Chapter 07

Song Shuling didn’t care whether Ruan Zhen was a beast or not. All he knew was that if he didn’t take a shower soon, he would really do anything.

“Handle it as you see fit.”

He gave Doctor Chen a brief nod and turned to leave the room, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked, discarding the one soiled by Ruan Zhen.

Song Shuling detested tears, sweat, saliva, and all other bodily fluids.

Being tainted by these sticky, smelly substances made him extremely uncomfortable, leading him to shower repeatedly.

Without the rising steam, the cold water trickled down the man’s chest muscles and slid into his well-defined abdominal lines. Song Shuling spent millions on fitness each year, his diet meticulously calculated to sculpt a god-like, powerful body. This, of course, was due to his high standards and boundless energy.

The sound of water stopped.

Song Shuling emerged from the bathroom, his hair combed back, revealing a smooth forehead and clear eyes. His pupils and eyelashes were a deep brown, usually hidden by a nonchalant expression, but when the water droplets hadn’t dried, they took on a gentle hue.

Doctor Chen was already waiting in the side hall.

Hearing the footsteps, he turned his head, no longer teasing the snow-white parrot. Ruan Zhen had arrived late last night and went straight to the second floor, missing the hidden wonders here.

Besides the feathered creature, there was an entire wall of deep, dark blue—

A giant aquarium.

It made one feel as if they were in an oceanarium, with colorful tropical fish swimming leisurely in the light, creating a dreamlike scene.

Song Shuling ignored him, sitting down on the sofa and lighting a cigarette.

“You don’t have a smoking habit, do you?”

Doctor Chen chattered, “Why are you smoking at home?”

The cigarette glowed intermittently, but Song Shuling’s expression remained unchanged. He responded with a casual “hmm.”

This “hmm” wasn’t really an answer.

Doctor Chen, despite his jovial appearance, was shrewd and immediately caught on. “The fever isn’t particularly severe. I’ve already given him a shot.”

Song Shuling raised an eyebrow. “If it’s not severe, why did he faint?”

“Low blood sugar,” Doctor Chen continued, “and the bruises on his body… I think it’s best to remove that thing in the morning. It looks uncomfortable… I wasn’t looking at anything inappropriate!”

Song Shuling extinguished the cigarette.

He wouldn’t accept that label.

“Don’t blame me,”

Song Shuling chuckled, “I’m not that perverted.”

“Who knows,” Doctor Chen picked up his medical bag, half-joking, “I think you’ve been single for so long, you’re pretty perverted.”

Those who knew Song Shuling well knew he had no one around him.

He avoided women and men alike, distant from his family, returning only occasionally. He was always impeccably dressed, standing like a ghost at the top.

Seeing the unconscious person on the bed, Doctor Chen assumed he had suddenly indulged and overexerted himself.

“I’ll come back tomorrow morning. If he has a fever again at night, remember to call me.”

He was pragmatic, always ready to be called upon.

Once he left, the vast hall fell silent. The parrot buried its head under its wing to sleep, and the dense schools of fish swam silently in the deep blue. Song Shuling stood up and went to the bookshelf to retrieve a file.

It wasn’t his assistant’s negligence; the subject’s life was simply unremarkable.

“Ruan Zhen.”

Song Shuling’s gaze lingered on the name for two seconds before moving on.

Birth date unknown, an orphan, raised by Zhang Youli in Liupo Alley. The details and procedures of his adoption were untraceable, but it was known that Ruan Zhen began attending school from then on.

His academic performance was outstanding, but his overall evaluation was low. He had no special talents, and teachers and classmates described him as a sloth, moving only when necessary and showing no interest in any activities, always trying to avoid them.

He seemed to be a child who liked to hide in the corners.

Not dark, no hardships or deep-seated issues. Song Shuling picked up a printed photo. It was Ruan Zhen’s high school graduation photo. In the sunlight, the boy in the school uniform was yawning, his eyes squinted into small crescents.

This year, he received a graduate school acceptance letter.

It was a very ordinary life trajectory.

One could almost see the image of a boy growing up in an alley, gradually running out into the world, chasing the light.

Song Shuling remembered the message he received in the morning, the additional information from his assistant.

“Last weekend, the First Young Master had a word, and Ruan Zhen’s withdrawal from school was processed.”

The air was heavy, dark clouds rolled, and distant thunder rumbled. Song Shuling put the file back on the shelf.

—

Ruan Zhen was dreaming.

But he often woke up in a start.

His gaze focused on the unfamiliar ceiling, then quickly became unfocused as his consciousness wavered. Someone seemed to be taking care of him, but Ruan Zhen couldn’t tell. He only felt his forehead being stroked and a cool towel placed on it.

His fingertips turned white from the force of his grip.

No.

Take it away.

He was too cold.

Ruan Zhen’s body trembled, and he clutched the edge of the blanket, trying to curl up—still no use. The cold made his bones ache, and his vision blurred, seeing only the outline of the curtains.

He struggled to get up, trying to pull the curtains down.

His hands were held down.

“Don’t move!”

Song Shuling pushed him back down. “What are you doing?”

Without his permission, the butler and servants dared not enter this room, so it took two hours for Song Shuling to realize the problem.

He hadn’t arranged for anyone to take care of Ruan Zhen.

But it didn’t matter much. Just a fever. Song Shuling had once broken his leg in a car race and didn’t even flinch. A little headache and fever wouldn’t be a big issue.

He suddenly remembered that Ruan Zhen wanted congee and tomato and egg stir-fry.

