The Sickly Double Doesn't Want to Be Spoiled - Chapter 27

Chapter 27

The door closed, and Meng Yuan breathed a sigh of relief.

He looked down at himself; he was indeed too exposed, and yet he had sat there blankly letting Lu Cong watch him for a long while. Meng Yuan sluggishly pulled on his bathrobe, his mind still a bit dazed.

“Was I being… too generous?” he muttered to himself.

But it didn’t seem entirely his fault. Lu Cong clearly could have covered his eyes, turned around, or left the room. Instead, he did nothing.

He was quite a character not polite in the slightest. He saw everything, watched for several minutes, and only then told Meng Yuan to put on clothes. It was as if he took all the “benefits” first while still acting like a proper gentleman.

Meng Yuan grumbled internally. Though he felt he wasn’t to blame, he was still more or less embarrassed. This body’s physique was actually alright; though too thin and lacking muscle, his limbs were long and his proportions were symmetrical, giving him a generally pleasing aesthetic.

However, from Meng Yuan’s own perspective, it was slightly worse than his body in his previous life; it was basically his original build but with a “weak and sickly” debuff added. In his past life, because he worked all day often involving heavy lifting and manual labor — he had the kind of low-body-fat, resilient physique.

Meng Yuan still preferred his healthy self. But he couldn’t blame anyone for being sick now. He wrapped the bathrobe tighter, protecting his body, and murmured, “I’ll take good care of it…”

…

Meng Yuan took a shower first. The shower area was semi-open-air; it looked open at first glance, but the upper portion was enclosed with high-transparency glass, making it a sealed space.

The showerhead was a massive bronze rose, somewhat vintage in shape. The hot water came quickly at a comfortable temperature. Meng Yuan unhurriedly washed away the residual essential oils.

Halfway through, he had to stop due to a sudden bout of vertigo. Meng Yuan closed his eyes, bracing his hand against the wall and breathing deeply as the hot water cascaded from his head down his face, shoulders, and spine.

He had slight tinnitus, a faint buzzing mixing with the sound of the water. For dozens of seconds, he couldn’t see anything. He leaned against the wall, not daring to move, holding his breath slightly with his back and shoulders tensed as he fought the dizziness.

After about a minute, his jaw relaxed. He opened his eyes and wiped the water from his face. The water was clear; no blood, meaning no nosebleed. He let out a long sigh. He turned off the water, dried himself, and changed into clean clothes.

Inside the bathroom was a separate dressing room with a large full-length mirror embedded in the wall. Meng Yuan stepped closer and studied his face for a while.

He seemed to have gotten thinner again, and the vertigo had become more severe lately. When he first arrived in this world, this body had just been diagnosed. Time was flying by, and though some details occasionally deviated from the novel, the state of his body was honest. Meng Yuan could clearly feel the decline.

Even though he had been mentally prepared from the start, seeing the second life he had worked so hard to weaken day by day still made his heart heavy. He sighed, adjusted his state of mind, looked into the mirror, and forced a smile.

…

Song Zhen arrived at the spa pavilion a few minutes after Lu Cong. As he walked in, he saw his boss leaning against a vine-woven door, saying something to someone inside.

He took two steps closer and subconsciously glanced inside. A flash of something white caught his eye. Was that a person’s arm? Before he could see clearly, the door slammed shut.

“What are you looking at?” Lu Cong turned around, blocking the door completely.

Song Zhen froze for a moment, then immediately realized: the person inside was Young Master Meng, and most likely, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. After a bit of thinking, he understood.

“You don’t want me to see Young Master Meng inside. You’re jealous,” he stated. It was an affirmative sentence a result of precise mental analysis, devoid of personal emotion.

Lu Cong narrowed his eyes at the assistant who had followed him for years. Song Zhen was reliable and normal most of the time, but very occasionally, he acted like a pre-set program.

Lu Cong finally expressed a hint of doubt: “Are you actually a robot?”

“How could I be?” Song Zhen smiled. “Boss, you’ve learned how to joke.”

