The car ride was silent.
Ling Xu drove with one hand on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The city lights streaked across the windows in blurred ribbons of gold and white before disappearing into the darkness behind them. His jaw was tight. His knuckles were white. The cracked phone sat in the cup holder, its shattered screen catching the occasional flash of light.
Lin Chuan watched the lights pass. His breathing had steadied. His hands no longer shook as violently. But his mind refused to quiet. The club. Gu Yunting. The pounding on the bathroom door. The smell of blood. Everything replayed over and over until he could no longer tell which memories belonged to Ling Mu and which belonged to himself.
His reflection stared back at him from the dark window. A stranger's face. A stranger's body. A stranger's grief still lodged somewhere in his chest like a splinter he couldn't reach.
Ling Xu's voice broke the silence.
"Are you feeling better?"
The question was careful. Neutral. As if asking too directly might shatter something fragile.
"...Mhm."
The answer was barely audible. A soft sound. A quiet acknowledgment.
Silence returned. The hum of the engine. The whisper of tires on asphalt. The distant wail of a siren somewhere in the city.
Ling Xu loosened one hand from the steering wheel before gripping it again. His knuckles had turned white. The leather of the wheel creaked under his grip. He should have broken that man's arms first. No. His legs. He should have made him understand exactly what fear felt like before allowing him to lose consciousness. The bastard had dared lay hands on Mu'er. Had dared corner him in a locked room. Had dared make him cry.
A clean punch had been too merciful. Too quick. The man had hit the floor and stayed there. Ling Xu's gaze darkened. When he woke up, there would be plenty of time. Time to learn regret. Time to learn consequences. Time to learn exactly what happened to people who hurt what belonged to him.
Beside him, Lin Chuan slowly relaxed into the seat. The trembling that had gripped him since the club finally eased. His shoulders loosened. His breathing became deeper. The tension bled out of his frame in slow, incremental waves.
Ling Xu glanced at him briefly. Good. He was calming down. The color was returning to his cheeks. The flush of tears was fading.
Then.
The trembling returned. Not the frantic shaking from before. Different. Smaller. More insidious. His entire body began shivering. Small at first. Then harder. His teeth clicked softly together. The sound was barely audible over the engine, but Ling Xu heard it.
He frowned.
"Mu'er?"
No response. Lin Chuan had closed his eyes. His breathing remained even, but the shivering only grew worse. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out across his forehead. His lips were pale. The flush on his cheeks was too bright, too unnatural.
Without another word, Ling Xu pressed a button on the steering wheel. The call connected almost immediately.
"Doctor Zhao."
The voice on the other end was alert, professional.
"I need you at the residence. Now."
There was a pause. A brief silence as Doctor Zhao processed the urgency in his tone.
"No, I told you I cant treat that."
His gaze flickered toward the passenger seat. At the trembling figure. At the too-bright flush on those pale cheeks.
"It isn't the wrists."
Another pause.
"...He's developed a fever. A high one. I'm twenty minutes away."
He ended the call before another question could be asked. His foot pressed harder on the accelerator. The engine responded with a low growl. The city blurred past.
The rest of the journey passed in silence.
---
The gates of the Ling residence opened before the car had fully stopped. The security guards had been alerted. The servants had already been waiting outside, arranged in a neat line. No one asked questions. No one dared.
Ling Xu stepped out first. He walked around the vehicle. His footsteps were measured. Calm. He opened the passenger door quietly.
Lin Chuan hadn't moved. His head rested against the window. His face, usually pale, had become faintly flushed. The shivering hadn't stopped. His fingers twitched against his thighs, small involuntary movements.
Ling Xu reached out to wake him. The moment his fingers brushed Lin Chuan's forehead, his expression changed. The skin was hot. Far too hot. The heat radiated off him like a furnace. Ling Xu pulled his hand back. His face was unreadable.
Without hesitation, he slipped one arm beneath Lin Chuan's knees and the other behind his back. He lifted him from the car. The young man weighed almost nothing. Too light. The bones in his shoulders were sharp. The ribs beneath his clothes were visible through the thin fabric.
Ling Xu frowned. When had Mu'er become this thin? He'd seen him only days ago. He'd held him in the hospital. He'd carried him to the car. Had he lost weight since then? Was the illness consuming him from the inside?
Lin Chuan stirred weakly against his chest. His head lolled against Ling Xu's shoulder. A quiet sound escaped him. More instinct than words. A soft, broken noise that made Ling Xu's grip tighten.
"Open the door."
The servants were already moving. The front doors swung open before he reached the steps. Another servant hurried ahead to prepare the guest suite. A third disappeared toward the kitchen.
"Warm water."
"Yes, Master."
"Clean towels."
"Immediately."
"Bring the cold compress kit from the medical cabinet."
"At once."
