The Sickly Double Doesn't Want to Be Spoiled - Chapter 25

Chapter 25

“No need…”

Meng Yuan instinctively wanted to refuse.

Where in a place like this could one find plain noodles? That bowl of porridge today was the only Chinese food Meng Yuan had eaten in the past few days.

But Lu Cong had already taken out his phone and walked to the window to make a call.

Leaning against the headboard, Meng Yuan watched his silhouette.

The light from outside leaked through the gaps in the curtains, making Lu Cong’s figure look somewhat blurred.

He spoke in a low voice, making it hard to hear what he was saying, but his tone was softer than during his usual meetings.

As Meng Yuan watched, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

His stomach still hurts, but not as intensely as before.

He felt as if all his strength had been drained; he was limp and just wanted to slide down.

His hands lost their strength, and Meng Yuan slowly lay down, burying his face in the pillow.

Before his consciousness blurred, he seemed to hear Lu Cong saying things like “chicken soup,” “green vegetables,” and “hurry up.”

Before he could hear more, it felt as if he were lying in water. A soft gurgling sound echoed in his ears, and he could no longer distinguish between human voices and birdsong.

He fell asleep.

After finishing his instructions, Lu Cong hung up and turned around, seeing that the fellow had already curled himself into the blanket, with only a tuft of hair showing.

He walked over and stood by the bed for a while.

The blanket rose and fell slightly; Meng Yuan’s breathing was shallow but steady.

Lu Cong turned the room temperature up a bit more, replaced the warm water with hot water on the nightstand, and then sat down in the armchair by the bed.

He didn’t leave.

Perhaps out of a sense of compassion he was unwilling to admit to himself, he didn’t feel right leaving Meng Yuan here alone.

Buzz buzz.

A message popped up on his phone.

Song Zhen: Boss, is the afternoon itinerary proceeding as scheduled?

In the afternoon…

Lu Cong remembered. There were originally other plans for the afternoon.

They had a reservation to visit a black pearl farm, but Meng Yuan had been unwell since waking up, and after a morning of chaos, Lu Cong had completely forgotten about it.

Looking at Meng Yuan now, he certainly couldn’t go.

Postpone it.

There was constant work from the company side.

Lu Cong decided to simply work from here while keeping an eye on Meng Yuan, lest the boy do something unknown again and toss himself into a state that was neither human nor ghost.

He sat like that, handling work while occasionally looking up at Meng Yuan.

The curtains weren’t drawn, and the midday sun shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making the entire room bright and warm.

It was the bright, luminous color that Meng Yuan liked most.

Lu Cong remembered the very first request Meng Yuan had made to him: he wanted a house with windows.

When Song Zhen reported this to him, Lu Cong was sitting in his own dark, enclosed study.

He had dithered for a moment upon hearing it.

“Windows?” he had asked Song Zhen.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t mishear?”

“There’s no mistake,” Song Zhen said certainly. “Young Master Meng said he hopes to live in a house with windows.”

As he spoke, he also let out a smile as if it were unbelievable where there were houses without windows these days?

Meng Yuan’s request felt as if he were thoughtfully lightening Song Zhen’s workload; Song Zhen himself had reflected on it several times.

“I suspect Young Master Meng probably has requirements for the natural lighting of the house,” Song Zhen said.

That was the only possible explanation.

Lu Cong had buried his head back into the desk piled with documents and A4 paper, telling Song Zhen to arrange it.

If Meng Yuan didn’t mind, he could have that house where many kittens had once lived.

His study remained dark, enclosed, without a single ray of light.

So he thought: if Meng Yuan hadn’t made that request back then, or if he had conversely demanded a house with absolutely no windows to make things difficult for him, Lu Cong probably wouldn’t have felt that flash of curiosity.

And last night, several months later, he probably wouldn’t have developed that craving toward Meng Yuan, a craving that made him feel loathing, fear, and impulse.

On the bed not far away, Meng Yuan was not sleeping peacefully.

He moved occasionally, turning his face from one side of the pillow to the other, his brow slightly furrowed. It was unclear if his stomach was still hurting.

As Lu Cong looked at Meng Yuan’s brow, his own brow unconsciously furrowed as well.

He thought of how Meng Yuan had leaned over the edge of the bed dry heaving earlier.

Such a thin body, a spine so bony it poked the hand, weakly trembling while tears fell pitter-patter, saying he was “dizzy.”