Lu Cong wasn’t joking. He walked past Song Zhen toward the exit. “Don’t mention things like that again.”

With a physique like an underdeveloped child, what was there to be jealous of? As an adult male with healthy preferences, Lu Cong never obsessed over a “sickly” aesthetic. He had always liked slender yet resilient bodies, enjoying the sight of a lover’s skin radiating a healthy, soft glow.

And Meng Yuan… Lu Cong recalled the sight and felt a heaviness in his chest. That was a body ravaged by illness. If he could have “improper thoughts” about that, would he even be human?

…

When Meng Yuan finished washing and went out, Lu Cong was waiting. He sat on a sofa in the lounge area, a cup of tea in front of him, looking at the ocean view. Hearing movement, he turned: “All cleaned up?”

“Mhm,” Meng Yuan nodded.

“Let’s go then.” Lu Cong put down his teacup and stood up. He was tall with a broad, expansive frame; he naturally carried a sense of pressure standing before anyone—especially Meng Yuan.

Meng Yuan was so thin he was almost just bone. As Lu Cong took two steps toward him, from Song Zhen’s perspective, Meng Yuan was completely hidden; not even a strand of hair was visible.

“Look up,” Lu Cong said.

Meng Yuan obediently looked up. Lu Cong’s gaze landed on his face, scanning from top to bottom. Then he said, “Why is your complexion still so poor?”

Meng Yuan was stunned, not expecting Lu Cong to mention that. His gaze flickered. “It’s just a massage, not some magic elixir,” he muttered, pinching his earlobe to brush it off.

Lu Cong looked at him for a long while before looking away. “Go back and eat.”

Meng Yuan followed him out. As they reached the door, Lu Cong suddenly stopped.

“By the way.”

Meng Yuan looked up. Lu Cong’s gaze lingered for a moment on Meng Yuan’s collarbone, where a trace of massage oil remained that hadn’t been rinsed off.

“Next time you feel unwell, don’t rush. It’s fine to take your time,” Lu Cong said. “It’s also fine to just tell me.”

That light sentence left Meng Yuan stunned on the spot. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Lu Cong had already turned and walked away.

It took several seconds for Meng Yuan to recover and catch up. Walking behind Lu Cong, he watched the man’s back and the hem of his shirt fluttering in the sea breeze.

This guy is way too sharp-eyed. Meng Yuan’s heart thumped.

…

The afternoon after the SPA, Meng Yuan spent almost the entire day paralyzed in his room. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go out. The sun was so bright, the water so blue, and the white sand on the beach looked like a layer of crushed sugar. It would have been so much fun to walk in the water with slippers.

But he just didn’t want to move. He had already walked in the water two nights ago, and Qin Qing had taken hundreds of photos of him. Meng Yuan had carefully selected nine for a grid post on his social media.

Within five minutes, it had been liked over a hundred times. His elder brothers and sisters were commenting one after another. If he hadn’t caught them red-handed the other night discussing how to get rid of him, he would have thought he was dreaming. He didn’t know what kind of “work” Lu Cong had done on them, but it felt eerie, so he quickly blocked them.

But the Eldest Sister didn’t appear. Thinking of this, Meng Yuan took out his phone again to check. She still hadn’t commented or liked the post. He pursed his lips and put the phone away.

Nestled in a lounge chair on the balcony with a thin blanket over him, Meng Yuan watched the sea for a while before a wave of intense fatigue hit him. He dozed off for a bit, and by the time he woke up, the sun was already sinking in the west.

Lu Cong had come by once in the middle of it, standing at the balcony door watching him. Meng Yuan had opened his eyes groggily, seeing the backlit silhouette. He couldn’t quite snap out of it and blinked slowly.

“Awake?” Lu Cong’s voice was faint. “What do you want to do tonight?”

Meng Yuan’s brain wasn’t fully conscious yet. He instinctively said, “Whatever you do, I’ll do…”

Lu Cong said nothing. He stood there for a few seconds, then turned and left. Meng Yuan lay back down, watching his back disappear behind the door, feeling a strange sensation he couldn’t quite name. He shook his head, too lazy to expend the mental energy.

