Shen Yuqing was taken through a series of twists and turns in the car before arriving at Wangchen Road. He stepped out, squinting slightly as he surveyed his surroundings.
Though the name “Wangchen Road” sounded pleasant, it was actually a notorious slum in Slinor, where theft, fraud, and gambling were rampant.
When he had tried to hail a cab to this destination, several drivers had refused his fare. The one who finally agreed only dropped him off at the entrance—Shen Yuqing had to walk the rest of the way himself.
With no other choice, he complied.
Stretching his limbs, he followed the map deeper into the area.
In a place like this, it was best to keep any flashy or valuable items out of sight. All Shen Yuqing carried now was his phone and some medicine he had bought at a pharmacy.
Fortunately, at this hour, most residents were either still asleep or out working, leaving only a few children playing in scattered groups during their break.
Number 98 was easy to find—it was near the end of the street.
Shen Yuqing tilted his head to look at the apartment building before him. Compared to the dilapidated structures he had passed along the way, this one was slightly better maintained.
[Which floor and unit is Song Wangzhuo in?] Shen Yuqing asked.
The system replied: [6109.] Sixth floor.
There was no elevator, only a narrow staircase.
Resigned, Shen Yuqing began the climb. Whether in his past life or this one, he had long grown accustomed to elevators. He hadn’t expected six flights of stairs to be this exhausting.
Finally, he found the door marked 6109—Song Wangzhuo was inside.
But now came the real dilemma.
What was he supposed to say?
Though he genuinely wanted to befriend Song Wangzhuo, his current persona showing up here was highly, highly inappropriate.
After a moment of thought, he asked: [Is there any way to keep him from recognizing me?]
Even with a mask and hat, he’d still be identifiable at close range.
The system scanned the interior and said: [Song Wangzhuo is barely conscious right now, Host. As long as you’re careful, he shouldn’t notice.]
[Really?] Shen Yuqing was skeptical.
The system replied: [If you’re still worried, I can blur your face for you.]
As a system, it had that capability—though it required a significant amount of energy. After doing so, it would likely need to hibernate for days. It was best avoided if possible.
The system couldn’t help but feel melancholic. Having once lived in abundance, this frugal existence was almost enough to make an electronic entity shed tears.
Only then did Shen Yuqing truly relax. With the system’s help, he easily unlocked the door and peered inside.
Song Wangzhuo’s home was small—just one bedroom, a living area, and a bathroom—but it was enough for him to live comfortably.
According to the system, even this tiny place cost around a thousand in rent per month.
Slinor truly was a land where every inch was worth its weight in gold. No wonder Song Wangzhuo worked so desperately—without that, he wouldn’t even have a roof over his head.
Shen Yuqing closed the door quietly, then pulled a mask from his pocket and put it on. Once fully prepared, he stepped toward the bedroom.
Pushing the door open just a crack, he saw Song Wangzhuo lying motionless on the bed.
One arm was draped over his eyes, as if shielding them from the light. Dressed in cotton sleepwear, he did indeed look the part of a delicate, ailing beauty.
Shen Yuqing walked over, took the thermometer gun from the bag, and pressed it against his forehead. 38.1°C—a high fever.
It made sense. After working nearly fifteen or sixteen hours straight, getting beaten up on the way home, and then facing the chilly morning wind—even an iron man would be worn down, let alone a human body.
Shen Yuqing raised an eyebrow slightly, his gaze lingering on the injuries on the other man’s face for a moment.
After glancing around, he first walked around the bed to pull the curtains halfway shut, dimming the light in the room immediately.
On the bed, Song Wangzhuo seemed to sense something and turned over uncomfortably, his back to the window, but didn’t wake.
He must really be in bad shape. Otherwise, given Song Wangzhuo’s dog-like alertness, he would’ve already jumped up to demand who was there.
Shen Yuqing studied him for a few seconds before stepping out to find a cup. He filled it with warm water, checked the medicine he’d brought, and had his system verify the dosage and instructions before returning to the bedroom.
