Chapter 21 Kindly Taking Him In

Chapter 21: Kindly Taking Him In

Back in the room, Lin Haoda was immediately pinned down by a nurse for an IV drip. When the needle pierced the vein on the back of his hand, it wasn't as painful as he had imagined. Lin Haoda sat silently and obediently on the sofa. The nurse gave him some instructions and left first.

Guan Junshan’s assistant followed close behind. After Guan Junshan returned, he went straight to the study with the assistant. Their conversation drifted out intermittently, low and muffled. Two minutes later, the assistant pulled the door open and walked out, with Guan Junshan following, giving him instructions on something to handle.

The tall man acknowledged, bid him farewell, and turned toward the entrance.

Lin Haoda quickly averted his gaze, pretending to look at the wall decorations. But as the assistant passed the sofa, he stopped. "Mr. Lin," he said, with a pleasant face and a friendly smile, taking the initiative to greet Lin Haoda. "Good night."

Lin Haoda nodded to him and replied, "Good night."

The electronic lock clicked softly, and the spacious room was left with just the two of them. Lin Haoda withdrew his gaze and turned to find Guan Junshan’s eyes fixed on him, distant, carrying no substantial emotion. He stared at Lin Haoda for a long moment without saying a word.

It was very late. Lin Haoda heard the electronic clock beep twice, glanced up at the time, and saw it was already 11:30.

Assuming Guan Junshan wanted to rest, he held the dangling IV tube with his un-punctured hand and gently shook it. "It's almost done," Lin Haoda said, turning his head with a slightly uneasy expression, testing the waters. "Are you going to sleep?"

"Still early," Guan Junshan said, arms crossed in the doorway. "Are you feeling uncomfortable anywhere?"

"No." Lin Haoda wanted to say something else, but his stomach suddenly let out two unflattering growls. Embarrassed, he rubbed his nose, trying to change the subject. "Was that your assistant just now?"

"His name is Yang Yue."

Guan Junshan took a few steps forward and stood by the sofa. From a moderate distance, he called out, "Lin Haoda," clearly not one to be easily fooled, forcibly steering the conversation back. "What do you want for a late-night snack?"

Lin Haoda felt flattered, looked up with round eyes, gleaming like amber glass beads under the light, and took a couple of seconds to react.

"No need," he paused, then added, "it's so late..."

"The hotel stops serving at midnight." Guan Junshan cut him off, showing a little more patience than usual. "The menu and phone number are on the coffee table in front of you. Order whatever you want."

Lin Haoda shifted on the sofa, hesitated briefly, but finally couldn't resist stretching his neck to look at the order sheet on the table.

He was quiet for a long time, and the room grew silent. Guan Junshan raised his hand, flipping a switch. The lamp above Lin Haoda lit up, casting a soft, gentle halo from behind onto his nape and shoulders, creating a fuzzy shadow on the sofa and making Lin Haoda look slender-shouldered and thin-necked.

In the capital, June hadn't fully entered summer yet. The night air was cooler than daytime, far from needing air conditioning. Maybe worried about the strong smell of disinfectant in the room, Lin Haoda had taken the liberty of turning on the cold air in the living room. Now sitting under the vent, he seemed to feel cold, instinctively shrinking his neck.

Guan Junshan walked over, checked the control panel, then turned off the AC. When he turned around, Lin Haoda had already decided on his late-night snack and was pulling out his phone to dial.

Guan Junshan changed his mind, stopping him, suggesting they use the landline in the bedroom—it was more convenient and easier to charge to the room.

Lin Haoda blinked in confusion, "Oh," then stood up from the sofa, tiptoeing to reach for the saline bag hanging on the rack, his movements clumsy and cautious.

Perhaps having witnessed this too many times, Guan Junshan's help had become a psychological certainty. He quickly moved closer, standing behind Lin Haoda, reaching up to lightly hook the saline bag, letting it slide to his fingertips.

"Don't move around," Guan Junshan said, his voice very close to Lin Haoda. "Watch out for blood backflow."

