Chapter 16

Chapter 16

After Huo Yanshen left, Shen Ling lay alone in bed, tossing and turning, sleep eluding him.

The pillow carried Huo Yanshen's scent, but it was very faint. He buried his face in it and took a deep breath, then felt that his behavior was a bit creepy, so he flipped the pillow.

After flipping it, he wanted to smell it again, so he flipped it back over. He went back and forth like this several times, until finally he curled up hugging the pillow and dozed off.

Shen Ling woke up at six in the morning. He sat by the bed in a daze for a while, feeling heavy-headed and queasy. Lately, whether it was his irregular schedule or something else, his stomach had been acting up, and he had no appetite.

He went to the bathroom to wash his face. In the mirror, his face was pale, and his lips were drained of color.

Shen Ling patted his face with cold water. The patting brought a hint of red to his cheeks, and he finally didn't look like he'd just walked out of a hospital.

His phone buzzed.

Zhou Lin: "Teacher Shen, there's a photography studio that just opened up today. I wanted to shoot a set of photos of you for the exhibition promotional materials. Would that work for you? The crew is already here and the gear is all set up. Come by whenever you're free."

Shen Ling rubbed his eyes and texted back, "Okay, I'll get ready and come over."

The studio Zhou Lin mentioned was in the hotel's annex building, just down a connecting corridor. When Shen Ling walked in, he paused at the door.

The studio was much larger than he had imagined. Someone was bent over adjusting equipment, and a makeup artist was already standing by with an acrylic makeup case.

Shen Ling stood there, stunned.

He thought he could handle it. Last night he had even psyched himself up—it was just taking a few photos. Zhou Lin's magazine was a legitimate publication, not some trashy tabloid, and it would only be side-profile shots.

It wouldn't be like his past life, when photos were posted online, photoshopped into funeral portraits, with vile captions.

But standing here, a light suddenly turned on in front of him, the white glare slapping him in the face. He squinted on reflex.

He heard that buzzing sound from his memories.

In his past life, Sun Yu had collapsed at his feet—it was self-defense. But Shen Guoliang had caused a huge scene at the Huo family's doorstep, and reporters had flooded the school gates. The camera flashes were just as blinding as this light, and Shen Ling couldn't see anyone's face clearly.

"Go kill yourself."

"How is a piece of trash like this still alive?"

"Gold-digging made him a psycho, huh?"

...

Shen Ling had received over two thousand DMs in a single day.

"Teacher Shen?" Zhou Lin's voice jerked him back to reality.

"How's the lighting?"

Shen Ling's shoulders tensed, then he smiled faintly. "It's fine. Let's start."

He walked over to the backdrop.

All the lights came on, the softbox lighting his face clearly. The photographer said something he didn't quite catch—probably asking him to turn slightly to the side and lower his chin.

In the viewfinder, Shen Ling's profile was soft and refined. The light came down at an angle, catching a glimmer on the beauty mark at the corner of his eye. His gaze was calm, though it looked somewhat hollow, which only accentuated the strange beauty of his face—fragile yet alluring.

The photographer nodded in satisfaction. "Great. A few more facing forward."

Shen Ling turned his face toward the camera.

The moment his gaze met the lens, his pupils constricted sharply.

The black circle of the viewfinder was like an eye—just like the phone cameras from his past life, aimed at him, capturing every flicker of emotion.

Shen Ling's breathing became erratic. Something in his chest was rapidly expanding, crushing his chest until he couldn't breathe.

"Alright, thank you, Teacher Shen!"

The moment the lights went out, Shen Ling stood in front of the backdrop, his shoulders suddenly slumping, as if every support had been yanked out from under him.

His knees buckled slightly, and his fingers instinctively reached out to grab something nearby. They grabbed at empty air, hovering for a moment before falling back to his sides.

The makeup artist was packing up her brushes, the assistant was dismantling the reflector, and the photographer was scrolling through the shots on his camera, muttering "this one's good" and "this one too." No one noticed him.

Without the harsh light, his face settled back into its natural pallor. The lip balm had long dried up, leaving his lips dry and chapped.

He tried to stand, but so he wouldn't pass out, he slowly crouched down instead.

Zhou Lin walked over and handed him a bottle of water, glancing at him. "Teacher Shen, you don't look well. Blood sugar drop? It's about lunchtime anyway—let's grab something together. Xitong is here too."

Shen Ling took the water and nodded.

The restaurant was on the second floor of the hotel. Chen Xitong was already seated in the private room, flipping through the menu.

The dishes came quickly: boiled prawns, steamed grouper, scallops with garlic and vermicelli, and a pot of Buddha Jumps Over the Wall soup.

When the waiter lifted the lid off the soup, a rich, savory aroma mixed with the mellow scent of Shaoxing wine wafted over.

Shen Ling's stomach twisted violently.

That smell was like a greasy snake, slithering from his nostrils all the way into his stomach, coiling around it and squeezing tight.

Shen Ling covered his mouth and abruptly stood up.

"Shen Ling?" Zhou Lin looked up at him.

Shen Ling had already turned and run out.

He vomited for a long time in the bathroom stall, heaving up the half-glass of warm water he'd drunk that morning. When there was nothing left, he could only spit out bile, his stomach still clenching in waves.

He crouched down, gripping the edge of the toilet, his forehead pressed against the cold stall wall. It took him a while to pull himself together.

When he returned to the table, his eyes were red, with a few involuntary tears still clinging to his lashes.

Chen Xitong put down her chopsticks, her face full of concern. "Are you okay? Did you get heatstroke or something?"

Shen Ling shook his head. "I'm fine. Maybe my stomach's just acting up."

Chen Xitong looked at his pale face and suddenly joked, half-joking: "You scared me. Anyone would think you were pregnant."

