Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Xu Yan choked, coughing hard, his cheeks flushing even deeper.

Wen Sinian offered him a tissue, and he stammered nervously, "Th-thanks... *cough*... thank you..."

Once he'd composed himself, he said, "I don't think I know them."

He didn’t even know "year's" true identity himself, let alone anyone else.

After the meal, Wen Sinian and Lin Xingxian walked Xu Yan back to school.

Back in his dorm, Xu Yan saw a new message from "year."

"year": So cute, baby.

"year": Rest early tonight.

"year": Remember to pick up the package tomorrow.

Xu Yan coolly replied with an "Okay," then washed up and went to bed.

The next day, he retrieved the packages "year" had sent—another dozen or so sets of various little dresses and accessories. His wardrobe was practically bursting.

Worried about his roommates finding out, he checked the wardrobe multiple times a day to ensure it was locked, paranoid something would spill out.

Once, when Zhao Qingji was also in the dorm, the dresses in Xu Yan’s wardrobe suddenly toppled over. The crash was unmistakable, but Xu Yan remained rooted to his seat.

Zhao Qingji asked, puzzled, "What was that noise in your wardrobe? Did your clothes fall? Aren’t you going to tidy up?"

Xu Yan hid his face in his arms on the desk, eyes shifting nervously. "It’s fine, I’ll clean it up later."

Zhao Qingji didn’t press further and soon left for the library.

Once alone, Xu Yan opened the wardrobe to find the dresses and other clothes in total chaos, accessories scattered everywhere.

He crouched down and quietly started picking up, his legs going numb before long. Standing up to stretch, he kept at it until everything was finally back in place. Then, with aching legs, he hauled himself into bed and messaged the culprit.

"Yan Yan": Stop buying me dresses! [angry emoji]

"Yan Yan": My dorm closet's tiny, there’s no space left.

"Yan Yan": This is all your fault!

He didn’t realize his tone had shifted—this was the bratty attitude "year" had unknowingly nurtured in him. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed, but with "year," he’d slowly become comfortable enough to say anything, complain about anything.

After all, "year" never got angry with him. Any misfortune could be blamed on the other party.

Dresses toppling over? "year’s" fault. Wardrobe too small? "year’s" fault.

Didn’t understand the lecture? "year’s" fault. Nearly late waking up? "year’s" fault.

Tripped while walking? "year’s" fault. The egg pancake stall he loved at the school gate disappearing? Also "year’s" fault.

"year" would take it all in stride.

"year": My fault, baby.

"year": Come live with me instead.

"year": I’ll prepare a huge walk-in closet for you, okay?

"year": Enough space for all your dresses.

Xu Yan was still mad. "year" made it sound so easy, but he hadn’t even agreed to meet yet. What use was a walk-in closet?

"Yan Yan": Just now, all the clothes in my wardrobe fell over. I was stuck cleaning forever.

"Yan Yan": All dresses, most of them bought by you. I've got no room left for my own clothes anymore.

"Yan Yan": My legs fell asleep from crouching so long.

"year": No more cleaning for baby—I’ll do it.

"year": Let me massage your legs every day?

An image popped into Xu Yan’s mind: him sprawled on the sofa, lazily sticking out his legs, while a tall, muscular "servant" knelt before him.

Holding his legs as if they were treasures, giving them a thorough rubdown, attending to his every whim, he thought.

Not daring to disobey, kneeling without permission to rise.

It sounded like paradise—like being treated like an emperor.

"Yan Yan": My arms need massaging too.

"year": Okay.

"Yan Yan": And my shoulders.

"year": Anywhere you want.

"year" was such a pushover.

Just like that, Xu Yan's mood lifted.

When the weekend came, Xu Yan still went to his café gig. Though "year" didn’t want him working so hard, he was used to it and didn't see the problem.

But this weekend, the café was unusually busy, keeping Xu Yan running around all day.

It was drizzling when he left in the morning, and he’d forgotten to check the weather—without an umbrella. The recent chill made the rain feel even colder, and by the time he dashed into the café, he was pale from the cold.

After changing and drying his hair, though, he warmed up and brushed it off.

But by evening, nearing the end of his shift, he started feeling awful—dizzy and weak, with cold sweats and couldn't stop shivering.

Yang Yang saw how pale he was and got the manager’s permission to let him leave early.

Xu Yan dragged himself back to the dorm, where his other two roommates were out.

The dizziness worsened. He touched his forehead—burning up.

His phone buzzed with a message, but he ignored it at first. He stood blankly in front of the wardrobe for a few seconds, then it finally hit him he needed fever medicine, and he opened a drawer instead.

Skipping dinner, he took the medicine and collapsed into bed, only then checking his phone.

"year": Done with work, baby?

"year": They said it might rain—did you bring an umbrella?

"year": Take a taxi back to school later, don't catch a cold.

Xu Yan's breath was scorching hot as he tightly wrapped himself in the blanket, yet he still felt freezing.

The blanket was too thin—maybe it was time to switch to a thicker one.

Curling his fingers, he typed sluggishly.

"Yan Yan": I'm already back.

"year": Did you get wet?

"Yan Yan": No.

"year": Good, go take a hot shower first.

