DCH CH 13
by LinnaceThis Doctor, Hot Pot
Lu Jingcheng shot Qingyi a glance—one that the latter interpreted as downright provocative—before striding into the restaurant on those long legs.
As he stepped forward, Qingyi caught a glimpse of exposed ankle, pale and finely sculpted like polished jade.
That flash of skin, half-hidden in the night, carried an effortless sensuality. Qingyi’s gaze was helplessly drawn to it, craving more of the mysteries concealed in the dark.
His mind immediately jumped to Yang Ji, captain of the rival Win Team. He remembered the red string always tied around Qin Mo’s ankle. Ever since those two got together, Yang Ji had been buying anklets and crimson cords in all sorts of styles.
Just last month during a match, Qingyi had sneered at Yang Ji, calling him a freak and a foot fetishist.
Now, rubbing his nose guiltily, Qingyi felt the irony hit him square between the eyes. He mentally cursed himself before following Lu Jingcheng inside.
The restaurant was near IF Team’s headquarters, and the place was decked out in team memorabilia.
The moment they entered, a photo wall greeted them. Front and center was a group shot of IF Team in their glory days—Qingyi and his teammates draped in championship banners, medals around their necks, radiating youthful triumph.
As the hostess led them to their table, Lu Jingcheng took in the surroundings: team flags, emblems, player photos, even posters of their in-game skins.
“Did you invest in this place?” Lu Jingcheng asked as they sat down. Though phrased as a question, his tone left no room for doubt.
Qingyi smirked. “Drop the ‘you guys.’” He scanned the QR code on the table and slid his phone over. “Pick what you want.”
Show-off rich kid, Lu Jingcheng grumbled internally.
A young waitress with a perky bun approached, carrying a pitcher of drinks. Dressed in the restaurant’s uniform—black shirt, black pants, red apron emblazoned with the shop’s name—she was unmistakably a fan. Her eyes sparkled as she handed them the menu.
“Captain Qingyi! The rest of the first team is over there. Would you like to join them?”
Qingyi’s hand, mid-pour for Lu Jingcheng, faltered. “They’re here tonight?”
“Yes,” the waitress said smoothly, expertly covering for him while refilling their glasses. “But it’s just four of them.”
Lu Jingcheng arched a brow, amusement dripping from his gaze. “Wow. Your own team ditched you for dinner? Rough being captain, huh?”
Qingyi, known league-wide for his pre-match trash talk, was rendered speechless. “…”
The waitress, oblivious but alarmed, stammered, “Uh… I-I didn’t know?”
Qingyi’s eye twitched. “I brought a friend. Didn’t want to intrude.” The girl, her fangirl filter three meters thick, accepted the flimsy excuse with a dreamy sigh before reluctantly walking away.
Lu Jingcheng studied the standee on their table. Glancing around, he noticed each table featured a different pair of Q-version heroes—all of them couples.
Hetero, homo, canon, crack, even self-ships.
This place had clearly monetized every possible Honor of Kings ship.
And their table? Whether by coincidence or someone’s design, featured Lan and Cai Wenji—the game’s most ubiquitous official (and fan-made) pairing.
After minutes of silence while Qingyi scrolled the menu, Lu Jingcheng finally spoke. “You should check the menu too. I didn’t order much. Want me to add their specialties?”
Lu Jingcheng’s peach-blossom eyes curved. “Not bad.”
“Huh?”
“This artwork. Composition, posing, expressions—all good.” He tapped the standee.
“Oh, that’s from our comic con tournament. A fan redrew the in-game screenshot,” Qingyi added proudly.
“…Never mind.”
Yep. Definitely intentional.
Qingyi kept ordering, occasionally consulting Lu Jingcheng.
Dishes arrived one after another. The boiling hot pot sent up curls of steam, forming a hazy veil between them.
On the other side of the mist, Lu Jingcheng dropped beef balls into the broth. Noticing Qingyi hadn’t moved, chopsticks idle, he looked up.
Holy—
As a med student, Lu Jingcheng had never dwelled much on aesthetics. To him, human anatomy was fundamentally similar—years of training had taught him to see past surfaces, straight to the bones and viscera beneath.