Lin Haoda had no choice but to lower the hand with the IV needle slightly, murmuring, "Then forget it. I won't eat."

Guan Junshan shook the saline bag, switched its side, re-hung it on the IV stand, then stepped back a little, looking down at the marked menu on the coffee table, asking Lin Haoda, who had turned around, "All set?"

Lin Haoda didn't speak. After a moment, he retreated again: "It's already 11:40."

Guan Junshan bent down to pick up the order sheet. As he looked up, his gaze landed on Lin Haoda's face. "You haven't eaten properly since noon, have you?"

Lin Haoda's lips moved slightly, his eyes dropping, darting nervously across the carpet. Then he heard Guan Junshan speak again: "I heard from the nurse at noon that your blood pressure is very low. If you don't eat, you'll end up in the hospital sooner or later."

With that, Guan Junshan went into the bedroom. A few seconds later, Lin Haoda heard him making a phone call.

The door wasn't fully shut. Lin Haoda inched closer, peering through the crack. With his right hand immobile, his posture was awkward and twisted, like a beginner in yoga.

"Mr. Guan," he tried to gloss things over, avoiding the low blood pressure topic, just saying, "So it really was you who carried me back at noon?"

Guan Junshan didn't respond, probably not wanting to engage. Lin Haoda persisted, "When did you get back from Hong Kong? Last night? This morning? How's your mother? Has she recovered well?"

Lin Haoda shifted a little more to the side, at an angle where he could see Guan Junshan sitting by the bed. Guan Junshan, holding the receiver, turned his head at the sound. His finger paused in the air as if warning him to shut up.

Ten minutes later, their order arrived. Lin Haoda felt something was off and asked the uniformed server, "Is something missing? Where's the roast duck?"

The server checked the list on the cart again and told him, "This is all, sir."

He stepped closer and even extended a hand for Lin Haoda to see for himself.

Lin Haoda gave it a quick glance. No roast duck. He looked again and found not only the roast duck missing but also many other items he had circled on the order sheet. At the same time, some things he hadn't ordered had appeared.

For instance, the spicy beef noodles turned into plain congee, the fried fish fillets became soup dumplings, and the strawberry parfait was replaced by milk.

Lin Haoda had never encountered anything like this. It was baffling.

Either someone had swapped his order, or he was hallucinating.

The server observed his expression. "Would you like us to redo the order?"

Lin Haoda said, "No need," and returned the list. Hearing the door close, Guan Junshan came out of the room, taking off one earbud. "What's wrong?"

He was in a meeting and had specifically told Lin Haoda before entering the room not to make noise. Lin Haoda hesitated, standing far away, even stepping back, mouthing silently, "Nothing."

Guan Junshan walked over to the cart, looking somewhat resigned. "I turned off the mic. You can talk normally."

Lin Haoda said, "Oh," and finally stepped closer, sounding a little dissatisfied. "I didn't order soup dumplings or milk."

"I did." Guan Junshan admitted openly, then looked up at him. "What's the problem?"

Lin Haoda shook his head, paused, then shamelessly said, "I don't really have an appetite now."

"Lin Haoda." Guan Junshan couldn't help but call him out. "I didn't invite you to a buffet."

"But you canceled all my desserts." Lin Haoda rarely talked back, his expression turning bitter. "How outrageous is that?"

"You have to eat sweets to get over a fever," he said, probably delirious, spouting nonsense that sounded lacking in common sense to Guan Junshan.

Guan Junshan stared at him for a moment, then decided not to waste time on this pointless argument. He picked up the only dish on the cart that didn't look too bland, spaghetti, and headed toward the room. "Suit yourself."

As he passed Lin Haoda, he was called again. "Can I watch the projector for a bit?"

Lin Haoda always made childish requests—asking for sweets when sick and wanting to watch TV while eating were things a preschooler would ask for.

"I'll keep the volume very low." Lin Haoda spoke quickly, as if afraid he'd refuse. "I won't disturb your meeting."

