She crushed the pill into powder, mixed it with a little water, and tried spoon-feeding him.
"Please… just a little," she whispered, guiding the spoon to his lips. But the liquid only slipped out the corner of his mouth.
Her hands trembled. Nothing was working.
Wei Xing sat frozen for a moment, then suddenly spotted the straw lying in the takeout bag. An idea struck her. Without thinking twice, she dissolved the medicine into a bit more water, took a sip herself, and held one end of the straw in her mouth. Slowly, she guided the other end to Zhou Yu's lips.
Her heart pounded as she leaned close, careful not to spill a drop. Gently, she blew the liquid through the straw, letting it trickle into his mouth. This time, his throat moved—he swallowed.
Relief washed over her, and her eyes softened. "Good… he'll be fine now," she whispered, brushing the damp hair from his forehead.
Wei Xing's pulse still raced from feeding him the medicine. Only when she sat down, tied her short hair into a small ponytail, and distracted herself with the cake did she realize—the medicine must've been bitter for him. Her chest ached strangely, like she had made him suffer without meaning to. " Is it bitter..." She whispered. "Don't worry, the cake., I'll eat it on behalf of you." And laughed faintly.
After finishing a bite, she stood to wash her hands. But as she stepped into the kitchen, her gaze froze. On the counter lay scattered vegetables, a knife smeared faintly with red, and beside it—dried blood stains. Her heart dropped.
He's hurt.
Without thinking, she rushed back to him. His hand was clenched tightly, fingers locked around that strange little rock. "Zhou Yu…" she whispered, gently prying at his grip. He wouldn't loosen, not even in sleep. Desperation grew in her chest until, with one last effort, his fingers finally slackened. The rock slipped free—it was small, rough, but faintly heart-shaped. She set it carefully beside him, her hands trembling, before reaching for the medical kit.
Wei Xing dabbed disinfectant on the cut, blowing softly to ease the sting he couldn't feel, then wrapped it with a bandage. "You're always careless…" she murmured under her breath, her voice breaking as if scolding him, yet carrying a tenderness she couldn't admit aloud.
Just as she tried to stand, a sudden pull dragged her off balance.
Zhou Yu's arm—strong, even in fevered sleep—wrapped around her, pressing her against him.
Her breath hitched sharply. "Zhou Yu…" she whispered, frozen.
Her heart hammered like a war drum. Heat rose to her face, her skin damp with nervous sweat. His breath brushed against her cheek, and in that moment, his face was so close—too close.
For the first time, she saw every detail of him: the curve of his lashes, the sharp line of his jaw, the warmth of his lips.
Her mind went blank. She was losing herself.
Almost unconsciously, she leaned forward, inch by inch, lips trembling as they drew closer. The world shrank into this single fragile moment.
But then—
"Don't leave me again… don't… leave me again…"
His voice cracked from his sleep, raw and pleading.
Wei Xing froze mid-breath. Her chest clenched violently, as if someone had pierced it through. Again? The words echoed like a dagger.
"There was someone in his heart—someone he was still desperately holding onto." She muttered.
Her vision blurred. She forced herself to break free from his grasp, her hands shaking as she pushed him gently back against the couch.
"Idiot…" she whispered to herself, but the word was directed inward. She slapped her cheek lightly, punishing herself for almost losing control, for nearly stealing something that didn't belong to her.
Her gaze fell on the little heart-shaped rock. She lifted it with trembling fingers, staring at its simple, rough surface. In her eyes, it became proof—proof of a bond she could never touch.
Placing it carefully back into his palm, she closed his fingers around it again.
"Hold it tightly," she murmured, voice cracking. "I decided not to disturb you with my things. I'll be just like this until it ends."
Finally, she fetched a quilt from his bedroom, draping it over him with hands that lingered too long. Watching him sleep so peacefully, her chest felt hollow, fragile, as if the night had stolen a part of her away.
Wei Xing stood in silence, eyes stinging, and whispered so softly that only the night could hear—
"I never thought it would hurt this much."
Then she turned, and left, the sound of the door closing quietly behind her.
As she closed the door behind her, Wei Xing paused. Something tugged at her mind. "The medical kit…"
Her steps retraced themselves almost against her will. Quietly, she slipped back into Zhou Yu's apartment, picking up the small kit she had left on the table. But her eyes drifted again to him, lying pale and fevered on the couch.
Her heart clenched. "His fever still hadn't gone down..."
Wei Xing knelt, pressing her palm lightly against his forehead.
"Still burning." With a soft sigh, she fetched a fresh cooling pad and replaced the damp one on his skin. She sat there for a long while, unable to leave, listening to the uneven rhythm of his breath.
Time slipped away. The night outside deepened and softened, the city falling into silence. She kept watch beside him, eyes heavy but unwilling to close.
By the time the clock crept past four, his fever finally broke. The flush on his cheeks faded, his breath steadied. Relief spread through her chest, gentle but aching.
Wei Xing rose, careful not to wake him, and moved into the kitchen. She worked quietly, cooking porridge the way her grandmother once taught her—simple, warm, easy to digest. She ladled it into a thermal pot, set out the cooled medicine beside it, and wrote a small note in her neat, careful handwriting:
"Eat while it's warm. Take your medicine after."
Her fingers lingered on the paper for a moment before she pulled back.
Finally, with the medical kit tucked under her arm, she left his apartment and slipped into her room.
Only when the door clicked shut did Zhou Yu stir. His brows furrowed, lashes fluttering as his eyes opened faintly. He shifted, the quilt sliding from his shoulder. The faint scent of something familiar—clean soap and a trace of sweetness—lingered in the air.
His gaze fell on the thermal pot, the note propped against it, and the medicine waiting by his side.
For a long moment, Zhou Yu just sat there in silence, staring at the delicate handwriting. His lips curved into a faint, almost disbelieving smile.
"So it really was you…" he murmured, voice hoarse.
The little heart-shaped stone still rested in his palm, warm from where she had returned it. Zhou Yu closed his fingers around it, holding it tightly, as though her presence still lingered there.