While others ogled photos of beauties, Dr. Lu analyzed their CT and MRI scans.
Back in grad school, when peers gossiped about crushes, he once dreamed of playing mahjong with three skeletons.
So unless someone’s features were truly distorted, his highest praise was a bland: “Decent.”
During their first consultation, Qingyi’s face had struck him.
Yet when colleagues asked if the pro gamer was as handsome off-screen, Lu Jingcheng had deadpanned: “He’s alright.”
What he refused to admit was this: his usually ice-cold objectivity melted entirely around Qingyi.
His insistence on Qingyi’s hospitalization, the extra care—all of it, Lu Jingcheng stubbornly told himself, was just a fan’s admiration for a top-tier pro.
And Lu Jingcheng had been equally stubborn in believing that this fondness of his would inevitably wear thin under Qingyi’s relentless pestering.
But at this moment, he had to admit—the 28 years of ironclad rationality had completely collapsed. Just like the affection he thought would fade, it hadn’t diminished in the slightest. Instead, it had only grown stronger.
And now, this deepening fondness hung between them like the steam from the hot pot—hazy, yet undeniably real.
Peering through the mist at Qingyi, Lu Jingcheng realized all those novels and dramas he’d read, all those flowery praises and poetic descriptions of beauty, were utter nonsense.
When it really came down to it, no matter how much poetry or literature he’d consumed, the only words that surfaced in his mind were: Holy shit, he’s gorgeous.
After mentally cursing a few more times, Lu Jingcheng’s thoughts spiraled further—what would his conservative parents say if he brought Qingyi home?
Before he could finish that train of thought, Qingyi waved a hand in front of his face. “Jingcheng.”
Lu Jingcheng snapped back to reality, met with Qingyi’s beaming smile. He didn’t even question the sudden familiarity of the address. “Huh?”
“Eat up.”
“Oh.”
Qingyi was indiscriminate with his hot pot dipping sauces. His bowl was a chaotic mix of everything, stirred into a murky black concoction. He eyed Lu Jingcheng’s modest selection. “Just those few?”
“I read online that this combo tastes best.”
Qingyi cheerfully mixed his own bowl. “Who needs guides? Just add whatever you feel like.”
Lu Jingcheng stirred his sesame paste in silence.
The words were casual, but the implication struck deep.
Lu Jingcheng’s parents might spend their retirement playing mahjong now, but back in their prime, they were titans in the medical field—even now, their former students still called for consultations.
So when raising their son, the Lu family adhered strictly to textbooks and science. Perhaps because they were first-time parents, Lu Jingcheng’s upbringing had been a series of rigid formulas, every milestone timed and perfected.
Precise, calculated—just lacking a touch of humanity.
Maybe they realized their mistake later, which was why Lu Jingcheng’s younger sister, Lu Chengjin, was raised with far more freedom. Thankfully, her presence balanced the family dynamics.
Lu Jingcheng picked up a piece of tripe, staring intently at Qingyi’s “everything-but-the-kitchen-sink” sauce. “Let me try yours?”
Qingyi handed it over skeptically. “…Yours should taste better, theoretically.”
Hot pot dipping sauces were all variations of the same ingredients, but this shop’s recipe had a richer depth.
Lu Jingcheng dipped the tripe into Qingyi’s concoction. Not bad at all.
Qingyi had already fetched a fresh bowl. “You act like you’ve never had this stuff before.”
Lu Jingcheng poked at the thick sauce. “You’re right. Some of these, I really haven’t.”
“You… eat that cleanly?”
“Not by choice. My parents had ‘optimal’ choices mapped out for everything.” He dropped a slice of beef into Qingyi’s bowl. “From schools and majors down to daily meals. You might not believe it, but I didn’t have hot pot or BBQ until college—and even then, I had to sneak it.”
“Especially my mom.” He paused. “How to put it… You know Empress Dowager Cixi?”
Qingyi shuddered at the comparison. “Scary, scary.” Then, realizing his blunder, he backpedaled. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that! Just… just…”
Lu Jingcheng laughed. “No need to explain. It was scary. So now, I want to try all the things they never let me do.”
Like playing very adult games with the man across from him.
