Chapter 42

Chapter 42

Gu Jingchi withdrew his hand, his fingers still glistening with moisture—Song Yuan’s.

Song Yuan let out a strained gasp, a sound that hinted at waking, yet he remained asleep. He merely turned over, sinking back into deep slumber.

Gu Jingchi’s first instinct wasn’t to wipe his hand. He lowered his gaze, watching the sleeping Song Yuan.

Song Yuan’s lips were exquisitely shaped, soft, and the warmth within his mouth was perfectly inviting, making one reluctant to pull away.

His appearance brought to Gu Jingchi’s mind the sculpted angels in Nordic church paintings—pure and romantic, just like Song Yuan. Art textbooks stated that such innocent imagery could easily stir desire. Gu Jingchi had never quite grasped this artistic concept before, but now, he found himself in agreement.

No one could remain untouched.

Afraid of waking Song Yuan, Gu Jingchi intended only a light touch—a kiss on his tear-drop mole.

Illness was a wretched thing, and Song Yuan’s sleep was anything but peaceful.

His mind was a jumble. Even with his eyes closed, images flickered like a rapid slideshow.

The slides accelerated, their content growing increasingly complex—from childhood, through his school days, and into adulthood.

Then, he saw himself at six years old, the moment he was adopted.

The orphanage he’d grown up in housed three hundred children, most far more outgoing than Song Yuan.

Introversion was an unkind trait for a child; it seemed inherently linked to words like "tragic," "gloomy," and "unlikable."

Like Black Sa, for a considerable time, no one wished to adopt Song Yuan.

This continued until he began elementary school.

That day, a pair of research academics visited the orphanage. Prolonged exposure to high-pressure environments had made conception difficult for them, but they yearned for a child. So, the young couple sought mystical guidance.

A Taoist priest informed them they were fated to be childless. To alter their destiny, they needed to adopt a child from an orphanage—one whose fate included siblings.

As luck would have it, Song Yuan was the only one who met the criteria.

So, they brought him home and cared for him meticulously. Then, in the first winter, they successfully welcomed their own child.

Despite having their biological child, they didn’t send Song Yuan away. By the third summer, Song Yuan had a little sister.

His adoptive parents treated him well, and Song Yuan was deeply grateful for their upbringing. As an adult, he divided his earnings from commissions into ten parts—seven for his adoptive parents, one for each of his younger siblings, and one for himself.

He had a clear understanding of his place. Even though his adoptive parents hadn’t adopted him out of "love," Song Yuan allowed himself only a brief moment of sadness before collecting himself and moving on with his life.

Perhaps due to similar past experiences, he held no great expectations for this contract engagement.

He just wondered if, when the contract expired in a year, he and Gu Jingchi could still remain good friends.

That night, Song Yuan had many dreams, most of them involving Gu Jingchi—his chest, his abs, and the V-line he hadn’t quite managed to fully glimpse.

Days spent with Gu Jingchi were always joyful. In Song Yuan’s short twenty years of life, this was the most beautiful friendship he had ever known.

At this thought, Song Yuan’s mood lightened. It was as if something had gently stroked his cerebral cortex, easing the tension in his nerves.

He thought that with these memories, he could sleep peacefully—perhaps even spend the rest of his life contentedly.

The doctor performed a basic examination. "39.5 degrees Celsius—that’s quite serious. We need to bring his fever down, preferably naturally. Medication can be harsh on the body."

Gu Jingchi counted the pills—six large, seven small. A bit too many.

Without a second thought, he wrapped them in wax paper and tucked them back into the medicine cabinet’s hidden compartment.

His voice was cold. "I’ll watch over him for the rest of the night."

The doctor nodded. "Mr. Gu, you should also get some rest. Be careful these next few days of the ‘reverse spring cold.’ A patient’s condition is most prone to relapse when temperatures drop."

After packing up, the doctor added, "The temperature will drop later tonight, and his headache might return. If the pain keeps him awake, you can consider giving him a small dose of painkillers."

Gu Jingchi nodded. "Understood. Thank you for your trouble. I’ll see you out."

The door closed softly.