He thought of how Meng Yuan always instinctively said “No need.”

Even when he was in that much pain, his first reaction was still refusal, still not wanting to trouble others.

Why was this his reaction?

Has something bad happened in the past because he troubled others?

What kind of life had he lived before?

Lu Cong couldn’t help but start imagining Meng Yuan’s life again. As soon as this thought surfaced, he immediately cut it off.

This uncontrollable curiosity toward Meng Yuan made his heart turn cold, and waves of fine sweat broke out on his back.

…

Meng Yuan slept very deeply this time.

So deeply it felt as if something were dragging him down. There were faint sounds in his ears, but he couldn’t hear them clearly, and his body couldn’t move. He could only keep sinking, sinking further.

At a certain moment, something touched his face.

Very light, very subtle, carrying a sort of calling.

Meng Yuan stopped sinking; in his dream, he began to float, suspended in mid-air. The feeling of weightlessness made him purse his lips nervously.

Something touched his face again once, twice.

Meng Yuan furrowed his brow and tried to hide, but the thing followed and continued to touch him.

“Wake up.”

A voice came from far away.

“Meng Yuan.”

It sounded like Lu Cong’s voice?

Meng Yuan’s consciousness cleared a bit.

But he was too sleepy. His eyelids felt as if they were glued shut, and his brain was a muddle; he couldn’t wake up no matter what.

Having not eaten for too long, his stomach felt empty and aching.

Meng Yuan instinctively pressed his wrist against it.

“Meng Yuan…”

Lu Cong was already feeling somewhat helpless.

Seeing that he couldn’t wake him no matter what, Lu Cong simply sat on the edge of the bed, slid his hand behind Meng Yuan’s neck, supported his shoulder, and pulled him into a sitting position.

“The noodles are ready,” Lu Cong patted his face. “Eat something before you go back to sleep, or your stomach won’t be able to take it.”

What?

Meng Yuan thought groggily. His brain turned slowly, and it took a long while for him to react.

Noodles.

Lu Cong had just said he would have Qin Qing make a bowl of plain noodles.

Sister Qin Qing’s noodles are super delicious!

Meng Yuan’s eyelids moved; he struggled to wake up.

He furrowed his brow, trying desperately to open his eyes.

But his eyelids were too heavy, as if weighed down by stones. He struggled for a while, only opening a slit, before they immediately closed again.

“It’s so hard…” he hummed indistinctly, his voice soft and clingy. “It’s so hard…”

Lu Cong saw that he really wanted to wake up.

But his body was too weak; he often needed to rely on sleep to replenish his energy, making it difficult to wake up midway.

Lu Cong had a deep understanding of this.

Perhaps because he had seen Meng Yuan unable to wake up so many times, Lu Cong was exceptionally patient now.

He wasn’t in a hurry and gently massaged Meng Yuan’s temples: “No rush, wake up slowly. The noodles are still hot; they won’t get soggy for a while.”

Meng Yuan’s eyes were tightly shut, his brow furrowed with an expression of distress.

His face was still white, and his lips were dry and peeling. His hand was pressing against his stomach, clearly very uncomfortable.

Lu Cong actually knew he shouldn’t wake him at this time.

But there was no choice. This guy’s stomach had been empty for a day, and he had thrown up. If he didn’t eat something, who knew what would happen when he felt unwell again later.

Normal gastroenteritis would be fine, but what Lu Cong feared was that if the tossing and turning triggered his [underlying] illness, it would be troublesome.

This was a small island in the South Pacific with limited medical resources. Even though they had brought a medical team, the existing equipment couldn’t compare to their own hospital back home.

Lu Cong sighed, sat by the bed, and reached out, gently covering the area of Meng Yuan’s stomach.

Through the blanket, that patch of skin was still warm.

He pressed it not hard, just resting it there.

Meng Yuan’s brow moved.

“Does your stomach still hurt?” Lu Cong asked.

Meng Yuan shook his head groggily, then after a moment, nodded.

“Whether it hurts or not, you need to eat,” Lu Cong said. “How much more can this body of yours take?”

Meng Yuan remained silent for a few seconds before finally opening his eyes slowly.

He woke up relying on sheer willpower and a craving for food.

If he didn’t eat, that bowl of noodles would have to be thrown away. The instinct not to waste food prompted Meng Yuan to open his eyes.

Seeing him awake, Lu Cong let out an imperceptible sigh of relief.

