Chapter 100: If You Hugged Me, I Wouldn’t Feel So Bad

“Bian Yang!”

She hurried over, the water from her shoes splashing onto her clothes.

At the sound of her voice, Bian Yang slowly lifted his head and saw the girl standing on tiptoe, struggling to raise her arm to hold the umbrella over him.

A flicker moved at the corner of his mouth. His face was bleak and forlorn, and he said nothing. Reaching out, he pulled her into his arms and bent his head to rest against the side of her neck.

Tang Yu’s brow tightened slightly. She tipped her face up, concern in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

In a low voice, he said, “Let me hold you for a while.” His jaw pressed more heavily against her.

As if all his strength had been drained away, he was searching for a support, his back even bowing down.

Tang Yu held the umbrella and let him hold her.

People hurried along the street; traffic streamed past without end. Now and then someone would stop and glance at them, then quickly lower their head and keep walking.

After a long while, she asked, “Can you tell me?”

The girl’s voice was like soft cotton candy, warm and sticky, slipping through his ears.

“I may not be able to help you with much,” she said gently, “but I’ll be a very good listener.”

For some reason, at this moment he longed so much for her voice, for her warmth.

Holding her like this, listening to her quiet, soothing words, the restless unease in his heart seemed to calm.

“Can we go back first, and talk there?”

Tang Yu freed one hand and softly stroked his back, again and again, the way her grandmother used to comfort her when she lay across her knees, as if giving him the same strength.

“I’ll take you back.”

The wind was blowing. Rain fell in a thin, steady patter, yet in her voice it all seemed to settle into peace.

Bian Yang gave a low “Mm,” and let her lead him by the hand as they walked back.

Tang Yu boiled ginger water. When she heard him come out of the bathroom, she immediately poured a cup and brought it over.

He hadn’t dried his hair; droplets soaked the collar of his shirt. Tang Yu told him to hold the cup, then went to the bathroom for a dry towel. Sitting on the sofa, she motioned for him to lower his head so she could dry his hair.

She was not very practiced at it, and soon his hair was a mess.

Bian Yang lifted his eyes from beneath the towel, his beautiful dark gaze fixed on her without moving.

After drying it for a while, Tang Yu went to switch the towel, but Bian Yang caught her wrist and pulled her into his arms.

“Tang Yu, a month before I came to Liang City, my mother died.”

His voice was rough and broken, as though it had cracked apart.

Her hand, still holding the towel, froze in the air.

Bian Yang rested his chin on her shoulder, speaking in a low, subdued voice that sounded smaller than usual.

His eyes were unfocused, staring at some distant point. He was not like his usual self at all.

“My mother was a wonderful person.”

“Very, very wonderful.”

“No matter what patient came to her for treatment, even if the fee wasn’t enough to cover the equipment loss and medical costs during surgery, when she saw those patients begging in pain, she would think of every possible way. Even if she had to pay out of her own pocket, even if she had to bear all the risk herself, she would insist on performing the operation personally.”

“She was the best mentor in the eyes of medical students, the youngest doctor in the school, the guardian angel of the patients, and the highly skilled director of the hospital...”

As he spoke, he let out a soft, bitter laugh. His smile was faintly helpless. “But she didn’t know that her son needed her just as much.”

“On my coming-of-age day, they said they would celebrate my birthday. I waited full of anticipation at the school gate, from daytime until night, then from night until dawn, and never once saw them. Only later did I learn that my mother had been delayed by an operation, and my father had gone abroad for an emergency meeting. Not a single one of them remembered my birthday...”

Listening to him, a pang of sourness surged up in Tang Yu’s nose.

Bian Yang’s tone remained calm. “After that, I was at odds with them for a very long time. I threw myself into all kinds of extreme sports, ran wild with a bunch of worthless friends in clubs everywhere, learned to smoke and drink. It was as if only excitement and corruption could fill the emptiness inside me. I tried to tell them in this childish way that even without them, I could still live carefree and happy...”

He gave a self-mocking laugh, his voice trembling slightly.

“During the week before my mother died, that was the last time I saw her.”

“She wasn’t as capable as you. She couldn’t make a whole table of delicious food. Her hands were born to hold a scalpel. They could move through human tissue as smoothly as flowing water, could find every blood vessel with absolute precision, but if she tried to cut a tomato, she could even cut her own hand... That day, to please me, she made scrambled eggs with tomatoes, and I overturned the table...”

His face buried deep into the hollow of her neck, trembling faintly.

“Later, her old illness flared up. She was kept in isolation at the hospital, and until the day she died, she still refused to see me...”

Outside, the storm raged on. Even with the lights on, the room remained dim and heavy.

A chill touched the side of Tang Yu’s neck. He was buried in the crook of her neck, his voice carrying a trace of choking emotion.

“I regret it so much. That was the last time I saw her.”

He held her waist tightly, as if drawing safety from her, clinging with all his strength.

Those cutting words from Bian Cheng lashed at his heart like a whip.

