Chapters 1-2

Chapter 2

When Huo Yanshen carried Shen Ling upstairs, the housekeeper had already heard the commotion and rushed over with an anxious expression.

"Mr. Huo, Shen Ling—"

"How long has he been here?" Huo Yanshen cut him off, his tone unreadable.

"He's been here over an hour now," the housekeeper answered truthfully. "Not long after he arrived, he took some medicine on the sofa and fell asleep. Luckily, Dr. Wen came quickly and managed to give him a shot."

Huo Yanshen looked down.

Shen Ling's face was buried against Huo Yanshen's shoulder, the exposed half of his cheek flushed crimson, but his lips were completely devoid of color—like a petal soaked by rain, thinly pressed against a pale backdrop.

Huo Yanshen pulled him closer against his chest, then suddenly spoke: "Besides being unwell physically, was there anything else when he came back?"

The housekeeper was taken aback: "Sir means—"

"His temperament. Any changes."

The housekeeper recalled the scene when Shen Ling had entered the door.

Soaked through, he stood at the entrance, obediently changing his shoes, calling out "Uncle Zhang" in a soft, gentle voice—a far cry from the person who usually threw tantrums.

The housekeeper chose his words carefully: "Shen Ling was indeed a bit different today. He seemed... much more docile. He didn't demand anything, just found the medicine himself and took it, then sat quietly on the sofa."

At this point, his tone carried a hint of genuine relief: "Could it be that he's finally come to his senses? That would be wonderful—"

"What's so wonderful about it?"

The housekeeper's smile froze on his face.

Huo Yanshen uttered those three words softly, almost flatly.

The housekeeper instinctively looked at Huo Yanshen, only to see him with his head lowered, strands of hair falling over his eyes, his expression difficult to read.

But the housekeeper saw the hand Huo Yanshen had resting on Shen Ling's back.

The sleeve was rolled up to his forearm, veins bulging on his exposed wrist from the strain. That hand could nearly cover Shen Ling's entire back, his fingertips pressing into the thin fabric of Shen Ling's shirt.

Like it could easily snap someone's neck.

Huo Yanshen was angry.

A chill went down the housekeeper's spine.

What was Huo Yanshen so angry about?

Shen Ling had become well-behaved, stopped making a fuss, and even remembered to take his medicine—wasn't that a good thing?

He had thought Huo Yanshen would be relieved to hear it, but instead, it seemed to have hit a nerve.

The housekeeper didn't dare think further, nor did he dare ask anything unnecessary.

Though he had been in this household for a long time, Huo Yanshen wasn't the type to show anyone special consideration just because they'd been around longer.

The housekeeper bowed: "Sir, I'll take my leave then."

Huo Yanshen gave a slight nod. "Go ahead."

The housekeeper tactfully excused himself, gently closing the door behind him.

When the door to the master bedroom opened, in contrast to the storm raging outside, the room was silent and warm.

Huo Yanshen laid Shen Ling on the bed and pulled a fever patch from the medicine box on the nightstand, tearing open the wrapper.

Shen Ling's face was so small that once applied, the fever patch covered most of his forehead, the edge nearly touching his eyes.

Huo Yanshen nudged the patch up slightly with his fingertip, revealing his closed eyes.

His lashes were long, resting softly over reddened eyelids.

Huo Yanshen's gaze traveled downward.

Shen Ling usually cared a lot about his appearance—his clothes, shoes, and socks always had to be immaculate.

Even in spring, Shen Ling had only worn a loose cream-colored shirt today.

At this moment, the shirt was soaked through by the rain, clinging to his body, nearly translucent. The buttons had come undone from his earlier struggles, revealing his slender collarbones and a large expanse of dazzling fair skin.

Huo Yanshen looked for a few seconds, then looked away, helped Shen Ling out of his wet clothes, and turned to grab a robe from the closet, intending to drape it over him.

"Mmm... let go... don't hold me..."

The moment his hand made contact, Shen Ling suddenly reacted as if startled, thrashing violently beneath the blanket.

His brow was furrowed tightly, his hands struggling free from the blanket, flailing wildly in the air, accidentally striking Huo Yanshen's wrist. He tossed and turned on the bed like a fish flopping on the shore.