He let Meng Yuan lean against him, one hand gently pressing the back of his neck and the other resting on his stomach through the blanket.

“Take it slow,” he said. “No rush.”

Meng Yuan leaned in the crook of his arm, eyes closed and panting.

The waves of dizziness surged up one after another, like being on a boat, making him feel like throwing up. But his stomach was empty, and nothing would come out even if he tried, so he could only endure.

After enduring for a while, the dizziness slowly faded a bit.

He opened his eyes and found himself leaning in Lu Cong’s arms.

Very close.

So close that Lu Cong’s breath brushed against his ear.

He was stunned for a moment and instinctively wanted to sit up straight.

Lu Cong’s hand pressed against the back of his neck, not letting him move.

“Still hurting?”

“A… a bit better…” Meng Yuan said softly.

“Then eat something?”

Meng Yuan nodded.

Lu Cong’s hand moved away from Meng Yuan’s stomach, gently supporting the back of his neck and helping him up a bit. “Just two bites is fine.”

Meng Yuan was helped into a sitting position, but his head still tipped forward; his whole body was as soft as if he had no bones.

He leaned against Lu Cong, eyes closed, murmuring: “Dizzy…”

Lu Cong’s hand paused.

“Very dizzy?”

“Mhm…” Meng Yuan’s voice was muffled. “The world is spinning…”

He furrowed his brow and raised a hand to cover his head, but it fell back down halfway, devoid of strength.

Lu Cong looked at him; his face was even whiter than before, his eyelashes were trembling, and his lips were pressed tight.

Meng Yuan swallowed hard twice, gathered some strength, and reached toward the bowl of noodles.

Lu Cong quickly brought it over.

“Just eat a few bites to line your stomach,” he said. “That way you can sleep again, and you shouldn’t feel as bad when you wake up.”

“Okay,” Meng Yuan agreed. “But I want to finish it.”

Lu Cong: “…”

This kid truly is…

In his memory, there were a few times Meng Yuan had leftovers, but that was when he first arrived and the household aunt wasn’t familiar with his appetite, so she made too much.

He didn’t think much of it then, but thinking back now, when that kid left those leftovers, his heart was probably bleeding.

Fortunately, the portion in this bowl of noodles was originally very small. Even if Meng Yuan finished it all, it shouldn’t be enough to make him uncomfortably full.

Lu Cong let out a helpless smile: “Eat, then. Eat as much as you want.”

Meng Yuan took the chopsticks, but his hand was still shaking.

If this continued, the soup would spill. Lu Cong took the chopsticks from his hand, picked up a little, and brought it to his lips.

Meng Yuan was stunned for a moment.

“The doctor says eating noodles is best when the stomach is upset,” Lu Cong said.

“Okay…”

Meng Yuan didn’t act coy and ate from Lu Cong’s hand.

The noodles were cooked in chicken soup with the oil skimmed off, accompanied by a few green vegetables. It was fragrant but not greasy, definitely Qin Qing’s craftsmanship.

One bite was warm, heating him from his throat all the way to his stomach.

Lu Cong picked up a bit more, blew on it, and handed it over.

Meng Yuan opened his mouth and ate again.

Watching him, Lu Cong noticed that every time he opened his mouth, his eyelashes would tremble slightly, and then he would blink, looking a bit cute as if he were overwhelmed by the aroma of the food.

Lu Cong’s mouth moved slightly, as if wanting to curl into a smile, yet not quite.

In this way, Meng Yuan slowly finished the small bowl of chicken soup noodles.

“Full,” he sighed contentedly.

Lu Cong put the bowl down and handed over the warm water: “Two more sips.”

Meng Yuan drank obediently.

After finishing, he was helped to lie back down, and the blanket was tucked in. Lu Cong stood by the bed looking at him and asked, “Still dizzy?”

Meng Yuan shook his head.

“Stomach ache?”

There was actually still a little.

But Meng Yuan still just shook his head.

Lu Cong obviously saw that he was putting on a brave face but didn’t expose it.

“Rest a while,” he said.

Meng Yuan blinked and suddenly asked, “You… have been here the whole time?”

Lu Cong neither admitted nor denied it.

Meng Yuan waited for a while, but when no answer came, his eyelids began to fight again.

Before falling into a groggy sleep, he heard Lu Cong say: “Sleep.”

The voice was a bit softer than usual.