Dinner was eaten in the room. Lu Cong had someone send it over all light and easy-to-digest things: fish fillet porridge, steamed egg custard, blanched bok choy, and a small pot of stewed soup.

Meng Yuan sat by the window eating slowly, watching the sunset dye the sea a shifting deep orange, like floating gold. He suddenly thought of his previous life. Back then, he almost never got sick; his body and spirit were like a string pulled to the absolute limit.

Occasionally, he’d endure a cold or fever. If he couldn’t push through, he’d buy some medicine, never spending an extra cent on medical care. He used to be proud of that. He never expected that the first time he entered a hospital for himself would be the day he died.

How could that not be destiny?

He finished his meal amidst these wandering thoughts and passed the night the same way.

…

The next morning, Qin Qing knocked on the door, saying there was a traditional Polynesian ceremony today and asked him to attend.

“What kind of ceremony?” Meng Yuan asked.

“A blessing ceremony,” Qin Qing explained with a smile. “Hosted by a local Maori elder, using traditional songs, dances, and prayers to bless newlywed couples. Most guests on their honeymoon participate.”

Newlywed… couple? Him and Lu Cong? He wasn’t sure; it felt a bit strange. He stole a glance at Lu Cong. Lu Cong was standing nearby, his expression faint, showing no emotion.

“We’re getting the marriage certificate once we return,” Lu Cong said. “The wedding banquet follows immediately. Consider this advance adaptation.”

Meng Yuan: “…Alright then.”

He’d participate. Since he was taking the man’s money, he had to do his job; Meng Yuan was a person with professional ethics.

The ceremony was held in a seaside square. By the time they arrived, many people were already there. This was a private island with a closed environment and few tourists; most people were local residents. A sacrificial altar was set up in the center of the square, solemn and decorated with flowers and fruit. Several locals in traditional dress stood by with instruments, their faces painted with patterns.

Meng Yuan found a spot to stand and waited for the ceremony to begin. Today’s sun was a bit harsh; it felt scorching on the skin, and before long, Meng Yuan broke into a thin sweat. He squinted, shading the light with his hand as he watched the locals begin to sing and dance.

The ceremony was very dignified. The singing was distant and low, as if coming from very far away, accompanied by the sound of the waves, creating an indescribable sense of sacredness.

As Meng Yuan listened, he suddenly felt dizzy. At first, it was just a little, like a small bird fluttering in his head. He ignored it and continued watching. But the bird fluttered harder and harder. Gradually, a buzzing started in his ears, his vision blurred, and the dancing figures became indistinct.

He blinked, trying to clear his head. It didn’t work. The tinnitus grew worse, the sun made his scalp feel numb, and his legs turned weak. Meng Yuan felt like he was sinking. He instinctively took a step forward, trying to find something to lean on.

But he found nothing. A hand reached out from the side, steadily grabbing his arm. Meng Yuan turned and saw Lu Cong’s face. That face was still expressionless, but his brow was slightly furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” Lu Cong studied Meng Yuan’s complexion.

With many people around, Meng Yuan wore a surgical mask, covering most of his face and leaving only his eyes visible. Lu Cong saw his drifting gaze and the fine sweat on his forehead and understood.

“Dizzy again?” he whispered.

Before Meng Yuan could figure out why the man said “again,” Lu Cong had already pulled his arm over, letting him lean against him. Meng Yuan instinctively dodged, trying to stand straight on his own.

“Don’t move,” Lu Cong’s voice was very low, audible only to him. “Just stay like this.”

They were surrounded by people. If they left now, they would have to push through a thick crowd. Meng Yuan calculated his physical state and felt he might faint from the crowding before he could get out. After a moment’s hesitation, he stopped moving.

He leaned against Lu Cong, feeling the hand move from his arm to his lower back, supporting him steadily. Lu Cong’s hands had always been steady and strong. Through the thin shirt, Meng Yuan could feel the warmth of his palm.