The dark emotions he had long kept hidden, at this moment, were like a needle piercing a swollen balloon: with a sharp bang, they all exploded.

“That old bastard wasn’t wrong. I can’t do anything right, arrogant and willful, so I’m just reaping what I sowed...”

A violent pain rose in his throat, and his voice tightened until he could hardly speak.

“I feel so awful, Tang Yu...”

Tang Yu could feel him shaking, an uncontrollable tremor.

She turned around and knelt on the sofa, reaching out without a word to hold him.

His face was buried at her waist; he did not want her to see how miserable he looked.

Tang Yu did not look. She raised a hand and carefully stroked his back, only to find it icy cold.

Only when his emotions gradually steadied did she speak.

“Bian Yang.”

The girl’s voice was very soft, very light.

Yet it was like a blade with a sheen of light, able to cut through this empty darkness with ease.

“No one can predict what will happen in the future. Even the person who is being roasted over the fire, even the most careful person, will sometimes make mistakes. Your mother’s death was not your fault... Maybe you were only meant to accompany each other this far, and no farther. That’s all.”

Bian Yang remained silent in the stillness.

He simply closed his eyes and held her, saying nothing.

Perhaps it was the heat, or something else, but Tang Yu felt the place where he was pressed against her was burning hot.

Tentatively, she lifted a hand to touch his forehead.

She was startled at once by the temperature. It was so high.

Tang Yu pushed him away. Bian Yang had little strength left, so he let her shove him onto the sofa. He lay back with his neck tilted, cold sweat seeping out from his forehead, his breathing deep and heavy.

“Bian Yang, you have a fever.”

She did not know how long he had been out in the rain, but the fever was this severe.

Kneeling on the carpet, she hurriedly rummaged through the medicine box.

She took out a thermometer and told him to hold it under his arm.

He must have been burning up, because he didn’t even lift his eyelids, let alone answer her.

Tang Yu bit her lip and stood there, hesitating for a while. After building up her courage, she pinched the thermometer with her slender white fingers and reached into his clothes. Now and then she brushed against his scorching skin, as if burned. Her wrist jerked upward at once.

“Bian Yang, hold it properly.”

She let out a small breath and quickly slipped the thermometer under the boy’s arm.

He gave an unconscious “Mm,” probably not even knowing what he was saying.

While he was measuring his temperature, Tang Yu soaked a towel, wrung it out, and laid it across his forehead.

Five minutes later, when she took out the thermometer, it had climbed to one hundred and three point six degrees Fahrenheit.

She insisted on taking him to the hospital for an IV, but Bian Yang absolutely refused to go.

Tang Yu had no choice but to feed him fever medicine with ginger tea, then help him into the bedroom to keep watch.

If his temperature kept rising, then no matter what, he would have to go to the hospital.

His body was very hot, his breathing rapid.

Tang Yu rolled up his sleeves and trouser legs, kept wiping the exposed skin with cool water, and took his temperature every half hour.

Fortunately, the medicine worked quickly, and his fever began to come down.

When Tang Yu was about to change the basin of water, Bian Yang shifted closer to her. “Where are you going?”

His eyelids felt heavy, too heavy to lift. Curling half his body, he caught her wrist and leaned into her in that position.

Tang Yu had no choice but to sit back down. “I’m changing the water.”

“Don’t change it. Just sit still.”

His voice was muffled.

Tang Yu pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. It was still hot, sweat continuing to bead up without stopping.

She wiped him with the towel. “Still feeling bad?”

“Mm. I do.” Bian Yang looked at her with a wronged expression. Even with the high fever, his face had gone pale.

“Hug me, and I won’t feel bad anymore.”

His voice was weak and hoarse.

Where was that fierce edge he had when fighting? He looked like a child asking for candy when he was sad.

Only then did Tang Yu remember that he was just one year older than her.

She would cry, she would hurt, and Bian Yang would too.

She put the towel back in the basin. In that awkward position, she did not know how to hold him.

So she took off her shoes, lay down beside him, braced herself mentally, and wrapped her arms around him as though he were a giant stuffed toy.

All she could smell in the breath between them was the boy’s cold, sharp scent, and now and then her body brushed his sweat-damp skin.

In truth, she still wasn’t used to it. In the end, she simply turned her back to him, closed her eyes, and did not move again.

Bian Yang’s hand slid around her waist from behind, and he rubbed his face against her lean back.

That scorching warmth settled on her neck, on her back.

Tang Yu’s body went taut like a drawn bow. All she could feel was how hard he was holding her, her own back pressed tightly against his chest. Gradually, his body heat rose, hot enough to be unbearable, as though he meant to melt her.

“Tang Yu.”

His voice was hoarse, so low it was almost impossible to hear.

Her lashes trembled slightly. Her reply was equally hoarse. “Mm?”

“Thank you.”

He said it.

Tang Yu’s pale fingers pinched the hem of her clothes. She blinked.

Before he fell asleep, he murmured so faintly it was nearly inaudible, “Don’t leave me like they did.”

“I won’t.”

She heard her own voice answer.