Gold-Devouring Bottom: A Guide to Pampering - Chapter 22

Shen Xinghuai was frightened by his gaze and instinctively shrank back.

Ye Xiuchen also realized that his emotional state was a disaster. He was losing control. “I’ll have Uncle Ming bring people to take care of you. I have things to handle; I’m leaving first.” If he didn’t leave now, he didn’t know what he might do.

With that, he vanished without a word for several days. Uncle Ming brought staff to the hospital to look after Shen Xinghuai.

During this time, Shen Hong and Bai Xiang’an somehow found out he was hospitalized. They called repeatedly from various numbers, asking which hospital he was in. Shen Xinghuai blocked every number as they appeared, and after two days, they finally left him in peace.

Having been cooped up in the ward for so long, Shen Xinghuai felt like he was starting to grow mold. The swelling in his knee had subsided, and he could slowly get out of bed to walk, though it left behind a large, dark purple bruise.

After lunch, a private nurse pushed him in a wheelchair along a path by the lake. Despite the sweltering heat, Shen Xinghuai’s knees were covered with a blanket Uncle Ming had insisted on. Looking at the shimmering lake surface under the sun, Shen Xinghuai had the fleeting illusion that he was in a nursing home.

This hospital was the best in Lincheng, an excellence reflected in every aspect—from advanced medical equipment to the elegant, tranquil environment. The plaza was larger than most parks, and many family members were out strolling with patients.

Shen Xinghuai shook the blanket on his legs; he was sweating underneath it. He took out his phone, hesitated for a moment, and dialed Ye Xiuchen’s number.

As with every previous attempt, the phone was powered off.

He had asked Uncle Ming where Ye Xiuchen had been these past few days, but Uncle Ming only said he had “matters to process” and mentioned nothing else.

Since the call didn’t go through, Shen Xinghuai scrolled through his phone out of boredom. Suddenly, a browser news notification popped up.

He caught a glimpse of a headline: [Lincheng University Professor reported by several students for sexual harassment; committed suicide by jumping from a building in the early hours of yesterday.]

Clicking in, there was a subheading: Professor Zhang’s wife hospitalized with a sudden illness following the shock.

Shen Xinghuai skimmed the content. The first name that flashed through his mind was Zhang Lei, but since the news didn’t reveal the real names, it was only a guess.

Exiting the article, he felt a bit conflicted. His finger unconsciously scrolled down the screen through various images and texts. He had entered a social news category page reporting recent current events.

[Five young men caught by traffic police for midnight street racing; unexpected discovery of illegal substances leads to arrests.]

This news was accompanied by a photo of a man in a green racing suit that looked exceptionally familiar to Shen Xinghuai. Clicking the full image, he realized the men in the photo were the same ones present at the racetrack that day.

The report claimed this was the largest drug possession case uncovered in Lincheng recently, with over 300 grams found in their vehicles. The scope was broad; two bars frequently visited by these men were also implicated and shut down.

According to current laws, 50 grams was enough for the death penalty. With 300 grams, none of these people were coming out of the precinct alive.

Now, Shen Xinghuai’s mood was more than just conflicted. These two news stories seemed unrelated on the surface, but the more he thought about it, the more suspicious it felt.

It was too coincidental.

It seemed Ye Xiuchen had indeed been very “busy” these past few days.

As he was thinking, hurried footsteps and Lin Xiao’s voice came from behind. “There he is! Found him at last.”

Lin Xiao was in his white doctor’s coat, walking so fast that his bangs were blown into a messy middle part. Beside him was a man of a similar age, but he looked more composed and refined.

Because of the news he’d just read, Shen Xinghuai’s expression wasn’t great, and his smile appeared forced. “Dr. Lin, were you looking for me?”

Lin Xiao patted the arm of the man beside him. “He’s the one looking for you. Han Yurong, Xiuchen’s psychiatrist.”

Shen Xinghuai’s gaze flickered. He subtly sized up this man named Han Yurong. He had never heard Ye Xiuchen or Uncle Ming mention him, and he had no memory of this person from the original plot he knew.

