Liang He had no idea how he had come down with such a high fever.
He had always been healthy, exercised frequently, and caught a cold maybe once or twice a year at most. Usually, he didn't even take medicine; he would simply recover naturally. As he leaned back in his chair, he wondered how he had nearly collapsed just a moment ago. But now, the moment he tried to think, his head began to ache. His temples throbbed, and even the breath from his nostrils felt scorching.
He touched his own forehead. "Catching a fever... that’s a rare thing for me."
"It must be from the rain," Qiu Yun said, hurriedly pulling an autumn quilt from the cabinet. Liang He had been caught in the rain twice today. He was already damp when they first met in the afternoon, and then he’d been soaked again during his round trip to the bus station. The rain had brought a chill, and by nightfall, the temperature had dropped significantly. Qiu Yun had instinctively put on a jacket, but she hadn't noticed that Liang He was still wearing Qiu Zhenghong’s short-sleeved shirt. Perhaps Liang He hadn't cared, or perhaps he’d felt the cold but was too embarrassed to mention it.
"I rarely get sick." Liang He stood up to help.
"Come, come, lie down," Qiu Yun said, placing a fresh pillow on the bed and spreading out the quilt. "Get in."
Liang He stood stiffly by the bed, frowning. "Get in?"
"What else?" Qiu Yun shot back without looking up. "Should I find a nail on the wall and hang you up?"
Choked for words, Liang He could only ask, "I mean... isn't this a bit too thick?"
"My grandfather said that when you're sick, you should wrap yourself up. Once you sweat it out, you'll get better immediately." Qiu Yun held the quilt open with one hand and stood with the other on her hip. "No need to take off your clothes, just get in."
Liang He lay down somewhat reluctantly. Then, a thought occurred to him. "This time... do I need to be rubbed with soy sauce?"
"Soy sauce?"
"Yes, your grandfather’s folk remedy. Soy sauce for bruises and sprains—does it work for fevers too?"
Qiu Yun gave him a sidelong glance. He was burning up, yet he still had the heart to joke. Thinking about how he had intended to walk back to school in this state, she felt a surge of annoyance and couldn't help but scold him. "We still have half a bottle left. Want to try it? Drink it and you'll turn into Iron Man; you could walk back to school even if it were raining knives."
"Iron Man?"
Qiu Yun realized that in this era, there were no such "Men" or "Heroes" yet. She quickly covered, "Yeah. Want to try?"
Liang He was well-behaved this time. "I'll pass. It's better to be a normal person."
By the light of the candle, Qiu Yun observed him. His face was flushed an unusual shade of red, as were his lips—a detail she hadn't noticed in the dim light outside. She thought to herself: *You’re no normal person; you’re a changeless spirit.*
Qiu Yun went outside to fetch some water, dampened a cloth, and placed it on Liang He’s forehead. There was no cold medicine in the courtyard house, which worried her. Liang He comforted her, saying his constitution was strong and he would be fine without medicine. Looking at the pitch-black sky and the torrential rain, Qiu Yun knew the pharmacies would have closed long ago. She could only pin her hopes on his constitution and pray he would recover on his own.
They chatted idly for a few minutes until Liang He’s voice grew weary. Qiu Yun stopped talking, and before long, the room fell silent.
Qiu Yun stood up to look; Liang He was asleep.
He was a quiet sleeper. He lay flat under the thick cotton quilt. To make him sweat, Qiu Yun had tucked him in so that only his face from the chin up was exposed. With the red cloth on his forehead, very little of his face was visible—just his eyes, nose, and mouth. Qiu Yun had always been puzzled: why did the same face seem so stiff and cold when she first met him, yet later feel so kind and approachable? It wasn't as if he’d had plastic surgery, so why was the impression so different? Now, she realized it was because of his nose. His brow bone and the bridge of his nose were connected in a way that felt almost European. His nose was high and straight; when he was expressionless, his features looked as if they were carved with a blade, reminiscent of those cold-blooded, ruthless characters on TV. But with even a hint of color on his face, that nose made him look exceptionally handsome. It made one feel that his nose was truly blessed by the Creator—a masterstroke from the hand of Nuwa herself.
Qiu Yun had known for a long time that Liang He had beautiful eyes. That was thirty years later—thirty years in Liang He’s future. Those eyes, which looked like amber in the sunlight, held the grace of time and the baptism of years, possessing a heart-stirring charm. But only now did she notice that his beauty wasn't limited to his eyes. His nose, his lips, even his body—his entire being was beautiful. Indeed, a person should be judged as a whole, both inside and out. Like a sketch, the success of a drawing doesn't come from one particularly prominent detail, but from the overall composition, silhouette, and shading.
Thinking of this, Qiu Yun felt a strange sensation in her heart. She had first met the Liang He of thirty years later. Logically, as her professor whom she had known for four years and who had taught her for one, that should be the Liang He she was most familiar with. But now, she felt that Liang He was distant and strange—like a cloud in the sky, a distant mountain, or a symbol or image drifting in the depths of her heart. This Liang He—the one from thirty years ago, the one sleeping right in front of her—was the Liang He she truly knew. The Liang He from thirty years later felt like a facade, while the one before her was real.
