qi Yanyu was.

"Is he hospitalized?" Gu Jinglan asked.

Qi Muyao choked back regret and pain, forcing his voice steady: "He’s at home."

"When are you coming to see him?" Qi Muyao asked again.

The next morning, Gu Jinglan skipped class.

Following the address Qi Muyao had provided, he arrived at the high-end estate in downtown Kanbei.

Even though autumn had already set in for a month, the estate’s lawns looked greener under the endless rain. But not everything here thrived.

"Talk to him gently,"

Gu Jinglan finally saw the man from the phone call—a tall, strikingly handsome man in his thirties, radiating confidence.

But his eyes held exhaustion, resignation, and a scrutinizing gleam.

"Tell him what he wants to hear."

"If he doesn’t respond, keep it short."

Gu Jinglan’s gut twisted with unease.

Until he entered that room and saw the person lying on the bed.

His face was deathly pale, eyes shut.

An IV needle was taped to his still hand.

The only noise was the steady beep of monitors.

He went completely still. After a beat, his eyes darted to the ECG—the flickering line proved he was alive.

His gaze dropped to the hand barely visible under the sleeve—pale as porcelain, the skin around the IV bruised yellow.

Before coming, I had guessed he was ill and knew it might be a severe recurrence of heart disease, but perhaps I hadn’t expected to see such a scene before me.

Finally, I sat down on the chair by the bed.

I glanced at the breathing mask, then at his peaceful, closed eyelids.

"Is it heart discomfort?"

"Why did his heart stop? What caused it? Emotional agitation? Or were there no signs at all?"

"Your family said you have aortic valve stenosis—so you’ve had heart disease all along."

"This illness can be cured with surgery, don’t worry." Gu Jinglan knew that even though he was comatose, he could likely still perceive sounds and touch.

"Don’t sleep too long, or you could get blood clots in your legs."

He lay there without the slightest reaction, his hands and face so still, serene as a temple attendant’s statue.

"When will you return to school?"

The man didn’t answer.

Suddenly, Gu Jinglan stood up and turned away—perhaps because this scene felt too much like a moment from the past.

The person lying there looked too much like someone he had once known.

Ridiculous.

He spoke a few more words to him, mentioning how Qi Yuanhan often asked when he’d return, if he wanted takeout from late-night snacks, and conveying Huang Shaoze’s concern.

Then Qi Muyao entered, wearing a faint, suspicious smile—though perhaps it was just for courtesy’s sake.

"How is he?"

"Aortic valve stenosis can be medically treated with surgery," Gu Jinglan said.

Qi Muyao asked, "Hmm, are you an expert on this? Can you bring him out of this?"

"Heart disease can be cured, but right now, it’s likely that his heart stopped too long, causing permanent brain damage from blood loss." Gu Jinglan blinked. "In cases like this, if loved ones keep massaging and applying pain/tactile stimulation, he may wake up faster."

Instead of responding, Qi Muyao only said, "He invited your dormitory to dinner, yet you blew them off to meet up with some girl. Is that why he’s been left like this?"

Gu Jinglan froze, his face hardened. "You’re mistaken. Qi Yanyu and I aren’t in a relationship."

"Is his mind keeping him under?" Still, the remark reminded Gu Jinglan.

"Ah," Qi Muyao smiled faintly. "Aren’t you one of his mental blocks?"

As an adult, Gu Jinglan rarely engaged with people like this. He gave a light smile. "You should consult a doctor—an actual therapist."

Qi Muyao chuckled. "What next?"

Gu Jinglan: "Target the issue directly."

Qi Muyao: "Right. Then keep talking to him, massage his legs to avoid clots and muscle wasting."

Gu Jinglan found it almost laughable how the man seemed not grasping him. "Who exactly are you to him?" Does he actually think Qi Yanyu and I are dating?

"Big brother, I raised him myself." Qi Muyao spoke calmly with a faint smile. "Since you're here, you might as well stay. You can leave whenever he wakes up."

Gu Jinglan wanted to scoff but held back—out of sympathy and respect for a patient's family member, though he was utterly baffled about what kind of family member this was.

