His tone seemed questioning, but it sounded no different from a notification.
Wen Yifan tilted her head, staring at his noble and proud demeanor. The lingering panic gradually dissipated. She gripped his fingers tightly, her lips curving into a smile. “It’s fine, I suppose.”
Sang Yan looked over. “What?”
“But,” Wen Yifan held back a laugh, “don’t you owe me an old man?”
“…”
A few seconds of silence passed.
Sang Yan calmly averted his gaze, his voice slow and leisurely: “Then let’s keep it as a debt for now.”
Wen Yifan: “Hm?”
The hospital corridor was quiet and bright.
The man’s arm was wrapped in gauze, and his black T-shirt was slightly smudged with dust, yet he didn’t look disheveled at all. He was tall and slender, with sharp and cold features, but they seemed to soften a bit in front of her.
“I’ll repay you in fifty years.”
…
The two went downstairs to get the medicine.
Wen Yifan took the various documents from Sang Yan’s hand and looked at them carefully. When she saw a particular form, her gaze paused, and she suddenly asked, “You’re injured on your waist too?”
“Ah.” Sang Yan just remembered, “Just a bit of broken skin, no stitches needed.”
“…”
Wen Yifan’s gaze fixed on him, looking at him directly, and she inexplicably became a bit annoyed: “What are the doctor’s instructions? Did you listen?”
Sang Yan casually said, “Come back for a dressing change in a week, remove stitches in two weeks.”
Wen Yifan: “Is there anything you should avoid eating?”
“No, just eat as usual.” Sang Yan maintained an aloof attitude throughout as if the person who had just lost so much blood wasn’t him. “It’s just a minor injury, no need for such meticulous care.”
“…” Wen Yifan pressed her lips tightly and looked away, “I’d better check myself.”
Hearing her tone, Sang Yan paused, then said meaningfully: “Wen Shuangjiang, you’re quite sharp with me now.”
Wen Yifan didn’t look at him, took the medicine given by the pharmacist, confirmed the daily dosage, then turned back to him and said: “Oh, am I sharp?”
Sang Yan lowered his eyes.
Wen Yifan grabbed his wrist and walked forward: “I was afraid you wouldn’t notice.”
“…”
Sang Yan found her behavior quite fresh and allowed her to drag him along: “No temper, why are you so fierce today?”
Wen Yifan said stiffly: “I told you I’d be angry.”
The implication was clear.
She had warned him earlier, and if he still made the same mistake, he’d have to bear her “sharpness.”
“Didn’t you just scold me earlier,” Sang Yan seemed to be trying to put himself in a pitiful position, but his tone was particularly provocative, “Didn’t we just make up? Why are you settling scores again?”
Wen Yifan changed quickly: “I didn’t make up with you.”
Sang Yan followed behind her, quiet for a few seconds, then suddenly chuckled softly.
His laughter was like pouring oil on the fire. Wen Yifan’s lips pressed into an even straighter line, feeling that he didn’t understand the seriousness of the problem at all. She didn’t want to say another word to him.
After leaving the hospital, Wen Yifan hailed a cab and asked the driver to head back to Shang’an.
On the way.
Wen Yifan was engrossed in her phone, searching for precautions after stitching knife wounds. Her features were naturally sharp, and now with her stern face and silence, she looked even colder.
Sang Yan leaned beside her, watching her actions: “So how can I make up with you?”
Wen Yifan didn’t even look up: “When your wound heals.”
“…” Sang Yan almost choked, doubting his ears, “Wait, Wen Shuangjiang. When you were injured, how did I treat you like an ancestor? How come when it’s my turn, I get this treatment?”
Hearing this, Wen Yifan glanced at him: “When did you ever treat me like that?”
He always scared people with his stern face.
“I didn’t? Fine.” Sang Yan curled his lips, starting to show weakness, “Then you treat me like that.”
Wen Yifan ignored him.
Sang Yan chuckled again, saying provocatively: “I’m in so much pain.”
“…”
Wen Yifan didn’t soften at all, continuing to search for how to remove scars after stitching.
