Qi Yan’s last memory was of carrying his little sister to the bathroom. He’d known something was wrong with his body for a while.

For two years, he hadn’t been truly healthy—not even close. Overwork and all-nighters were routine. Yet he’d still underestimated how bad this episode would be.

It was as if every ounce of exhaustion from those two years had pooled together, erupting like a volcano all at once. Qi Yan collapsed without resistance.

This was unacceptable. He couldn’t afford to fall. Without him, his sister couldn’t survive alone—she’d wet herself, go hungry, and worry endlessly about him.

He’d always pretended everything was fine in front of her. *Don’t worry. Even if the sky falls, I’ll hold it up.*

Yes, he’d been forcing it. He wasn’t strong enough to carry everything.

Just a recent college dropout. Thin frame. Shallow life experience. Mind and body both lacking.

His sister could cry in his arms. But he couldn’t shed a single tear. He couldn’t show weakness—not if he wanted her to keep faith in life, in the future.

Yet he’d failed spectacularly as an older brother. He’d dropped her while carrying her.

*Get up. Smile at her. Say, “Whoops, slipped! Guess I’m still half-asleep!”*

But the harder he tried, the heavier his body felt. Eyelids like lead. Dizzy head. Throat too raw to speak. All strength drained away.

*Am I going mute like her too?* The absurd thought flickered through his mind.

Consciousness faded. A faint female voice echoed in his ears.

*Sister?*

Impossible. Just a hallucination? Had he craved her voice that desperately?

Darkness swallowed him.

—

Qi Yan half-opened his eyes what felt like hours later. His throat burned like charred paper—dry, scratchy, parched.

Body feverish. Limbs aching. Butt throbbing.

He was in bed, not on the floor. *Did Xiao Ran find help?*

*Good girl.* If she’d just sat crying, waiting for him to wake, he wouldn’t have known how to face her.

“Xiao Ran…” He reached out. His fingers brushed smooth skin—and something soft, springy.

To confirm his suspicion, he rolled over. His lips accidentally brushed someone’s forehead. Stray hairs tickled his cheek. A faint, familiar fragrance filled his nose—calming, sweet.

His foggy brain pieced it together: he and his sister shared the bed. *No big deal. Normal. These are special circumstances. A little closeness is fine.*

He glanced down. Xiao Ran lay naked. Rosy, tender skin made his head spin. He felt faint again.

*Mental note: recite famous painters and their masterpieces. Ancient and modern. East and West.*

Slowly, he moved his wandering hand off her chest.

*Just slip out quietly. Tuck her in. Pretend nothing happened.*

But Qi Yan had never been lucky.

Light sleeper Qi Ran woke at his movement. Rubbing sleepy eyes with one hand, she pushed herself up with the other. The sheet slid off her body. She didn’t notice.

Guilty as hell, Qi Yan blurted, “M-morning, Xiao Ran…”

Before he finished, Qi Ran—dazed, tears welling—slammed into his chest. Her arms locked around his waist.

Qi Yan froze, hands hovering. He wanted to pat her back like always, whisper comfort. But her bare shoulders gave him nowhere to touch.

*Should I tell her she’s naked?* Even his low EQ knew this wasn’t the time for stupid remarks.

All he managed: “Sorry… for making you worry…”

*Gurgle—gurgle—*

Their stomachs growled in unison.

Neither had eaten since morning.

Qi Yan clicked his dry tongue. *Not as parched as I thought.* He eyed the thermos nearby. *Probably just starving.*

As if urging him to cook, Xiao Ran shook the bell on her wrist—*ding-ding!*

*Hungry signal?*

Qi Yan chuckled. “Alright, alright. I’ll make congee.”

He gripped her shoulders to gently push her away. Big mistake. Cold air rushed between their bodies.

Qi Ran stiffened. Crimson flooded her cheeks. Shame overwhelmed her—forgetting entirely that Qi Yan had just survived a high fever. She snatched a notebook and hurled it at his face.

Qi Yan caught it despite his sluggish reflexes. “I didn’t see anything,” he mumbled.