Perhaps it wasn't just Liang He. Even Qiu Yun herself felt that the Sima Qiu Yun from thirty years later was a fake, a soulless shell. This Qiu Yun of 1988 was the one who was flesh and blood, truly alive.
Between the real and the fake, Qiu Yun felt momentarily dazed, as if in a dream, unable to distinguish between them.
Lost in these thoughts, Qiu Yun leaned back in the chair opposite the bed, and sleepiness gradually overcame her.
In the middle of the night, Qiu Yun woke up with a stiff neck. She twisted it slightly, hearing a few "cracks" from her cervical vertebrae. It was then she noticed a faint light coming from outside. She stood up and walked to the door, switching on the light under the eaves. The power was back, and the rain had eased. The candle in the room had nearly burned down to the bottom. Afraid that turning on the indoor light would wake Liang He, she lit a new candle. Then she walked to the bedside to check his temperature again. The moment her hand touched his face, she jumped.
She hurriedly opened the door to let in more light from the eaves and moved the candle closer to the bed. As she feared, Liang He’s fever had spiked again. The cloth on his forehead, once cool, was now hot. His entire face was flushed crimson, and his lips were so dry they were flecked with blood. She remembered that before she fell asleep, his fever had shown signs of breaking; she hadn't expected it to rebound like this.
Qiu Yun panicked. Setting aside any sense of modesty, she reached under the quilt to feel his back. His body was burning hot. Because her hand was cooler than him, Liang He shivered involuntarily. Her touch confirmed it: his back was drenched in sweat, and his clothes were soaked. She gently shook him, calling out, "Liang He, Liang He..."
Liang He’s brows were tightly knit; he gave no response.
Qiu Yun rinsed the cloth, wiped the sweat from his face, and called him again. "Liang He, Liang He?"
This time, Liang He responded, mumbling something in a low voice.
"What?" Qiu Yun leaned in to listen.
Liang He fell silent again.
Qiu Yun tried to pull Liang He up from the quilt—and it was a struggle. Liang He was heavy, and it took a great deal of effort for her to haul him up like a giant radish until he was propped against the headboard. She fetched some water, cooled it down, and brought it to his lips. "Drink some water."
Liang He frowned, his consciousness clouded, and turned his head away.
Qiu Yun dipped her finger in the water and brushed it over his lips. Liang He instinctively licked them. Taking the opportunity, she fed him a sip.
Having done that, Qiu Yun took a deep breath. She was about to begin a major project: taking off Liang He’s clothes.
His clothes were completely soaked. If he didn't change into something dry, his condition would only worsen. Fortunately, he was wearing Qiu Zhenghong’s clothes, which were a Chinese-style button-up shirt. She decided to just get it over with and quickly undid the buttons on his chest. Liang He’s upper body was exposed before her—his chest rose and fell slightly with his breathing. Because he was still feverish, his breath was hot as it brushed against the top of Qiu Yun’s head. Though there was no romantic intent, Qiu Yun’s face began to burn as if she had caught his fever. Because he was sitting up, the definition of his abdominal muscles was particularly clear. When her fingertips accidentally brushed against him, the heat of his skin sent a jolt through her like an electric current.
She wondered what was wrong with her. As someone from the 90s generation, what "big scenes" hadn't she seen? She’d heard there was a scene in *Hidden Man* where Eddie Peng ran across rooftops naked, and she’d specifically sought out that clip to watch. Now, she was just helping a patient change his clothes, yet her face was flushed and her heart was racing like a sheltered maiden from ancient times.
She sped up her movements, pulling his arms out of the sleeves. Perhaps because her movements were a bit rough, Liang He woke up.
To say he woke up wasn't quite accurate; he merely opened his eyes blearily, his expression like a bank of mist.
He asked, "What are you doing?"
Qiu Yun hadn't expected him to wake up at this moment. Her movements froze, and she replied subconsciously, "Taking off your clothes."
Liang He looked at her for two seconds. Qiu Yun thought he would say something, but he simply opened his mouth and uttered a soft, "Oh."
Then he closed his eyes, appearing perfectly at ease and submissive, leaving himself entirely to her disposal.
Qiu Yun didn't know if he had truly fallen back asleep. She hurriedly pulled and tugged the rest of the shirt off. By the time she finished, she was covered in sweat. Liang He’s height and weight were no joke, and her arms were aching. She took a moment to rest, then got up to fetch clean clothes. When she returned, she found that Liang He had already curled back into the quilt on his own and fallen asleep.
Perhaps because the wet clothes were gone, he felt more comfortable.
Qiu Yun wrung out the wet cloth and placed it back on his forehead. He murmured something again.
"What?" Qiu Yun was curious, wanting to hear exactly what he was saying.
But he seemed to be doing it on purpose; his flushed lips were now pressed tightly together.
Qiu Yun felt a bit discouraged. She muttered to herself, "What kind of secret are you keeping? If you’re going to say it, say it. If not, forget it." With that, she prepared to go pour herself a glass of water.
Just as she stood up, Liang He mumbled another sentence. This time, Qiu Yun heard it clearly, because he said the same thing twice.
He said, "Xiao Yun. Xiao Yun."
***