"Your brother was never in a relationship with me," Gu Jinglan stated the fact, though he phrased it more tactfully. "I don’t believe I’m the one haunting him. You’ve got the wrong guy."

"He’s not dead—he can still hear," Qi Muyao said.

"..." Gu Jinglan paused briefly, then apologized. "I can make time to visit him with classmates."

"I’ve already told you—you’re to be responsible for him until he wakes up."

Finally, a hint of sarcasm surfaced in Gu Jinglan’s tone. "Can we speak privately?"

"What can’t you say in front of Qi Yanyu?" Qi Muyao kept pushing relentlessly.

"You... do you usually pressure him like this?" Gu Jinglan asked, his voice laced with barely concealed scorn.

"If not for you, would he be like this?" Qi Muyao sneered, finally revealing his real face. "Why butt in for him? Aren’t you straight? Why help him at all? And pretending to be his boyfriend? Did his family refuse to help him? What kind of person is he that you had to 'rescue' him?"

He had people keeping tabs on Qi Yanyu at school—every asthma attack, every skipped class, every time he left the classroom to smoke. He knew everything.

"Did you put effort into toying with him? Did you think the best way to deal with an arrogant, rude gay guy was to make him fall for someone who didn’t care about him? To crush his pride?"

Gu Jinglan knew he was gay—that had been confirmed the day they sparred on the field. But this family member in front of him was completely deranged.

"You know so much—you know he’s gay. How could you arrange for him to live in Room 413? Didn’t you do any vetting? What were you even thinking?" he shot back sarcastically.

"Are you straight or gay? Straight guys don’t have thoughts about gay men, do they? No. So was my arrangement wrong?" Qi Muyao had never backed down in arguments. "If you knew he was gay, you shouldn’t have helped him!"

"The one who needs their head checked isn’t just Qi Yanyu—it’s you too." Gu Jinglan dropped all formalities, letting out a frustrated laugh. "What’s wrong with helping him?"

Qi Muyao smirked. "Can you honestly say there wasn’t some wager going on—whether this gay guy would develop feelings for you?"

"Any normal person would’ve helped him."

"No. It’s hard not to suspect that, knowing he was gay, your 'help' wasn’t just to mess with him or for some ulterior motive."

Gu Jinglan barked a laugh. "Fine. So what if I helped him? If I hadn’t, who would’ve stepped in? Who would’ve told him the photos were fake? Who would’ve turned down drinks on his behalf? Tell me—was it you? Or anyone else? Was there a single person around him at that moment who could’ve spoken up for him?"

"Of course I would’ve arranged for someone to help him! Did you think I’d just let him do whatever he wanted at school? Everything was under my control! But you—you had to throw everything off! You’re not even gay—why did you interfere?" Qi Muyao hissed through clenched teeth. "Wasn’t it just to make him like you? To fall for you?"

"I suggest you get your head checked. It wouldn’t do you any harm."

Qi Muyao scoffed. Over the years, he had spun an invisible web—one where the bird he raised could fly freely yet remain safely within his grasp.

He wouldn’t allow anyone to let his bird escape.

Finally, Gu Jinglan realized it was futile to argue with someone so unreasonable. He understood now what kind of person stood before him—one who controlled Qi Yanyu to the extreme, demanding absolute obedience.

Calmly, as if all options were exhausted, he said, "Even without me, he would’ve fallen for someone else. Can you control that? No, you can’t."

"You’re a medical student. Taking care of a patient shouldn’t be difficult for you, right?" Qi Muyao said casually.

"You’re insane," Gu Jinglan said, echoing Qi Yanyu’s exact words. "Is this why Qi Yanyu turned out like this?"

"No matter how Qi Yanyu turns out, it’s within my tolerance. I gave him his life—I have every right to decide how he lives it."

Mockingly, Gu Jinglan replied, "In that case, his current barely-alive condition must also be within your expectations."

Furious, Qi Muyao raised his voice. "You’re a wild card—you weren’t part of my plans! If you’d just followed the life you were supposed to lead, you wouldn’t have thrown everything off! Qi Yanyu wouldn’t be like this!"