The cliché excuse rang hollow. Downgraded his crime from *touching and looking* to just *looking*. Like swapping a death sentence for life imprisonment.

But he had only two hands. Qi Ran had a whole stack of notebooks.

He caught the first. Dodged the second. Missed the third and fourth. The fifth smacked his cheek before she finally stopped, yanking the sheet over herself.

*He didn’t do anything wrong. It was unavoidable. My fault for taking off my dress…*

*But why won’t he look? Why avoid my eyes? Does he hate my flat chest that much?*

Gritting his teeth against the soreness in his butt, Qi Yan got out of bed. He draped a thin jacket over his shoulders, then tossed Xiao Ran’s pajamas onto the bed without turning around.

Rustling fabric sounded behind him.

“Xiao Ran? All dressed? Ring the bell if you are.”

*Ding—*

“Okay… turning around now!”

【Why push through when you’re sick? You didn’t make me feel safe. You just made me worry more.】

Qi Ran scowled, a “╬” of fury crinkling her forehead.

Qi Yan had no defense. Her words pierced his heart.

【How’s your body now? No hiding things from your sister.】

He rotated his arms, rubbed his butt. “Better than this morning. Just… sore back here.”

【Well, someone got two shots right in the butt. Hehe…】

Qi Ran hid half her face behind a notebook. *She’s definitely smirking.*

Childhood memories surfaced: whenever one got sick and needed shots, the other would gloat—only to be force-fed cold syrup by Mom “just in case.”

【Carry me to my wheelchair, Brother.】

“Got it. No dropping this time. Promise.”

【If you drop me again, I’ll be under you this time.】

“Dream on! Your ‘under’ spot’s permanently reserved by your brother.”

*My thick skin can take a few more falls… Wait, why does that sound weird?*

Shrugging it off, Qi Yan lifted her gently into the wheelchair. The Brother Express ran smoothly this trip.

He rummaged through medicine bottles and a mercury thermometer on the dining table. As a doctor’s son, he recognized common cold meds even without formal training.

“All fever reducers… meant after meals. Better cook congee first. When you’re sick, you eat—even if you’re not hungry. Food beats medicine any day.”

The words felt strange in his mouth. The person who first told him this was gone.

Qi Yan headed to the kitchen. Qi Ran wheeled herself after him, tire by tire.

Focused on rinsing rice, he didn’t notice her approach.

Suddenly, weight pressed against his back. Warm breath ghosted over his shoulder blades. Small hands slid under his arms, covering his chest.

*Oh crap—sister’s revenge for earlier?*

But the height was wrong. In her wheelchair, she could only reach his stomach. Unless…

The rice bowl clattered into the sink. Qi Yan spun around, heart pounding. His chin brushed the top of her head.

*This height… After two years… She finally…*

“Xiao Ran… Can you… stand?” His voice cracked with emotion.

Qi Ran nodded slightly, legs trembling. Knees pressed together, fighting to hold her up—for him.

“So good… so good…” Qi Yan pulled her close, crushing her to his chest. He buried his face in her shoulder, throat tight. Tears welled but wouldn’t fall.

Qi Ran hugged back. *If I hold Brother, maybe I can stand forever.*

“Haha… This is too sudden. Feels like a dream.” Qi Yan wiped his eyes, laughing shakily.

He guided her back to the wheelchair. “Rest now. Standing’s tiring after being sick. Don’t hurt your legs again. One step at a time. You’ve worked so hard. You’re amazing.”

He ruffled her hair, praise flowing freely.

“Your face is flushed. Forehead’s warm too. Might’ve caught my fever. Better check your temperature.”

He rushed for the thermometer, shook it hard to reset the mercury, and tucked it under her arm.

Five minutes later, he read it. “36.6°C… wait, 36.7°C? Isn’t that normal? Then why the blush?”

【Brother, you idiot! It’s not fever—it’s heartbeats… no, the temperature of love…】

Qi Ran raised the notebook over her head, poised to throw.

“Wait! No notebook-throwing without warning!” Qi Yan shielded his face.

She lowered it. He dodged disaster—but missed his chance to know the truth.