In the room, only Song Yuan’s breathing remained.

His breaths were sometimes rapid, sometimes long and drawn out. Song Yuan wasn’t sleeping soundly, waking several times from his own coughing.

When Gu Jingchi left, the Gu Jingchi in Song Yuan’s dream also turned and departed. At that moment, Song Yuan couldn’t distinguish if he was awake or asleep; it all felt terrifyingly real.

The longer he slept, the worse his headache grew.

Song Yuan couldn’t tell if he was reminiscing or dreaming. All he knew was that his entire body felt like it was steaming, growing hotter and hotter.

The third time he opened his eyes, a hint of confusion clouded them.

It hurt so much.

What was wrong with his lower back?

Song Yuan struggled to sit up, intending to get out of bed.

The moment his feet touched the floor, his tailbone gave way. The next second, he collapsed onto the carpet, utterly drained, nearly hitting the ground with a thud like an overheated piece of taffy.

"Ah—"

Just as Gu Jingchi reached the door, he suddenly heard a thud from inside the room.

He hurried in to find Song Yuan kneeling on the carpet, fumbling around, seemingly searching for something.

Gu Jingchi’s pupils constricted, his heart clenching as if gripped by something. "What’s wrong?"

"N-nothing." Song Yuan tried to stand again, but his core muscles offered no support. His legs trembled uncontrollably, as if he’d stepped on a live wire.

"I—I think I need a moment. My feet are a bit numb."

Gu Jingchi reached out, placing his palm beneath Song Yuan’s knee to support him. "It’s fine. Take your time. You have a fever; your muscles need time to recover."

Song Yuan was flustered by Gu Jingchi’s unexpected gesture. He quickly pulled his hand away.

"No, no, you don’t have to do this."

But Gu Jingchi’s attitude was firm, leaving no room for argument. He insisted Song Yuan step on him.

Having no choice, Song Yuan rested his knee on Gu Jingchi’s hand.

Because the point of leverage had shifted to the back of Gu Jingchi’s hand, Song Yuan was forced to maintain an uncomfortably close proximity to him.

Gu Jingchi’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his breathing growing heavier.

After a moment’s thought, he simply sat down in the chair, then wrapped his arm around Song Yuan’s waist, guiding him to slide down and passively sit on his lap.

"!"

Song Yuan was startled. He had been worried that kneeling might hurt Gu Jingchi, but now that concern was unnecessary—because his weight had shifted to a much more sensitive area!

Even through two layers of fabric, Song Yuan could feel the heat radiating from Gu Jingchi’s body—intense, with a penetrating power that made him squirm uncomfortably.

His face burned as he stammered, "Y-You should put me down… just put me on the carpet…"

"The carpet’s too thin. It’s cold," Gu Jingchi murmured, leaning close to his ear. The words made Song Yuan’s ear tingle, and he instinctively drew his neck back.

"You’d be better off somewhere warmer."

Song Yuan: "..."

—Why did that sound so strange?

He lifted his face, staring blankly at Gu Jingchi.

In his line of sight, Gu Jingchi’s expression remained composed, almost stern, like he was delivering a summary in a lecture hall—making it impossible to suspect he was joking.

Gu Jingchi asked, "What’s wrong?"

"N-Nothing." Song Yuan’s ears burned red, as if about to bleed.

—Was he overthinking it?

This stupid illness must be messing with his head.

Wrapped in Gu Jingchi’s scent, Song Yuan felt every inch of his skin burning, his breath hot, like a steaming little train.

Though he tried to act casual, playing it cool like a friend sitting harmlessly on Gu Jingchi’s lap until his muscles recovered, he failed miserably. The entire time, his back was rigid, his body tense.

"You can’t even take care of yourself. What will you do in the future?" Gu Jingchi asked him.

He thought to himself, *I can’t always be here, and I can’t trust others to look after you.*

But Song Yuan, oblivious to Gu Jingchi’s thoughts, assumed the question was about life after their agreement ended.

What was the big deal? He’d gotten by alone this long, hadn’t he?

