The Sickly Double Doesn't Want to Be Spoiled - Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Meng Yuan had deleted him.

Lu Cong stared at the prompt on his phone screen, reading it word by word several times. Eventually, he confirmed that he hadn’t misunderstood and wasn’t suffering a mental breakdown.

Meng Yuan had indeed deleted him.

He looked up dazed, glancing back; the car had already driven far away from the villa. The flickering, pointed lights on the roof drifted like Meng Yuan’s departing silhouette, causing a sudden surge of annoyance to flare up in Lu Cong’s heart.

This guy must be crazy, Lu Cong concluded.

Then, quite suddenly, as if thinking of something, his expression shifted subtly.

…

The moment he entered the house, Meng Yuan collapsed onto the sofa.

His head was spinning; the world was a dizzying, whirling mess. Closing his eyes, he felt himself spinning even faster. Waves of nausea rose in his chest, and cold sweat broke out across his back. He didn’t know if this was a side effect of the medicine or if he was just exhausted from the outing or perhaps he had eaten something unclean.

Probably not; that restaurant tonight looked very high-end and classy.

His thoughts scattered and chaotic, Meng Yuan curled up, hugging himself tightly. He felt both hot and cold, his teeth chattering. Suddenly, a weight settled over him as he was wrapped in a furry blanket. The chill dissipated, but his stomach remained knotted.

Meng Yuan forced his eyes open to see Qin Qing’s anxious face.

“What’s wrong, Xiao Yuan? Are you unwell? Why is your face so pale?”

“It’s nothing…” Meng Yuan shook his head, his voice barely audible. “Just a bit tired.”

However, this excuse held zero conviction against his ghostly complexion. Qin Qing helped him up, reaching out to check his temperature, but only felt a handful of cold sweat.

“I’ll go get the thermometer.”

Her expression turned serious. She stood up to run toward the storage room, but after just two steps, she heard footsteps in the hallway.

Lu Cong walked in.

His excessively tall stature brought a natural pressure, his shadow stretching long under the lights. He looked to be in a foul mood.

Qin Qing was startled: “Mr. Lu?”

Lu Cong gave a slight nod, ignoring her surprised gaze. He reached into his pocket and felt the small pill bottle. Just as he was about to speak, his peripheral vision caught Meng Yuan nearby.

The fellow was slumped crookedly on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, revealing a deathly pale face.

It was indeed a bit pitiable if he hadn’t shot Lu Cong a “look like he’d seen a ghost” followed by a roll of his eyes the second they made eye contact.

Lu Cong was so angry he laughed.

He changed his mind. Rather than having Qin Qing pass it on, it might be more interesting to hand it to Meng Yuan himself. He walked toward the sofa at an unhurried pace, watching as the youth buried his head again like a quail.

“Weren’t you just rolling your eyes at me?” He stood before Meng Yuan, looking down with composed interest at the boy’s soft hair. “What’s the meaning of this now? Refusing to communicate?”

“I am not!” Meng Yuan looked up.

Lu Cong raised an eyebrow slightly. His face was cold when expressionless, and the stare made Meng Yuan’s eyes retreat again.

Meng Yuan truly felt like he’d seen a ghost.

The third time. This was the third time Lu Cong had appeared.

He wasn’t supposed to show up! If he kept appearing like this, haunting him like a lingering spirit, how was the “stand-in” supposed to wallow in self-pity, die early, and escape the late-stage love triangle melodrama? Meng Yuan really had no confidence in his acting skills.

“You…” He summoned his courage. “Why did you come here?”

Lu Cong stared at him for a while, realized the person genuinely didn’t remember what he’d dropped, and sighed. Forget it, maybe being sick affects memory too.

He pulled out the pill bottle and dropped it in front of Meng Yuan.

Meng Yuan stared, stunned for a moment, and then felt his high-strung heart drop back into place.

So he was just returning the medicine. He’d dropped it in the car.

It was his own fault. If he hadn’t been so scatterbrained, Lu Cong wouldn’t have appeared this time. Lu Cong hadn’t intended to show up at all! This was just an accident.