Or watching his parents’ faces when Qingyi showed up at their doorstep.
He nudged another piece of meat toward Qingyi. “Eat. It’s getting cold.”
Qingyi obediently stuffed the beef into his mouth, brain scrambling for a subject change.
His mouth moved faster than his thoughts. “Then next time, I’ll take you somewhere wild. Guaranteed you’ve never done anything like it.”
“Huh?”
Qingyi glanced at the ceiling. “Street racing? I’ve got a gearhead friend who knows all the spots—some are insane, some are off-grid. All thoroughly scouted.”
Lu Jingcheng dropped another slice into his bowl. “Let’s stick to legal hobbies, hm? Be a good boy.”
Qingyi: “…”
“Captain?!”
“Dr. Lu?!”
“You two are eating together??”
The startled voices made both men turn. Standing before them were the four missing IF Team members—exactly as the waitress had described.
Wen Jing’s phone was pointed straight at them, and Qingyi instantly knew: This idiot’s live-streaming. Another poor soul squeezing in extra broadcast hours wherever possible.
Just as Qingyi guessed, Wen Jing’s stream had already exploded:
【HOLY SHIT IS THAT CAPTAIN QINGYI WHO DISAPPEARED FOR A WEEK?!】
【WHO’S THE HOTTIE ACROSS FROM HIM?? I NEED A NAME IN 60 SECONDS!!】
【I GOT THIS! CHECK THE COMIC CON TOURNAMENT FOOTAGE—HE’S THE CAI WENJI WHO SOLO’D THE NEXUS!】
【IT’S DR. LU!! A LIVING, BREATHING DR. LU!!!】
【PSA: WATCH THEIR POST-DUO STREAM CHAT. DIABETES WARNING.】
【SO QIN MO’S LEAK ABOUT THEM GETTING BUSY WAS REAL??】
【WHERE THERE’S SMOKE, THERE’S FIRE. PLUS, IT WAS AN INSIDER.】
Lu Jingcheng smiled politely. “Yeah, got off work late. Ran into your captain, so we grabbed dinner.”
Qingyi sighed dramatically. “Took multiple attempts. I practically camped at the hospital.”
Not wanting the team to misunderstand, Lu Jingcheng clarified, “I did agree to the comic con.”
“I’m talking about meals. Separate issue.” Qingyi pouted. “You turned me down three times before tonight.”
“I—” Lu Jingcheng glanced at Wen Jing’s still-recording phone. He wanted to argue, but Qingyi wasn’t wrong.
“But I get it.” Qingyi mercifully saved him. “Doctors are busy. No hard feelings.”
“Mm. Making up for it tonight.” The words slipped out before Lu Jingcheng could stop them.
Their exchange, complete with lingering glances, did not escape the livestream audience:
【THREE VISITS LIKE LIU BEI AND ZHUGELIANG!! ANY FELLOW XUANLIANG SHIPPERS HERE??]
【IF THEY’RE NOT TOGETHER, I’LL WASH MY HAIR UPSIDE DOWN.]
【DR. LU’S JUST TSUN. IF QINGYI PUSHED A LITTLE HARDER THOSE FIRST TIMES, HE’D HAVE CAVED. TRUST.】
【DID Y’ALL HEAR?? ‘MAKING UP FOR IT TONIGHT.’ I’M DECEASED.】
【ELABORATE ON THE MAKING UP.】
【DON’T BE SHY, WE HAVE THE DATA.】
Oblivious to the chat’s meltdown, Qingyi had been subtly (and not-so-subtly) hinting for his teammates to get lost.
Wu Mian, well-aware of his captain’s agenda, herded the others away under the guise of training.
“We’ve got drills, Captain. See you later.”
“Yeah, yeah! Your Highness, enjoy your meal. We’ll… uh… go review footage.”
Wen Jing, fully seeing the fans’ hysterics, mentally groaned: Exactly why we’re leaving!
Gotta give them privacy!
After the meal, Qingyi scanned the check.
Exhaustion from the day finally hit Lu Jingcheng, drowsiness creeping in.
“Let’s go.” Qingyi pocketed the unused napkins, grinning. “Dr. Lu, time to make good on what you owe me.”