Guan Junshan didn't answer yes or no. After entering the study, he left the door open, signaling Lin Haoda to follow.

Lin Haoda, supporting his IV stand, walked to the door but didn't enter. His eyes roamed the room, landing on a flat-screen monitor on the wall showing Guan Junshan's video conference.

"Working so late," Lin Haoda remarked with a cliché compliment. "So dedicated."

Guan Junshan took a black remote from the drawer and placed it on the desk, looking unimpressed. "You can leave now."

And added, "Don't be too loud."

Lin Haoda agreed repeatedly, thanked him quietly, and thoughtfully closed the door behind him.

Guan Junshan stepped out of the study to get some water and noticed that the living room was dimly lit, with only a row of ambient lights along the walls.

Lin Haoda was curled up on the sofa, his back to Guan Junshan, quietly watching a black-and-white film. The volume was turned down to the minimum, leaving only muffled voices and background music.

Lin Haoda was still engrossed, not turning around or making a sound. As Guan Junshan walked back with his coffee cup, he glanced back over his shoulder. Just then, a close-up of the female lead appeared. Guan Junshan recognized it as a classic love story with a tragic ending.

He returned to his room, this time leaving the door slightly ajar. The glass cabinet door on the right side of his desk reflected Lin Haoda's silhouette. Guan Junshan thought of the ending and guessed that with Lin Haoda's fragile emotions, he might cry quietly.

But Guan Junshan's assumption was wrong, because Lin Haoda didn't make it to the end.

Just a third into the movie, he flipped through channels for a while and finally settled on a local news channel, which happened to be airing an interview with Guan Junshan from a while back. Lin Haoda watched with great interest. Hearing Guan Junshan come out, he turned his head and blinked: "Mr. Guan, why is your hair so much shorter than it is now?"

Guan Junshan glanced at the screen and said somewhat dismissively: "It was filmed before the New Year."

Lin Haoda gave a soft "mm-hmm" in acknowledgment, didn't press further, and turned back to continue watching, as if he had only spoken to make conversation without really caring about the answer.

It was nearly 1 a.m. when Guan Junshan's video conference finally ended. He stretched his stiff shoulders, replied to a few messages, then got up from his chair, pulled open the door, and walked out.

The living room lights had dimmed even further. Guan Junshan walked toward the sofa, looked up at the IV pole, and called out: "Lin Haoda."

No one answered. Guan Junshan walked over and stopped beside the sofa.

Lin Haoda was curled up in the corner, fast asleep, still holding the remote control, covered with a thin blanket. His breathing was slow and steady, and the faint glow from the screen illuminated his profile.

The faint background audio was still playing, looping the same interview over and over, who knows how many times. In the video, Guan Junshan was answering the host's last question, a rare personal one: what kind of person he planned to choose as a wife in the future.

The suit-clad Guan Junshan pretended to think for a moment in front of the camera, then gave the standard answer: gentle, understanding, and supportive of his career.

Standard, but boring.

If Lin Haoda had been awake, he might have made some flattering or unnecessary comment.

The host immediately chimed in and teased: "So down-to-earth, Mr. Guan. You'd better be careful—your company's email inbox might be flooded with letters."

Guan Junshan in the footage smiled, displaying great composure, and was about to say something when the screen suddenly went black and then slowly began to rise.

Lin Haoda turned over on the sofa, accidentally bumping the remote control. He was sleeping in a twisted position, one leg dangling onto the floor, and most of the blanket had slipped off.

Guan Junshan stood by, waiting for a few minutes, arms crossed, looking down at the person on the sofa. The light was dim, and it seemed to have started raining again outside, pattering against the glass.

He considered waking Lin Haoda, but hesitated, and eventually gave up.

The room was spacious, and the sofa was big enough. Leaving him here for just one night didn't seem to exceed the limits of his patience.

Because it was very late. Because he was temporarily ill.

So even though Lin Haoda was childish, troublesome, fragile, and lacking in common sense, Guan Junshan decided to be kind and not wake him.