The food was brought, but Ruan Zhen was still unconscious.

Ruan Zhen didn’t open his eyes, but he wasn’t sleeping peacefully. His eyelids twitched, his cheeks flushed, and his breath was hot.

Song Shuling watched for a while, then sat down beside him, patting his shoulder.

But the patting didn’t help. As soon as his hand touched Ruan Zhen, he started struggling like a live fish being scaled, mumbling incoherently.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Too cold.”

Song Shuling easily restrained him, gripping his wrists. “Stop it!”

His thumb pressed against the skin on the inside of Ruan Zhen’s wrist, feeling the weak pulse.

The hot breath blew over, and Ruan Zhen finally stopped.

He opened his eyes, misty and unfocused.

“I’m so cold,”

Ruan Zhen paused, looking at Song Shuling with a dazed expression. “Can you hug me?”

His speech was slow, his voice hoarse and soft.

At that moment, Song Shuling saw a glimpse of the person Ruan Zhen used to be.

“Classmates said he was like a sloth.”

“Neighbors called him Tangyuan, saying he was short and good-tempered, like a little ball.”

“Very obedient, never moved, always yawning and basking in the sun.”

Ha, such a docile description, yet he could scatter ashes.

Either people couldn’t judge a book by its cover, or Ruan Zhen had been pushed to the brink and gone completely mad.

But now, a thought suddenly flashed in Song Shuling’s mind.

The surname Ruan suited him.

Lifting his head, even when sick and dizzy, he still looked at him with such earnestness.

No one could resist such a gaze.

Except Song Shuling.

“Have your meal first,”

He released his grip without hesitation. “Your congee and tomato and egg stir-fry.”

The faint aroma of the food wafted over, and Ruan Zhen’s consciousness returned. He blinked slowly.

“What,”

Song Shuling’s finger tapped the bedside table. “Waiting for me to feed you?”

Ruan Zhen sat up, feeling weak, even the effort to place a pillow behind his back was exhausting. The other person watched him calmly, as if it didn’t concern him.

Indeed, he was cold and unfeeling.

Ruan Zhen took a few deep breaths before picking up the congee and managing to take a sip.

It was warm, just the right temperature.

The fever had affected his taste, and he couldn’t taste much.

He tried a bite of the tomato and egg stir-fry.

A moment later, Ruan Zhen put down his chopsticks, his eyes wide. “No sugar, just salt.”

“I forgot to specify.”

Song Shuling said casually, his gaze sweeping over Ruan Zhen’s forehead, noting the sweat. He estimated the fever was about to break.

“I said, the tomato and egg stir-fry should have sugar.”

Ruan Zhen’s lips trembled, on the verge of tears.

Song Shuling hated tears and immediately responded, “I’ll have the housekeeper make it again.”

“No need,” Ruan Zhen sniffed, “If you make it again, what will happen to this? It would be such a waste.”

The food was still steaming, the golden eggs mixed with the pulpy tomatoes, colorful and savory.

“Then eat it,” Song Shuling said bluntly. “Eat and sleep. You’ll be better tomorrow.”

“I don’t like it with salt, but I don’t want to waste it, so…”

Ruan Zhen bit his lip, repeating, “Can you hug me?”

His voice grew softer. “Just to comfort me.”

He was really delirious, persistently asking for a hug.

Song Shuling’s lips curved into a smile.

A delicate beauty.

So fragile, with a pitiful look that seemed to have lost her husband.

… Not to mention, he really had lost his husband.

So, could he hug his brother-in-law?

Moreover, he was nine years older than Ruan Zhen. In Song Shuling’s mind, someone in their early twenties was still a child playing in the mud.

Not interesting at all.

Just like Ruan Zhen’s current expression.

His features were striking, the gray-blue eyes and washed-out gaze tempering the excessive allure, adding a touch of innocence.

“Then what?”

Song Shuling moved closer, his tone unchanged. “Just a hug?”

“Ah, isn’t that what you meant?”

Ruan Zhen’s eyelashes fluttered in surprise.

A brief silence.

Song Shuling suddenly smiled, like ice melting in winter, blooming with the scent of spring. His strong arms enveloped Ruan Zhen in a gentle embrace.

Ruan Zhen’s frame was so small, one arm could hold him completely.

A faint woody scent mixed with a hint of tobacco filled the air.

The intimate gesture didn’t last long. He held Ruan Zhen’s head, his lips almost touching his ear.

His voice was soft.

“Did you find it?”

The person in his arms stiffened.

The cool fingers stopped moving.

A warmer male hand covered Ruan Zhen’s, forcefully removing it from his waist.

Song Shuling’s tone was gentle. “Stop touching. It’s inappropriate.”

At the same time, they both pulled back, immediately separating.

Ruan Zhen’s expression changed.

He stared coldly at Song Shuling’s face. “The key is on you.”

Song Shuling stood up, smiling at him. “So, is that why you touched another man?”

The emphasis on “another man” was heavy.

Ruan Zhen’s husband, or rather, his brother, had just passed away—though they weren’t legally married, as the report clearly stated.

In Song Shuling’s mind, Ruan Zhen’s lies were motivated by ulterior motives.

The next moment, the beautiful little liar smiled.

His gaze moved from the man’s Adam’s apple down, using Song Shuling’s question to his advantage. “Yes,”

Ruan Zhen’s eyes curved. “Your waist feels really good.”

He clasped his hands together, making a pleading gesture, his expression serious.

“So, can I touch your butt again?”

His hands were already reaching out, his expression earnest.