Chapter 485 Heartache

Chapter 485: Heartache

Cheng Ge's curses echoed through the entire back courtyard, lingering without end.

From "Wuliji, you're not human" to "goddammit, be gentler," from "I'm not through with you" to "I'll kill that medicine seller," from "if you've got the guts, kill me" to "I was wrong, I was wrong."

The voice rose and fell, sometimes sharp, sometimes hoarse, like a pot of boiling water lifted and set down, set down and lifted, bubbling and gurgling, no way to push it down.

The moon moved from east to west, bamboo shadows crept from one end to the other, and the incense smoke curled around and around.

The flower petals in the back courtyard were carried by the water to the edge of the pool, piling into a thick layer—red and pink, like someone had splashed rouge across the ground.

The cursing finally stopped. Not slowly, but all at once, like a string stretched to its limit finally snapping, the lingering hum vibrating in the air for a few moments before fading away.

Cheng Ge was dragged out of the water by Wuliji like a dead dog, his undergarment had long since drifted away to some unknown corner.

Drenched hair clung to his face, and a few petals stuck to his cheeks—red and pink.

With that face, he looked like a ruined ink painting, the pigments all running together, impossible to make out the original form.

His eyes were closed, water droplets clinging to his lashes, lips slightly parted.

At the corner of his mouth was a dried purple stain—grape juice, already crusted over, like a scabbed-over wound.

His arms dangled limply, fingertips less than an inch from the water's surface. Water droplets ran down his index finger, drip, drop, drip, drop, one after another, as if keeping count of something.

Wuliji stepped ashore, water streaming off him, pooling at his feet.

His hair was soaked through, plastered to his shoulders, a few stray strands hanging over his forehead, water beading on the ends and dripping down.

There were several faint red marks on his face—scratches from Cheng Ge's fingernails. Not deep, but numerous, stretching from his cheekbones down to his jaw.

He held Cheng Ge in his arms. Cheng Ge's head rested against his shoulder, head tilted back, hair hanging down, swaying gently.

A trail of water stretched from the pool's edge along the garden path, shimmering silver-white under the moonlight.

Cheng Ge called in sick yet again. And again. And again.

On the first day, Lin Nanshu sent someone to ask. The reply came back that the Marquis had soaked in the hot spring too long the night before, caught a chill, and needed rest.

On the second day, colleagues from court sent invitations. The reply came back that the Marquis's cold hadn't cleared up, and he feared passing it on, so he couldn't receive visitors.

On the third day, the palace sent an imperial physician. He stood at the Marquis's gate holding his medicine box, and Funiang didn't know whether to stop him or not.

She glanced back at Cheng Ge's tightly shut door, clenched her jaw, and said the Marquis was already asleep.

The physician stroked his beard and said the Emperor had decreed that a pulse diagnosis could not be refused.

Funiang went in to announce his arrival, and came back out holding a bowl of herbal dregs, saying the Marquis had already taken his medicine and needn't trouble the physician.

The physician looked at the dregs, recognized a few common herbs for dispelling cold, then looked at the door that simply would not open. He sighed and returned to the palace to report.

As for anyone else who came, they didn't even dare to receive them.

The guard Zhou Zhan sent stood at the gate for the time it takes to steep a cup of tea before being sent off with osmanthus cakes that Lü Rou brought out.

Zhou Yinyun's carriage paused at the alley entrance for a moment—not long. The curtain was lifted a crack, then fell again, and the carriage turned around and left.

Cui Ji sent a letter containing only four words: "Still alive?"

Cheng Ge lay face-down on his pillow, read the letter, flipped it over, and wrote two words on the back: "Alive."

The characters were crooked and shaky, as if his hand was shaking, or as if he'd used the last of his strength to write them.

He folded the letter, tucked it into an envelope, handed it to Funiang, rolled over, buried his face in the pillow, and didn't move.

What made it worse was that on the fourth day, Cheng Ge could finally get out of bed.

Clutching his waist, he shuffled step by step to the study and sent men to the south of the city to have it out with that "Jishitang" pharmacy.

But his men returned after half an hour, with grim faces.

Cheng Ge's heart lurched. He asked what happened.

They said the pharmacy had already shut its doors—not a single soul in sight.

The baozi seller next door said the old man had fled three days ago.

And in the past few days, quite a few people had gone to him to buy medicine, only to find it was wrong for what they had—he was probably clearing out his stock.

One man had gone to buy medicine for a fever a few days prior and was handed a packet of pregnancy-stabilizing herbs instead. Furious, he'd reported him to the authorities.

Cheng Ge closed his eyes, buried his face in his hands, and muttered gloomily: "That bastard."

The attendant standing beside him didn't know what to say. He set a cup of tea on the table and quietly slipped out.

And since that night, Cheng Ge hadn't said a single word to Wuliji.