He set the water on the nightstand, then crouched by the bed and nudged Song Wangzhuo. “Song Wangzhuo. Song Wangzhuo.”
Song Wangzhuo opened his eyes groggily, spotting the same person from earlier—the one wearing a hat who’d claimed to be his friend.
“Who… are you?” he mumbled, struggling to distinguish reality from dreams.
Instead of answering, Shen Yuqing said, “Let me help you up. You need to take your medicine.”
He straightened, reaching out to pull Song Wangzhuo up, but barely managed to budge him—nearly toppling forward and crushing him in the process.
Luckily, Shen Yuqing steadied himself quickly. He exhaled and repeated, “Song Wangzhuo, get up and take your medicine.”
Song Wangzhuo stirred again, this time processing the words more clearly. His head was burning, his thoughts sluggish, but at least he showed signs of trying to sit up.
Shen Yuqing helped him upright, then handed him the medicine and water.
Though fever-addled, Song Wangzhuo’s instincts remained intact. He swallowed the pills and drank the water, feeling slightly better almost immediately.
The warmth sliding down his throat brought a sliver of clarity.
The two were close enough that Song Wangzhuo instinctively wanted to release his pheromones, ready to suppress the other with his psychic energy at any moment—yet the man showed no reaction.
Watching him stand, Song Wangzhuo rasped, “Who are you?”
How had he gotten in? And why had he paid his bail?
A flood of questions swirled in Song Wangzhuo’s mind, waiting to be voiced.
But all he heard was a muffled reply: “I told you. Your friend.”
Friend?
Since when did he have friends like this?
Yet the tone did sound vaguely familiar, as if he’d heard it not long ago.
But the man’s mask made it hard to place.
“Let me see your face,” Song Wangzhuo demanded.
The self-proclaimed friend only said hurriedly, “Get some more rest.”
He left the bedroom. Song Wangzhuo wanted to chase after him, but his head was spinning too badly.
This cold had hit him hard, and after barely eating for two days, his body had reached its limit.
Weakly, Song Wangzhuo collapsed back onto the bed. He fought to stay awake, but his eyelids grew heavier until, eventually, they shut.
Shen Yuqing returned to the living room and waited for a while, but heard no movement from inside. Glancing over, he realized Song Wangzhuo had fallen unconscious again.
He let out a sigh and was about to leave when his eyes landed on the bag placed on the table—the one he’d given Song Wangzhuo that morning.
Picking it up, Shen Yuqing checked its contents. The bread and phone were still inside, though the milk had been drunk.
The system remarked: 【He only drank one carton of milk.】
Its male lead!!!!
Poor little thing!!!!
Shen Yuqing set the bag down, intending to leave, but ultimately walked into the kitchen instead. Whatever.
In for a penny, in for a pound. Since he was already here…
Rolling up his sleeves, he cooked a pot of plain congee for Song Wangzhuo, then rummaged through the kitchen to find some greens, swiftly preparing a simple brunch.
Even if it went cold, Song Wangzhuo could just reheat it when he woke up.
The system fawned: 【Host, you’re as handsome as you are kind! You’re the light of humanity!】
Shen Yuqing scoffed. The light of humanity?
Yeah, right. Not a chance.
When Song Wangzhuo woke again, he felt the strength that had drained from his body gradually returning.
Getting up, he instinctively glanced at the curtains. They were half-drawn, and through the open half, only the fading glow of sunset remained.
Had he closed the curtains before sleeping?
Song Wangzhuo couldn’t quite remember.
His stomach ached faintly, so he got up, planning to hastily boil some noodles to make do. But when he reached the kitchen, he found a pot of congee on the stove and a plate covering something on the counter.
Frowning, Song Wangzhuo lifted the plate with his slender, well-defined fingers—revealing a dish of vibrant green vegetables beneath.
Someone had cooked for him.