Shen Ling froze for a moment, then seemed to find it amusing. He waved his hand and let out a light laugh. "Don't worry, I'll be fine on my own."

How could a man get pregnant? It's impossible.

Physical symptoms of anxiety attacks could include nausea, drowsiness, and loss of appetite—he'd read all about that in Dr. Song's books. His body had never been in great shape anyway. After an anxiety attack, an upset stomach was perfectly normal.

Chen Xitong didn't ask any more questions and turned the topic to the exhibition.

*

That evening, Shen Ling returned to the hotel, showered, and curled up in the bed.

The bed was really a bit too big. He turned over, stared at the pillow Huo Yanshen had slept on, reached out, pulled the pillow over, and hugged it to his chest. The cedar scent was already very faint—he had to bury his nose in it to smell even a little.

Shen Ling went to the bathroom and took another shower.

He felt like the smell of meat oil from lunch was still lingering on his body, sticky and clinging to his skin. No matter how much he rinsed, it wouldn't wash clean. His skin was rubbed red, but that smell still lingered, haunting his nasal cavity.

Shen Ling turned off the water, draped a bathrobe over himself, and walked out, barefoot on the wooden floor.

Suddenly, something was seeping in from under the door gap.

Dark red, thick blood, seeping inward along the gap between the doorframe and the floor.

Shen Ling stepped back a step, his lower back hitting the edge of the foot of the bed. Those red liquids were spreading toward him—like the threatening letters that had been shoved under the door gap in his past life when he curled up in the corner of his apartment, one after another, with red ink, saying "Die, die, die..."

His breathing became rapid. Shen Ling suddenly saw the wardrobe, its door half-open, with the coat Huo Yanshen had left in a hurry yesterday and didn't take still hanging inside.

Shen Ling almost instinctively reached out, pulled the coat down, and wrapped it around himself.

The blood under the door gap actually stopped.

Shen Ling looked down at the dark edge that was no longer spreading, wrapped the coat a little tighter, and shrank into the corner of the bed.

But one coat was nowhere near enough—the scent on it was quickly sniffed up by Shen Ling.

He hurriedly stood up, walked to the front of the wardrobe, and pulled down Huo Yanshen's black bathrobe as well. This bathrobe Huo Yanshen had only worn once at the hotel. He also pulled out the white shirt, and took a tie...

Shen Ling carried the pile of clothes back to the bed, arranging them one by one around himself—the shirt folded and placed in the innermost position, the bathrobe draped on the left side, the tie rolled into a small ball and tucked under the pillow, and the suit jacket spread over the blanket.

Those clothes surrounded him in the middle, Huo Yanshen's scent enveloping him from all directions. Nothing red seeped through from the door gap anymore, and the air in the room became quiet and safe again.

Shen Ling curled himself into the small space formed by the circle of clothes, his cheek pressed against the soft fabric of the bathrobe, and let out a tiny yawn.

When the phone rang, Shen Ling was almost asleep. He groggily fumbled for the phone and pressed answer.

The screen lit up, and Huo Yanshen's face appeared in the picture. He was probably still working overtime—behind him was the dark gray wall of his office.

The moment he saw Shen Ling, Huo Yanshen's expression became somewhat strange.

From Huo Yanshen's perspective, his baby was curled up in the middle of a pile of clothes.

—All of them were his.

Those clothes were piled into a strange shape, surrounding his whole body in the middle, leaving only a small face and one hand exposed.

Like a kitten that had built itself a nest using its owner's sweater.

Huo Yanshen frowned. "Baby, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

Shen Ling blinked, not fully awake yet. "I'm not uncomfortable..."

"I just missed you."

The other end of the screen was quiet for a moment. Huo Yanshen brought the phone closer. "Did you take photos today?"

"Mm." Shen Ling rubbed his eyes. "Chief Editor Zhou brought a lot of people, lots of lights, lots of equipment... I finished the shoot. I didn't embarrass myself."

Huo Yanshen looked at the screen, gently stroking Shen Ling's face on the phone screen with his thumb, and took several screenshots.

Shen Ling was curled up in his pile of clothes, nervously reporting to him on the day's work results, like a kid bringing home their first certificate from school.

"Good boy," Huo Yanshen said. "You did very well."

Shen Ling was startled, then buried his face deeper into the pile of clothes, revealing only a bright red ear. "Mm, mm."

Huo Yanshen looked at that bright red ear tip and took another screenshot.

Huo Yanshen: "Go to sleep. Don't hang up—I'll watch you sleep."

Shen Ling leaned the phone against the pillow, turned on his side, his cheek pressed against the sleeve of the gray coat. The screen's light illuminated his profile, and the shadow of his lashes fell across his cheek, rising and falling gently with each breath.

Huo Yanshen: "Go to sleep, baby."

"Get some sleep—you'll see me tomorrow morning."

Shen Ling's lips curved slightly, and before sleep completely swallowed him, he softly said "Mm."

The next day, when Shen Ling woke up, it was already noon.

He turned over, his arm subconsciously reaching out to the side. The pillow was cold, and the sheets were cold too.

Why hasn't Huo Yanshen come back yet?

Didn't he say he would arrive in the morning? It's already noon now.

Shen Ling picked up his phone, wanting to send Huo Yanshen a message asking where he was.

But before he could unlock the screen, a news notification popped up. The words slammed into his eyes before he even had the chance to unlock.

"Multiple-vehicle collision on the Hai City to Xuncheng expressway this morning; heavy casualties."

Shen Ling's pupils contracted sharply.

The phone slipped from his hand, smacking against the bedsheet with a thud. The screen was still lit, the news headline glaring up at the ceiling.

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

The male lead is fine.