No one questioned why he carried the young master himself. No one commented on the expensive suit jacket draped over Lin Chuan's shoulders. No one mentioned the faint smell of blood still clinging to Ling Xu's sleeves. They moved with practiced efficiency, their faces carefully blank.
Ling Xu climbed the stairs. His strides were long, but his pace was careful. He didn't jostle the figure in his arms. He didn't hurry. He moved with the precision of someone who had carried wounded men before.
The guest suite was already prepared. The bed was turned down. The lights were dimmed. A fire crackled in the fireplace, sending warm shadows dancing across the walls.
He laid Lin Chuan down on the bed. The young man's head sank into the pillow. His fingers curled weakly against the sheets. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps.
Ling Xu pulled the blanket up to his chest. His hands moved with a gentleness that would have surprised anyone who knew him. He smoothed the blanket. Tucked the edges. Adjusted the pillow.
Doctor Zhao arrived moments later, medical case already in hand. He barely had time to greet anyone before Ling Xu spoke.
"His fever."
Doctor Zhao nodded. He set his case on the bedside table and immediately approached the bed. His hands were steady. Professional. He gently placed a thermometer beneath Lin Chuan's arm, then checked the bandaged wrists. The wounds looked clean. No signs of infection. The stitches were intact. The skin around them was pink and healthy.
He frowned. If it wasn't the wounds, what was causing the fever?
After a moment, the thermometer beeped. Doctor Zhao looked down. His expression became serious.
"Thirty-nine point four."
Ling Xu looked up. His face was still unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes. Something sharp. Something dangerous.
"Cause?"
The doctor hesitated. He glanced at the sleeping young man. At the flushed cheeks. At the way his fingers twitched even in sleep.
"The wounds are healing normally. There's no infection. I checked the stitches. They're clean." He paused. "This is most likely acute stress. The body has been under too much strain. The suicide attempt. The blood loss. The emotional shock. And tonight..." He sighed quietly. "Some people develop high fevers after experiencing severe psychological trauma. The body shuts down. It forces rest. It's a survival mechanism, in its own way."
Ling Xu remained silent. His gaze never left Lin Chuan. The young man slept uneasily, his brow furrowed. Even in sleep, his fingers occasionally twitched, as though trying to push something away. A nightmare. A memory. A door that wouldn't stop pounding.
Doctor Zhao began preparing medication. He drew a syringe from his case, filled it with a clear liquid, and swabbed a spot on Lin Chuan's arm.
"He'll need someone nearby tonight. The fever could spike. He might become delirious. Someone needs to monitor him."
Ling Xu answered without hesitation.
"I'll stay."
The doctor looked at him in surprise. His eyebrows rose slightly. He knew Ling Xu. Knew his reputation. Knew that he never stayed. He paid others to do the watching. He paid others to do the caring. But here he was, standing by the bedside, his expensive suit still wrinkled from the club, his sleeves still carrying the faint scent of blood.
The doctor said nothing. He simply nodded.
"He'll need to take these in four hours." He set a small bottle of pills on the bedside table. "And if his temperature reaches forty, call me immediately."
"I will."
Doctor Zhao gathered his case and left. The door clicked shut behind him.
Outside, the mansion remained as quiet as ever. The servants moved through the halls on silent feet. The security guards patrolled the grounds. The night was calm. Peaceful.
Inside the bedroom, the only sounds were the soft crackling of the fire and the uneven breathing of the young man sleeping beneath the blankets.
Ling Xu sat down in the chair beside the bed. He didn't take off his jacket. He didn't loosen his tie. He simply sat, his hands resting on his knees, his eyes fixed on the sleeping figure before him.
Lin Chuan shifted. A small sound escaped his throat. A whimper. Soft. Broken.
Ling Xu leaned forward.
"Mu'er?"
No response. The fever had taken hold. The young man was lost in the haze of heat and exhaustion.
Ling Xu reached out. His fingers brushed the damp hair from Lin Chuan's forehead. The skin was still burning.
He pulled his hand back.
His jaw tightened.
He should have broken that man's legs first. Then his arms. Then his ribs. He should have made him scream until his voice gave out. He should have—
Lin Chuan shifted again. His hand reached out blindly, fingers searching for something. They found Ling Xu's sleeve. They clutched it weakly.
"...Uncle."
The word was barely a breath. A whisper. A sound so soft that Ling Xu almost missed it.
He froze.
"Mu'er."
"...Don't leave."
Ling Xu's hand moved. He didn't pull away. He let his fingers curl around Lin Chuan's. The grip was weak. Trembling. But it was there.
"I'm here."
The words were quiet. Steady. A promise.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Lin Chuan's hand relaxed. His breathing evened out. The tension in his face eased.
Ling Xu sat there. His hand still holding the young man's. His eyes still watching. His jaw still tight.
The fire crackled.
The night stretched on.
And Ling Xu didn't move.