After a night of drunkenness, I woke up predictably with a splitting headache, stomach cramps, and feeling weak. I pressed my temples and opened my eyes; the first thing I saw was the tightly closed light green curtains. Only Ye Zhengchen’s room had those curtains. I remembered when his hand was injured, and I pulled them open, letting the afternoon sun shine in.
He pulled the curtains back, sealing them completely. I asked why.
“I’m used to it,” he said.
“Used to not seeing light?”
He laughed, his seductive smile making my heart race. “Used to doing things that can’t see the light of day.”
If his hand wasn’t injured, I might have been scared enough to flee. At that time, I never thought I would wake up in his room.
I saw Ye Zhengchen sitting in front of the computer, concentrating on Japanese materials. His right hand was on the mouse, tapping his fingers rhythmically. I sat up, trying not to disturb him.
Since April, Professor Tanaka had been putting a lot of pressure on him with clinical internships, reviewing materials, and publishing papers. He never complained, completing every task assigned to him perfectly, but I knew he was exhausted.
I pulled the blanket, and the slight sound startled Ye Zhengchen.
“You’re awake,” he said, bringing half a cup of clear tea from the desk to my bedside and checking my forehead. “Headache? Feeling uncomfortable anywhere?”
I pulled the blanket higher. “My whole body hurts.”
“Drink this,” he said, bringing the tea to my mouth. I took a sip; it was bitter and sour.
With my years of medical experience, this wasn’t ordinary tea. “Is this medicine?” “Yes, to relieve hangover and pain. Be good, drink it all.” He coaxed me softly like a child, almost drowning me in gentleness. I gritted my teeth and gulped it down. Being his patient, I’d even drink poison, let alone bitter medicine.
