Chapter 167 A Useless Beauty Who Can’t Take Care of Himself at Home

Chapter 167: The Good-for-Nothing Beauty Who Can't Take Care of Himself at Home

The guest room door was cracked open.

Lu Lin pushed the door open, and the room was filled with the smell of hangover soup.

Feng Yuetian had already been cleaned up and changed into a dry set of pajamas, curled up on the bed hugging a pillow, like a curled-up shrimp.

The maid was carefully holding a bowl of hangover soup and feeding it to him.

When she saw Lu Lin enter, she quickly lowered her head: "Hello, Mr. Lu." Then she continued with her task, spoon-feeding the drunken, unconscious man.

Lu Lin stood by the bed, staring at Feng Yuetian for a moment, then looked away and took out his phone.

On the screen, a text message from a few hours ago was still sitting there. The sender was a virtual number that couldn't be traced back to any location or source.

"What do you think the Feng and Xi families are getting out of being so close to Shen Qingci?"

Lu Lin deleted the message, his face blank.

He looked up at Feng Yuetian curled up on the bed, his eyes icy and empty.

For what?

Like those old farts?

Wanting immortality?

Ridiculous.

What's so good about immortality?

Only living and dying together with gege is true immortality.

But anyone who wants to harm gege, anyone who has harmed gege, he won't let a single one off—whether it's the Shen, Lu, Feng, or Xi family.

He turned and went back to his own room.

The moment he pushed open the door, the lights in the room automatically turned on. His room was neat and empty, the bed was made perfectly, the table bare, the curtains drawn tightly shut—like a place where nobody lived.

Lu Lin walked to the wall, pushed open a hidden door, and stepped inside.

The locked room was dimly lit, with only a floor lamp next to the sofa giving off a faint yellow glow.

The walls were plastered with photos, all of Shen Qingci.

From ten years ago, before the car accident.

There were shots of him standing outside the Tianchen Group building, a profile of him speaking in a meeting room, a shot of him crossing the street with his cane, from behind.

Some photos had already yellowed, their corners frayed, clearly handled too many times.

The room was crammed with stuff.

A broken pen, paper with handwriting, worn slippers, discarded underwear, used cups, a once-broken cane, used handkerchiefs, pajamas… Each item had a label with a date on it.

Everything had been carefully collected and placed in the most perfect spot.

At the center was a table, on which lay a file and a piece of yellow paper inscribed with the word "Immortality."

Lu Lin walked over and picked up the yellow paper.

On the paper, the characters for "Immortality" were written in cinnabar red, the strokes sharp and fierce. On the reverse side, the name "Shen Qingci" was written neatly, the ink already somewhat faded.

He looked at it for a moment, then picked up a lighter and set the yellow paper on fire.

The flames licked the paper, the red characters twisting and blackening in the fire, finally turning to ash. The ash drifted from his fingers, landed on the floor, and crumbled into fine dust.

Lu Lin looked down at the small pile of ashes, expressionless.

Then he picked up the file on the table, opened it, and began to read page by page.

---

When Lu Lin pushed open the bedroom door, he had already changed into a black silk pajama set, his hair fluffy and soft—clearly from showering and blow-drying in the next room.

He poked his head in to check the sofa, and when he saw no one there, he slipped in sideways.

Shen Qingci hadn't come out yet; the bathroom door was closed, with the sound of water running faintly inside.

Lu Lin gazed at the door for a moment, then turned and went downstairs.

The kitchen light was on. He tied on an apron, took out milk and eggs from the refrigerator, the spatula flipping gently, the range hood humming, the whole kitchen filled with a warm, comforting smell.

Uncle Fu came down the hallway, moving slowly, one hand on his lower back.

When he saw the busy figure in the kitchen, his footsteps paused.

Hearing the noise, Lu Lin turned around, and they met eyes for a second.

Lu Lin lowered his gaze, lingering for a second on the hand Uncle Fu had on his waist. His lips moved slightly, and his voice was soft, tinged with a hint of awkwardness:

"Thank you."

Uncle Fu was taken aback. Then his eyes curved, a gentle and kindly smile spreading across his face. He knew Lu Lin was thanking him for not telling Shen Qingci the truth about his back injury, for staying tight-lipped all this time.

He looked at Lu Lin, his gaze unusually tender:

"Mr. Lu, I've watched you grow up as well."

"So I hope you and the master will be okay."

Lu Lin hummed in response, his voice low but dead serious:

"I'm gonna protect gege."

Uncle Fu nodded. He turned to go back to his room, walked a few steps, then stopped. Without turning his head, his voice came softly from the hallway:

"Please take care of yourself too."

His voice was very light, like the simplest reminder from an elder:

"Even if you don't care about yourself, the master will be heartbroken if you get hurt."

Lu Lin stood there, watching that aging back walk slowly away until it disappeared at the end of the hallway.

He stood for a while, then turned back to finish frying the eggs in the pan.

By the time the late-night snack was done, Shen Qingci had already finished his bath.

He was curled up on the sofa, wearing a silk robe that reached down to his calves. The belt was loosely tied, showing off a stretch of pale calf.

His wet, jet-black hair fell over his shoulders, water droplets trickled from the tips, slid to his chest, and disappeared into his clothes.

He held a book in his hand, but his eyelids were already half-closed, lashes trembling faintly, as if he might drift off at any moment.

Lu Lin walked in carrying a tray and saw him like this.

He approached, set the tray on the coffee table, then crouched down to meet those half-open, cold eyes at eye level.

His voice was very soft, coaxing:

"Brother, eat something first. Let me dry your hair, and after you finish eating, I'll blow-dry it, okay?"

Shen Qingci's eyes were weary, and he responded with a lazy "Mm," his voice soft and reluctant.

He answered but didn't move an inch, still curled up on the sofa like a cat.

The corner of Lu Lin's mouth lifted slightly.

He didn't press him further. Instead, he reached out directly, scooping him up from the sofa, one hand steadying him, the other carrying the tray, and walked to the table in the room.

Shen Qingci was perched on his arm, his hand resting on Lu Lin's shoulder, looking down at the man walking steadily.

His cool face showed no emotion, but he thought to himself: Why is Lu Lin so strong?

He was placed in a chair at the table, the tray set before him. Shen Qingci picked up the spoon, took two bites, and then didn't feel like eating any more.

Lu Lin was standing behind him with a towel, wiping his wet hair. Seeing Shen Qingci put down the spoon, he paused, bent down a little, and leaned closer:

"What's wrong, Brother?"

"Not really hungry."

Shen Qingci's voice was flat; his mind was still occupied with the image of Feng Yuetian drinking until he threw up, leaving him with no appetite.

Lu Lin didn't press further. He straightened up and spoke softly:

"Then let me blow-dry your hair."

Shen Qingci nodded.

Lu Lin put down the towel, bent down, and lifted him into his arms. Shen Qingci nestled in his embrace, too lazy to even open his eyes, letting himself be carried.

He didn't place Shen Qingci on the sofa. Instead, he sat down first, then settled him in his lap.

Shen Qingci leaned back against his chest, his head resting in the hollow of his shoulder, completely enveloped in his arms.

Lu Lin picked up the hairdryer and began to dry his hair.

Warm air flowed over the strands, long fingers moving through them. He carefully dried strand by strand, from root to tip, making sure every part was dry.

The movements were so gentle that Shen Qingci's eyelids grew heavier and heavier. By the time his hair was dry, he was drowsy and barely conscious.

Until he felt something pressing up against him from underneath.