Chapter 58

Chapter 58

Bao Tingyuan was about to take a shower when his phone vibrated on the table.

It was Dr. Xu.

Bao Tingyuan quickly glanced at the screen, picked up the phone, and walked toward the study, tilting his head back to undo his shirt buttons as he asked in English, “Dr. Xu? What is it?”

He closed the study door behind him and sank into the armchair.

Dr. Xu’s tone was gentle: “Mr. Bo, I’m calling about your medication. Also, I feel it necessary to remind you again—given your current dosage, your body will inevitably develop higher tolerance.”

Bao Tingyuan raised his thick eyebrows, removed his frameless glasses, and placed them on the coffee table, rubbing his temples. His voice was as flat as ever. “Mm.”

Such a bland response made Dr. Xu’s tone shift abruptly; her voice turned urgent. “Have you increased the dosage on your own again? Mr. Bo?”

Bao Tingyuan’s fingers twitched slightly on the armrest. “Dr. Xu, are there other medications I could try?”

Over the phone, Dr. Xu drew a sharp breath.

Forgetting the patient’s special status, she lowered her voice and scolded directly, “Increasing the dosage or switching medications further could lead to permanent damage. I’ve told you this before—this kind of damage can’t be undone!”

The study was too quiet, making Dr. Xu’s voice, even through the phone, carry remarkable force.

A few seconds later, Bao Tingyuan replied slowly, “I’ll take your advice under consideration.”

After a pause, he added, “I’ll come by the hospital soon.”

Dr. Xu steadied her breathing. “Yes, you must come. For now, get some rest early. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Bao Tingyuan hung up politely, his emerald eyes staring ahead—into complete darkness.

When he had entered earlier, he had relied entirely on a decade of habit and instinct, never bothering to turn on the light.

As his phone screen dimmed, Bao Tingyuan remained seated, swallowed by the darkness.

-

---

Bathroom.

Warm water cascaded over Wen Cishu’s pale skin, yet a chill ran through him.

His mind kept replaying the scene from earlier—

The shadowy room, the way the light dramatically enlarged Bao Tingyuan’s silhouette as he took his medication, like a lonely, tormented soul wandering under the night sky, seeking momentary relief.

Then, he recalled the original novel’s description: *“Bao Tingyuan would eventually hold his own urn in the grave he dug himself, before ending his life with a gunshot.”*

The two scenes blended like a film dissolve, merging relentlessly in his thoughts.

Wen Cishu felt almost as though he had become the adult Bao Yiming rushing to the estate as in the story, witnessing Bao Tingyuan raise the gun toward himself.

“No…” he thought.

Wen Cishu murmured, slamming his hand against the shower switch so hard his knuckles whitened—as if he were gripping Bao Tingyuan’s hand to stop him from pulling the trigger.

He wiped the water from his face, pushed open the glass door, and grabbed a robe to throw over his shoulders. Whatever it took, he needed to have a serious talk with Bao Tingyuan about this.

He stepped out of the bathroom and saw from a distance that the screen was left ajar—probably opened intentionally by Bao Tingyuan earlier.

The room was brightly lit, warm and welcoming.

Wen Cishu walked further in, uneasy, his fists clenched tight in his robe pockets.

He was worried Bao Tingyuan might still refuse to open up, just like last time.

However, Bao Tingyuan wasn’t in the bedroom.

There was a faint rustling from the bathroom.

Wen Cishu slowly sat on the edge of the bed to wait, but his eyes kept straying to the desk across the room.

—Was the medication in that drawer?

His eyes flickered briefly toward the bathroom door, a quick thought flashing through his mind.

Yet, Wen Cishu held back his burning curiosity and sat stiffly.

Until he received an explanation from Bao Tingyuan, he tried his best not to let his thoughts spiral.

When the bathroom door made a sound, Wen Cishu, tense, snapped his head up.

With the movement, the loosely tied bun at the back of his head came undone, his long hair spilling loose like petals unfurling.

Bao Tingyuan, wearing a black robe, stepped out. His expression softened, calm and composed as he met Wen Cishu’s eyes, his voice light and relaxed:

"What did you buy during the day? Anything for me?" Wen Cishu had almost forgotten. It took Bao Tingyuan’s question to jog his memory.

But why does Bao Tingyuan seem so happy right now?

How should he bring it up?

Wen Cishu's anxiety was plain on his face. It wasn't until the approaching man lifted his chin with a finger that he vaguely realized how close they had already become—and Bao Tingyuan wasn't wearing his glasses.

Gazing into those strikingly deep green eyes, he murmured softly, "...Yes, I bought you two—no, one shirt."

Bao Tingyuan's thumb rested against the side of his face, slowly stroking: "One or two?"

His fingertips meticulously traced the softness and smoothness of the skin, applying just enough pressure to sink into like cream.

With Bao Tingyuan's other hand sliding around his waist, Wen Cishu found himself stepping forward, one step at a time, into his embrace.

Perhaps it was because he had just showered, but the lingering cedarwood scent from the body wash carried an intense warmth, making Bao Tingyuan's chest feel like a winter fireplace.

Maybe it was because he had seen him take the medicine earlier that night, but Wen Cishu spoke his mind: "When I saw that shirt in the store, I thought it would suit you. But it was white. Since you always wear black shirts, I bought two—one black and one white. The black one is for you."