Xu Yan could barely keep his eyes open, typing words he wasn't even aware of.

"Yan Yan": No.

"Yan Yan": Don't wanna move.

"Yan Yan": I feel awful.

After sending the messages, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Soon after, the meds kicked in, and his phone slipped from his hand onto the bed unnoticed.

The message notifications kept popping up, but Xu Yan slept soundly, completely unaware.

About half an hour later, the tightly shut dorm door was pushed open from the outside.

The overhead light was off, with only a dim desk lamp casting light.

Wen Sinian closed the door behind him and stepped inside, only to notice the wardrobe door beside the lamp swung wide, like an open invitation.

Despite the dim lighting, the hidden collection of frilly dresses inside was unmistakable—countless pieces of varying lengths, like stepping into a riot of colors.

The wardrobe door was shut, but something suddenly slipped out from the gap below.

Upon seeing what it was under the light, the dark eyes in the shadows narrowed slightly.

A snow-white lace bow garter, its large bow appearing smaller when cupped in a palm, the silk ribbons sliding through his fingers.

Clearly used before, his slender fingers twirled it absently twice, as if still sensing its lingering body heat.

Xu Yan's fever continued to rise, the fever meds seemingly ineffective. Taken on an empty stomach, it also made his stomach ache faintly in his sleep.

He turned slightly under the blanket, letting out a tiny, barely audible whimper.

Suddenly, the bed curtain was pulled aside, revealing his flushed face to the outside.

Someone seemed to be calling him softly, the voice wavering between dream and wakefulness.

Xu Yan's eyelids weighed a ton. Struggling to open them, he saw someone standing by his bed.

Wen Sinian was looking at him, frowning slightly, lips moving—Xu Yan couldn't quite make out the words.

"Xu Yan?"

Wen Sinian called his name twice before he seemed to regain some clarity, blinking in confusion.

His pale face was now flushed with fever, eyes shut, lashes clumped with tears slowly drying from the heat inside. His usually moist, rosy lips were now chapped and pale.

Wen Sinian reached through the curtain and touched his forehead—burning hot.

Pushing aside the obstructive curtain, he saw the figure curled into a small, pitiful ball, like a shivering kitten.

Wen Sinian rested a gentle hand on his shoulder over the blanket. "You have a fever. Can you get out of bed by yourself?"

But Xu Yan was too dazed, lashes fluttering weakly as he mumbled something before closing his eyes again.

Giving up on waking him, Wen Sinian leaned over the railing and hauled him upright.

"Don't sleep yet. I'm taking you to the hospital."

Once seated, Xu Yan felt hands supporting his back before his body lifted—the world spun as he was scooped up off the bed.

Blinking groggily, he found the person holding him dimly familiar. It took a few seconds to remember.

His fingers weakly pushed against the chest in front of him.

"I can walk…"

As his feet touched the ground, his legs wobbled, but hands steadied him from behind.

"Alright," Wen Sinian stayed close. "You walk. I'll support you, okay?"

Xu Yan nodded hazily, nearly half-carried out of the dorm.

Outside, rain still fell. Wen Sinian wrapped his jacket around him, shielding him with an umbrella as they got into a car. After buckling him in, they drove to the hospital.

His fever hit 104°F, compounded by the fever meds' side effects. Xu Yan faded in and out of consciousness, barely aware when he was helped onto a hospital bed before passing out completely, never feeling the IV prick.

He dreamed of childhood, burning up in bed while his grandmother stayed by his side, dabbing his brow with a cool washcloth.

He missed her terribly, especially when sick.

Tears leaked out, slipping down his cheeks onto the pillow.

A hand gently wiped them away, then rubbed comforting circles on his back, as if to chase away nightmares.

He slept a little better—until the hand withdrew, ready to vanish from his dream.

"Don't… don't go…" Xu Yan reached out blindly from under the blanket, grasping something, his voice thick with tears. "Don't go… Grandma, *Guaiguai* misses you…"

Wen Sinian paused by the bed, looking down at him.

The small, pale hand clutched his tightly, as if afraid he'd disappear.

Mistaken identity—and calling himself *Guaiguai*.

So sweet.

Wen Sinian hadn't planned to leave. After closing the door, he returned to find fresh tear tracks on that tear-streaked face and sat on the bed.

Opening his arms, he pulled the shivering body close, wiping away tears before pressing him flush against his chest.

He adjusted the IV line to avoid kinks, then soothed with slow strokes on Xu Yan's back.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay with you, okay?"

Xu Yan felt as if he were wrapped in a warm cocoon of cotton, even warmer than blankets.

It didn’t feel as cold anymore, and he liked it so much that he buried his face deeper, nuzzling it with his fever-warm cheek, letting out a soft, drowsy hum in response.

“Mmm…”

The body in his arms still ran warm, but after some time on the IV drip, the fever had subsided considerably.

Holding him like this, it was easy to feel how pliant he was—like ripened fruit nearly melting from heat, tender flesh wrapped beneath thin skin.

His heated breaths fanned over the crook of his neck, gentle and slow. His slightly parted lips, still pale, let out warm, damp sighs.

So small.

If someone were to catch that delicate lip between their teeth and tease it mercilessly, would it flush a delicate rose color?