Chapter 2: I Didnāt Mean to Hurt Him
His appearance was far too clean and pure, untainted by the dust of the world. His aura was as healing as the winter sun, and even his voice was soft and gentleāextremely likable.
Standing before him, Jian An felt like a beggar before a prince, a mouse before a white cat.
Ji Songting glanced at the drenched figure, and a trace of unprovoked disgust rose in his expression. He said:
“Xiao Yan, I’ll have the secretary send over a clean meal. A lunchbox that’s been in the rain isn’t hygienic. You have gastritis, don’t eat it.”
Hearing this, Jian Anās face turned deathly pale. A stabbing pain throbbed in the region of his heart. He stood there, silent.
The other man could notice a few drops of rain on a lunchbox wrapped in a plastic bag, yet he couldn’t see the drenched, shivering person standing right in front of him? Not even a single word of concern?
“Itās okay! I just like eating the food Brother Xiao An makes. I won’t eat what others cook.”
Shen Chuyan tugged at the man by the bed and then looked at the expressionless Jian An. He pointed to the hand with the IV needle and said:
“Brother Xiao An, I’m on an IV drip. Could you help me serve the rice?”
Jian An felt an inexplicable aversion to those eyes filled with starlight. He stood there dazed, holding the lunchbox.
Ji Songting sensed that something was off about Jian An today. His tone was tinged with undeniable irritation.
“Are you deaf? Whatās with that face? Open the food.”
Seeing him suddenly lose his temper, Shen Chuyan made a move to reach out with his IV-injected hand, advising softly, “I’ll do it myself. Brother Xiao An’s hands must be too cold from the rain.”
“Don’t move. It’ll be a hassle if the blood flows back. Does he not know how to use an umbrella in the rain?”
Ji Songting soothed the person on the bed, his expression turning stern. He spoke in a deep, cold voice. “What? Do I have to beg you to open a lunchbox now? Stop being so dramatic.”
Jian Anās breath hitched. Every word that reached his ears felt like a slow execution upon his heart, tearing his soul into tattered fragments.
“I didn’t…”
Jian An took a long breath to alleviate the cramping in his stomach, then mechanically opened the insulated carrier.
As he pushed it toward Shen Chuyan, Ji Songting beat him to it, scooping a spoonful of food into his own mouth. He chewed a few times with a frown, and only after confirming there was no issue did he begin to feed Chuyan bit by bit.
Seeing this, Jian An suddenly felt a sense of ridiculous tragedy. Was he so afraid that he would poison his beloved?
He turned to leave, but was suddenly called back by Shen Chuyan. “Brother Xiao An, can you help me bring over the soup too?”
Jian An had no choice but to bring the soup over.
The fish soup, fresh off the stove, was scalding. His ten fingers turned from pale to bright red, yet he didn’t make a sound.
Shen Chuyan caught a glimpse of him from the corner of his eye and suddenly reached out for the spoon, “accidentally” bumping into the bowl of fish soup.
Seeing the scalding liquid about to spill onto the person on the bed, Ji Songting quickly shielded him with his body.
A small portion of the soup soaked into his expensive suit, but the vast majority of it splashed onto the back of Jian Anās hand.
Jian An froze in place, bewildered, as a burning, searing pain belatedly spread across his hand.
The metal tray fell to the floor with a “clang,” and the previously clean floor became a mess.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
Jian An apologized in a panic, clenching his teeth against the stinging pain in his hand. He hurriedly pulled out some tissues to wipe the soup off Ji Songtingās trouser leg.
The next second, a slap landed without warning, striking Jian An squarely across the face.
“You can’t even hold a bowl of soup steady. Useless.”
Ji Songting raised his slender hand and flicked the droplets off his suit. He kicked the metal tray aside and roared:
“Jian An, you did that on purpose, didn’t you? Even if you hate Xiao Yan, thereās no need to use such disgusting methods to try and disfigure him! Especially right in front of me!”
“I didn’t… I didn’t, Songting. It was an accident. I didn’t want to hurt him…”
Jian An explained incoherently, suppressed whimpers escaping his throat as his shoulders trembled.
Ji Songting pointed toward the door, his dark pupils filled with suppressed rage.
“Get out. I don’t want to see you again.”
Behind him, Shen Chuyan poked his head out, blinking innocently. He said in a soft, gentle voice:
“A-Ting, don’t scold Brother Xiao An. He got burned too. Why don’t you take him to the burn unit to get it checked out?”
Ji Songting adjusted his volatile emotions and turned back to check his sweetheart’s hand. He asked anxiously:
“Heās thick-skinned, don’t worry about him. What about you? Let me see if you’re hurt.”
The other party obediently extended his arm. “I’m fine. Thank you for protecting me just now, A-Ting.”
Jian Anās lips were pressed tight. His gaze was vacant as he stared ahead. In the end, he didn’t even know how he walked out of the ward and returned to the villa.
He dragged his heavy feet into the bathroom, feeling as though his soul had been lost. He lay down exhaustedly in the bathtub, letting the cold water swallow the scorched back of his hand.
Jian An leaned his head back against the edge, his gentle face appearing faintly in the water, marked by a sickly pallor.
He kept his eyes closed. His body was completely submerged in the water, and though it was cold, he was utterly oblivious to it.
Jian An only felt so tired right now. His body hurt, as if thousands of red-hot silver needles were being driven into him.
Gradually, his back slid down the bathtub. The consciousness in his brain was instantly submerged by the surging water, leaving only a blank void.
In the next second, survival instinct kicked in. He struggled frantically in the water, his arms splashing wildly.
Jian An abruptly thrust his head out of the water, gasping for air, but the fear of water in his heart only deepened.
He couldn’t die like this. Even if Ji Songting loathed him, he still had a mother to support.
At that moment, the sound of someone coming upstairs came from outside.
Was it Ji Songting?
Jian An scrambled out of the bathtub and hurriedly dressed before stepping out of the bathroom.
The hallway was pitch black. Jian An fumbled for the light switch and inadvertently crashed into someone’s chest, falling heavily onto the floor.
With a “snap,” the lights came on. Ji Songting looked down at him with a dark, sinister expression.
“When did you become so fragile?”
Jian An struggled to get up. A rare, pleasantly surprised smile appeared on his face as he asked softly:
“Songting, why are you back? Have you eaten? I’ll go heat up some food for you.”
“No need.”
Ji Songting didn’t care to spare him another glance. He turned, pushed open Jian Anās bedroom door, and walked in.
Jian An stood there in a daze, his eyes filled with a bit of confusion, but mostly shock.
In three years of marriage, his husband had never entered his room once. What was happening today?
Ji Songting looked around the clean, organized room with indifference, completely bypassing the various medicine bottles on the desk.
His gaze suddenly stopped on a portrait by the window.
If he hadn’t seen these things, he would have almost forgotten that Jian An was an art teacher.
And the person in the portrait… appeared to be himself?
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