Zhu Wenxing braced himself on the entryway shoe cabinet, legs like water. The bandage on his right hand had been freshly rewrapped.
Shoes changed, he ducked straight into the bathroom to wash up.
As it happened, today was the day the agency was sending his new housekeeper. He'd barely stepped out of the bathroom when the doorbell rang.
"Hello, Mr. Zhu—so sorry to keep you waiting."
"No trouble at all. The agency briefed you on my household situation, I assume?"
Zhu Wenxing said it as he ushered her in.
"Oh yes, yes. Same-sex marriage, Mr. Wen almost never home—housework and cooking only, and I won't need to set foot in your bedroom. I know the drill."
The housekeeper laid it all out crisply, worked fast, and read the room beautifully.
He'd barely finished showing her the apartment before she'd sized everything up.
Zhu Wenxing was very satisfied.
"That's how it is in our line of work. Rest easy, Mr. Zhu—my lips are sealed. Professional discretion, absolutely."
"Oh, and Mr. Zhu—just call me Auntie Liu from now on."
"Any dietary restrictions? I'll cook you something proper. You look like you haven't had a real meal in ages."
Zhu Wenxing's head swam; a dull weight dragged at his lower belly.
He waved a feeble hand. "I really haven't. No restrictions—whatever you think. I'll rest a bit first."
"Uh—?"
His legs buckled and he went down on his knees. The hand braced on the sofa shook without stop; beads of sweat rolled off his face.
Auntie Liu cried out in alarm: "Oh! Mr. Zhu, what's wrong?!"
He covered his mouth, retching. "It's nothing, nothing—just low blood sugar. Days without eating. All I had last night was an apple. Just low blood sugar."
"Here—help me up, please..."
And then he was out cold on the floor.
When he woke, he was in a hospital room.
Wen Tingxuan's grating voice kept drilling into his ears.
"Auntie Liu, don't call me for this sort of thing again. Whether he lives or dies, it's not my business—"
"Mr. Wen, if not you, then who? I'm just a housekeeper—I can't make these calls. And that's a horrible thing to say. From what I can see, Mr. Zhu dotes on you plenty."
Wen Tingxuan's temper boiled over. He pulled out his phone in threat: "You remember you're a housekeeper, do you? Keep yapping and I'll call your agency and file a complaint!"
"Don't—don't do that!"
Listening, Zhu Wenxing slowly propped himself up on one aching arm. "Auntie Liu is my hire. You have no say."
"Fine! From now on, whether you live or die, don't bother me."
Wen Tingxuan kicked up a proper fuss and stormed out.
"Sorry you had to see that, Auntie Liu."
Liu Guifang patted his hand. "It's nothing—as long as you're all right. I've met his type plenty of times."
"Oh! Dr. Zhao, you're here."
Dr. Zhao looked quite young, but his head was a full head of white hair; there was no telling his age.
"Zhu Wenxing. Holding up?"
Zhu Wenxing nodded. "Much better. The low blood sugar—old problem."
"I'll carry candy from now on. Stop terrifying my housekeeper."
Dr. Zhao Leijun: "Not so fast. It wasn't only low blood sugar—you had a fever too. We drew blood. Your face was white as paper; it didn't look right."
As he spoke, the nurse handed him the lab report. He glanced at it. "Your inflammation markers are a bit high. No wonder you ran a fever."
"From the hand wound not healing?"
He muttered on: "That doesn't add up either. When I changed the dressing I checked the wound— healing beautifully. Is there another injury somewhere?"
Zhu Wenxing remembered the panic of last night and waved both hands. "No, no. It must be the hand wound not fully healed."
Dr. Zhao nodded. "Rest up, then. Finish the drip and you can go home."
The moment the door clicked shut behind Dr. Zhao, Li Feiyang materialized in front of him.
"Are you a ghost?"
Dr. Zhao rapped his head with a stethoscope. "Scattering about all day—does that look like a doctor to you?"
Li Feiyang ignored that and asked something else: "The patient in there—what's wrong with him?"
Dr. Zhao gave him a sideways look, and the two walked one after the other into the doctors' office. "What for? That's a patient. Patient privacy. Why would I tell you anything?"
Slap.
"The sunglasses you wanted. New drop. Like them?"
Dr. Zhao had them on his face in an instant. They were, indeed, something else.
"Out with it. Who is that man to you?"
Li Feiyang smiled and adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. "A friend. Sickly and delicate."
"Ha!"
Dr. Zhao clearly wasn't buying it. "Fine. I won't ask about your business." Turning the sunglasses over in his hand: "Fainted this morning. Housekeeper brought him in. Husband shows up, raises hell in the ward, and walks off before the patient's even awake."
"I'm not asking about that. The body—how is he, physically?"
Dr. Zhao gave him another "ha!"
"Oh, all right. The body: mild low blood sugar, slight inflammation, low-grade fever—nothing serious. The hand wound's healing nicely, and that self-bandaging of his rivals a trained doctor's work."
?
Dr. Zhao sensed something off. "Now hold on, you little—"
"Not my problem. Forget it."
Li Feiyang thumped his chest. "Next new drop, I'll bring you another pair. Relax, senpai."
He was smiling and halfway out the door when Dr. Zhao called him back.
"Zhu Wenxing has thalassemia. Be careful. And wear protection, for God's sake."
"Also—that husband of his snaps like a mad dog. Bites anyone in reach."
Li Feiyang clapped him on the shoulder. "Brotherhood lives in the heart."
Watching Li Feiyang's retreating back, Dr. Zhao shook his head. "Hah. Careful you don't play with fire."