It wasn't that he didn't want to—he just didn't know how. Every time Wuliji brought in food, Cheng Ge would turn his face to the wall.

When Wuliji called his name, he'd fake being asleep.

When Wuliji sat by his bedside for a while, he'd lay still with his eyes shut, eyelashes trembling, but refusing to open them.

Wuliji was never good with words anyway, and was even worse at coaxing.

He'd set a bowl of hot rice porridge by Cheng Ge's pillow. Cheng Ge wouldn't drink it, so he'd just sit and wait. When the porridge got cold, he'd take it away, bring a fresh hot one, and sit and wait again.

After three or four rounds of this, Cheng Ge finally couldn't stand it anymore. He sat up in bed.

"Just leave it there," Cheng Ge said, his voice hoarse and harsh. "I'll drink it myself."

Wuliji came over and sat down beside Cheng Ge.

Cheng Ge edged half an inch away, eyeing him warily. "What do you want?"

Wuliji didn't speak. His eyes drifted down, settling on the spot behind Cheng Ge, and his hand slowly reached out.

Cheng Ge's pupils shrank. Like a cat that had its tail stepped on, he sprang up instantly.

"Where do you think you're putting your hand?!" He slapped Wuliji's hand away, his voice shrill and loud, full of energy—a completely different person from the sickly mess of moments before.

Wuliji's hand froze in mid-air. His lips parted, and he said: "It hurts... rubbing... will help."

"SLAM—!"

"Get out..." Wuliji took two steps back and stopped at the threshold. The door had already slammed shut in front of him, the door panel vibrating from the impact, his nose nearly hitting the frame.

He stood outside the door, blinked, and raised a hand to touch the tip of his nose. A thin layer of dust had settled on it.

Once inside the door, Cheng Ge held his waist and shuffled back one step at a time.

With each step, the corner of his mouth twitched—twitching rhythmically, like keeping time.

He walked to the bedside, and the moment his butt touched the edge of the bed, he shot up like he'd been electrocuted.

"Sss—damn!" He bared his teeth, sucking in a sharp breath, gripping the bed edge with both hands, bent over like a curled-up shrimp, hunched there for a good while before recovering.

He slowly eased himself flat onto the bed, lay down, pulled the covers up to his chin, and stared up at the ceiling.

The ceiling was pitch black, and he couldn't see a thing. He stared for a while, then decided to play corpse.

Think of nothing, do nothing, just lie there—lie until the end of time, lie until his butt stopped hurting, lie until that fake-medicine quack gets struck by lightning.

He had just closed his eyes when someone lifted the quilt beside him.

Cheng Ge's eyes flew open, and he turned his head to see Yun Xunyu lying beside him, his robe hanging half open.

One hand propped under his head, his eyes warm with a smile, white hair scattered across the pillow like a beauty from a painting. "Did my darling miss me?"

Cheng Ge's head buzzed.

He glanced at the door—closed, bolted. He glanced at the window—also closed, latched.

He looked back at Yun Xunyu. When did this man get here? How did he get in? How long had he been lying there in his bed?

Yun Xunyu, seeing his stunned expression, his smile deepened.

He reached out and brushed his finger along Cheng Ge's chin. "You've lost weight. Is your cold any better?"

Cheng Ge pulled the quilt up over half his face, leaving only his eyes exposed, glaring at Yun Xunyu.

"How did you get in?"

"The door wasn't locked," Yun Xunyu said without a hint of shame.

Cheng Ge ground his teeth. "I locked it."

Yun Xunyu thought for a moment, then changed his story. "The window wasn't shut tight."

Cheng Ge's face went white, then red, then purple.

He gave up asking. He'd seen this man's knack for climbing walls, squeezing through windows, and picking bolts more than once.

Cheng Ge yanked the quilt over his head and curled up completely inside.

Someone gently tugged the quilt from outside. "Dear." Nothing.

Another tug. "Husband." Still nothing.

Yun Xunyu let out a sigh—a long, dramatic sigh, so fake that Cheng Ge rolled his eyes under the covers.

Then a hand slipped under the quilt and pressed on his waist—firm but gentle.

Cheng Ge jolted like he'd been zapped, and the covers slid off his head.

Yun Xunyu's hand remained on his waist, palm warm, pressing just right, right on the sorest spot.

Cheng Ge's curse died in his throat, coming out as a faint, muffled whimper.

Yun Xunyu's hand didn't stop.

His thumb traced a circle on Cheng Ge's side, then another—steady, slow, even.

"That man doesn't know how to take care of someone," Yun Xunyu's voice came from above, calm and matter-of-fact, as if stating something ordinary. "Look what he did to you."

Cheng Ge buried his face in the pillow and stayed quiet.

"Unlike me," Yun Xunyu went on, thumb pressing gently on Cheng Ge's waist. "I'd never let my dear suffer."