YMW CH 35

Boyfriend

Cen Wu shivered violently after saying he was freezing, his arms barely able to hold onto Xie Guilan’s neck. The cold was unbearable, making it hard to fight off the discomfort.

It was too cold.

Xie Guilan’s throat tightened. He pulled Cen Wu into his arms, brushing the rain off his pale face, but Cen Wu was trembling so hard his whole body shook.

The downpour on the mountain grew heavier. Xie Guilan’s racing suit was waterproof, keeping him relatively dry, but Cen Wu had come in his school uniform—it was soaked through from head to toe.

Xie Guilan took off his jacket and wrapped it around Cen Wu, wiping his face again before gripping his arms and pulling them tighter around his neck. Then, hooking an arm under Cen Wu’s legs, he lifted him onto his back.

Cen Wu had stopped him on his way up the mountain, and now, heading down, they were about half an hour from the nearest populated area.

Cen Wu tried to hold the umbrella for him, but his fingers were so stiff from the cold that he struggled to grip it, barely managing after a few tries.

He had no idea how fast he’d been going earlier, but he must have pushed the motorcycle to its absolute limit. Even just sitting on the back while someone else sped like that would leave a person’s legs weak—let alone riding for half an hour himself.

Xie Guilan held onto the backs of Cen Wu’s knees. His legs had gone numb from the cold.

Cen Wu lay against Xie Guilan’s back. The mountain road was slick with rain, an easy place to slip, but the boy’s shoulders were already broad, his back firm and steady. His body was hot against the chill, giving a strange sense of security. He wasn’t afraid of falling.

Xie Guilan was already soaked. Cen Wu tried shifting the umbrella forward to shield him more, but Xie Guilan grabbed his wrist and put it back in place, so Cen Wu had no choice but to keep himself covered.

Lowering his head, his lips accidentally brushed Xie Guilan’s cold earlobe. He quickly pressed his lips together and pulled away, tightening his arms around Xie Guilan’s neck before asking, “Why don’t you just ride the bike and take me down?”

Xie Guilan hesitated, then said, “Too dangerous.”

He wasn’t willing to take that risk.

He had already considered the possibility of dying tonight—crashing off a cliff in this storm. The thought of his own death didn’t stir much in him. But now, carrying Cen Wu on his back…

Cen Wu’s breaths were shallow, faint puffs of warmth against his collar. His body kept growing colder, and Xie Guilan felt his own heartbeat quicken.

A fear he had never felt before crept up on him.

Cen Wu’s head drooped. His grip on Xie Guilan’s neck loosened, his hands barely holding the umbrella. But he forced himself to stay upright, refusing to let his body give out as he clenched the handle against the raging wind and rain.

He took a slow, shaky breath. When he felt slightly steadier, he lifted a sleeve of his school uniform and wiped the rain from Xie Guilan’s face.

Xie Guilan’s sharp brows cast deep shadows. The rain streamed down his face, but even in this sorry state, he was handsome—the kind of face that, after a few extra glances, could make someone’s anger fade.

The storm swallowed the world in darkness. The only light came from a flashlight Xie Guilan had grabbed from Chu Zijian’s car, barely illuminating the winding path ahead. Under the dim glow, Cen Wu studied Xie Guilan’s face and murmured, “I thought you didn’t know.”

But he wasn’t surprised that Xie Guilan had done this.

For Xie Guilan, accepting help—even from others’ kindness—was difficult. His mother, Song Lingwei, had a chronic illness that was a bottomless pit. No matter how much money went in, it was never enough.

Most of the debts he owed were impossible to repay. Two thousand, three thousand—maybe he could have managed those. But any larger sum? Before he could even begin paying it back, Song Lingwei would need another surgery.

Cen Wu understood the crushing weight of debt. He had carried it himself. It could strip a person of all their dignity.

If Xie Guilan had been willing to accept help, the money for Song Lingwei’s heart surgery could have been gathered easily. A few teachers from their class had already wanted to help him.

They wouldn’t have even asked him to pay it back.

The rain poured harder. Cen Wu felt feverish—burning hot yet shivering cold. His mind was hazy, exhaustion making it nearly impossible to keep his eyes open.

“Cen Wu,” Xie Guilan called for the first time, his voice rough and low. “Stay awake. Sleep when we get to the hospital.”

In this kind of storm, falling asleep would only make him lose body heat faster.

Xie Guilan tightened his grip, his fingers digging into the flesh of Cen Wu’s thigh to keep him steady. Then, he picked up the pace, heading toward the race track.

Cen Wu still had his phone. Once they reached a spot with signal, Xie Guilan called for a car and took him to the nearest hospital.

Hypothermia in a storm like this could be fatal. The city was too far, so he chose the closest hospital he could find.

By the time they arrived, Cen Wu was barely conscious, his body limp with fever. Every muscle ached, his knees stung—he didn’t even know when he had scraped them. Blood trickled down his calves.

His legs were too frozen to feel anything, and with the pitch-black mountain, Xie Guilan hadn’t noticed either. It wasn’t until he set Cen Wu down that he saw the streaks of blood on his soaked pants.

It was a stormy night, but the hospital was still crowded—some people were stranded due to the heavy rain, while others had been caught in accidents.

Xie Guilan shook the rain off his coat before draping it over Cen Wu. Then he asked the nurse for a blanket and wrapped it around him, pulling him into his arms.

Cen Wu’s face was pressed against Xie Guilan’s chest. He couldn’t help but notice how hot and firm it was.

Technically, muscles should be soft when relaxed, but Xie Guilan was far from relaxed. His hands gripped Cen Wu’s tightly, rubbing them to generate warmth. He even lifted them to his lips, breathing warm air over them, trying to help him regain some heat.

