Chapter 7: Do You Have Some Kind of Illness That Will Kill You If You Don't Eat Sweets?

Zhou Yili hadn’t slept long in his second round of slumber. Soon, he heard a cacophony from downstairs—crashing, clattering, and metallic clangs. It was as if he’d caught a beautiful little white bird and locked it in his home, only for it to try to escape in every direction the next day. No one else had ever visited his apartment. So—

Zhou Yili yanked the thin blanket from his face with irritation, rolled out of bed, his unruly tufts of blue hair standing defiantly, his loose trousers trailing as he strode downstairs.

“Shen Jixing!”

“Are you trying to dismantle the house?”

The culprit was startled, dropping whatever he held. With a thud, the drawer toppled over as well.

Zhou Yili stood at the foot of the stairs, surveying his minimalist, cold-toned living room. Splendid—now it looked like a Syrian battlefield.

“You—” His long eyes flashed with impatience and anger, sweeping coldly over the troublemaker, but paused abruptly upon seeing his face—so pale it was almost paper-white. “What’s wrong?”

Shen Jixing, aware of his guilt, bent down to gather the mess. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

His pale, beautiful fingers picked up the scattered items, trembling imperceptibly.

“I was looking for some stomach medicine or painkillers.”

Most households kept some medicine on hand, but he’d clearly overlooked Zhou Yili’s constitution. This young master had been robust since childhood—physically, mentally, and constitutionally strong beyond normal bounds.

Suddenly, his lowered wrist was seized.

Zhou Yili pulled him up from the floor—not gently—and pressed him onto the sofa.

“Sit still,” he commanded, then strode upstairs with a frosty expression. He rummaged through his bedroom and returned with a bottle of painkillers, biting off the cap and pouring a handful into his palm.

He muttered, “This is all I’ve got. Make do with it for now.”

Shen Jixing glanced at the bottle cap clamped between Zhou Yili’s teeth, one sharp canine pressing against it, accentuating his features—sharp and wild.

“No need for so many,” he replied quietly.

Too many painkillers could be harmful.

The amount in Zhou Yili’s hand could easily be lethal.

Zhou Yili knelt on one knee, bottle cap still clamped between his teeth, his gaze lifting as if to say: What are you thinking? Even if I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t poison you with my own hands in my own home.

He pinched out a single tablet from the heap. “Take it.”

Shen Jixing was silent for two seconds, then reached out his hand, his tone mild and bargaining, “Two, then.”

A small pill dropped into his palm.

Without even lifting his head, Zhou Yili poured the rest back into the bottle, his voice as lazy and teasing as ever. “Just one. Take it or leave it.”

At least a single pill would have some effect.

Leaning languidly against the sofa, Shen Jixing watched this young master kneeling and picking up the mess, a rare sight—someone so proud stooping to clean up chaos.

The black pajamas hung loosely at the collar, the fierce, wild lines of his body nearly bursting with sensuality from this angle.

Shen Jixing looked for two seconds, then averted his gaze.

“Your destructive power is impressive,” Zhou Yili quipped, adding a few mocking remarks now and then.

Shen Jixing’s ears flushed faintly. He diverted the topic. “Why would you have painkillers in your room?”

He remembered Zhou Yili rarely fell ill—at least in the year they’d known each other. The young master hadn’t even caught a cold.

Suddenly, Shen Jixing realized something and wished to retract his question, but it was already too late.

Zhou Yili, still kneeling, his arms veined and tense, tossed the remote control back into the drawer with a smack.

“What do you think?” he retorted.

Shen Jixing said nothing.

Perhaps the only pain Zhou Yili ever suffered was the one he brought.

After a brief silence, Shen Jixing stood up. “I’ll go upstairs to rest for a while. Thanks for today.”

Zhou Yili closed the chaotic drawer and stood, watching him for a few seconds.

Abruptly he called out, “Shen Jixing.”

With one foot on the stairs, Shen Jixing turned his head. “Hmm?”

Zhou Yili leaned back, feigning indifference. “Do you have some disease where you’ll die if you don’t eat sugar?”

“…?”

Shen Jixing rarely frowned, confusion crossing his face.

Zhou Yili was equally perplexed.

Yesterday this person was lively, bouncing around, and now he was as frail as paper.

