The Husband From the Original Pairing is Now Divorced - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Dirty

“You are the cleanest.”

Zhou Zifei did not hesitate. He did not pause. With a deathly pale face, he yanked the curtain aside—

Sheng Jia’s upper body was bare. His eyes were closed. He lay silent and motionless beneath the surface of the water in the bathtub.

With a heavy thud, Zifei’s knees hit the floor. He knelt by the tub, reaching out toward Sheng Jia, his vision narrowing to a single point—staring at that pale face that looked as though it would never again flash a smiling, crescent-eyed look at him.

The water was ice-cold, so freezing that Zifei’s arm lost sensation the moment he plunged it in.

“Sheng Jia… don’t…”

Zifei leaned over, his voice trembling as he called Sheng Jia’s name. His short sleeves became soaked. He tried to lift the person from the water, his heart gripped by a fear so profound it defied description. His beloved lay beneath the water, unmoving, and his world was slowly collapsing.

Just then, Sheng Jia’s expression flickered. Those thin eyebrows twitched, and a tiny bubble escaped from his nose.

Zifei’s pupils dilated. He plunged his entire upper body toward the water, his arms locking firmly around that slender waist, hauling him out of the freezing depths.

“Cough! Cough, cough!”

Sheng Jia began to cough violently. His consciousness was blurred, his eyelids too heavy to open. He could only feel himself falling into a searingly hot, solid embrace. Someone was gently patting his back with one hand while cupping his face with the other.

The touch was tender, yet the embrace was suffocatingly tight. Sheng Jia panted with his eyes closed, his cheek pressed against the man’s chest. He felt supple muscle, a powerful heartbeat, and…

Cold droplets of liquid falling onto his cheek.

“Sheng Jia, Sheng Jia, are you okay?”

The familiar voice rang in his ear, carrying a hint of suppressed sobbing. A finger lightly brushed the corner of his eye; the feeling of light calluses and a temperature warmer than his own made Sheng Jia instinctively bury his face into the man’s palm, seeking more comfort.

Zifei’s movements froze. His palm and Sheng Jia’s soft cheek were pressed tightly together; he didn’t dare move a muscle.

Sheng Jia’s face was small, his chin pointed and delicate. Though his jawline was soft, it was mostly skin over bone—a sight that brought a pang of pity to Zifei’s heart. These years with Yu Xianghang had not been kind; he was still so thin. Despite being tall, he felt like a small bundle in Zifei’s arms, curled up like a stray kitten.

But what truly tore at Zifei’s soul—what set his very blood on fire—were the scars on Sheng Jia’s upper body.

Below the straight, prominent collarbones were two dark-red, flesh-colored scars, each nearly the length of two palms. One was slashed across the center of his chest, while the other ran from the upper right down toward his heart. A few centimeters—hardly any distance at all—and it would have reached the heart that was currently beating so weakly.

Below those were irregular, brownish burn marks on his side, spreading toward his navel. Zifei had seen such marks before; they were the remnants of fire.

And on the arms Sheng Jia held curled against Zifei’s chest, there were dense patterns of cuts and cigarette burns, stretching from the forearms to the shoulders—a map of past trauma.

A body of fair, smooth skin, yet covered in years of scars.

Zifei finally understood. He understood why Sheng Jia’s eyes, though beautiful and prone to smiling, always looked weary. He understood why even on his wedding day to Yu Xianghang, Sheng Jia’s smile had been tinged with a persistent, misty sadness.

Have you endured pain and despair that others have never known? Did you spend every night before sleep counting your wounds, feeling the injustice, wondering: why me?

Zifei tightened his arms, hunching his back to pull Sheng Jia even closer. Chest to chest, he used his own body heat to warm the thin, hypothermic body.

“What—what happened?!” “Call 120! Get a doctor here now!” “Young Master Zhou, we need to get him to the hospital immediately!”

The noise of the crowd brought Sheng Jia’s drifting mind back. He struggled to open his eyes. The first thing he saw was red hair. It looked so warm, so soft.

Sheng Jia wanted to touch it. His wrist shook, but just as he was about to make contact, his hand fell back down, powerless.

“Sheng Jia, I’m taking you to the hospital. You’ll be fine soon. Just hold on a little longer, okay?”

Zifei grabbed that hand, tucking Sheng Jia’s wet, cold fingers against the crook of his own warm neck. His voice had regained its calm—steady and soft, as if nothing in the world were truly insurmountable, as if he were certain Sheng Jia would be fine.

As Zifei moved to lift him, Sheng Jia gave a tiny tug on his hair. His lips moved. Zifei leaned down immediately to hear him whisper:

“Don’t… don’t hold me… I’m… dirty…”

After saying this, Sheng Jia’s body gave a small struggle. He opened his hands to cover his chest, trying to hide the scars. His chaotic brain could only vaguely recognize that this was someone he knew, but not exactly who. All his memories were tangled, leaving only the stubborn conviction that his scars were ugly, hideous, and dirty.