He lifted his eyes to Gu Jingchi, his mood suddenly shifting, his thoughts wandering. "I might move to a new city, start fresh. Maybe I’ll consider grad school. Gu Jingchi, do you think I should go for a Ph.D.? I heard T University has a combined master’s and doctoral program in fashion design. Should I check it out...?"

When Song Yuan turned to Gu Jingchi, he found him staring intently.

His expression wasn’t exactly calm—his gaze burned, so palpable, pinning Song Yuan in place and sending a chill down his spine.

"Yuan Yuan, what did you just say?" Gu Jingchi’s voice was icy.

Song Yuan felt as if Gu Jingchi had transformed in an instant. The man who was always so controlled now seemed to have an unusually strong reaction.

He retraced his words, wondering if Gu Jingchi had misunderstood—thinking he planned to run off before their agreement ended.

*Classic contract-minded Gu Jingchi, even his fears are so peculiar.*

He quickly laughed it off. "I didn’t say anything serious! I was just talking hypothetically. Where could I even go right now?"

Gu Jingchi’s expression didn’t change, his eyes still locked on him, though his demeanor softened slightly.

Maybe it was Song Yuan’s imagination, but the arm supporting him seemed to stiffen, tightening as if to trap him in place.

He flinched uneasily, and the breathing behind him abruptly grew heavier.

In that moment of movement, Gu Jingchi jerked back to reality.

Just then, ugly scenarios had flashed through his mind—Song Yuan leaving him, moving to another city, no longer by his side...

Fueled by these thoughts, a possessive urge clawed at him.

He ached to trap Song Yuan, make it impossible for him to leave.

Though Song Yuan had dismissed his words as nonsense, Gu Jingchi’s hidden sense of crisis didn’t fade—it only grew stronger.

Lowering his eyes, he looked at Song Yuan, his voice low. "Be good."

Clueless what he’d messed up, Song Yuan blinked in confusion.

But Gu Jingchi’s voice was so deep it electrified his skin, like an electric current.

"Gu Jingchi, thank you." Song Yuan’s face flushed as he decided to stand.

He swayed upright and repeated his words, but before he could finish, he hissed in pain, his face scrunching up.

Gu Jingchi’s calm shattered. "What’s wrong?"

"...It hurts."

Frowning, Song Yuan touched his right cheek. His eyes were rimmed red, tears clinging to his lashes.

Gu Jingchi studied his face.

His skin was unmarked—no bruise or wound.

—*Then it’s inside.*

"Open your mouth." Gu Jingchi turned on his phone’s flashlight.

Song Yuan’s damp eyelashes fluttered heavily. "Do I really need to?"

Gu Jingchi’s demand made him feel like a child, making his cheeks heat.

Gu Jingchi asked, "What’s the matter?"

"...It’s nothing serious, just a sore spot. No need to check." Song Yuan avoided his gaze.

But Gu Jingchi didn’t respond. Instead, he closed the distance.

As the distance between them shrank, Song Yuan caught the crisp scent of Gu Jingchi’s aftershave—sharp and clean, like winter mornings, chilly but gentle.

But the man himself was stern, deadly serious.

"Open your mouth."

The low voice reached Song Yuan’s ears, like being pricked by thousands of fine silver needles.

His face flushed hot, and he said somewhat petulantly, "I don’t want to open my mouth. It hurts."

"Behave," Gu Jingchi coaxed him.

"But I don’t want to behave."

"Yuan Yuan," Gu Jingchi lowered his head, speaking persuasively.

Song Yuan was helpless. He felt his resistance crumbling, and he reluctantly opened his mouth.

The next moment, he felt something enter his mouth—Gu Jingchi’s finger.

His eyes widened slightly, assuming Gu Jingchi would only look, but he hadn’t expected him to actually reach inside.

Song Yuan’s throat was shallow. Half of Gu Jingchi’s finger was still outside, yet it had already touched the swelling at the back.

It was his wisdom tooth.

Gu Jingchi pressed lightly against it with his fingertip, and Song Yuan’s breathing instantly changed. He retreated slightly but didn’t pull away completely.

Gu Jingchi’s gaze softened, moved.

So docile.