Huo Yanshen frowned.

"Don't move." He pressed Shen Ling's hands down, his voice low. "Running back wearing so little, and soaked to the bone like this."

Shen Ling struggled twice but couldn't break free, instead whining and squirming even more.

Gradually, Huo Yanshen began to sense that something felt wrong beneath his hands.

Shen Ling's struggling was too frantic.

It wasn't like his usual playful stubbornness—it was more like an instinctive act of self-defense.

Shen Ling was dreaming.

...

At first, the dream was very comfortable.

Shen Ling felt like he had turned into a soft sandbag, gently massaged back and forth by a broad, warm palm.

He vaguely felt that this sensation was familiar—like being held like this before, feeling completely safe. He wanted to move toward it, but his body wouldn't budge.

Then the hand suddenly stopped.

The warmth receded like the tide pulling back from the shore, revealing inch by inch a cold, hollow feeling.

Shen Ling opened his eyes, only to see a harsh fluorescent light, casting cold shadows across the entire room. The air carried a stench of sweat mixed with cigarette smoke, nearly making him gag.

A shadow fell over him, looming from above, wrapped in the foul odor of years of smoking and drinking.

"You still have the nerve to come back."

The owner of that hand was hitting and cursing him at the same time, his voice crashing down from above, hoarse from years of smoking.

Calling him a disgrace, calling him ungrateful, calling him trash who couldn't scrub the cheapness out of his bones no matter how high he climbed.

The slapping stopped for a moment, and the faces around him all shifted.

Blurred faces pressed in one after another, mouths moving, but he couldn't make out a single word.

Shen Ling's phone screen lit up, Weibo comments crawling like bugs, swarming over his fingers.

He saw his own name up there, next to a row of news screenshots he didn't dare look at. Someone shoved up to him, face way too close, grinning as they cracked shameless jokes at his expense.

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but the noise drowned him out.

It's not my fault.

It's not my fault—!

"It's not my fault—!"

Shen Ling sat up abruptly, his heart yanked up by an invisible hand, slamming into his throat with a numb thud, his vision going white.

"It wasn't me, I didn't—that design draft, I really can't make the deadline, stop rushing me... stop calling me!"

Shen Ling's voice came out in fragments, his words all jumbled, his whole body trembling uncontrollably.

His breathing grew faster and faster, no matter how much air he sucked in, it never felt like enough. His fingertips went numb, the feeling creeping up his forearms until even his lips felt dead.

"Shen Ling."

A voice suddenly cut into his world.

It rolled in low and slow, and the aftershock rippled from Shen Ling's chest down to his fingertips.

"Shen Ling, look at me."

A pair of hands cupped Shen Ling's face—so big they nearly swallowed it whole.

He was forced to look up, and through his scattered, unfocused gaze, a cold, sharp-featured face slowly came into view.

It was Huo Yanshen.

"Look at me," Huo Yanshen's voice was slow and steady. "Tell me, where are you right now?"

Shen Ling's lips trembled, but his throat was blocked, and no sound came out. The air he breathed in never seemed to reach his lungs—it just circled in his chest, got pushed out, and was swallowed by the next breath.

When Shen Ling didn't answer, Huo Yanshen held him tighter and tried a different question. "What do you see?"

Shen Ling's rapid breathing hitched for a moment. He strained with everything he had to make out what was in front of him.

The familiar ceiling, the familiar curtains, the familiar smell.

Pine mixed with a faint trace of sandalwood—cold and clean.

It was Huo Yanshen's scent.

"...The bedroom." Shen Ling's voice was so hoarse it was barely a whisper.

"Whose bedroom?"

"...Ours."

Huo Yanshen softened his tone, but it still carried that unshakable certainty. "Right. This is our bedroom. There's no one else here."

He let go of Shen Ling's face, then slid his hand to the back of his head and pulled him into his chest. Shen Ling's nose bumped against the hard muscle of his chest, and his scattered thoughts pulled together a little more.

Huo Yanshen ran his palm down Shen Ling's back in slow, steady strokes. "You're safe here."

"No one can hurt you."

