Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The distance between them drew closer and closer, until their noses blurred into tiny specks from each other's view.

A steady, warm breath brushed against the cheek, like the gentle touch of a feather, carrying a slight tickle.

The lamplight, blocked by the leaning figure, shattered into the darkness, casting a shadow over his face, leaving only the shimmering glint in his eyes.

In a daze, Li Yanchuan was momentarily dazed, wondering if Song Nian was really about to kiss him at any second.

Warm, soft hands cupped his face, firmly holding it in place, not allowing him to escape, forcing him to look straight ahead.

At such close range, he found himself lost in Song Nian’s gaze.

Everything blurred, then snapped into focus.

As he was forced to look up, Song Nian was staring straight back.

That gaze was fixed unblinkingly, filled with determination, candor.

And sincerity.

Those clear, bright eyes gleamed, harboring no ill will, as if the moon had fallen into them, filled only with the purest, brightest moonlight.

One look and he was drowning in them, all his restless thoughts melted away as if gently embraced and soothed by a tender night breeze.

For a moment, Li Yanchuan felt his gaze trapped, nearly unable to look away.

It wasn’t until a soft touch at the tip of his nose snapped him back to reality.

Their noses had touched.

In that instant, suddenly coming to his senses, Li Yanchuan immediately turned his head away, avoiding the face drawing closer, signaling his surrender.

Oh, he dodged?

Seeing this, Song Nian raised an eyebrow and gave a light snort, a smug look of victory spreading across his face.

But at the same time, a faint trace of regret welled up inside him.

Actually, he hadn’t made up his mind whether to really kiss him or not; he just felt that since he had already laid down the bold words and put up the front, backing out halfway would be too cowardly.

If Li Yanchuan hadn’t dodged, he would have gone ahead and kissed him.

After all, it wouldn't be a bad deal for him.

He just didn’t expect Li Yanchuan to turn his head away in the end.

What a shame—they were less than a centimeter away from kissing.

"So now you know, if you shout again, I’ll really kiss you to shut you up."

Song Nian snapped back to attention, put his hands on his hips, and struck an arrogant pose, looking down at him.

Hearing this, Li Yanchuan frowned, his brow furrowing as if about to speak, but then, recalling what the other had just done, he pressed his lips tightly together and remained silent.

Seeing this, Song Nian was extremely satisfied. He humphed twice, raised an index finger, and pressed it against Li Yanchuan's lips:

"Alright, now don’t move. Let me handle it."

With that, he took the towel and gently wiped down Li Yanchuan’s upper body.

The dry towel gently pressed against his skin, slowly absorbing the moisture.

When helping him dry off, Song Nian’s expression was unusually serious and focused, his movements extremely gentle, as if handling something precious and fragile, performing a crucial task.

This attitude made Li Yanchuan flustered. For once, he retracted his sharp thorns, his fingers curling and uncurling, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

It was like a fierce beast baring its teeth, ready to attack, only to find that the visitor wasn’t there to hunt it, but to gently tend to its wounds.

After wiping him down, Song Nian personally helped him change into new clothes.

After finishing, he didn’t forget to reach out and tidy Li Yanchuan's slightly mussed hair.

At first glance, it was as if nothing had happened.

The room was cleaned up, leaving no trace of the earlier mess. Just as Song Nian was about to leave quietly, the man who had been silent for a long time suddenly spoke again:

"Song Nian."

"What is it?"

"Don't you think I look pathetic like this?"

He heard Li Yanchuan ask in a voice so low it was almost inaudible, tinged with a hint of hoarseness.

Somehow, he detected a note of fragility and helplessness in it.

Like a slow spring under a frozen river—stagnant, with no way forward or back, powerless over its fate.

Hearing this, Song Nian sighed, turned around to face him, and said seriously:

"Li Yanchuan, I have never thought you were pitiful."

"I do this simply because I want to take care of you. That's all there is to it."

"Whether you can stand up or not, in my heart, you will always be the most amazing Li Yanchuan. That has never changed."

He was the Li Yanchuan who, even with nothing, could overcome everything, carving out a path to survival even in adversity.

As he said these words, Song Nian’s gaze was frank and determined, his tone serious and earnest.

After finishing, without waiting for a response, he turned and left.

Standing alone in the hallway, Song Nian let out a long breath and leaned against the wall, drained of strength.

The knee he had injured from the fall throbbed faintly, but at that moment, he couldn't be bothered with such a minor injury. The complex emotions churning inside left him with a tangled mix of emotions.

Compared to Li Yanchuan’s once spirited demeanor, now he wallowed in self-pity, gloomy and sullen.

Because he faced too much malice, even when encountering rare kindness, his first reaction was to resist.

Seeing him in such a state, even Song Nian, as an outsider, couldn’t bear it, let alone Li Yanchuan himself.

He was somewhat angry, but this anger was not directed at Li Yanchuan’s harshness.

