The dryer's buzzer sounded, piercing the eerie silence like a needle. Ji Shuhe snapped out of her daze, swallowed, and immediately stood up. "...No, no need! Since my clothes are dry, I'll just call a cab and go. It's only a few steps with an umbrella. Take your medicine and get some rest!" She hurriedly finished and walked straight to the dryer on the balcony. Standing before the unfamiliar machine, she hesitated for a moment but suppressed the urge to turn back and ask Wen Shaoyu for help. Relying on common sense and brute force, she pulled open the dryer door. Warm air carrying a faint, unfamiliar fragrance rushed toward her. She reached in for her warm coat, but her wrist was suddenly seized by a scorching, stubborn grip. Wen Shaoyu had come up beside her without her noticing. With one hand gripping her wrist and the other moving with a rough, almost vengeful force, he slammed the dryer door shut. The loud bang echoed through the quiet room, startling Lizi, who lifted his head uneasily. Before Ji Shuhe could say anything, she was pulled backward, her thin back pressing against the cold balcony wall. Wen Shaoyu's tall frame loomed over her, blocking most of the already dim light. His bloodshot eyes were hazy yet burning, filled with inexplicable resentment as he stared at her. Ji Shuhe grew flustered under his gaze. "Ji Shuhe." He spat out her name through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse and broken, carrying a terrifying sharpness. "You're leaving again!" It wasn't a question, nor a statement—it was a desperate accusation born of long-suppressed anguish. "Now you're leaving my place. In a few days, when filming wraps, you'll leave Xinhai again... won't you?" His chest heaved violently, and his grip on Ji Shuhe's hand trembled with emotion. But he didn't let go; instead, he tightened it. "After you go back, I'll never be able to reach you again. Then everything starts over—another damn eight years all over again!" Ji Shuhe met Wen Shaoyu's frightening eyes and saw the pain on the verge of collapse. Denial rose to her throat, but she couldn't utter a word. And frankly, he wasn't wrong. Only now, returning to London after work was no longer an inevitable outcome but one of the options she could choose. Waves of scorching heat radiated from Wen Shaoyu. Perhaps the fever had robbed her of reason; inexplicably, she chose to test his stance at this moment. "What if I said yes?" He ground his teeth. "...Ji Shuhe, you're always the most ruthless with me." The desperate redness around Wen Shaoyu's eyes became invisible thorns wrapping around him, silently piercing himself until he bled. "I'll hate you! I'll really... hate you forever!" But the next moment, he grabbed her other free hand and pressed it firmly against his burning chest. As she struggled, he pulled her into a tight embrace. Wen Shaoyu rested his head on her shoulder, arms tightening, enveloping her in his scorching heat. The gesture was as forceful as a restraint, yet at this moment, he looked as fragile as glass or porcelain that would shatter at a touch. Through the thin cotton loungewear, Ji Shuhe could clearly feel something beating wildly and erratically under her palm. Thump after thump, it slammed against her hand, accelerating her own heartbeat until it, too, was out of order. In fact, if she wanted to break free and leave at this moment, it wouldn't be hard. The fever had drained most of his strength, and this embrace wasn't a stubborn imprisonment but more like a desperate plea from someone tormented beyond endurance, reaching out to the only person who could save him. As they held each other, Ji Shuhe couldn't see his expression, only felt his shoulders trembling slightly, his voice growing softer, thick with nasal congestion and a hint of sobbing. When he spoke again, it was no longer an angry accusation but a broken plea. "Please... don't leave me... don't abandon me, okay..." He was like a puppy terrified of being abandoned, after putting up a false front of bared teeth, finally unable to keep up the act, showing her his fearful, soft belly. He was scared, trembling all over. "Wen Shaoyu..." Ji Shuhe wanted to soothe him, but he interrupted again. "No need, I don't need you to stay in Xinhai." His voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz, but those two short sentences struck heavily on Ji Shuhe's heart. "Wherever you go... take me with you..." He still rested his heavy head on her shoulder, breathing hot and ragged. Ji Shuhe leaned back slightly and finally saw Wen Shaoyu's flushed cheeks. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his eyes still closed, lashes stuck together wetly—whether from residual moisture or something else. Ji Shuhe's heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, aching with bitterness. Wen Shaoyu was so proud; he never showed weakness to her, let alone begged like this... Ji Shuhe couldn't help but raise her hand to touch his forehead. He froze for a moment but didn't open his eyes. As if given permission by her gesture, he pushed his forehead against her palm and rubbed it. "Wen Shaoyu, if you come with me, what about your company? What about Tuowei, which you worked so hard to protect, and everything in Xinhai?" Ji Shuhe thought he was just delirious from the fever, sighing and shaking her head, her voice carrying a tenderness and pity she herself didn't notice. Under her palm, he mumbled indistinctly, "Don't want them. Just want you. Nothing else... matters..." As soon as he finished, a violent cough overtook him. Wen Shaoyu turned away, coughing so hard he bent over, his back arching in a fragile curve. But Ji Shuhe reached out and pulled him back to lean on her shoulder. His body stiffened instantly, and then the coughing strangely subsided. She pressed her cheek against his burning temple, her voice muffled, unable to hide her heartache. "Wen Shaoyu, you're an idiot." She couldn't tell if he was truly delirious or faking it, but seeing him like this, all the defenses she had built, all the hesitation and weighing of options, came crashing down. Sensing her sigh, Wen Shaoyu remained silent, only tightening his arms and murmuring, "I am." He must really be out