Xia Chuan struggled to steady his staggering steps, forcing himself to walk normally back to the convenience store he’d just left.
The moment he entered, the shopkeeper gasped at his disheveled state.
“What happened to you, kid? Another fight?”
Xia Chuan only chuckled lightly at her question, insisting he was fine and not to worry. Without another word, he scooped Qian Yu into his arms and turned to leave.
The shopkeeper sensed the shift in his mood but stayed silent. This was his business alone.
Night had fallen.
Streetlights cast dim pools of light on the road. Cars occasionally passed, their headlights briefly illuminating Xia Chuan’s figure. His dorm lay down this increasingly deserted, poorly lit street.
By the time he reached his building, it was late.
Mo Yao should be back by now.
The throbbing pain in his back reminded him he needed ointment—fast. Cooking for Mo Yao tonight was out of the question.
He walked straight to her dorm room. Light spilled through the crack under the door, confirming she was home.
He knocked.
Footsteps approached. The door opened.
“Xia Chuan? Why so late—” Mo Yao’s words died as she took in his appearance.
His torn uniform revealed bruises on every exposed patch of skin. He looked like he’d been beaten raw.
“What happened to you?” Mo Yao covered her mouth, shock widening her eyes.
“I’m fine. Qian Yu’s fine too.” Xia Chuan’s voice was flat, almost cold. He placed Qian Yu gently into Mo Yao’s arms.
His injuries were worse than Liu Ziyang’s unconscious form. Those thugs had only meant to rough Liu up—but Xia Chuan had fought back. Their retaliation left deep, hidden bruises beneath his skin. Without treatment, they’d worsen. Only his stamina kept him upright.
Dizziness clawed at his mind. He needed to collapse in his own bed—*now*—before Mo Yao saw him falter.
“I know Qian Yu’s safe, but *your* injuries—” Mo Yao’s worry bled through her voice.
“Just scratches. I’ll rest. No cooking tonight.” His tone edged with urgency.
“Let me see the wounds. Please. For my peace of mind.” Mo Yao pressed.
“No need…” His voice weakened.
“Just let me—”
“I SAID NO!” Xia Chuan snapped. The dizziness stole his control.
Mo Yao flinched into silence.
Xia Chuan realized his outburst—but the crushing weight in his skull left no room for apologies. He turned to leave.
A hand seized his wrist.
He froze.
“I *have* to see.” Mo Yao’s voice was low, yet unyielding. She held Qian Yu in one arm, gripping his wrist with the other.
Xia Chuan opened his mouth—but his body lurched forward.
*Sorry. Didn’t want you to worry.*
*I’m so weak.*
*Sorry…*
Darkness swallowed his thoughts.
---
Xia Chuan wandered alone in the void. Ahead, a familiar figure appeared—but grew smaller and smaller as she walked away.
He ran after her. *Don’t leave.*
No matter how fast he sprinted, she drifted farther. Her slow steps mocked his effort.
Watching her vanish into the endless dark, he cried out:
“Liu Yixia!”
She didn’t turn. He could only watch her disappear.
With no one left to chase, his strength bled away. He couldn’t run anymore.
From that moment, the darkness held only him.
---
Xia Chuan blinked awake, disoriented. A spotless ceiling came into focus.
Pain exploded through his body, jolting his mind clear.
*Bad injuries. From the fight.*
Memories surged back.
*And… Liu Yixia cut ties with me.*
Just hours ago, they’d been fine. Now, they were strangers.
The thought dulled the physical ache. Something tight coiled in his chest—he forced it down.
He tried to sit up. Something weighed on his leg.
“Qian Yu?”
The girl slept soundly across his thighs. The clock read past 11 PM.
*Why is she here?*
The room’s layout confirmed it: Mo Yao’s dorm. But where was she?
Footsteps rushed outside. The door flew open—Mo Yao and Wang Yin stood there, faces tight with worry. Mo Yao clutched a white plastic bag of medicine.
They froze seeing him awake.
“Xia Chuan! You’re awake?” Relief lit Mo Yao’s face.
“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse.
“To the hospital! Now, before it closes!” Her relief vanished, replaced by fresh anxiety.
“No need.” Xia Chuan’s smile was faint but steady. “Not that bad.”
“You think I didn’t see your back?” Mo Yao’s voice trembled. “That massive bruise—it needs a doctor!”
“Really. I’m fine.” He kept smiling, as if his wounds meant nothing.
Wang Yin frowned, then sighed. She’d seen those injuries too. Hospital care was essential—but she knew he’d refuse. Not for dramatic reasons. Simply because he had no money.
Orphaned young, Xia Chuan lived on a tight budget. Every coin mattered. He’d never ask his father for help—not after what that man was.
Wang Yin had offered to pay before. He’d refused fiercely, calling it a “waste of money.” Last time, he’d stayed bedridden for a month, barely able to feed himself. Wang Yin had cared for him alone. His father never showed up.
She’d never pried into his past. But his solitude mirrored Mo Yao’s. Maybe that’s why he’d helped her—two lonely souls recognizing each other.
Wang Yin wouldn’t burden Mo Yao with this. It was Xia Chuan’s secret. And Mo Yao worried enough already.
“Why won’t you go? Do you even know how badly you’re hurt?” Mo Yao’s voice rose. Her kindness couldn’t grasp his silence.
Xia Chuan stayed quiet. He couldn’t scold her concern.
Wang Yin touched Mo Yao’s shoulder. “Enough. Don’t push him. Just bandage him up. Then rest—it’s late.” She shot Xia Chuan a look: *Don’t do this again.*
Wang Yin left. Work waited tomorrow. Mo Yao would handle this.
Silence filled the room.
Xia Chuan broke it: “Aren’t you going to bandage me?”
Mo Yao didn’t answer. She silently unpacked the medicinal liquor and bandages, then gestured for him to remove his shirt.
Xia Chuan’s physique was lean and powerful—every muscle defined by discipline. Mo Yao, usually shy around bare skin, stared blankly. Something heavy pressed on her heart.
She cleaned his minor cuts swiftly. But when she faced the brutal bruise on his back, her hands stilled.
Xia Chuan waited quietly.
Then Mo Yao collapsed against his back, sobbing.
His body jerked forward with the weight—but he steadied himself.
“Mo Yao? What’s wrong?”
No reply. Only icy tears soaking into his skin.
Panic flickered in Xia Chuan. He rarely saw girls cry. What did you *do*?
Mo Yao was strong. She’d raised Qian Yu alone.
*Why is she crying?*
*Because of me?*
*Did I break something again?*
Confusion washed over him.
And so, in the silent room, a girl lay silently on the boy's back, sobbing softly...