His dark, brooding eyes still held the weight of the storm, but his palms were burning as they clasped Cen Wu’s hands firmly.

The tension made Xie Guilan’s chest muscles a little too stiff—uncomfortable to lean against. Cen Wu poked at them lightly. Xie Guilan froze for a moment, then finally relaxed a little. Satisfied, Cen Wu settled back against him.

Xie Guilan: “…”

“Time for the IV.” A nurse approached with a tray.

Even then, Xie Guilan didn’t let go of Cen Wu. He held him close, his lips brushing against the damp strands of hair on Cen Wu’s head. Only when the nurse inserted the needle and started cleaning the wound on Cen Wu’s leg did he loosen his grip slightly, reaching down to roll up his pants.

Cen Wu’s already pale legs were now completely bloodless, save for the fresh streaks of red trickling down his calf. His knee was badly scraped—raw and bloody.

The nurse let out a small, sympathetic hiss before carefully cleaning the wound and bandaging it.

Cen Wu himself wasn’t even sure how he had fallen. He couldn’t remember. Now that his body was warming up and the numbness was fading, he finally began to feel the pain.

Especially when the medicine was applied—his knee burned sharply. His calf trembled, cold sweat breaking out across his back.

Xie Guilan tightened his embrace, gently patting his back. His usually low, raspy voice softened as he pressed a hand to the back of Cen Wu’s head and whispered, “Don’t be scared. If it hurts too much, bite me.”

Cen Wu lifted his head—his lips brushing against Xie Guilan’s cold, sharp collarbone. He parted his lips slightly but, in the end, couldn’t bring himself to bite. Instead, he clung to Xie Guilan’s waist, trembling in his arms.

His fever was worsening. Before the nurse even finished applying the medicine, Cen Wu was already slipping into unconsciousness.

When he woke up, he found himself lying on a long bench in the hallway, wrapped in a blanket.

Xie Guilan was gone.

Only a nurse stood beside him, replacing his IV bag.

A chill ran through him, draining the color from his lips. He instinctively tried to sit up and look for Xie Guilan, but the nurse gently pressed him back down.

She shook her head and chuckled. “Your boyfriend went to pay the bill. The payment counter isn’t busy at night, so he’ll be back soon. No need to panic—he won’t run off anywhere.”

“…”

What?

Cen Wu blinked, momentarily stunned. It took him a second to register what she had said, and when he did, his already fever-flushed cheeks grew even hotter. He stammered, “He—he—he’s not…”

The nurse assumed he was just embarrassed, smiled knowingly, and said nothing more as she replaced the IV bag.

When Xie Guilan returned, an indignant glare greeted him. He raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he had done wrong.

Cen Wu wasn’t shaking as much as before, but he was still trembling slightly. Xie Guilan reached out and pulled him back into his arms.

After a brief hesitation, Cen Wu wrapped his arms around Xie Guilan’s waist. It had been years since someone had held him like this. On this stormy night, the warmth felt dangerously close to home.

The small hospital, nestled at the foot of the mountain, was overcrowded. There weren’t enough beds, so younger and relatively stable patients had to receive their IVs in the hallway.

Across from Cen Wu, a little girl was also battling a fever, a cooling patch stuck to her forehead as she sat on her father’s lap.

Cen Wu’s mind was blank, yet he wasn’t sleepy. He simply curled up in the blanket, resting against Xie Guilan’s chest, his face half-buried against him, only his dazed eyes peeking out.

There was a smudge of dirt on his pale cheek—he had no idea where it had come from. His misty eyes looked lost and forlorn, like a child unable to find his way home.

The little girl stared at him with wide eyes.

Cen Wu’s social anxiety suddenly flared. Flustered, he buried his face deeper into Xie Guilan’s embrace—only to hear a low chuckle above his head.

Xie Guilan’s voice carried a teasing lilt. “Young master, do you want to be held like that too?”

“Who—who does?!” Cen Wu’s face burned.

But as soon as he lifted his head, Xie Guilan scooped him up by the legs, as if he really intended to cradle him on his lap.

Cen Wu panicked, his fevered face flushed red. He had no idea what Xie Guilan was thinking. Struggling, he pushed him away and muttered in a small, embarrassed voice, “You—you’re crazy. What are you doing?”

It was already inappropriate to be held like this—if anyone saw, it’d be even harder to explain. Sure, Zhang Fei might have had a fever, but Guan Yu wouldn’t have held him in his arms, right?

Let alone on his lap.

His earlier homesickness had vanished, completely disrupted by Xie Guilan’s antics.

Xie Guilan smirked and caught Cen Wu’s wrist, preventing him from escaping. He had bought a towel earlier and now dampened it with warm water before gently wiping Cen Wu’s face.

The little dusty mushroom turned fresh and clean again.

Cen Wu sat still, obediently tilting his head when instructed.

Xie Guilan pinched his cheek lightly. Cen Wu didn’t resist. His eyelashes trembled slightly as he looked up, his voice soft.

“Xie Guilan,” he murmured. “I’ll help you. You don’t have to feel burdened. One day, you’ll understand why. You can use me—for anything you want.”

Xie Guilan stilled, his gaze lifting. Cen Wu’s lashes quivered, his damp eyes reflecting every glimmer of light—moonlight, starlight, the city lights he had once seen.

His delicate eyes curved like a crescent moon when he smiled, but when they widened slightly, they resembled the full moon—hidden behind the stormy sky tonight.

The whole world seemed to waver under the weight of the rain, but in that moment, Cen Wu looked at him as if he were the only moon in his sky.