of it, agreeing to anything. Ji Shuhe could only coax him along. "Do you have any fever medicine at home? Let's take it, okay?" "...You're leaving." Wen Shaoyu straightened up, leaning on her shoulder, his steps unsteady enough to stagger, but his eyes stubbornly reflected her image, filled with uncertainty. Ji Shuhe took a deep breath, reached up, and gently brushed away the sweat-soaked strands of hair from his eyes. "No, I'm not leaving." But she didn't specify whether it was now or later; it sounded more like an excuse to placate him in the moment. Wen Shaoyu's ever-glowing peach blossom eyes were still filled with despair. He lifted his heavy, weak hand, fingertips trembling, and gently touched her cheek. "Really?" he asked, deceiving himself. "Really." Ji Shuhe held his burning hand and pressed it to her cheek. "I'm not leaving. At least tonight, before the rain stops, or before your fever breaks, I won't go anywhere." The rain outside seemed to have lessened, as the sound of pattering was no longer audible. The warmth enveloping the room now came either from the residual heat of the dryer or from Wen Shaoyu's body. But their breaths intertwined, rising and falling, no longer steady. Wen Shaoyu stared at Ji Shuhe for a long time—so long that she thought he would demand a firm promise about the future—but instead, he only pressed his burning forehead against her shoulder again. He let down all his defenses, yet it was mixed with endless grievance and compromise. A vague murmur came, his breath particularly hot: "Ji Shuhe... my head hurts..." "I know." Ji Shuhe wrapped her arms around him, supporting his much taller but limp body. Her voice was as soft as a feather brushing his heart. "Come on, let's go lie down in the bedroom. I'll find you some medicine." Perhaps those who are always controlled and clear-headed become especially fragile and stubborn when sick. Wen Shaoyu lay down quietly, but half-asleep, his fingers would unconsciously grope around; once they touched Ji Shuhe's hem or wrist, he would grip tightly, clearly not trusting her promise not to leave. Ji Shuhe had no choice but to resort to a trick: she carefully tucked a corner of the blanket into his damp, hot palm and called Lizi into the room to keep watch. Back in the living room, Ji Shuhe searched through almost every drawer in the living room and kitchen before finding the medicine box deep in a storage cabinet. Though it was somewhat presumptuous to rummage through someone else's home, given Wen Shaoyu's state in the bedroom, waking him up to ask where the medicine was would be worse than doing it herself. After feeding him the fever reducer, Ji Shuhe soaked a towel in warm water and sat by the bed, repeatedly wiping his neck and palms to cool him down physically. Wen Shaoyu slept restlessly, his brows always furrowed. Whenever Ji Shuhe got up to change the water or left for a moment, even in his drowsy state, he would precisely sense it and reach out to grab her, preventing her from leaving. Wen Shaoyu's bedroom was still decorated in dark tones, with heavy, opaque curtains and excellent soundproofing, making it impossible to tell if the rain had stopped outside or what time it was. The only light in the room came from a hidden LED strip under the bedside table, occasionally triggered by Lizi lying nearby. The dim, soft light cast the tired silhouette of Ji Shuhe, sitting by the headboard, onto the empty white wall. In the early hours of the morning, Wen Shaoyu's temperature finally began to drop slowly, and his furrowed brows seemed to relax slightly. Ji Shuhe put away the thermometer, finally letting go of the anxiety that had gripped her all night. She lowered her gaze to the man on the bed, watching his eyelashes flutter softly and his breathing grow long and steady. A complex emotion welled up in her heart. She needed to examine herself, to examine this night, and then decide the unsettled future. Next week, the filming of the crew would soon come to an end. After completing the scheduled shoots and interviews at the design institute and planning bureau, their filming in Xinhai would be over. Nebula had informed her to go for an interview next Wednesday, and Sunday was the wrap party arranged by Shen Xing. The production team was tentatively set to return the week after next. And she... had taken leave to stay in Xinhai for the New Year, but what about after the New Year? Was Nebula really an opportunity for her career? Could she withstand Xia Chun's possible hysterics and completely give up that terrible familial bond? And this idiot... A relationship requires effort from both sides. His reckless willingness to give up everything was just feverish delirium. She knew how much he had suffered for Tuowei; she couldn't really let him abandon the company he had worked so hard to save. Too many issues were unresolved, and she admitted she was someone who hesitated, afraid of choices and even more afraid of the consequences of those choices. Ji Shuhe let out a soft breath, as if trying to expel the congestion in her chest. She leaned down, carefully lay down beside Wen Shaoyu, pressed her ear gently against his chest, and wrapped her arms around him. Through the fabric, his steady, calm heartbeat reached her, carrying a reassuring strength that strangely soothed her restlessness and chaos, then brought a wave of drowsiness. Ji Shuhe finally admitted that all her high-sounding reasons for weighing pros and cons could not withstand Wen Shaoyu's current pain. In front of him, she also had no principles; she would worry, feel anxious, and also crave this reassuring peace and warmth, wanting to possess it forever. After all, eight years ago and eight years later were different; they could no longer torment each other. And so, lulled by the gradually steady breathing of the man beside her, she sank into sleep. Just before losing consciousness entirely, she thought that she should wait until there was an outcome before telling Wen Shaoyu about the Nebula interview. That way, this sensitive, overly thoughtful, and hard-to-pacify idiot wouldn't start overthinking while still sick, adding to his torment.
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