Churan’s attention was glued to the computer screen. Suddenly, he spotted something behind it and turned to look.

There stood Song Qian, giving him a “king’s scrutinizing gaze.” Churan jumped in fright, nearly losing his wits. He instinctively grabbed the computer and swung it at Song Qian’s head.

The instant Churan lifted the computer, Song Qian was already terrified out of his mind. He knew Churan might actually hit him. Stumbling backward, he tripped and crashed hard onto the floor, landing on his butt.

“Whoa, man…” Rain poured outside. Though the room lights were on, being alone in a hospital room meant anyone appearing silently would scare you to death.

“Hey, no—bro, your vibe today’s off,” Song Qian groaned, climbing up and rubbing his sore butt. “Did the diagnosis scare you stupid? Acting like nothing’s wrong?”

“Huh?” Churan was baffled. Scared stupid by a diagnosis?

“Seriously, your script should’ve been lying in bed like a dead fish. How are you gaming so energetically? You’re not this chill—I don’t buy it!” Song Qian launched into detective mode.

Churan was utterly confused, not grasping Song Qian’s point.

“So, there’s only one truth!” Song Qian jabbed a finger at Churan. Churan wiped sweat from his brow, wondering what nonsense his silly buddy would pull next.

“You cried, threw a tantrum, tried to hang yourself—then got tied up by doctors and injected with sedatives. Am I brilliant?” Song Qian beamed, flipping his hair.

“…” Churan stared at him like he was an idiot. Song Qian’s smile turned awkward. Churan sighed heavily, thinking silently: This goofball’s beyond saving…

Seeing Churan’s bored expression, Song Qian felt awkward too. He sat on Churan’s bed and asked, “You really okay?”

Churan looked at him faintly, picked up his water cup. “Fine. At least for now.”

“Who comforted you like this? That good?” Song Qian was genuinely curious. He thought only he could calm Churan down—his shameless skills were masterful, tailored just for him. Others’ comfort only made Churan fake being fine temporarily. Later, he’d look utterly hopeless again.

Song Qian knew about the checkup. Even if Churan stayed silent, he’d pester the doctors himself—like a full-time nanny. Hiding it from him was impossible.

So Song Qian knew the results and guessed Churan’s mental state. But walking in to see Churan casually gaming? He was dumbfounded.

When Churan first got hospitalized, he ignored Song Qian’s daily calls. That really worried him. Why hadn’t Song Qian rushed over immediately?

Even a gentle animal, cornered, would snap. And when it snapped…

Going to Churan then would’ve been like a moth to the flame—pure self-destruction. Best to wait until he cooled off a bit.

“None of your business.” Churan set down his cup, eyes back on the screen.

Song Qian, seeing Churan’s cold shoulder, rubbed his nose sheepishly. Then he perked up. “Hey, Churan, heard about the big client today? Came with bodyguards. Total babe…”

Song Qian rambled on about his “sightings.” Churan covered his face. How did he end up with such an embarrassing friend, always thinking with his lower brain?

“Yo, Churan—you’re stuck here daily. You must know hospital gossip. You can leave your room, right?” Song Qian pressed, ignoring Churan’s indifference.

Churan shot him a glare. “Why bother going out? Nowhere to go.”

“Such a homebody… Seriously shut-in… Respect.” Song Qian cupped his hands mockingly. Churan ignored this unserious fool.

Why would a small hospital attract big shots? Rich people usually went downtown.

Churan was puzzled. Then he glanced at his grayed-out friend list—“Nightingale.” He instantly understood.

He turned to the contract lying quietly on the table. Song Qian noticed the tiny gesture and followed his gaze.

“Huh? What’s this?” Song Qian reached for it. Churan snatched it away first, leaving Song Qian’s hand empty.

“Kid, hiding big things again?” Song Qian smirked. Churan met his eyes calmly. “Just a contract. Nothing to see.”

“A contract? Who’s lost their mind?” Song Qian blinked. Everyone knew Churan’s condition. Sending him a contract now? That was crazy.

“I think I know who you mean…” Churan tucked the contract under his pillow.

“Oh? Who? That babe who delivered it?” Song Qian squinted skeptically. Churan’s social life was tiny. What was in that contract? He was dying to know.

Churan smiled faintly. Xiaoye seemed like nobility. She fit perfectly—though why she lingered at the hospital, he didn’t know.

“Is she still outside?” Churan asked first. Song Qian shook his head vigorously. “Long gone. I just took ages finding the doctor.”

“You sure you weren’t peeping so long they arrested you as suspicious, grilled you, then released you before seeing the doctor?” Churan rattled off the plot. Song Qian’s face twitched. “Do I look like a creep?”

Churan nodded firmly. Song Qian’s face spasmed worse. “Okay, I stared—but under thirty minutes! The bodyguards tried grabbing me, but I ran fast. Seriously, just looking gets you hammered…”

“…” Churan was at a loss for words. This was his nature. Served him right…

“Wait—spill! Who’s that girl? Gorgeous!” Song Qian grinned like a pervert, leaning in. Churan pushed his face away, calm. “Your queen, Xiaoye.”

“What queen?” Song Qian’s smile froze. Did he mishear?

“Nightingale. Xiaoye. The Red Name List’s number one.” Churan clicked his mouse casually.

“X-X-Xiaoye?!” Song Qian gasped, doubting if he was dreaming or being pranked.

“Yeah. Sister Shallow Peace visited me. Honestly, I was shocked too.” Churan finished a quest, stretched, and leaned back on his pillow.

“Sister Shallow Peace… What’s your deal? And this weird plot—how?!” Song Qian couldn’t believe it. How did this happen?

Churan shrugged. “No clue. I feel the same as you.” It was true—a random online friend showing up unannounced would shock anyone, especially with no real-life details shared.

“S-so… why’d she come?” Song Qian leaned in eagerly. Churan shoved his face away again. “Nothing much. Just asked if I’d tutor her kid.”

Churan told the truth. No hiding from Song Qian—he’d dig it out anyway. The contract wasn’t a big deal.

“A tutor? Where’s she live? She’s loaded—could hire anyone. Why you?” Song Qian echoed Churan’s first thought. Churan sighed. “Lengjiang’s the reason. Her address? No idea. I don’t even know how she found my info.”

“…” Song Qian scratched his head. The answer was shaky, but not Churan’s fault. As for Lengjiang—he knew nothing of that backstory. If Churan mentioned it, he must have his reasons.

“Xiaoye still wants you as tutor, seeing you like this?” Song Qian pressed. Churan’s health was fragile…

“Seems so.” Churan smiled faintly, eyes back on the screen.

“Tch… You’ll go?” Song Qian felt like a guardian now, watching over this patient.

“We’ll see. No rush.” Churan sipped water again.

“I’m curious who changed you like this.” Song Qian imagined Xiaoye comforting him, but that shouldn’t calm Churan this much. He knew his friend’s stubborn nature.

How did Song Qian know Churan was truly calm? He hadn’t torn up the contract on sight. In his half-dead state, he’d shred every one.

“Deep down, you want to go. Hospital’s no fun.” No one wanted to stay. Tutoring might help—even if Churan’s stamina was uncertain.

“Maybe. But… awkward, in a way.” Churan set down his cup, gaming again. “Later. No hurry.”

He stared at Lengjiang in-game, thoughtful.

Truth was, Churan delayed accepting partly because Shallow Peace had said he must act more like “He Yucheng.” But what did that even mean?