The ceremony continued. The songs and dances went on, everyone focused and devoutly watching; no one noticed them. With the sun beating down and the sea breeze blowing, Meng Yuan closed his eyes and breathed deeply to adjust. Eventually, the dizziness slowly receded. It didn’t vanish completely; he still felt a bit lightheaded, as if walking on clouds but with someone supporting him, he could at least stand steady without suddenly collapsing.

The ceremony didn’t last long. When it ended, Meng Yuan’s dizziness was mostly gone. Lu Cong led him out of the crowd. He stood up straight and whispered, “Thank you.”

Lu Cong didn’t speak. His hand stayed on Meng Yuan’s lower back for two extra seconds before slowly pulling away.

…

In the blink of an eye, the holiday came to an end. The next day, the group set off for home.

As they left the island, the entire service team gathered at the pier. A beautiful local girl placed a flower garland on each of them. Meng Yuan boarded the boat to the sound of singing.

Stepping onto the private jet again, the cabin had been adjusted according to Meng Yuan’s preferences: the lights were warmer, and several of his favorite cashmere blankets had been added to the sofa.

Meng Yuan had vomited heavily on the way there, so this time, half an hour before takeoff, Qin Qing had him take motion sickness medicine. Once on the plane, Meng Yuan sat down, becoming nervous even before takeoff. The experience from the trip here was so traumatic that just remembering it made his stomach hurt.

“Don’t be nervous,” Lu Cong said, as if seeing through his thoughts. “You’ve already taken the medicine. Relax, breathe deeply, and you’ll be there after a nap.”

“Okay.” Meng Yuan obediently took a few deep breaths, and his tensed nerves gradually relaxed.

During takeoff, Meng Yuan still felt a bit uncomfortable. His ears buzzed and his stomach flipped once. But a flight attendant soon came over, handed him a hot towel, and asked if he needed another pill. Meng Yuan shook his head, leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes to endure it.

After a while, a cup was handed to him. He opened his eyes and saw Lu Cong standing beside him.

“Warm water,” Lu Cong said. “Drink slowly.”

Meng Yuan took it and took a sip; it was indeed warm, not too hot, not too cold. He held the cup, sipping slowly, while Lu Cong stayed by his side, looking down to check his complexion.

“Still feeling bad?” he asked.

Meng Yuan shook his head, then nodded, whispering, “A little…”

Lu Cong reached out and touched Meng Yuan’s forehead with the back of his hand. It wasn’t hot.

“Lie down for a bit,” Lu Cong said. “The medicine should be kicking in soon.”

Meng Yuan nodded listlessly. “Aren’t you going to work?”

“I’ve finished the documents.”

Meng Yuan was a bit surprised; Lu Cong had clearly still been reading them on the boat just now. How could he be done so quickly? But he didn’t ask. He lay down, obediently covered himself with the blanket, and the medicine indeed took effect. Drowsiness washed over him, his eyelids grew heavy, and before long, he fell into a deep sleep.

…

The plane landed back home in the early morning. A business van was waiting on the tarmac. Meng Yuan was still sound asleep upon landing. This time, Lu Cong didn’t even attempt to wake him.

As if he had been “domesticated,” with an extremely practiced, even slightly weary expression, he directly carried Meng Yuan into the car. Meng Yuan slept the whole way in the car, only waking up sluggishly just before they reached their destination.

The car stopped. The morning sun filtered through the window, warm and bright. Meng Yuan squinted and enjoyed it for a moment. As his brain gradually cleared, he realized they weren’t in the home garage.

“Where are we?” he asked blankly.

Beside him, Lu Cong was no longer in the gray casual clothes he wore before takeoff; he had changed into a brand-new white shirt. Meng Yuan looked down and realized he was wearing one too. His brain felt like it had been punched; he couldn’t figure out the situation at all.

The car door opened, and Lu Cong stepped out first. The sunlight poured in, turning Lu Cong’s profile into a blurred, bright golden-orange. He propped his hand on the car door and reached out toward Meng Yuan:

“The Civil Affairs Bureau.”