It seems that when a person falls ill, their mood tends to get soaked through alongside their body.

On the whole, Yunque’s emotional state that afternoon was as grim as the rain.

Walking back, her clothes and hair had gotten partially drenched.

Even with the kind woman’s help, there were things no one else could solve.

Like the fact that, inside the apartment, the only edible things were yogurt and instant noodles.

And water, which had to be boiled first.

With a drip running in her hand, she had no way to manage any of it on her own. After coming through the door, she had no choice but to sit quietly on the sofa.

Outside, the rain kept falling, stopping, starting again.

The phone on the coffee table flashed with a few push notifications before its battery dipped to twenty percent.

Xu Linda and Ye Tian both lived far away. Yunque’s instincts told her not to trouble them, so she resigned herself to curling up under a blanket on the sofa.

But a problem presented itself before long.

What about changing the drip bag?

Yunque looked up at the bottle, still two-thirds full, and found herself thinking back to all those times she’d been sick in the past.

Back then, even alone, she’d never been quite so alone that she had no one to help her change a bag. How had things come to this?

She wasn’t quite sure.

Her already fragile emotions were being quietly eaten away by something she couldn’t name. Yunque thought it through from all angles and eventually decided she’d change the bag herself when the time came.

But before she could act on that plan, the doorbell rang.

Urgent, insistent — as though afraid she might not hear — and then the woman outside called out: “Miss Zhu, are you home? I’m the IV nurse from the clinic downstairs. I got worried you wouldn’t be able to change the bag yourself, so I came up to check on you.”

Honestly, the woman had a very loud voice.

The pain already drilling through Yunque’s head gave a sharp spike.

By the time she’d gathered herself, she was already on her feet, drip bag in hand, opening the door for the woman outside.

It was indeed the IV nurse from the clinic.

Half an hour ago, her manner had been perfectly cool and detached — “I’m sorry, I have too many patients, I can’t take you upstairs.” But now here she was, warm and solicitous, exclaiming cheerfully that she’d come just in time, asking what Yunque would have done otherwise if the bag needed changing.

Like two different people.

Perhaps the low-grade fever had softened her brain just enough.

Yunque stood there in a momentary daze and simply let the woman in. After watching her swap the bag over, she asked, her voice thick with congestion: “How did you know my unit number? And my surname?”

Not just the unit number — she knew her name was Zhu as well.

Yunque was fairly certain she hadn’t shared any of that information with her.

The woman wasn’t a natural liar. Caught by that steady, direct gaze, she fumbled for a moment before suddenly seeming to recall something. “Oh, that’s right — didn’t you tell our nurse when you called earlier?”

That part, at least, wasn’t a fabrication.

Before leaving school to come home, Yunque had called this clinic to ask whether they could come do an at-home drip. They hadn’t been too busy at the time, so the nurse had asked for her unit number. Yunque had given it honestly, and mentioned her surname was Zhu — and then she’d come home and waited a long time without anyone showing up.

By the time she’d gone back downstairs, the clinic was chaos.

She and the nurse had gone back and forth for a bit, and eventually the nurse had managed to persuade her to get the drip done at the clinic instead.

With that reminder, it came back to her.

And perhaps realizing that she’d been about to reach for something implausible and intangible, Yunque’s expression flickered, just briefly, with something complicated.

But the woman showed no sign of leaving.

She glanced around the apartment and said, “Young lady, do you need me to pick anything up for you on my way? You don’t even have a glass of water in here.”

The fever had slowed Yunque’s thinking to something close to inertness.

Without quite guarding herself, she looked at the woman and said, “Would it be too much trouble?”

The woman laughed. “It’s always a little trouble, of course. But you’re sick, and you’re here all by yourself.”

She paused at the words “all by yourself,” as though the pause itself were deliberate. Then, as if asking in passing, she said, “You do live alone, right?”

Yunque nodded. “Yes, alone.”

The woman’s gaze drifted with curiosity. “But if you live alone, what are all those men’s shoes by the door? And the balcony—”

She tilted her head and glanced over. “I thought I saw some men’s underwear too.”

“……”

The tips of Yunque’s ears warmed. She pressed her lips together and said, “Those are men’s shorts.”

Then: “I didn’t want people to know I live alone, so I arranged it that way on purpose.”

The woman made a sound of dawning understanding. “Ah, so that’s it.”

And then she went on to remark that the world was full of unsavory men, and a girl as pretty as Yunque really did need to take precautions.

Yunque coughed twice, her throat dry and raw, and said, “Could you bring me some mineral water and milk?”

The woman nodded readily and asked if she wanted anything else.

Yunque shook her head — she didn’t want to impose further.

Seeing there was nothing more, the woman finally headed out.

The security door clicked shut. She pulled out her phone from her pocket.

The phone had been on an active call the entire time — from the moment Yunque opened the door. Everything the two of them had said, the person on the other end had heard clearly.

Walking toward the elevator, the woman said, “Look, it’s not that I’m being lazy, young man. What she’s asked for is quite heavy, and I’m carrying a medical kit, and I’ve still got another floor I need to visit for a drip. If you could go buy those things, I’ll bring them up when I head back.”

