Guo Chengyu became a regular fixture at the clinic. Not daily, but often enough to be noticed.
He'd show up with an elaborate, almost theatrical excuse: a migraine that only Doctor Jiang's calming presence could alleviate, a stubborn ache in his shoulder that mysteriously vanished after a few minutes in Xiaoshuai's examination room, or even just to "check on his investments"—a thinly veiled reference to the occasional, minor injuries sustained by his silent, burly bodyguards who were now strangely frequenting the waiting room.
Xiaoshuai found himself constantly on edge. Every time the bell above the door chimed, a jolt of anticipation, mixed with dread, ran through him. Chengyu would always greet him with that same knowing smile, his eyes lingering just a touch too long, making Xiaoshuai's skin prickle.
"Doctor Jiang," Chengyu purred one afternoon, leaning against the counter, a custom-tailored suit impeccable as ever. "You look tired. Overworked, perhaps?"
Xiaoshuai bristled, instinctively pulling back. "I'm perfectly fine, Mr. Guo. Is there something I can help you with today? Or are you just here to... observe my fatigue?"
Chengyu chuckled, a low rumble that always seemed to fill the small clinic. "Observing. Always observing, Doctor. And for the record, even when tired, you possess a certain... delicate charm."
He straightened up, then casually stepped around the counter closer than he usually dared. For a moment, he stood there, a breath too close, his cologne curling into the sterile air like something forbidden.
The clinic fell into a strange hush.
Xiaoshuai tensed. He should have said something, step back, you're being inappropriate, stop staring but his throat dried up. Chengyu's eyes bore into his with quiet intensity, and the silence between them stretched taut, thick enough to feel.
Then, as if snapping out of it, Xiaoshuai shifted sideways and cleared his throat. "Is there a reason you're behind the counter now?"
Chengyu blinked slowly, that same smile curling at his lips. "Ah. Yes. Perhaps you need a break. A change of scenery. Dinner, perhaps?"
Xiaoshuai stared at him, bewildered. "Dinner? Mr. Guo, I don't think..."
"Chengyu," he corrected smoothly, his tone like silk over steel. "Please, call me Chengyu. And it's just dinner, Doctor. No scalpels involved, I promise. Unless, of course, you wish to bring yours."
His eyes sparkled with mischief, but the tension hadn't left. If anything, it lingered in the corners of the room like smoke.
Xiaoshuai ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "Mr. Guo—Chengyu," he corrected with a sigh, "I'm not interested in dinner. My clinic hours are demanding."
"Ah, yes. The dedicated doctor." Chengyu's gaze swept the sparsely decorated waiting room. "Such a noble profession. But even heroes need sustenance, wouldn't you agree?"
He paused, then added, voice quieter now, edged in something darker, "Or perhaps it's not the clinic hours, Doctor. Perhaps it's something else. Are you still... nursing a broken heart?"
The question hit like a blow to the chest.
Xiaoshuai's composure cracked, a wave of humiliation and fury rolling through him. His eyes narrowed, voice sharp. "That is absolutely none of your business, Mr. Guo."
Chengyu's smile didn't falter, but something in his gaze shifted, sharpened. "Perhaps not. But if it is, Doctor... then know this: I'm not a man who breaks what he desires. And I'm quite good at fixing things."
Then, just like that, he turned and left, his cologne still lingering in the air.
Xiaoshuai stood there, fuming and unsettled. The man was infuriating, audacious, and utterly impossible to ignore. And yet, buried beneath the irritation, a flicker of something traitorous stirred, a reluctant intrigue he wasn't ready to name.