The Sickly Double Doesn't Want to Be Spoiled - Chapter 23.1

Chapter 23.1

Someone gently patted the back of his hand.

“It’s fine.”

Lu Cong’s voice sounded in his ear.

As he spoke, he squeezed Meng Yuan’s fingers again reassuringly, his tone steady as usual: “It’s just the system automatically switching to backup lighting.”

As soon as he finished speaking, another brighter LED searchlight turned on automatically, and the view outside the window regained its clarity.

“Look.” Lu Cong tilted his chin up.

Indeed, there was lighting again, but communication had still not been restored.

Meng Yuan’s heart rate was still very fast, and his breathing was slightly hurried.

He unconsciously gripped the armrest of the seat, his fingertips turning white and his fingers stiff, with cold sweat seeping from his palms.

“Look at me,” Lu Cong said.

However, Meng Yuan acted as if he hadn’t heard, his back merely stiffening rigidly.

“Meng Yuan,” Lu Cong raised his volume, speaking seriously and with a hint of command: “Meng Yuan, look at me.”

Only then did Meng Yuan slowly turn his neck, looking toward Lu Cong in the shimmering light of the deep sea.

Lu Cong’s eyes were still so dark, just like the underwater cliff they had seen earlier—deep blue, heavy black, letting in not a single shred of light.

However, his hand was very warm and dry.

“What do we do?” Meng Yuan’s voice trembled slightly.

“It’s okay,” Lu Cong said softly. “It’s just a minor system glitch. The people above will handle it quickly; let’s just wait patiently for a while.”

He seemed well-acquainted with such situations, sounding calm and relaxed, carrying a sense of security that was absolutely convincing.

But Meng Yuan had never experienced this.

Everything before his eyes and the environment he was in were absolutely foreign existences; he had no way to make himself as ripple-free as Lu Cong.

His heart thudded against his chest, the stinging sensation reaching even his eardrums. Cold sweat began to bead on Meng Yuan’s temples.

“Don’t be afraid,” Lu Cong said with a hint of helplessness. “It’ll be over soon. Trust me, okay?”

Meng Yuan nodded frantically.

His face looked exceptionally pale in the deep blue light. Lu Cong could clearly see the light shimmering in his eyes, darting around in panic.

How can someone have such a gaze?

It was as if he had no one to rely on in the entire world, always so afraid, always so lonely.

Even at a time like this, Meng Yuan didn’t think to ask Lu Cong for help. He just pursed his lips slightly, murmuring to himself as if for comfort:

“Mhm, I’m not afraid. I’ll wait patiently.”

His downcast eyelashes trembled incessantly.

Lu Cong stared at him deeply. For a few seconds, he didn’t speak, his eyes a mix of complexity and struggle.

At a certain moment, compassion gained the upper hand. He finally let out a sigh—a slight, almost unbearable sigh.

“Meng Yuan.”

He turned and leaned in, pressing against Meng Yuan’s temple while his other hand rested on his chest.

“Meng Yuan, snap out of it. Your breathing is wrong.”

Lu Cong applied slight pressure with his hand. In the moment Meng Yuan winced and frowned in pain, Lu Cong caught his gaze. He tilted Meng Yuan’s face up, making him look only at him.

“Take a breath,” he said.

Meng Yuan was a bit distracted and slow to react, only following the instruction two seconds later.

Seeing that he was finally no longer holding his breath, Lu Cong felt slightly more at ease.

“Very good. Do it a few more times. Follow my breathing.”

He demonstrated personally: “Inhale hold it for four seconds. Great, just like that. Now exhale slowly. It’s okay, take your time.”

Amidst the absolute silence, Lu Cong’s voice seemed to possess a unique magnetic pull at this moment.

Meng Yuan followed without any resistance.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

His heartbeat gradually steadied.

Lu Cong held his wrist, silently counting the beats until he confirmed that his heart rate had returned to a normal level before letting go.

“Okay, it’s fine now.”

His voice was very light, like a small pebble dropping into the water with just the right amount of weight.

Meng Yuan lowered his head and closed his eyes. The fine sweat on his temples sparkled with fragmented light.

“Thank you,” he said, feeling somewhat drained of strength.

Two minutes later, the communication system rebooted automatically.

The instructor’s voice came from above the control panel as it lit up again, sounding apologetic: “Sorry about that. It was a temporary glitch with a signal buffer. Mr. Lu, are you two all right?”

“Take us up,” Lu Cong said.

“Understood.”

Meng Yuan didn’t speak. He remained nestled in Lu Cong’s arms in a semi-reclined posture, glancing at him from time to time, then looking away whenever Lu Cong shifted his gaze over.

“What is it?” Lu Cong was amused by his behavior. “If you want to look, then look. What’s with all the sneaking around?”

“I wasn’t looking at you,” Meng Yuan said stubbornly with his head down.

The ballast tanks drained, and the submarine began to ascend at a slow speed.

During the ascent, the instructor continued to introduce marine life along the way through the communication system.

Lu Cong wasn’t listening closely, glancing at Meng Yuan every now and then.

Meng Yuan was drawn in again. He moved out of Lu Cong’s arms and, without realizing it, leaned against the window again.

Outside was a migrating school of bigeye trevally, a stonefish camouflaged on a coral, a rare red willow coral…

He listened with great interest, even wanting to reach out and touch them.

“Sigh,” Lu Cong let out a sigh.

Meng Yuan turned his head: “What’s wrong?”

“Not afraid anymore so quickly?”

“What are you talking about?” Meng Yuan said with a look of total sincerity. “When was I ever afraid? You’ve probably stayed in the sea for too long and are having hallucinations.”

Lu Cong: “?”

He stared at Meng Yuan in disbelief.

Meng Yuan turned his face back, leaving him with the back of his head a very round back of the head, the exclusive back of the head belonging to the stubborn.