Her tone was careful, slightly tentative — genuinely negotiating.

After all, Lu Rangchen had paid well. Five hundred yuan — more than enough for an errand.

And the man didn’t seem like someone to be trifled with, either.

Tall and well-built, with an air that was both refined and young, driving a G-Class, carrying himself with an ease that spoke of consequence. One glance told you this was someone who mattered.

But as it turned out, she’d read him wrong.

At that moment, Lu Rangchen was downstairs, smoking.

When he heard those words, he stubbed the cigarette out immediately. His low, resonant voice came through the line, steady: “Alright.” Then, quieter: “You wouldn’t know what she likes to eat anyway.”

That tone. That manner. That hidden warmth tucked just beneath the surface.

Nothing like a casual acquaintance.

The woman, naturally curious, couldn’t help herself. “Why don’t you just go up and give it to her yourself? I’m not exaggerating — that girl looked genuinely pitiful.”

Lu Rangchen opened the car door and got in.

At those words, the hand gripping the steering wheel paused for a moment. He couldn’t have said what he was feeling. His brow furrowed slightly. “I’ll leave the rest to you.”

“……”

“I’m going to a bigger supermarket. I’ll get her more things.”

The large supermarket near Xinyue Xiangfu was in the shopping district.

Driving there was actually quite an inconvenience — Lu Rangchen had lived nearby all this time and had never once bothered going. But that day, as though guided by some force he couldn’t name, he went — and bought quite a lot.

The water and milk she’d asked for. Then, thinking she might want something sweet, he added sparkling water and yogurt. Vitamin-rich fruit. Nuts. Convenient, easy-to-eat snacks — vegetarian options, cheese rolls, sushi, cream cake.

He stopped himself before buying more, because it was starting to feel excessive.

Wouldn’t want the woman to complain about the weight.

And yet, for all his restraint, when that pile of things appeared before Yunque’s eyes, it was still unmistakably, conspicuously over the top.

Especially those snacks.

Every single one — something she had loved eight years ago and never gotten tired of.

Staring at all of it, Yunque’s expression went still for a moment. Then she looked up at the woman.

The woman genuinely couldn’t come up with anything else to say. She just squared her shoulders and kept her mouth shut, reaching over to switch Yunque’s drip to the third bag.

But there was no need to say anything, really.

Yunque wasn’t naive enough to miss what this meant.

After all — she’d used the same method herself before. There was no rule saying someone else couldn’t.

She just hoped — she wanted so much for it to be Lu Rangchen.

Would it be him?

Yunque felt an odd, uneasy flutter in her chest, and didn’t dare let herself think too deeply — afraid that if she did, it would all crumble, and she’d turn out to be projecting again.

So she let the moment sit, quietly awkward, for a little while.

When the woman had finished tidying up and was about to leave, Yunque spoke. “How much was it all, ma’am? I’ll transfer it to you.”

Just looking at the two big bags on the coffee table — it had to be five hundred, if not more.

Saying nothing about money would be difficult to justify.

The woman hesitated, seemed to realize she wasn’t quite sure how to handle this, and after a moment said, “The receipts aren’t with me right now. I’ll message you on WeChat with the total later — it’s not urgent, you’re not going anywhere.”

She wasn’t going anywhere, that was true enough.

From the state of her illness, Yunque figured she’d need to come back for another drip tomorrow.

So she nodded and said alright. She asked for the woman’s WeChat and they added each other.

But the moment they’d added each other, a text message landed on the woman’s phone from an unfamiliar number:

+137xx23xx15: Ask her if she’s coming again tomorrow.

The woman caught a glimpse of it, looked up, and asked Yunque, “Young lady, are you coming back tomorrow?”

Yunque said yes.

The woman made a small sound, then asked what time she was planning to come.

Yunque thought about it and said, “In the afternoon, I think. I want to sleep in in the morning.”

The woman made a flustered sound. “Afternoons are usually our busiest time. I might not be free to deal with you then. Why don’t you just come do it at the clinic tomorrow, it’ll be easier.”

Yunque’s expression stayed blank and even. She said nothing.

No one could tell what she was thinking.

The woman really was about to leave this time — when her phone buzzed again.

+137xx23xx15: Ask her if the things he bought are alright. And if there’s anything she especially wants.

Reading that, the woman’s face creased with exasperation. When was this going to end?

Just go up and talk to her directly. Why go through all this trouble?

She was quietly irritated about it — but money was money, and the five hundred yuan was not nothing. So she bit it back, turned to Yunque, and said, “Oh, actually, I almost forgot to ask — those things I brought, are they alright? I’d hate for it to be things you don’t like. Don’t feel you have to put up with it if there’s something you actually want — I can bring things.”

The words came out with a little less warmth than before.

And a faint trace of impatience.

Honestly — it was clumsy. The person Lu Rangchen had found wasn’t exactly a gifted performer. Unable to act well was one thing — wearing her motives plainly on her face on top of it, with that calculating, transactional edge — how could a person like this convincingly pull off the role of a warmhearted stranger who kept finding reasons to check in?

And yet.

All three of them were willing to play along.

Each one, with full awareness, choosing to pretend.

