Chapter 24

Actually, he wanted to say: I can't walk—will you carry me?

He wanted to know how Yan Bozong would respond. But deep down, he already had an idea. How else could he answer? Naturally, he'd think he was being unserious—sick, yet still acting frivolous.

So before Yan Bozong could reply, he grinned and said, "Just kidding. I can walk."

Madam Yan and the others were busy in the mahjong room, so he didn't greet them. He simply followed Yan Bozong out and got into the car. Maybe it was the fever, but he wasn't thinking about anything else. He slumped against the seat, feeling dazed, and even forgot about his earlier worry regarding the injection.

When they arrived at the hospital, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. It turned out he needed an IV drip, not an injection. But when the nurse prepared to insert the needle into the back of his hand, he still felt a bit scared and turned his head away.

Yan Bozong stood by the door, talking on the phone. It seemed like he was speaking with Yan Songwei. When the nurse left, he finished the call and came in.

"Songwei is busy and can't make it," he said.

"It's just a small illness. He doesn't need to come back. Bozong, you should go home too. No need to stay here with me. I'll take a cab home after the IV."

"I don't have anything urgent to do. I'd just be sitting around at home anyway."

Hearing that, Qi Liangqin felt a wave of sweetness in his heart. No matter how strong a person was, when they were sick, they still wanted someone by their side—whether it was a family member, a friend, or the man they secretly liked.

Yan Bozong sat down on the long bench beside him, casually picking up a magazine to read. Qi Liangqin took out his phone and started scrolling.

There was no one else in the hospital room, and after the nurse left, the place became incredibly quiet. He could even hear the sound of Yan Bozong flipping through the pages. Unable to resist, he lifted his eyelids slightly and stole a glance at him.

Yan Bozong sat in a relaxed manner, leaning back against the bench. However, he didn't cross his legs—instead, his legs were spread wide apart, revealing a noticeable bulge in between.

Qi Liangqin suddenly recalled those descriptions in the novel about Yan Bozong's inhuman proportions, and his heart skipped a beat.

In reality, Yan Bozong rarely sat like this. Having served in the military, he always maintained a straight posture at home, whether working or eating, exuding a natural air of authority. But at this moment, Qi Liangqin found himself liking this side of him even more—wild, untamed, exuding raw masculinity.

As if sensing his gaze, Yan Bozong suddenly looked up.

Startled, Qi Liangqin immediately lowered his head. But in his panic, he lost his grip on his phone, and it slipped onto the blanket.

He quickly reached to pick it up. His other hand was hooked up to the IV, so he didn't dare move too much, fearing he'd pull out the needle. But his left hand wasn't very nimble, and as he tried to grab the phone, his fingers trembled slightly.

He casually clicked on a news article—it was an entertainment piece about a celebrity couple who had both cheated on each other. This had been a major scandal over the past few days, dominating the headlines repeatedly. He was already tired of seeing it.

Lowering his head, he skimmed through the article for a while, estimating that Yan Bozong was no longer paying attention to him. Only then did he steal another glance at him.

Yan Bozong rested one arm on the bench, his hand positioned just in front of his lips, with his thumb idly brushing against his chin. His hands were, without a doubt, beautiful—long fingers, well-proportioned bones, and neatly trimmed nails.

When Qi Liangqin was younger, he had been quite fond of growing out a fingernail—his pinky nail, to be precise. He wasn't sure what he had been thinking back then. But after turning twenty, he finally trimmed it off. Looking back on those years, he felt nothing but secondhand embarrassment.

Men with long nails had since become something he found utterly intolerable. Whenever he saw it, an inexplicable sense of aversion would rise within him. Over time, he realized that most straight and handsome men never grew out their nails. They always had clean, crisp hairstyles—and equally clean, neatly trimmed fingers.

Without a doubt, Yan Bozong had a pair of mesmerizing hands.

He stared blankly at Yan Bozong's thumb, watching it stroke his chin over and over again.

And suddenly, his body grew warm.

He wasn't sure if it was because he imagined himself as that hand, brushing against Yan Bozong's chin, or if he imagined himself as that chin, being gently grazed by Yan Bozong's long, enticing fingers.

One stroke. Another.

It made his heart tremble.

He swallowed hard, trying to moisten his dry throat. His mind wasn't entirely clear—he still had a fever. When he lowered his eyelids, he could even feel the heat radiating from them. The overhead lights shone down on his pale yet slightly flushed face, casting a shadow beneath his long eyelashes.

He pressed his lips together, thinking that with Yan Bozong here, his fever might never go away.

But if it meant having Yan Bozong's company, he wouldn't mind staying feverish forever.

Love always seemed to have a certain magic—one that turned people into fools. From the outside, it was easy to mock others for their blindness, yet once caught in it, drinking poison felt as sweet as honey.

The IV drips took over three hours to finish. By the time they left the hospital, Qi Liangqin was still shivering.

Summer was just around the corner, and the fashion-forward, warm-blooded youngsters were already in T-shirts. But even wrapped in his jacket, he still felt cold.

"Why do you look even worse after getting the IV?" Yan Bozong asked. As he spoke, he leaned in and reached out to touch Qi Liangqin's forehead.

Qi Liangqin froze. Yan Bozong's palm was warm—so warm that it made his forehead feel damp and cool in contrast.

"It's working. Your fever's gone down."

Yan Bozong fastened his seatbelt, then reached over and buckled Qi Liangqin's as well.

As the car pulled out, sunlight streamed through the windshield, casting a glow on Yan Bozong's hands.