Shen Ling lay against his chest, listening to the steady, strong beat of Huo Yanshen's heart, and only then slowly surfaced from that suffocating terror.

"Alright." Huo Yanshen leaned down. "You good now?"

Shen Ling blinked, and realized his eyes were dry.

He'd apparently forgotten how to cry.

In his past life, after his grandmother died, he was taken back to that so-called home.

If he smiled, he got scolded for being gleeful. If he cried, he got scolded for being fake. Smiling and crying both required permission—and he'd never been granted it.

Over time, those emotions stopped coming out as tears. Instead, they sank down and turned into a lingering, dull ache.

It was the same now. Even scared half to death by the nightmare, his eyes stayed dry.

Shen Ling rubbed his face against Huo Yanshen's shirt. "The fever patch is crooked."

Huo Yanshen saw the corner of the fever patch on Shen Ling's forehead peeling up, about to fall off. He raised his hand, fingertips about to touch Shen Ling's temple.

But Shen Ling had already pinched the edge of the patch and pressed it back down—quick, efficient. The second he was done, he tucked his hand back under the covers.

"Mm." Shen Ling gave a casual "mm" and closed the matter.

Huo Yanshen's half-raised hand hung in the air for a beat, then he quietly pulled it back and rested it on his knee.

Shen Ling didn't notice. His eyes were burning red, his vision hazy, on the verge of passing out again.

But listening to Huo Yanshen's steady heartbeat, he suddenly felt something stuck in his throat—something that would rot if he didn't say it.

"I'm sorry."

Huo Yanshen froze for a second.

Then he said, calm as ever, "Sorry for what?"

Shen Ling lifted his head a little from his chest, the fever patch almost covering his eyes. He tilted his face up to look at Huo Yanshen, studying him carefully.

He'd been assuming all along that Huo Yanshen had been reborn too. But right now, Huo Yanshen looked totally confused, like he didn't know anything at all.

"Don't you also..." Shen Ling tested the waters.

Huo Yanshen looked down at him, dark eyes calm and unreadable. "Also what?"

Shen Ling said, "We've... only known each other for two weeks?"

Huo Yanshen looked at him, his gaze heavy. "Mm."

Shen Ling blinked. "Ah."

A thought struck him out of nowhere.

So Huo Yanshen hadn't been reborn.

Maybe because he truly wasn't ready to face a man he'd gotten killed, he felt relieved instead, and a belated sense of gratitude washed over him.

He remembered that in his past life, after Huo Yanshen's car accident, he'd been thrown to the bottom of a ravine, covered in injuries all over his body. What had actually killed him was a venomous insect at the bottom of the ravine.

The toxin permanently activated his pain receptors, and the dying process was accompanied by continuous, excruciating pain throughout his body.

And before this man left the house that day, all he'd wanted was a box of macarons.

If Huo Yanshen really remembered his past life, how could he still hold him like this? It'd be a miracle if he didn't hate him.

It was all Huo Yanshen's fault for holding him so tight, like he'd gotten back something he'd lost—but in their past life, they hadn't even gotten to the point of talking about feelings. He must've been out of his mind with fever just now.

"...Oh," Shen Ling said softly. "I'll behave from now on."

Huo Yanshen listened quietly, not saying a word.

Shen Ling added, "You don't need to worry about me. I really will behave."

Huo Yanshen didn't say yes or no. He just made Shen Ling lie down on the bed and pulled the blanket up over his shoulders. "This isn't something you need to worry about."

Shen Ling looked up, a stubborn edge in his voice. "You don't trust me, do you..."

Huo Yanshen said, "Go to sleep. You still have a fever."

Shen Ling was already running on empty, and his fever hadn't completely gone down. Once he was under the covers, he couldn't hold on any longer, and he slowly drifted off.

He mumbled a soft "mm" and was out within seconds.

Huo Yanshen leaned back against the headboard, one arm around Shen Ling's back.

With his other hand, he traced a fingertip slowly down Shen Ling's brow bone, across the bridge of his nose, and stopped at his lips—his lips were a little chapped from the fever, but still soft.

His thumb lingered there for a few seconds, feeling Shen Ling's weak breath brush over his knuckles.