Glimpsing the content on her screen, Sang Yan was genuinely puzzled. He reached out to take her phone: “What scar removal? Stop searching. What’s wrong with a big man like me having a scar?”
Wen Yifan’s hand was left empty.
Following this action, she looked at Sang Yan again. Staring at his leisurely appearance, she resisted the urge to pinch his face and deliberately provoked him: “You’ll be ugly with a scar.”
“…”
“Then you’ll have to step down,” fearing he didn’t understand, Wen Yifan reminded him, “Top card.”
Sang Yan’s brow furrowed slightly: “My face is fine, isn’t it?”
Wen Yifan: “This affects it too.”
“Isn’t this good?” Sang Yan raised an eyebrow, saying lazily, “I have a family now, I should reform.”
“No way.” Wen Yifan was afraid he didn’t take this matter seriously at all and might get such serious injuries again in the future, “If you retire and are no longer the ‘fallen street top card,’ then I’ll lose face.”
“…”
–
The car drove back to the alley near Nanwu Broadcasting.
They got out of the car. Wen Yifan took the car keys and walked back to Sang Yan’s car, getting into the driver’s seat. Worried that Sang Yan might aggravate his wound, she leaned over to help him fasten his seatbelt first.
Sang Yan sat quietly in place, looking at her still tense face, his lips curving slightly.
Wen Yifan rarely got angry, always appearing good-tempered and unconcerned about anything in others’ eyes. Occasionally, when upset by his words, her mood would change in an instant.
As if nothing could affect her mood.
So at this moment, Sang Yan felt like he had developed a masochistic tendency.
Seeing her get angry with him because of his injury, becoming unrestrained in front of him, no longer as cautious as before, he felt quite good.
After fastening the seatbelt, Wen Yifan didn’t hurry to move back but gently started to lift his shirt.
“…” Sang Yan paused, “What are you doing?”
Wen Yifan’s actions didn’t stop until she saw the gauze on his waist and the blood slightly seeping through it. She stared at it for a few seconds before letting go and sitting back straight.
She silently started to fasten her seatbelt.
“Done?” Sang Yan said nonchalantly, “Don’t want to touch it?”
Wen Yifan didn’t joke with him, but she also stopped sulking. She sat in silence for a long while before muttering almost inaudibly: “We’ll talk when we get back.”
“…”
It was nearly eleven o’clock when they got home.
Sang Yan habitually sat on the sofa. Soon after, Wen Yifan also sat down beside him and started lifting his shirt again, as if looking for other wounds.
He drooped his eyelids, leaning against the backrest, allowing her to fuss over him.
After a good while, Wen Yifan finally stopped, poured a glass of water, and put it in his hand: “Have you had dinner?”
Sang Yan took it and drank a few sips: “Mm.”
Wen Yifan asked again: “Are you hungry?”
“Not hungry.”
She fired off a string of questions, and Sang Yan looked at her, answering each one. When she finally ran out of things to ask, Wen Yifan remembered something: “Oh right, your phone is in my bag, someone picked it up.”
Sang Yan made a sound of acknowledgment.
As she spoke, Wen Yifan half-rose to grab her bag took out the phone, and put it on the table: “The screen is cracked, but it still works. You should call your boss first and ask for a few days off to rest.”
Sang Yan: “Alright, aren’t you sleepy? Go to bed first.”
Wen Yifan shook her head.
Sang Yan glanced at the time: “I’ll take a shower first.”
Wen Yifan frowned: “You can’t get wet.”
“I know.” Sang Yan stood up, ruffling her hair forcefully, “I’ll just wipe myself down.”
“Oh.”
Sang Yan had just reached the bedroom door when he noticed Wen Yifan had followed him. He opened the door and walked into the room, and she followed. He walked to the wardrobe, and she followed.
Wherever he went, she followed.
He was like he had grown a tail.
Sang Yan rummaged through the wardrobe, then turned and left the room, walking towards the balcony. He could still hear Wen Yifan’s footsteps behind him, so he turned back and called out to her: “Wen Shuangjiang.”
Wen Yifan responded: “Hm?”