Han Yurong noticed Shen Xinghuai’s defensive stance, yet his reaction remained gentle. “Mr. Shen, hello. It’s not very convenient here; let’s go back to your ward to chat. I can give you the answers to the questions you’re thinking about.”

Trust aside, this man was indeed clever; he had predicted exactly what Shen Xinghuai was thinking.

Uncle Ming was in the ward; once back, Shen Xinghuai could easily verify his identity.

When the nurse pushed Shen Xinghuai back to the room, Uncle Ming greeted Han Yurong familiarly. It was clear the two had known each other for a long time.

Han Yurong suggested he had matters to discuss with Shen Xinghuai. Uncle Ming agreed readily and led the other servants away, leaving only Lin Xiao, Han Yurong, and Shen Xinghuai in the room.

Han Yurong sat opposite Shen Xinghuai while Lin Xiao stood behind him with his arms crossed, looking serious. Perhaps fearing Shen Xinghuai still had doubts, Han Yurong pulled a medical record from his bag and handed it over. “This is Xiuchen’s diagnostic record. I have been his consultant since he was abroad.”

The record Shen Xinghuai received was a summary, showing only the annual diagnostic results. Judging by the years, Ye Xiuchen’s condition had grown more severe with each passing year.

After reviewing the record, Shen Xinghuai looked at him. “I haven’t been able to contact him lately.”

Han Yurong chose his words carefully. “His current state is not good.” He paused. “In fact, it’s quite disastrous.”

Shen Xinghuai: “Where is he?”

Lin Xiao was so frustrated he wanted to curse. “He’s losing his mind. He hasn’t slept for four days and five nights. He’s resisting treatment and refusing medication.”

Shen Xinghuai had known the man’s emotions were off the day he left. “Dr. Lin, please help me with the discharge papers.”

Lin Xiao nodded. “I’ll go.” Halfway through, his wrist was caught by Han Yurong. “Mr. Shen, can you tell me exactly what happened the day you were admitted?”

Lin Xiao was annoyed at being interrupted and shook off his hand, but he only glared and didn’t speak further.

Shen Xinghuai began to recall that day. The biggest trigger for Ye Xiuchen’s emotional shift was likely after Zhang Lei called him a “freak who likes to sleep in a doghouse.” He couldn’t be certain which specific point it was, so he recounted everything to Han Yurong.

After listening, Han Yurong didn’t answer immediately. He remained silent for a long time before speaking. “Mr. Shen, has Xiuchen ever mentioned his past experiences to you?”

Shen Xinghuai shook his head.

Han Yurong wasn’t surprised but hesitated before continuing. “Since he hasn’t told you, it’s not appropriate for me to reveal it. This is his privacy; I cannot violate my ethics.”

Shen Xinghuai looked at him helplessly. “Fine, don’t mention specifics, but surely you can tell me why he becomes like this?”

Every illness has a cause, right? He didn’t blow up when Zhang Lei called him an orphan with no parents; how could a single phrase about a doghouse trigger him to this extent?

“Zhang Lei’s words made the thing he least wanted to face public.” Han Yurong looked directly at Shen Xinghuai, his expression grave. “Mr. Shen, imagine the pain of someone who hates and desperately wants to escape something, yet cannot defy their own instincts—the agony of being tormented by that thing every day and night.”

Shen Xinghuai blinked. This doctor’s words were so cryptic they only made him more anxious. “Dr. Lin, go help me with the discharge. And tell me where he is right now.”

Ye Xiuchen wasn’t hard to find; he was at the Yujun Garden villa.

As soon as Shen Xinghuai and Uncle Ming entered, the servants greeted them with nervous expressions, each stealing terrified glances upstairs. “Mr. Shen, Uncle Ming, you’re finally back.”

Uncle Ming followed their gaze upward. “Is the Young Master on the fifth floor?”

A servant shook their head. “We don’t know which floor. Everyone was driven down to the first floor; the Young Master won’t let anyone go up.”

