Chapter 86: Why Would I Cling to the Hospital? It's You I Can't Let Go Of

Ripples danced across the water, reflecting a man's absent gaze.

Shen Jixing had always been cold and restrained, their intimacy limited to the brush of lips and little more. But Zhou Yili was clearly unsatisfied, insisting on prying open those lips before he considered a kiss complete.

A slender, pale hand gripped the edge of the cold porcelain.

He turned his head slowly, signaling, “That’s enough…”

Zhou Yili could no longer be bothered to pretend.

He had always been robust, athletic since childhood—unless it was a serious injury, he recovered quickly.

“How did you figure it out?”

He thought he’d acted convincingly. Who had let the secret slip?

“And you still have the nerve to ask?” Shen Jixing’s words were icy, though his lips now glowed red, robbing his tone of any real threat. “Is the hospital such a wonderful place to you? Why are you so insistent on staying?”

Shen Jixing’s memories of hospitals were far from pleasant. As a child, he’d fetched medicine for the old director with what little money he had, often feeling helpless and lost. As an adult, exhaustion had landed him there again, cold fluid dripping through needles into his veins—his loneliest moments.

That was why he put everything aside to accompany Zhou Yili.

And this little rascal lion had been faking it all along.

“What goes on in that mind of yours?” Zhou Yili nearly laughed in exasperation. “Why would I want to stay in a hospital?”

He got up first, scooping the dripping beauty from the water and bundling him in a towel to keep him from catching cold.

Though he didn’t finish his sentence, Shen Jixing could more or less read between the lines.

Why would I linger in the hospital? I’m lingering for you.

To have this cold, aloof superstar serve someone—such a thing sounded like a fairy tale, yet here it was, unfolding plainly.

Shen Jixing woke early to touch his forehead, fetched meals Aunt Zhang had prepared, and fed him with gentle patience—distant, yet meticulous in his care.

Perhaps Zhou Yili simply didn’t want to wake.

But now that he was awake, it was his turn to do the serving.

He draped the towel over Shen Jixing’s shoulders and, lowering his gaze, began to unbutton his shirt.

By the time Shen Jixing returned to his senses, his casual top had slipped half off his shoulders, leaving him nearly bare before Zhou Yili.

He gripped the towel with one hand, wet lashes trembling lightly. “What are you doing?”

Zhou Yili’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he leaned in.

The room was thick with dampness, a fierce, blood-scented man standing before a gorgeous, drenched beauty.

“What do you think?” Zhou Yili’s hand could nearly cup his whole jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Hmm?”

Shen Jixing’s brows drew together, biting his lip as if wrestling with some inner conflict.

“I’m teasing you, little Star,” Zhou Yili scoffed, then hefted him up with one arm, carrying him over the slick floor so he wouldn’t slip again.

His tone was always lazy, drifting as he spoke. “If you don’t like it here, we’ll do nothing at all.”

…

By afternoon, Zhou Yili had already completed his discharge papers.

After lazing about for several days, the young master returned to the set in high spirits, a prize beauty in tow.

Shen Jixing let him drape an arm around his shoulders, though he still didn't understand.

“Are you a bull?”

Zhou Yili blinked. “What?”

“Just because I agreed to date you doesn’t give you the right to insult me like that,” Shen Jixing retorted, his voice sharp.

Zhou Yili leaned close, threatening through gritted teeth, and stole a kiss against his pale ear.

Shen Jixing was left speechless.

Tall and long-legged, Zhou Yili moved with a rakish charm, exuding all the arrogance of a wealthy heir—no sign at all of someone who hadn’t even had his stitches removed.

What Shen Jixing, with his frail constitution, truly failed to grasp was this: how could Zhou Yili, injured as he was, still manage to carry him off with one arm that morning?

Was he a bull?

Zhou Yili’s voice drawled, “I’m just strong. And you’re not exactly heavy.”

Though Shen Jixing was not short—an even six feet tall—his slim frame made him feel weightless in Zhou Yili’s arms, like a slip of paper.

Zhou Yili thought ahead to the night’s filming.

He had to carry the wounded magician up to the second floor.

“Tonight, you’ll see—”

Shen Jixing’s nerves tensed; he cut him off. “Don’t even think about it.”

Then he brushed off Zhou Yili’s hand and walked coolly toward the dressing room.

Zhou Yili huffed, touching his nose. “As if I wanted to.”

His reaction was almost too much for a misunderstanding.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tasted that before.

Though back then, he’d been such a clueless fool, he could hardly remember what it felt like now…

Zhou Yili’s mind wandered with useless thoughts until he turned and met Sikong Xiu’s amused gaze.

“What are you staring at?”

“At you,” Sikong Xiu said, amused. “If I hadn’t asked today, were you two planning to retire together already?”

Only then did Zhou Yili realize the culprit was his so-called friend standing before him.

Friend? More like ex-friend.

“So all this fuss was because of you?”

Sikong Xiu sensed danger immediately—when Zhou Yili lost his temper, he recognized no one.

He shifted the blame at once. “Your Shen is famous for being a genius. Did you really think such a little trick could fool him?”

But Zhou Yili reconsidered.

“He actually didn’t notice a thing.”

For some reason, Zhou Yili vaguely sensed that Shen Jixing was especially good at taking care of others.

But not everyone—only those he wanted to care for.

Shen Jixing was deeply afraid of people falling ill; his gentle way of offering medicine was at odds with his cold face.

Perhaps, Zhou Yili thought, he had lost someone before.

So even his proud intellect sometimes deserted him.

He realized, dimly, that he knew little of Shen Jixing’s past.

Could he explore those secrets, perhaps?

The old Zhou Yili had not qualified to ask for a lifetime promise, but after being tempered by the currents of time, he still stubbornly stood his ground.

He had received Shen Jixing’s little six-pointed star—warm, resting against his chest.

It was the promise of a lifetime he had won.

Would his little lion dare cross the line further, seize even more, and finally possess all of him?

“I admit it, alright? I was wrong,” Sikong Xiu interrupted Zhou Yili’s thoughts, unable to resist.

“Though I’m the director, it’s your MV we’re shooting. Is your concert still happening this year?”

Zhou Yili snapped back to reality. “Don’t pressure me. I can’t stand being pressured.”

Except, of course, by Shen Jixing.

This young master’s temper was sharp with everyone else.

Sikong Xiu, with his sly fox eyes, gave nothing away, but inwardly, he made a mental note.

Fine, I’ll arrange for Shen Jixing to have a few more scenes pressing him down. This brat needs a few lessons to mellow out.

“To make it up to you, I’ll tell you a secret,” Sikong Xiu said mysteriously.

Zhou Yili eyed him warily. “What secret?”

Sikong Xiu’s eyes curved slyly. “Tomorrow night is Xiaoqi’s birthday. He’s throwing a party and expects us all to be there.”

For a moment, the air was silent.

Still recovering, Zhou Yili immediately began looking for something to throw at him. “What a wonderful secret—so good I want to beat you to death right now.”

Sikong Xiu laughed, catching his arm to calm him down.

“But don’t you want to know why Shen Jixing’s rose could bloom?”