“Fine, so that’s how we’re playing?” Lu Cong was actually moved to laughter by the kid’s temper. “Don’t come begging me if anything happens in the future.”

Outside the window, the seawater changed from dark deep blue to indigo, then to a clear emerald green as sunlight began to penetrate through the surface again.

Meng Yuan looked up and saw swaying beams of light; they had returned to the surface.

“It feels like a dream,” Meng Yuan said softly.

“Hmm?” Lu Cong didn’t hear clearly.

“Nothing.”

Meng Yuan blinked, still maintaining his posture of observing the seabed with his head slightly tilted up. A moment later, he slowly snapped out of it: “It’s over.”

He said to Lu Cong: “It’s over. That was so fast.”

“It’s been two hours, Young Master,” Lu Cong said helplessly, his tone unintentionally softening a bit. “If you like it, you can play anytime in the future. Next time, we can go to a different area of the sea.”

Meng Yuan laughed.

Without saying if it was good or bad, he just squinted his eyes, his dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth. He laughed softly like that, the corners of his eyes turned a bit red by the sun.

That smile looked very happy.

Lu Cong stared at him blankly for a moment, but was inexplicably stung by this happiness, a sour kind of ache rising in his heart.

The submarine broke through the surface of the sea into the piercing sunlight.

The mother ship was anchored not far away, with crew members already waiting on the deck. The submarine was slowly hoisted and placed back onto the specialized rack at the stern of the mother ship.

The hatch opened, and the fresh sea breeze rushed in.

Lu Cong was the first to step out.

As if he couldn’t wait, he took a deep breath.

Only when that nameless sourness in his heart was completely suppressed did he go around to Meng Yuan’s side and reach out his hand again.

This time, Meng Yuan did not hesitate and placed his hand directly into his palm.

Lu Cong gripped it, his other hand encircling Meng Yuan’s waist, using a bit of force to bring him onto the platform.

Sunlight, sea breeze, the cries of seagulls. The world had returned to normal.

Meng Yuan stayed obediently in his arms, his eyelashes cast down. When he was quiet, he possessed a beauty that was almost sorrowful.

Lu Cong didn’t understand why someone so young always looked so full of worries, but he very restrainedly lightened the strength of his grip, as if afraid of shattering this beauty.

“Is it very smelly there?”

Meng Yuan suddenly spoke, his breath brushing past his ear.

It tickled.

Lu Cong held his breath and tilted his head slightly, temporarily unable to follow Meng Yuan’s train of thought: “What?”

“As soon as we stopped, you came out like you were running for your life,” Meng Yuan pointed to the submersible behind them. “Did you fart in there?”

Lu Cong: “???”

In that instant, his eyes went wide: “Are you insane?”

“Then why else would you be like that?” Meng Yuan had a face full of honesty. “I didn’t fart anyway, so if you ran that fast, it must have been you.”

Lu Cong was dumbfounded, feeling as if someone had hit him over the head with a mallet.

How could Meng Yuan… how could Meng Yuan say such a mood-killing thing with such a cute face and such a pure expression?

He looked at Meng Yuan, and all those sorrowful and beautiful filters on the boy instantly cracked and shattered all over the ground.

Where exactly was this kid melancholy, broken, or full of worries?

He was clearly just speaking without restraint and talking nonsense!

A demon child, a total demon child!

Sunlight, sea breeze, the cries of seagulls. The world really had returned to normal.

But Lu Cong felt his own mental state was about to become abnormal.

“Don’t go around spreading rumors like that, Meng Yuan,” Lu Cong grit his teeth.

Meng Yuan tilted his chin up: “Then why did you?”

“I’m just asking if you smelled anything.”

Meng Yuan recalled seriously, then shook his head honestly: “Well, no.”

“Then there you go!”

Lu Cong let go of his hand abruptly and walked away in a huff.

Meng Yuan was shaken and wobbled before steadying himself, a face full of confusion.

“Vulgar,” Lu Cong turned back halfway and pointed at him: “Vulgar!”

Meng Yuan: “…”

He stood frozen in place, watching Lu Cong recede back.

With such a tall frame, long limbs, and sturdy shoulders, he should have a stylish physique like a model.

Yet Lu Cong walked exactly like a furious rooster.

Meng Yuan had never seen him so explosive before.

Not even when they first met in the hospital bed, when Lu Cong was so angry he wanted to strangle him.

“Is it really because I’m too vulgar?” Meng Yuan fell into self-doubt.

But aren’t these all very normal physiological phenomena?

Suddenly he was startled, a seed of doubt having been planted…

Meng Yuan’s mouth twitched. Could it be that ‘paper people’ really don’t poop, pee, or fart?!

“Xiao Yuan.” Someone patted his shoulder.

Meng Yuan snapped back: “Sister Qin Qing.”

Qin Qing had come up before them and had been waiting on the ship for a while. She asked him softly: “How was it? Did you have fun? Were you scared just now?”

“It was okay,” Meng Yuan pinched two fingers together. “A little bit, but it was really fun.”

“As long as you’re happy,” Qin Qing led him toward the lounge cabin, looking at Lu Cong’s fuming back with curiosity: “What happened to President Lu?”

“He,” Meng Yuan hesitated, then curled his lip: “He has a very strange temper.”

One moment he’s like a god, the next like a ghost.

One moment he’s so gentle toward Meng Yuan he could turn into water, and the next he’s getting angry at himself. No one knew what he was getting worked up about every day.

“I heard he worked overtime for a week straight and pushed back half a month’s worth of work just to come here?”

Meng Yuan recalled the way Song Zhen looked when telling him this sorrowful, tragic, and sighing deeply. A profound emotion had rarely appeared on Special Assistant Song’s stiff face.