"Thank you," Qi Liangqin said.

At his words, Yan Bozong seemed to chuckle—he heard the faint sound of an amused breath being drawn. But when he turned to look, he only saw Yan Bozong's lips curved slightly, carrying a barely discernible smile.

"We're family. No need to thank me."

Qi Liangqin thought, maybe it wasn't so unreasonable for the novel's Qi Liangqin to fall for him. Now that he was living through it himself, he realized—it wasn't entirely Qi Liangqin's fault.

Yan Bozong wasn't the type of man who was cold and heartless. On the contrary, he was the very definition of an ideal eldest son in a wealthy family—dignified, capable, and a gentleman.

Yan Bozong was Qi Liangqin's destined calamity.

But in Yan Bozong's eyes, what was Qi Liangqin to him?

At least in the first eighty chapters of the novel, Yan Bozong had shown no affection toward Qi Liangqin whatsoever.

If the character settings hadn't collapsed, Yan Bozong would never fall in love with his own brother's lover.

That wasn't the kind of man he was.

And if he was—then Qi Liangqin wouldn't love him so much in the first place.

They were two entirely different kinds of people—one so pure and perfect it was almost inhuman, the other so despicable and wicked it was barely human at all.

When Qi Liangqin got home, he had to take his medicine—the doctor had instructed him to take it three times a day.

"Wait a bit before taking it," Yan Bozong said. "Taking medicine on an empty stomach can irritate your digestive system. Have lunch first, then take it an hour later."

Yan Yuan entered the room. "Mom asked me to check on you. Are you feeling better?"

"I got an IV, so I'm much better now," Qi Liangqin replied.

"Good thing I came to check on you—you had a fever of forty degrees."

Yan Yuan looked at Yan Bozong in shock. "That high?"

"There's a sick person in the house, so pay more attention. Songwei is busy, and as his sister, you should take better care of him."

After instructing him to rest well, Yan Bozong left. Yan Yuan sat down beside him and reached out to feel his forehead. "The fever's gone. Do you want me to call Second Brother and tell him to come back?"

"It's just a minor illness. I'm already fine. Calling him back would be too much, wouldn't it?"

Yan Yuan laughed and said, "Good thing Big Brother is so attentive. Honestly, in our family, only he is."

Lunch was the most elaborate meal in the Yan household. Even Madam Yan, who prioritized health and preferred vegetarian food, would eat more meat at this time. But today, Aunt Chun had specially prepared porridge and two small side dishes just for Qi Liangqin.

Seeing the two separate plates in front of him, Yan Yuan asked, "Why is his meal different? A special diet for the sick?"

Aunt Chun smiled. "Bozong said that Xiao Qi isn't feeling well and might not have much of an appetite, so he should eat something lighter."

Yan Bozong was truly considerate. Though it was a small gesture, it made Qi Liangqin feel warm inside. He looked up and asked, "Where's Big Brother?"

"He had something to take care of and said he'd be having lunch with a client, so he won't be back."

Yan Yuan added, "But I don't think it was about a client. I overheard him talking to Sister-in-law's brother on the phone, and his expression was pretty grim."

However, Madam Yan didn't respond to Yan Yuan's words, and neither Qi Liangqin nor Aunt Chun knew anything about it, so Yan Yuan glanced at them before simply lowering her head and continuing to eat.

Outside, the sky was growing darker, and for some reason, Qi Liangqin felt a tinge of disappointment.

In the afternoon, the weather suddenly changed—clear skies turned cloudy, and soon, rain began to fall.

Qi Liangqin took a nap in bed, and when he woke up, the sky had already darkened.

The rain poured down outside, a sound he had always loved. Yan Songwei still hadn't returned, and deep down, Qi Liangqin hoped he wouldn't. The large bed was so comfortable, and he was reluctant to give it up.

Turning onto his side to face outward, he suddenly saw the lights turn on in the room across from his.

He sat up at once and looked toward the window.

He saw Yan Bozong taking off his coat, busy with something.

He leaned against the window, staring in a daze. The glass was damp, and occasionally, moisture would splash onto his arm.

But he wasn't just watching Yan Bozong—his feelings for him weren't that deep.

It was more like he was watching his own love story unfold.

Yan Bozong was an incredible man. If he were his… how incredible would that be? What would it feel like to have him, to own him?

The rain poured outside, and in the rhythmic sound of it hitting the window, Qi Liangqin let his imagination run wild.

Maybe on a night like this, they would be entangled in bed, their bodies slamming together, skin slapping against skin—faster, harder, more desperate than the raindrops outside.

Or maybe they would simply hold each other, bare and pressed close, feeling nothing but the warmth of their bodies fitting perfectly together.

He had imagined this scenario on countless rainy nights before, fantasizing about how he would spend them once he had a lover

He let out a sigh. Thinking about it, he found it both bittersweet and melancholic.

The night was already deep. He wondered what Yan Bozong would taste like. What a man would taste like.

With a flush of shame and loneliness, Qi Liangqin pondered. His thoughts were clearly tinged with something indecent, yet his heart held no real desire—only an aching yearning and an overwhelming solitude.

He felt like he was beginning to understand the Qi Liangqin in the novel more and more.

Once a person had someone in their heart, loneliness became unbearable. And over time, that loneliness would take on a different taste—it would turn into emptiness.

Emptiness was different from loneliness.

Loneliness could be endured.

But emptiness… Emptiness was intolerable.

And when a person could no longer bear it, they would step toward the abyss of desire—never to return.