Bao Tingyuan lowered his gaze, taking in Wen Cishu's gentle expression and soft words. His arms tightened around the slender waist, pulling him closer as he whispered by his ear, "What about the white one?"

Resting his chin on Bao Tingyuan's shoulder, Wen Cishu's thoughts were a little scattered. He answered casually, "I'll wear it myself. What else would I do?"

"Where are the clothes? Let me see."

Bao Tingyuan swept up his legs and picked him up easily.

Wen Cishu wrapped his arms around his shoulders, noticing how genuinely pleased he seemed. Unwilling to ruin the moment, he decided to wait until bedtime to ask.

With that settled, he leaned in and planted a kiss on Bao Tingyuan's temple.

Bao Tingyuan paused mid-step, turning his head slightly to meet his eyes.

Wen Cishu couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze, just held on tighter, pressing his face into Bao Tingyuan’s shoulder.

He gave a little wiggle of his pale, slender legs. “The shirts are in the lounge.”

But Bao Tingyuan didn’t move forward. Instead, he freed one hand to cradle Wen Cishu’s face.

With his face lifted like this, Wen Cishu could only tilt his head slightly to look up at him. “Wh-what is it?”

Bao Tingyuan’s dark, jade-green eyes—deep as still water—fixed on his soft pink lips.

Wen Cishu saw the sudden surge of desire in his gaze so clearly—so sudden, so intense.

Even within that desire, there was a hint of controlled restraint.

Briefly, Wen Cishu felt confused. Why did Bao Tingyuan have such a conflicted look right now?

His lashes fluttered as he pressed his hips forward unconsciously, parting his lips. “Still… still looking at the shir—mmph—”

A searing kiss crashed down like a thunderclap. Wen Cishu wasn’t startled—his body buzzed with a strange, thrilling heat.

His arms clutched at Bao Tingyuan’s neck and shoulders desperately, clinging as if grasping the only piece of driftwood in treacherous waters.

By the time he was laid onto the bed, pinned beneath Bao Tingyuan’s unrestrained, scorching kisses, his head was spinning.

Amidst ragged breaths, their damp, slick lips parted with a quiet, slick pop.

Face burning, breath ragged, Wen Cishu didn’t notice when a hand had slipped beneath him, pressing against the mattress.

The heated, messy kisses gradually softened into tender pecks.

Bao Tingyuan kissed the curve of his lips again and again, his voice husky and deeply seductive.

“We’ll look at the clothes tomorrow.”

Still hazy, Wen Cishu remembered the medicine. His grip on Bao Tingyuan’s hip tightened suddenly, as if afraid he might leave. “I…”

He chewed his lip anxiously. “Bao Tingyuan.”

“Hmm.”

Bao Tingyuan brushed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Listening.”

Such a small gesture, yet Wen Cishu’s heart clenched painfully.

Cradling that sharp jawline, he pushed back slightly to speak seriously. “Earlier… were you taking medicine?”

Bao Tingyuan’s brow furrowed then smoothed in a blink—gone so fast it might have been imagined.

His tone remained casual as he continued to kiss Wen Cishu’s warm, soft lips, even nuzzling them lightly. “You saw?”

“Yeah.” Wen Cishu still wanted to look into his eyes, so he pushed his face up again. “Can you tell me what that medicine was for? What does it treat?”

His heartbeat suddenly raced, his chest tightening with suspense.

Bao Tingyuan, of course, could feel it.

His voice stayed completely even, like he was talking about the weather. “Medication to relieve mental stress.”

Wen Cishu, sensing from his tone that he wasn't deliberately hiding anything, pressed on, "What kind of mental stress? Is it about the family business? Or... me—mmpf."

Before he could finish speaking, his lips were silenced by a kiss.

Wen Cishu blinked and pushed him away forcefully. "You can't keep things from me."

Bao Tingyuan gazed into his starlit eyes and, unable to control himself, planted continuous kisses on the corners of his lips. "It's just mild separation anxiety. It's not serious—don’t worry."

Wen Cishu’s eyes widened—separation anxiety?

He remembered how during the first episode of the show, Bao Tingyuan had trouble sleeping at night.

So was this anxiety caused by being separated from him?

Wen Cishu pushed him away again. "Explain properly to me."

In a mix of frustration and anxiety, he pinched Bao Tingyuan’s face, as if he were pinching a little monkey.

"Bao Tingyuan, it's mild, right? You—you mustn’t lie. Say it in French."

Bao Tingyuan let out a low, suggestive chuckle, turned his head slightly, and kissed Wen Cishu’s fingertips. "Oui, c’est une légère anxiété de séparation."

This time, Wen Cishu finally felt reassured. He lifted his face and gently kissed the corner of Bao Tingyuan’s mouth.

He didn’t realize that each time he initiated a kiss, it set Bao Tingyuan’s nerves on fire, burning until they went numb.

Bao Tingyuan felt like a red-hot branding iron plunged into cold water, hissing violently. He couldn’t tell whether it was bliss or agony—but it was precisely this extreme emotional conflict that made him pathologically obsessed.

Wen Cishu blinked. "Then if we’re together every day, that won’t count as separation, right? You’ll get better, won’t you?"

Bao Tingyuan brushed the hair away from his cheek, his gaze tracing like water over Wen Cishu’s brows, nose, and lips. The sharp desire welling up inside him was instantly restrained by reason.

He struggled to meet Wen Cishu’s eyes with tenderness but could only answer untruthfully, "Yeah, it'll get better."