Huo Yanshen lowered his head, pressed his lips to Shen Ling's forehead, then kissed his brows.

*

The fever came and went for three or four days.

Shen Ling slept through most of it, barely conscious, only dimly aware of being carried around by someone.

When it was time for his meds, someone propped him up by the back and lifted him; after being wiped down, he was rolled over to change into pajamas, then tucked back in.

He was too sleepy to open his eyes, just feeling that being moved around was actually kind of comfortable—that embrace never felt uncomfortable no matter how he was repositioned.

Shen Ling woke up earlier than usual. When he opened his eyes, a sliver of morning light was slipping through the gap in the curtains.

He lay still, always taking a moment to recover in bed after waking.

For someone with a weak heart, changing positions too suddenly could make his vision go dark—at best, dizziness; at worst, he'd pass out cold.

The moment he sat up, his vision went dark for a second, his temples throbbed twice, and a low ringing filled his ears.

Shen Ling closed his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass on its own.

"Easy." A voice came from the edge of the bed.

Huo Yanshen was sitting on the edge of the bed, suit jacket still off, holding a tablet that was still on the briefing page his assistant had sent that morning.

Shen Ling rubbed his eyes. "How long have you been sitting there?"

"Not long." Huo Yanshen locked the tablet, set it on the nightstand, and turned to look at him. "Still dizzy?"

"...Not anymore," Shen Ling said.

Huo Yanshen confirmed his complexion really was better than a few days ago, then stood up, walked to the mirror, and took the unknotted tie off the rack.

He was wearing a dark gray shirt, cuffs already buttoned. A deep blue silk tie wound around his slender fingers, looping twice before he slowly tightened it.

Shen Ling finished washing up and leaned against the doorframe, weak, watching the tie weave through Huo Yanshen's fingers. Morning light fell on the silk, showing the creases in varying shades, casting a dull sheen.

It looked like more than just something worn at the chest—like it had been used for some other, unspeakable purpose before.

Shen Ling's face got hot. He shook his head hard, trying to shake off the thought, but only made himself dizzier.

He stumbled forward, suddenly remembering that in his past life, Huo Yanshen had always been the one taking care of him more. This time, he'd said he'd be good, so he might as well start small.

Shen Ling said, "Let me do it."

Huo Yanshen's fingers stilled, and he turned to look at him.

==========Author's Note:==========

Recommending a friend's story, "Hurry Up and Turn Back Into a Kitten!" by Tang Xin Jiu Jiu Su.

A daddy-type top × a delicate, crybaby bottom. Wen Yinuo is a true cat lover.

Just thinking about having a seven-jin, aloof and proud little cat named Hu Hu at home gives him energy even as a corporate drone!

One day he works overtime until late, dragging his nearly broken body home—and when he flips on the light—

A man is sitting on the sofa.

Taller than him, broader than him, with a cold face and eyes that could freeze someone to death.

Wen Yinuo's legs go weak instantly, his voice trembling: "W-Who are you?"

The man replies in a low voice that he's Hu Hu.

...Huh?

Wen Yinuo blinks, wondering if he's hallucinating from overwork.

The man casts a dark, heavy gaze and repeats: "Your cat."

Wen Yinuo's expression looks like he's seen a ghost.

His cat???

That spoiled, clingy little kitten who sticks to him every day?

This man who could lift him up with one hand is claiming to be his cat?!?

Wen Yinuo's brain completely short-circuits.

Last night, he really had been under so much pressure that he cried and wished Hu Hu could talk to him. But he never expected Hu Hu to turn into a person!

No prank should be this insane!!

My whole worldview just fell apart.

—He would never have his soft little cat again.

What's even worse, before, he was the one who got to kiss Huhu, not the other way around—how did it end up with him getting kissed until he was just drooling?!

It was like the guy was trying to get back every kiss he'd ever given.

Wen Yinuo, eyes red, pushed against his rock-hard chest in despair, voice trembling with tears: "You have to turn back into a cat right now!"

The man nuzzled Wen Yinuo's burning earlobe, his voice low with amusement: "Can't change back anymore, my little master."

"And holding you like this," his arms tightened, "is way more comfortable than when I was a cat."