Zifei had never known that a single word could rip his heart to shreds. His breath hitched, and the air he exhaled was so unsteady it nearly turned into a sob. He hooked his arms under Sheng Jia’s knees and shoulders, pulling him securely against his chest, and stood up.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of Sheng Jia’s damp, dark hair. His voice was husky, no longer hiding the love and reverence he felt.

“Not dirty.” “You are the cleanest.”

…

Zifei strode out of the bathroom. Passing the living room, he grabbed a jacket from the sofa and draped it over Sheng Jia’s bare torso.

Outside, it was noon. The sun was high and the light was piercing. Zifei placed his fingers over Sheng Jia’s eyes, shielding him from the sudden brightness. The warmth made Sheng Jia feel cozy. In the darkness of his closed eyes, he felt the pull of sleep again.

Through the haze, he only knew that the person holding him never let go. He felt a hand continuously stroking his hair while a voice repeated: “It’s okay. You’ll be fine.” That feeling of being truly, carefully cherished lulled him into a deep slumber.

In his dream, he was back in that cramped basement. Sheng Qianlong was approaching with a grotesque smile. Sheng Jia cringed in the corner, with nowhere to run. Then, someone pushed the door open. The exit was a blinding light. He began to run toward it. A figure in a school uniform blocked the path, short-haired and defiant. “If I see you bullying Sheng Jia again, I’ll beat every one of you!” The figure turned around, bruised and swollen but smiling, asking if he was okay.

Then, his hand was held tightly. Someone said: “Sheng Jia, I’ll protect you from now on.” He felt an unprecedented sense of safety and gripped that hand back. They walked forward together until, suddenly, his palm was empty.

“Sheng Jia, being with you just isn’t worth it.”

He looked up to see Yu Xianghang pinning him down, his expression mocking, his movements rough. Sheng Jia pushed him away in a panic, and the figures dissolved, leaving him alone in the dark.

Then, it felt as though someone was strangling him. There was a strong foreign object in his throat. His stomach churned; he felt a wave of nausea.

Sheng Jia snapped his eyes open. He was lying on his side. A masked doctor was inserting a long tube down his throat. Buckets of water were being poured in. He struggled, but his hand was held firmly in someone’s palm. He could only make muffled “mh-mh” sounds, his terrified eyes following the water moving through the tube.

As his consciousness began to fade again, a sweaty palm pressed against his cold forehead. A trembling voice whispered in his ear.

“Endure it… just for a moment, baby. It’ll be over soon. Very soon!” “Don’t be afraid, baby. I’m here with you. Be good. The doctor will be gentle…”

Sheng Jia blinked weakly. The overhead lights were white, halos expanding and contracting in his vision. Cold sweat poured down his brow, and crystal-clear tears carved paths down his pale face.

He finally felt regret. He regretted swallowing those twenty-four sleeping pills. He regretted not realizing sooner that the Yu Xianghang of the past was long gone, and the only person still stubbornly waiting was himself.

To live is no great joy; to die is no great pain. But the world’s sunlight was so warm and brilliant—he hadn’t seen enough of it yet.

Sheng Jia squeezed the sweaty hand. The other person squeezed back just as hard. He didn’t want to die yet. He didn’t want to let go of this person. He wanted to know who he was.

…

“No food or water for eight hours. After that, only lukewarm liquids. You can return to a normal diet in about three days, but avoid spicy or irritating foods.” “Understood, thank you, Doctor. What if… what if he’s in pain? If he vomits again like he did during the gastric lavage, or if something feels wrong…” “Throat pain and stomach burning are normal. Nausea is fine too. If there’s persistent high fever or if he vomits blood, tell me immediately.”

The voices of a man and a woman were blurry, followed by the sound of receding footsteps and a soft click of the door.

Sheng Jia’s eyelashes fluttered, and he slowly opened his eyes. They felt extremely dry. There was a persistent soreness in his throat. Hearing footsteps approach, he turned his head with effort. It was a face that was both unexpected and a “so it was him” moment.

“Teacher Sheng, you’re awake?”

Zifei sounded pleasantly surprised, his voice as husky as Sheng Jia remembered. His red hair was a mess, his brow furrowed, and his sharp eyes were filled with a soft, aching sadness. His shirt was soaked from the chest to the hem.

Sheng Jia tried to speak, but his throat was parched. Not a single word came out.

“It’s hard to talk right now. Rest is the most important thing.”

Zifei touched Sheng Jia’s forehead. Finding it only clammy and cool, he sighed in relief. He took a cotton swab, dipped it in water, and moistened Sheng Jia’s dry lips.