Shen Xinghuai took off his jacket, tossed it on the sofa, and headed straight for the elevator. At the door, he suddenly turned back. “Has he eaten these past few days?” If he hadn’t slept, he likely hadn’t eaten either.

Just as he suspected, the servant shook their head. “Likely not. We aren’t entirely sure.”

“Make some food now. When it’s ready, bring it to the fifth floor.” Shen Xinghuai stepped into the elevator.

Standing inside, watching the numbers climb, he thought about Han Yurong’s words. His mind was a mess. He had seen in his dreams just how terrifying Ye Xiuchen could be when he lost it. Everyone around him avoided him like a plague.

Actually, he could do the same—stay hidden in the hospital, pretending not to know, and wait until the man had finished his episode. But Shen Xinghuai was afraid he might go too far. Many days without food or sleep, if he actually kicked the bucket, the game would be over. Besides, if he hadn’t gotten into a conflict with Zhang Lei at the university, this episode wouldn’t have been triggered.

The elevator felt exceptionally slow today. Shen Xinghuai tried to imagine the scene on the fifth floor. Most likely, it would be a total wreck; he was the type of person who would destroy everything.

The elevator stopped on the fifth floor. The doors slowly opened.

The hallway was deathly silent, as if every sound had been swallowed whole.

In the stillness, the corridor felt unnervingly long. A heavy sense of oppression surged from deep within him, spreading through his body until he found it difficult to breathe. His heart raced uncontrollably. In such absolute silence, his senses grew hyper-alert; every hair on his skin stood on end.

Shen Xinghuai knew, quite clearly, that he was afraid.

He had no way of knowing what state Ye Xiuchen was in—whether the man would suddenly lunge from behind a door and seize him, or, like in his nightmare, choke the life out of him with bloodshot eyes.

Finally, he reached Ye Xiuchen’s door. It wasn’t fully closed, leaving a narrow crack that revealed a floor covered in debris: shards of porcelain, shattered glass, and splintered remains of furniture. All the ruined fragments lay tangled and piled upon one another.

Shen Xinghuai slowly raised his hand and pushed the door open.

As the full extent of the room came into view, he instinctively took a step back.

One set of curtains remained drawn, while the other had been ripped down and discarded on the floor. Wind whistled through a shattered window, occasionally tugging at the stray corners of the fabric. The glass frames of the paintings on the walls hadn’t been spared either; the glass had exploded outward, leaving some frames on the floor and others hanging precariously by a single corner.

To the right of the bed, the cabinet that once displayed various ornaments was now unrecognizable. Of its two glass doors, one was completely pulverized, and the other hung on by a thread, half-shattered.

The large bed that Shen Xinghuai liked so much was now littered with debris—and occupied by a man lying perfectly still. The warm gray sheets beneath him offered no comfort; instead, they were dotted with star-shaped bloodstains that were jarringly conspicuous.

Ye Xiuchen lay amidst the wreckage with his eyes closed. His striking features seemed even more sharp and defined, yet his lips were pale, their very outlines beginning to fade.

When Shen Xinghuai first saw him lying so stiffly on the bed, he feared the man was dead.

It took him a long moment to steady his pounding heart. Stepping carefully to avoid the mess on the floor, he slowly approached the bedside and reached out toward Ye Xiuchen.

His original intent was to check for a pulse or breath, but midway through the gesture, his mind cleared: If he’s actually fine and I shove my hand under his nose, I’m dead meat.

But since his hand was already extended, pulling it back would look suspicious. After a brief pause, he redirected his hand toward Ye Xiuchen’s forehead.

Just as his fingertips were about to touch that pallid skin, those closed eyes suddenly snapped open.

They were dark, ghostly eyes, devoid of any warmth and filled with a chilling, world-consuming malice.

Locked in that gaze, Shen Xinghuai’s mind went blank. His wrist jerked, and driven by pure self-preservation, he instinctively delivered a sharp slap.