Fu Shen suppressed his laughter, with a face that said, “Since you’re asking me to, I’ll reluctantly comfort you”: “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have told you to roll away. You’re a big man, don’t take it to heart, okay?”
Yan Xiaohan stared at him, staring until Fu Shen’s goosebumps rose, and he steeled himself to meet his gaze. After a moment, Yan Xiaohan suddenly turned away and burst out laughing.
Fu Shen secretly breathed a sigh of relief, raised his hand to touch his slightly burning ear, and thought inexplicably: “Am I sick? Why don’t I just let him be angry?”
Yan Xiaohan took a while to stop laughing. Fu Shen’s previously feigned tenderness had completely disappeared, glancing at him coolly: “Are you done throwing a tantrum?”
Yan Xiaohan cupped his hands: “Okay. Thank you, my lord, for your consideration.”
Fu Shen snorted and turned his wheelchair towards the door: “How old are you? Aren’t you embarrassed?”
That night, the two who had made up again gathered in the bedroom.
There was nothing serious; it had become a habit for Yan Xiaohan to check on him before sleeping. In recent days, Fu Shen’s changing, bathing, entering, sitting, and lying down were all personally handled by Yan Xiaohan, except for taking medicine. Since he wasn’t in the mansion during the day, after the first few days, he hadn’t personally supervised it. A quarter of an hour before bed, a maid brought medicine. Yan Xiaohan happened to be sent to the study by Fu Shen to find a book. When he returned, Fu Shen was leaning on the bed, and the medicine bowl on the table was already empty.
Yan Xiaohan always felt something was wrong. He handed the book to Fu Shen and looked suspiciously at the medicine bowl. Fu Shen noticed his gaze and casually asked: “What are you looking at?”
Yan Xiaohan turned his face, his gaze like a dragonfly touching water, sweeping past Fu Shen’s face.
“Something’s not right.”
Fu Shen: “Hmm?”
Yan Xiaohan asked: “Did you drink the medicine?”
Fu Shen: “Yes.” He pointed: “The bowl is right there.”