Yunque couldn’t have said, in that moment, how certain she was of anything. She curled up on the sofa, gaze dropping to the pile of things on the table, and said, without quite intending to: “What I actually want is steamed fish.”

Her voice was small, slightly hoarse.

The woman hadn’t quite caught it and said, “What?”

“……”

Yunque didn’t repeat it.

As if she’d given up on the thought, she shook her head lightly and said, “Nothing. Thank you for today.”

After the woman left, Yunque’s last bag of drip finished not long after.

She took the needle out herself.

Then she ate a little, had a shower, and finally got into bed.

That night, her sleep was exceptionally good — as though some deep, accumulated exhaustion had been set down. She sank into the soft, solid warmth of the bedding and slept without dreaming, all the way through to nearly noon the next day.

As it turned out, sleep really was the most effective medicine for recovery.

By the next day, Yunque felt substantially better.

But the aftermath of a severe cold was still lingering, and to be sure, she needed one more day of treatment.

This time, she didn’t rush.

The clinic was in the ground-floor retail unit of the building directly across the way. From the living room window, she had a clear line of sight to the clinic entrance — and could easily see how many patients were coming and going.

It was the season in South City when the rains came most heavily. Even in summer, the temperatures stayed mild, and with several recent rainstorms on top of that, there were more sick people than usual.

The woman hadn’t misled her — the afternoon rush was real.

Elderly people, small children, parents with young ones, a mother with a high school student who didn’t look much older than Deng Jiao — a steady stream of them coming and going.

By the time Yunque arrived at the clinic, it looked even busier than the day before.

The nurse looked up the moment she finished with a patient and saw Yunque.

She immediately exclaimed, “Young lady, I told you to come early! Why are you still this late? Look how many people are here — I’ve still got two patients who need blood draws. How am I supposed to find time for you?”

The words, at least, were genuine.

She really was swamped right now. Even if everything had been arranged in advance, there was no way she could split herself in two.

But Yunque, evidently, wasn’t troubled.

Perfectly composed, she said, “It’s fine. I can take it upstairs myself.”

At those words, the woman visibly faltered.

She thought to herself: this girl is genuinely stubborn.

Anyone else would’ve jumped at the chance to make things easier on themselves. But not her — she seemed determined to take the hardest possible route in everything.

Stubborn enough to make it hard for herself. And, in the process, hard for the person who cared about her too.

A real handful.

She let out a sigh and said, “Fine. Sit down a minute and wait — I’ll have Xiao Liu do your needle.”

Then she turned around, grabbed her phone, and disappeared into the back office — no one quite knew what for.

Yunque’s gaze followed her direction for a moment, then quietly drew itself back. She turned around, had the needle put in calmly, and picked up her drip bag just as calmly.

Even Xiao Liu felt a pang watching her, and said impulsively, “Wait — I’ll walk you upstairs.”

That was something Yunque would have agreed to yesterday.

This time, she declined.

She shook her head at Xiao Liu. “It’s fine. I can manage on my own.”

Fair, soft skin, not a touch of makeup on that face — fragile enough to look like one wrong move might break her.

And yet her eyes were clear and untroubled.

Untroubled to the point where you couldn’t read a single thing in them.

In the end, there was nothing to be done but let her go.

So Yunque walked out of the clinic alone, under an array of odd, uncertain stares from everyone in the room.

By the time she finally reached the stairwell landing of Building 12 — a pair of long, straight legs extended into her path without warning.

Blocking her way entirely.

Her heart lurched — missing one beat.

Yunque looked up, dark eyes fixed unblinking on that face.

Lu Rangchen looked at her from under lowered lids, gaze unreadable, layers of restrained feeling too deep to decipher — and then, as though suppressing something frayed and unruly, he let out a sudden, rough scoff.

“Are you enjoying this, Zhu Yunque?”

“……”

Yunque said nothing.

She didn’t move either.

Her slender arm held the drip bag aloft — delicate, as though it might give way at any moment.

Less than three seconds passed before Lu Rangchen’s brow drew together with unconcealed impatience.

As though he had given up the struggle entirely, no longer willing to resist or argue — he reached out and, with complete, unhesitating naturalness, took the drip bag from her raised left hand.

His palm was just as she remembered: dry, warm, faintly roughened with calluses. The lightest graze passed over the soft skin of her hand, there for barely a breath and then gone.

Twenty-odd centimeters taller than her. The drip visibly flowed faster now, the rate picking up with his height.

As though she finally had a reason to look at him — openly, without apology.

Yunque’s gaze moved from the drip bag in his hand and settled, direct and unwavering, on his face.

Still that face — like moonlight, the kind that carves itself into you and won’t let go. Even at twenty-eight, he looked just as he had in her memory: clear, serene, untouched by guile.

And yet.

Who could have guessed that beneath that surface — so simple, so guileless — there lived someone who knew exactly how to take a person apart.

Under her open, unguarded stare, Lu Rangchen’s throat shifted almost imperceptibly.

His voice came out low and slightly rough at the edges, with that ease that always managed to work its way under your skin. He looked down at her, gaze locked.

“Satisfied now?”