Rather, it was dissatisfaction with the original plot.

As someone who had read the entire story, Song Nian knew everything about Li Yanchuan's story and what he had been through.

Even though the text only revealed his past in simple language, it was enough to piece together his broken life.

Since he was not the protagonist, the book focused only on Li Yanchuan’s storyline after his descent into darkness, while his childhood experiences were conveyed through narrative summaries.

As for the period of his despondency after the car accident, it was merely glossed over.

This led readers to believe that someone as formidable as Li Yanchuan would never be discouraged by such a setback, would suffer no trauma, and could immediately rally to exact revenge on those who kicked him while he was down.

As if he were indestructible steel.

But even steel has a liquid state.

No one saw his bewilderment when he hit rock bottom, no one cared about his despair in the wheelchair, and no one worried about his loneliness.

At his most vulnerable and helpless, Li Yanchuan had no one to lean on or confide in.

This almost unmentioned content—this most desperate and painful period—was endured solely through sheer willpower.

Like smoldering embers, it held on until dawn, then blazed fiercely to exact revenge on all his enemies, until he finally ended his own life and perished.

Before, Song Nian also paid no attention to this part of the plot, assuming that Li Yanchuan remained strong and invincible after the accident.

But only when he personally witnessed that scene and glimpsed the fragility in a person’s heart did he realize how wrong he was.

When he burst into the room and saw Li Yanchuan in such a pitiful state, there was no mockery in his heart—only an indescribable ache and compassion.

Such a remarkable person, who had clawed his way out of the mud to reach a position that everyone looked up to, yet fell back into the mire because of an accident that left both his legs disabled.

He couldn’t even stand up on his own.

Even more absurdly, this suffering was merely a plot device arranged by the author.

Its sole purpose was to make him turn dark, be cast aside, leave all his assets to the protagonist, and advance others’ plots.

With scant characterization and a mere tool-like existence, he was burdened with endless pain and a tragic fate—all just to serve others.

How ridiculous, how unfair.

Li Yanchuan was no longer a distant character in a book, existing only between the lines, but a living, breathing person with his own full range of emotions.

He shouldn’t have had to endure this.

The more Song Nian thought, the more his heart ached. Sorrow filled his chest, and he felt furious on Li Yanchuan’s behalf.

He had once taken care of his hospitalized younger brother for a long time and knew that patients are prone to emotional outbursts during illness. Moreover, since Li Yanchuan was already sensitive and paranoid, he didn’t take the earlier harsh words to heart.

After all, emotions need an outlet. When Li Yanchuan said, “So laughable, so pitiful?” Song Nian felt that Li Yanchuan was on the verge of shattering.

After cursing the author in his mind, he calmed down and belatedly felt the pain in his knee.

He lifted his pant leg and saw a small bruise on his originally fair skin.

Hiss—he might have banged it when he fell just now.

The puddle was so slippery that even he himself had slipped, let alone Li Yanchuan, who had mobility issues.

But it wasn’t too serious; it would probably be fine after a good night’s sleep.

Not bothered by such a minor injury, Song Nian supported himself against the wall and limped toward his own room.

——

Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Li Yanchuan was also feeling conflicted.

—“I did all this just because I wanted to take care of you, nothing else.”

Song Nian’s words still lingered in his ears, refusing to fade.

He looked down at the dry top he was wearing, bit his lower lip, and his expression darkened. For the first time, he wavered in his judgment.

Could these words be true?

Faced with this weak and helpless version of himself, Song Nian not only didn’t find him worthless but still stood by him without complaint.

The approaching hand bore no aggression, just gently wiped away the water stains.

Even now, when he recalled it, he could still vaguely feel the gentle warmth of those fingertips.

Even the threatening words contained no malice, only the desire to take better care of him.

It was like a dog that had been glaring ferociously but never bared its fangs.

Today, he had done many harsh things to Song Nian, yet he was still willing to help without holding a grudge.

Even when yelled at and driven away, he didn’t leave.

He suddenly remembered what Qi Ze had said: eyes don’t lie.

When Song Nian had said those words, his eyes were so clear and bright, free of any ulterior motives, filled only with endless sincerity.

All the signs seemed to indicate that Song Nian had no bad intentions, always revealed his true heart, and kept trying to get closer.

Could it be that he was simply too suspicious?

Li Yanchuan fell into doubt, frowning in deep thought, his fingers rubbing his temples repeatedly, but he couldn’t come to any conclusion.

The image of Song Nian bursting into the room kept flashing through his mind—and his retreating figure as he left.

Come to think of it, had Song Nian hurt himself when he fell? His walk seemed a bit off when he left.

Was he injured? How badly?

Guilt surged again, this time even more powerfully than before.

With a whirlwind of thoughts, Li Yanchuan let out a deep sigh, slumped back against the headboard, and lifted a hand to cover his eyes.

Tonight, sleep would be impossible.