Meng Yuan felt relieved; a sense of stability returned as the world-line seemed to snap back to its proper place. He took the bottle from Lu Cong’s palm. “Thank you.”

After waiting a moment, the person in front of him didn’t move. Meng Yuan looked up at him again.

Not leaving?

Lu Cong had one hand in his pocket while the other hung casually at his side. Meng Yuan’s eyes landed on the prominent veins on the back of his hand. This hand had gripped his chin more than once; once caught, he could never move. Meng Yuan felt a faint dread in his heart.

“Why did you delete me?” Lu Cong suddenly spoke.

Meng Yuan didn’t understand for a second: “What?”

“When did you delete me?”

Meng Yuan’s brain was a mess. He was actually feeling quite unwell; his heart was racing, he was alternating between hot and cold, his stomach hurt, and he wanted to vomit. He couldn’t process these nonsensical questions.

Wait…

A spark flashed in Meng Yuan’s mind. He had only deleted one person lately the account Song Zhen claimed was stolen by a scammer.

Now Lu Cong was saying he’d been deleted. What did that mean?

It meant Lu Cong had hacked Song Zhen’s account. Pah. It meant Lu Cong was the scammer. Pah!

It meant… he had messed up.

Meng Yuan thought woozily. He’d completely bungled it. From the start, he’d mistaken Lu Cong for an assistant. But what about Song Zhen? Had the original owner not added Song Zhen?

…The young master’s note for Lu Cong was “Annoying Henchman,” so the henchman’s assistant… was probably deleted long ago.

Meng Yuan looked at Lu Cong tremulously.

“That…” He panted heavily. Though he wasn’t moving, he felt short of breath as if he’d run a marathon, sweat beading on his forehead. “That, give me a moment to explain…”

He needed time to make something up.

“No rush,” Lu Cong said.

He seemed extraordinarily patient, looking as though he wouldn’t leave until he got an answer. “Take your time. I’ll wait.”

Meng Yuan closed his eyes, feeling like he was doomed. Although he felt wronged he was a transmigrator who knew nothing on day one mistaking an account with no clear nickname was understandable.

But Lu Cong wouldn’t think that. From Lu Cong’s perspective, this fact was incomprehensible and inexcusable.

…Could he still spin this?

The other man’s heavy, overly calm gaze was pinned on him. Meng Yuan’s scalp tingled with numbness.

“Mute again?” Lu Cong sounded like he was smiling. He hooked Meng Yuan’s chin once more, forcing their gazes to meet. “When Meng Yuan and I added each other, even if it wasn’t face-to-face, we clearly knew who the other was.”

Lu Cong observed Meng Yuan’s expression. Meng Yuan had zero ability to hide his emotions. Very quickly, Lu Cong read through his panicked look:

“But you didn’t know?”

His tone was casual, but it nearly made Meng Yuan’s scalp explode. Meng Yuan could hear his own chaotic heartbeat.

“You didn’t know this account was mine, and you even mistook me for Song Zhen?” Lu Cong’s voice took on a hint of interest, as if he’d finally excavated a new variable in an otherwise boring life.

“Absurd, isn’t it?” The corners of his mouth curled into a slight smile, a hidden excitement within his interrogation. “Are you going to tell me your memory is faulty? Or—”

“I wanted to get your attention,” Meng Yuan interrupted.

Lu Cong: “…?”

“I wanted to get your attention,” Meng Yuan repeated.

Lu Cong stopped abruptly. His head tilted a tiny fraction, like a program suddenly lagging, as he looked at Meng Yuan with a frown.

Meng Yuan swallowed twice. He used both hands to grip Lu Cong’s hand that was holding his chin and carefully, tentatively, pulled it away.

Perhaps because he was too tense, he didn’t realize how terrible his physical condition was; his palms were covered in a thick, cold sweat, and his lips were trembling slightly.

“See,” he forced a tiny smile. “Aren’t you curious about me now?”

Lu Cong didn’t speak. He only noticed that where he had gripped Meng Yuan’s face, a red mark had appeared.