“You haven’t had anything since yesterday except that cup of coffee without sugar.”

Could it really be just the missing three spoons of sugar?

Absurd, but not impossible.

Standing on the dark, circular steps, Shen Jixing looked at him, his clear eyes soft, subtly amused. “Is it possible…”

“Because I only drank a cup of coffee without sugar.”

“…”
“…”

Oh—he was simply starving.

Zhou Yili didn’t often stay here, let alone fill the fridge. Besides, who else would drop dead from missing a meal or two?

“Sure, my place is pretty empty, but can’t you order delivery?”

He tried to distance himself from responsibility.

Shen Jixing looked at him for two seconds. “I don’t eat takeout.”

He said nothing more and went upstairs.

Zhou Yili: “?”

How is your refusal to eat takeout my problem?

Go ahead, keep acting high and mighty.

…

Twenty minutes later, Aunt Zhang the little kitchen deity arrived with her fragrant purple yam and white fungus porridge.

She busied herself in the kitchen, muttering, “You celebrities never take care of your health—skipping meals, sometimes eating those carb-free diet meals. Nine out of ten end up with stomach problems…”

Zhou Yili tapped his ear casually, clearly used to her tirades.

“Yeah, I’m that one exception.”

Aunt Zhang shot him a death glare from the kitchen.

Zhou Yili, still gaming, didn’t look up. “All thanks to your good cooking.”

This little lion was lazy and sly, but sweet-mouthed enough to coax anyone.

Aunt Zhang’s face lit up. “Just got a bit chubbier these past couple years, but before that, you were so skinny—like a little monkey…”

Zhou Yili glanced at her.

Aunt Zhang chuckled, as if nothing had happened.

“All right, don’t fuss anymore. He can’t eat much,” Zhou Yili said, controlling his game character and absentmindedly urging her, “Hurry and take it up to him, or he really might starve to death here.”

“What nonsense,” Aunt Zhang scolded, glaring at him before carrying the tray upstairs.

Suddenly, she remembered something. “By the way, is the girl easy to get along with?”

She was an introvert, a bit nervous.

Zhou Yili was momentarily startled. “Girl?”

Aunt Zhang nodded. “Yes.”

Not at all.

Zhou Yili kept his eyes on the screen, lazily reminding, “I said it’s a friend.”

Aunt Zhang nodded again. “Right, your girlfriend.”

Her assumption wasn’t unfounded. After all, the young master never had friends—those hangers-on were lucky if he didn’t poison them, let alone show such concern…

“Not easy to get along with,” Zhou Yili replied offhandedly, fabricating rumors. “Very fierce. You’d better feed him yourself, or he’ll flip the porridge bowl onto your head.”

“…”
Aunt Zhang climbed the stairs, trembling with trepidation.

She hesitated, knocking gently. “Um, hello?”

Little chili pepper?

A few seconds later, the guest room door opened.

The cool, exquisite young man stood at the threshold, one hand lightly fastening his shirt collar, his eyes drowsy as if about to sleep, gaze lifting to the stunned Aunt Zhang.

Their eyes met.

Silence reigned.

Three minutes later, Aunt Zhang descended the stairs, dazed.

“How’s the girl?” Zhou Yili grinned wickedly.

This little rascal.

“Quite good,” Aunt Zhang couldn’t help but sigh. “Not a girl, but more beautiful than any girl.”

Mr. Shen truly was the most handsome person she’d ever seen.

Zhou Yili gave a noncommittal snort. “Come on, you’ve known him for ages.”

Back when Shen Jixing stayed at the Zhou family, all the maids were abuzz, sneaking peaks at this world-class genius with unrivaled looks.

Aunt Zhang smiled, “So, you two patched things up?”

She didn’t know the details, only that they’d fallen out and hadn’t spoken in ages.

“Are we children? Patch things up?” Zhou Yili scoffed, his eyebrows relaxed, eyes dropping to his phone as he tower-dived his game.

“He came to me himself, saying he had nowhere else to go.”

With that, his character dove from the second turret straight to the base, dying as he killed his opponent.

He let go of his phone, glanced upstairs, but through the closed door, had no idea how the man was faring.

Waiting for his respawn, Zhou Yili sneered coolly.

“See? Coming to me is just another dead end.”