Sang Yan found it amusing: “How long are you going to stick to me?”
“I want to see,” although her main thought was indeed to stay with him, Wen Yifan didn’t admit it. She blinked, her voice gentle and warm, “If there’s anything I can help you with.”
Sang Yan stopped in his tracks, his fingertips sliding up her arm, his words tinged with flirtation.
“Didn’t I just tell you I was going to take a shower?”
“…”
He lowered his voice, full of suggestive meaning: “So what do you want to help me with?”
Silence fell.
Wen Yifan’s expression remained unchanged as she stared at him.
Help him with what?
Oh.
Shower.
“…”
Shower!!!
Fine.
It’s just a shower!!!
What if he gets wet otherwise!!!
After a long while, Wen Yifan, having steeled herself mentally, slowly uttered: “That’s fine too.”
“…”
Sang Yan was utterly speechless, now truly feeling that Che Xingde would find a place to stab him. He withdrew his hand, looked at her for a good while, then turned away mercilessly: “Who said it’s fine, go to sleep quickly.”
With that, he stopped talking to her, went to the balcony to get his clothes, and entered the bathroom.
Avoiding his wound, Sang Yan took off his shirt and threw it into the nearby bucket. Then, he unbuckled his belt.
At this moment, the bathroom doorknob was turned from the outside.
Sang Yan’s movements paused.
After they started living together, they always used separate bathrooms. Wen Yifan always used the master bedroom’s bathroom and had never entered this one. So Sang Yan never had the habit of locking the door when showering or doing anything else.
The next moment, the door was pushed open.
Wen Yifan walked in calmly and closed the door: “I’m going to help you shower.”
“…”
Sang Yan laughed in exasperation.
This time it was an imperative statement.
It’s I will.
Not I want to.
Sang Yan pulled out his belt and hung it aside, then made no further moves. He leaned against the washbasin, his expression casual yet somewhat challenging: “Fine, go ahead.”
“…”
Since Sang Yan moved in, this was the first time Wen Yifan had entered this bathroom.
Now Sang Yan was bare-chested, with small circles of gauze around his waist and left arm. His hair was pure black, his complexion paler than usual, adding a touch of sickness and asceticism to his appearance.
Wen Yifan hesitantly picked up a nearby towel, turned on the faucet, and adjusted it to warm water.
She stole a glance at Sang Yan, suddenly realizing that he couldn’t wipe himself down at all right now, especially his back, and might even pull his wounds in the process.
That would be counterproductive.
Wen Yifan washed the towel, wrung it out, and began to carefully wipe from his Adam’s apple to his chest, then to his abdomen. She tried hard to focus solely on the task, not thinking about anything else, treating the man in front of her as if he were just a wall.
The bathroom was excessively quiet.
Neither of them engaged in any other conversation.
As she wiped for the second time, Wen Yifan saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down a few times.
The next moment, Sang Yan lazily called out to her: “Wen Shuangjiang.”
Wen Yifan looked up: “Hm?”
Sang Yan’s eyes were deep, filled with very obvious desire.
“I’m hard.”
“…”
Wen Yifan licked her lips, pretending not to hear, and lowered her head again, speeding up this round. After wiping his upper body once more, she rinsed the towel clean and said softly: “Then you can rinse yourself–“
Noticing a certain part of his body, Wen Yifan strangely couldn’t say the words “lower body,” so she calmly changed her wording: “–legs, and then get ready for bed?”
Sang Yan was still leaning in his original position, the lust in his eyes not diminishing at all.
“Going to bed already?”
“Hm?” For some reason, Wen Yifan felt inexplicably guilty, “What’s wrong?”
“Wen Shuangjiang,” Sang Yan’s entire body had been touched by her, but the sensation was fleeting, like a long torture, “You think I’m incapable because of my waist injury, right?”
Wen Yifan blurted out: “Isn’t that true?”
“…”
The small bathroom fell silent again.
After several seconds, Sang Yan looked at her, smiling instead of getting angry: “But don’t I still have you?”
“…”
Sang Yan slowly, extremely shamelessly, finished his sentence.
“Come over here and let me kiss you.”