Ji Qian’ang had been at the Tang residence for more than a month. First, Tang Yu had ruined his eye. Then he had made him sleep on a hard bed in the side wing without so much as a pillow. And all this time, Ji Qian’ang had quietly taken cold showers for over a month.
The water heater was broken, and he had not thought to say anything?
If Tang Yu had not discovered it tonight, how much longer had this madman planned to keep bathing in cold water?
In October, daytime temperatures at Repulse Bay still rose above thirty degrees Celsius, and even the nights stayed in the twenties. A cold shower was not uncomfortable.
But what about winter?
What would he do then?
Winter at Repulse Bay barely counted as winter. Even at its coldest, temperatures remained above ten degrees. No one needed a down jacket, much less a heater.
There were no freezing temperatures here, no northern snow, no wind that cut to the bone.
But what did water in the low teens feel like when it struck bare skin?
Tang Yu had certainly never tried it. If he had not discovered the problem in time, however, someone else would soon have tested it firsthand.
The more he thought, the angrier he became. Was this lunatic some kind of masochist?
Ji Qian’ang tied his shoes for him, slept in a side wing with no hot water, ate the spectacularly failed tiramisu Tang Yu had made, and jumped into a swimming pool without hesitation to save him despite the risk of infecting his wound. Then, in everyone else’s eyes, Tang Yu’s companion looked like a fallen, desperate boy suffering abuse in silence—degrading himself as Tang Yu’s obedient dog.
He endured everything. He was used to everything.
Ji Qian’ang, whose sympathy were you trying to win? Who did you want to discover those festering wounds? Whose heart were you trying to make ache for you?
Then Tang Yu remembered. On the day Ji Qian’ang decided to remain with the Tang family, Tang Yu had said that no one would stop him if he wanted to stay and suffer.
Suffer? What suffering could there be in Repulse Bay? There was no winter here, no heavy snow, no temperatures below zero. How could anyone suffer in a place like this?
Now he knew the answer. A north-facing room in a neglected side wing, an ancient broken water heater, and a man too stubborn ever to admit he needed anything—that was enough.
The sticky cream had not yet been rinsed from Tang Yu’s hand. He shut off the tap, shook away the droplets, and walked out.
“There’s no hot water.”
Ji Qian’ang was still cleaning the mess on the bed. He froze when he heard.
Tang Yu walked over, suppressing his fury, his voice low. “This side wing you live in has no hot water.”
Ji Qian’ang looked up at him. After a long moment, he said flatly, “The water works.”
“What about winter?” Tang Yu clenched his fists, a fire rising inside him with nowhere to go. “Were you planning to take cold showers all winter too? Why didn’t you tell anyone there was no hot water?”
Ji Qian’ang looked away and dropped a cake-stained tissue into the bin. His tone remained mild. “Weren’t you the one who told Uncle Lin not to bring me anything?”
Tang Yu choked on his answer.
He had indeed said those exact words, clearly and publicly, in front of a room full of people.
Ji Qian’ang’s temper had been fierce enough when he first arrived. How had he turned into an idiot now? Had he forgotten how to resist? Was he simply going to accept whatever came?
Ji Qian’ang was Tang Yu’s companion now, and therefore represented the Tang family. The Tang family could not afford the disgrace of having a companion abused under its own roof.
Tang Yu tightened his fists, spun around, and strode away. “Wait here.”
“I’m getting Uncle Lin to restore the hot water. From now on, you’ll have it every day, and you’re damn well going to use it! If I ever catch you using cold water again, I’ll throw you into Repulse Bay and feed you to the fish!”
Tang Yu stormed out of the side wing without even closing the door.
Ji Qian’ang lowered his head and resumed cleaning. The corner of his mouth curved faintly, though in the darkness it was impossible to tell whether it counted as a smile.
After returning to his bedroom, Tang Yu tossed and turned all night. By the next day he still had no appetite, and his entire body seemed wilted.
Ji Qian’ang tossed bread and milk onto his desk, but Tang Yu did not touch them. “At least eat something.”
Tang Yu snapped, “I know what I’m doing. I’m not waiting for winter to freeze myself to death.”
Ji Qian’ang had no reply.
During the last class before lunch, a dull pain began stirring in Tang Yu’s stomach. He pressed a hand against it.
When the bell rang, he stood too quickly. Before the blood could catch up, his vision abruptly went black.