After the stomach pumping, Sheng Jia looked swollen and deathly pale. Fearing he would catch a cold, Zifei used a towel to dry his sweat-and-water-soaked hair before wrapping it up. Sheng Jia was bundled tightly in blankets, with only his left hand exposed for the IV drip.

Sheng Jia had so many questions. How did Zifei find him? How did he save him? And… why did he call him “baby”? But he was too exhausted. After a brief look at Zifei, he drifted back to sleep.

…

When he woke up again, the sky outside was turning a pale, pearly white. It was the next morning.

He moved his hand; the IV was gone. He was tucked warmly under the covers, and his lips were no longer dry, though his throat still stung. He looked around the room. It was a spacious VIP ward with a sofa, fridge, desk, and an extra bed for a companion.

Zifei, standing over 180cm tall, was lying on his side on the narrow companion bed. Even though it wasn’t a small bed, he still looked cramped and uncomfortable.

Sheng Jia watched the young, handsome face for a long time. Zifei’s arm was tucked under his head, a corner of the blanket draped over him. His thick brows were slightly furrowed, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked as though he wasn’t sleeping soundly.

Just as a strange sense of familiarity washed over Sheng Jia, Zifei suddenly opened his eyes. Their gazes met. Caught by those dark, bright eyes, Sheng Jia’s thoughts scattered. He just stared back.

Zifei reacted first. He stood up immediately, rubbed his aching temples, and walked to the bedside.

“Teacher Sheng, do you feel uncomfortable anywhere?”

Sheng Jia shook his head silently. Zifei poured a glass of lukewarm water and inserted a straw. “Here. You can eat and drink now. Do you want something to eat later?”

Zifei helped him up, letting Sheng Jia lean against him while holding the cup to his lips. Sheng Jia didn’t refuse. He bit the straw and began to drink under Zifei’s gaze. However, he had overestimated his condition. Even though he was parched, the act of swallowing made his throat burn and his stomach churn. He let go of the straw after a few sips.

“Does it still hurt? Let’s skip the food for now then. Lie down and rest; I’ll ask the doctor if there’s anything else we can do.”

Seeing the person in his arms pull away with suppressed breath, Zifei’s brow furrowed. Just as he was about to leave, Sheng Jia lightly caught the hem of his shirt.

“What is it?”

Zifei sat back on the bed and leaned down, patiently listening. Sheng Jia managed to squeeze out one syllable: “Ji…”

Zifei let out a soft sigh and a helpless smile. He arched an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Teacher Sheng, you just woke up and you’re already worried about that little brat?”

“Don’t worry. I explained to him yesterday that you weren’t feeling well and didn’t mean to break your promise about the aquarium. I told him he had to be a man and be generous, and not to hate you for it.”

He tucked the blankets back around Sheng Jia. Looking at the person with the moist, blinking eyes, he whispered: “You are still the wonderful Teacher Sheng. You’re still Zhou Jiayi’s favorite person in the world after his parents.”

Zifei’s tone was incredibly tender. Perhaps because he had just woken up, his voice was raspy—like the voice from the old-fashioned radio Sheng Jia used to have. It was a comforting, steady sound.

Sheng Jia sensed Zifei’s attitude through those words. Zifei wasn’t going to hold yesterday’s actions—or the scars on his body—against him. In Zifei’s heart, Sheng Jia was still “wonderful and special.”

But did Zifei really have no curiosity at all? Even Yu Xianghang had flinched the first time he saw them.

“Teacher Sheng, sleep a bit more. You’re a patient; rest is what matters most.”

Zifei did something slightly forward then. He placed his palm over Sheng Jia’s eyes. It was a sensation Sheng Jia knew intimately: the warmth of the palm, the slight calluses, the gentle pressure.

Sheng Jia was plunged into darkness, but he felt an intense need to confirm the other man’s presence. Perhaps the near-death experience made him crave a sense of security—a bit of warmth to anchor him. He reached out his hand toward the edge of the bed until he touched Zifei’s hand resting there.

The hand flinched slightly but didn’t move away. Sheng Jia didn’t do anything more; he simply rested his fingertips against the skin of Zifei’s hand.

The room was silent, save for their faint breathing.

Zifei could still see the look Sheng Jia had just given him—those eyes that were usually so full of smiles were now half-lidded with exhaustion and a heartbreaking, cautious flinch. It made Zifei’s eyes sting. He couldn’t bear that shattered look, but he had no choice but to cover those dull eyes.

He wouldn’t allow himself to lose control or show weakness in front of Sheng Jia. He would move at Sheng Jia’s pace. If he let out all his worry and care at once, he would scare him away.

As for Sheng Jia, he wasn’t thinking about anything. He knew there were countless questions between them, but for now, he just wanted to hold onto that small point of warmth. The darkness of unconsciousness was too terrifying; the bottom of the bathtub was too cold.

He needed a bit of light. A bit of warmth. Even a tiny bit was better than being alone.