Even in so much pain, he didn’t flinch.

Song Yuan’s compliance affected Gu Jingchi most.

He almost lost restraint, wanting to grip the back of Song Yuan’s neck as he retreated, press against Song Yuan’s tongue—or simply replace it with a kiss.

Once the thought took root, it spiraled out of control. He wanted to hold Song Yuan just like before, press him into his arms and kiss him, and ask what he meant by "moving to another city alone."

But he kept it to himself. Gu Jingchi would never be so rough with Song Yuan.

Especially not when Song Yuan was still sick.

"Your wisdom tooth is inflamed."

Song Yuan blinked, dazed.

"It might be because of the fever," Gu Jingchi withdrew his finger, and Song Yuan clearly saw a slick wetness on Gu Jingchi’s hand—his fingertips, nails, even his knuckles were coated with it, impossible to miss.

Embarrassed, Song Yuan averted his gaze and blinked twice. "I’ll take some anti-inflammatories then."

After taking the medicine, following the doctor’s advice, Gu Jingchi checked Song Yuan’s temperature again—it was much lower now.

"Tell me if you get a headache," Gu Jingchi said, stroking his hair as he tucked him in.

Song Yuan nodded, then suddenly remembered something. "I haven’t gotten my documents yet. Can I go back tomorrow?"

"Not until you’re better," Gu Jingchi replied succinctly.

Song Yuan fell silent.

Gu Jingchi sighed helplessly and lowered his eyes. "I’ll get them for you."

Song Yuan perked up instantly. "Thank you! You’re amazing!"

"Get some rest now," he said, then recalled his earlier promise to Gu Jingchi—to sleep together every night.

But tonight, he couldn’t share a bed with Gu Jingchi, not wanting to get him sick.

Not wanting to make it too obvious, he pulled the blanket up, covering the lower half of his face, leaving only his eyes curved like crescents visible. "Gu Jingchi, I’ll sleep by myself tonight."

Gu Jingchi shook his head. "The doctor said you need to be watched through the night. I’ll be your guardian."

Song Yuan flushed slightly—he wasn’t a child anymore, why would he need that?

"No, not tonight."

"Why not?"

Song Yuan glanced away before he mumbled sheepishly, "Because I’m still sick. I might get you sick. If we must, I’ll have to sleep turned away."

Gu Jingchi wasn’t bothered. "Is that a problem?"

Song Yuan didn’t expect the persistence. "...O-of course it is."

His voice grew quieter. "Because I might hug you in my sleep."

Gu Jingchi thought to himself that it wouldn’t be a big deal.

He had a strong immune system—he rarely got sick.

But Song Yuan added, "If you got sick because of me, I’d never forgive myself."

Unable to refuse Song Yuan’s request, Gu Jingchi decided he wouldn’t sleep tonight.

He planned to work in the study next door, checking on Song Yuan every hour.

*

During his recovery at Gu Jingchi’s home, Song Yuan slept much more than usual. He wasn’t normally a heavy sleeper, but he’d grown accustomed to lounging in bed.

For the first few days, Gu Jingchi didn’t retrieve the documents.

He knew Song Yuan too well—if he got them too soon, he wouldn’t focus on resting.

Finally, on the fifth day, once Gu Jingchi was sure Song Yuan had mostly recovered, he agreed to go to Song Yuan’s place to get his things.

After seeing Gu Jingchi off, Song Yuan took his medicine as the butler watched and prepared for a nap.

Jiangcheng had been rainy for five days straight, but today, the skies finally cleared. Sunshine always improved his mood.

Lying in bed, Song Yuan settled in to sleep.

He decided to take a nap—when he woke up, his documents would be there.

Gu Jingchi was almost too good to him, even going out of his way like this. No one else could ever measure up.

As he drifted off, Song Yuan thought to himself—

*I hope my place isn’t a mess. I always clean before leaving home.*

And there’s nothing to hide—he considers his lifestyle quite normal. Though his room is small, he’s made it cozy and stylish.

Yeah, nothing to hide.

Wait—

Song Yuan’s eyes snapped open.

Shirtless male models!