Tian Qianxing, sitting behind him, poked his back with the cap of a pen. “Hey, basketball after school?”
No one answered for a long while. “Ah Yu?”
“No.”
Tian Qianxing leaned forward for a closer look. Tang Yu’s face was turned aside, and his lips were bloodless. “You look terrible.”
“I’m fine.” His voice floated unsteadily as he staggered out the rear door.
He had taken only a few steps when the twisting in his stomach worsened. Tang Yu stopped and leaned against the corridor wall.
“What’s wrong?” Ji Qian’ang’s voice came from nearby.
Tang Yu did not want Ji Qian’ang to see him like this. But his knees had gone weak, the grip around his stomach was tightening, and the darkness before his eyes kept deepening. He swayed like a puppet with its strings cut, his thoughts turning hazy.
Without answering, Tang Yu closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the wall again.
Then Ji Qian’ang’s dry, warm palm settled against his forehead. It remained there for two seconds before he turned his hand over and checked again with the back of it.
“Come on. We’re going to the infirmary.” Ji Qian’ang withdrew his hand and put an arm around Tang Yu’s shoulders.
Tang Yu promptly sagged into his embrace. With his face buried against Ji Qian’ang’s chest, he mumbled, “You’re… so warm.”
“Not like my house.”
Words began spilling from Tang Yu in a stream of Cantonese. Even he did not know why he was saying so many strange things.
“My house is freezing. The air-conditioning is too strong. Grandma hates the heat, but I hate being cold. I told her once, and she said, ‘Put on another layer.’ But I was still cold after putting on more clothes. Do you know that? Being cold doesn’t go away just because you wear one more shirt. Holding me won’t help either. Holding me won’t help…”
Supporting him, Ji Qian’ang patted his forehead and realized that the situation might be more serious than he had thought. A high fever had apparently activated Tang Yu’s ability to speak at extraordinary speed.
“Can you walk to the infirmary?”
“Mm.”
But Tang Yu did not move. His forehead remained pressed to Ji Qian’ang’s chest.
Ji Qian’ang stared down at him in silence.
Tang Yu was barely conscious and could not keep his balance. He wove from side to side when he tried to walk, forcing Ji Qian’ang to brace a hand around his waist.
“You’re heavy,” Ji Qian’ang remarked.
“Liar.” Tang Yu’s voice remained muffled. “I’m very light. Grandma says I’m too thin and tells me to eat more, but I can’t. Do you know? Sometimes it isn’t that I don’t want to eat. Eating makes me want to throw up. My stomach hurts, and the food won’t go down, and then I feel sick. I’m not refusing on purpose. I just… I can’t help it.”
Ji Qian’ang frowned. “You want to throw up?”
“When I see that person.”
“What person?”
“I don’t remember.” Tang Yu said. “My head hurts. Stop asking so many questions.”
The moment he finished, Tang Yu collapsed completely into Ji Qian’ang’s arms.
Ji Qian’ang caught him around the waist and pulled him back, then carried him all the way to the infirmary.
Tang Yu’s waist was so narrow that Ji Qian’ang felt he could circle it with one hand.
Tang Yu buried himself in the hollow of Ji Qian’ang’s shoulder, the tip of his nose brushing the collar of Ji Qian’ang’s uniform.
His arms wound around Ji Qian’ang’s waist. Like a cat that had finally found its nest, he pressed his face closer and refused to move.
“So warm…”
“What do you smell like? I don’t know. But it smells nice.”
The Ji family business might have collapsed, but no shipping enterprise could avoid Hong Kong. Ji Qian’ang had followed his father around the docks since childhood, and his Cantonese was even more fluent than his Mandarin.
He simply had not wanted to speak it in front of Tang Yu. Tang Yu had naturally assumed that someone from the mainland probably understood very little Cantonese.
Ji Qian’ang had never corrected that misunderstanding.
In all his time at Repulse Bay, he had never heard Tang Yu speak so much Cantonese. Tang Yu always used crisp, standard Mandarin with everyone.
Today, feverish and dazed, much of that calm, distant barrier had collapsed. His cold, hard temper had retreated. He seemed nothing like the commanding Young Master Tang of ordinary days.
Ji Qian’ang found himself regretting that he had not recorded everything Tang Yu had just said.
Once Tang Yu’s fever broke, he could have played it back and watched to see whether the tips of his ears turned red.