She was still coughing badly.
Fu Chi paused for a second, then slowly shook her head. Her voice was soft and hoarse: “No need, Sister Xiao Chu. My throat’s just a little dry—water will help.” She reached for the glass on the nightstand. The warmth beneath her fingers was slightly above body temperature. Her pale lips touched the rim.
She drank slowly. The cup held less than 200ml, yet it took her nearly three minutes to finish it.
When she set it down, she saw Pei Lingchu’s pale palm raised before her, holding a single amber-colored pear lozenge, wrapped in clear plastic.
“For you.”
Pei Lingchu’s voice was quiet, her gaze deep and fixed wholly on Fu Chi. In her other hand was a small metal tin filled with more of the same candies.
Fu Chi froze for a moment, then asked knowingly, “Mm… Aunt Gu made these?” Her trembling fingers carefully pinched the candy without brushing against the soft skin of Pei Lingchu’s hand. Her gaze drifted toward the tin.
Pei Lingchu’s eyes followed her slender fingers, her tongue quietly sweeping along the inside of her molars. “Mm, I left a few in the room so you wouldn’t have to go downstairs every time.”
“But didn’t Aunt say—” Fu Chi began, only to be gently interrupted.
“It’s fine. Mother won’t find out.”
Fu Chi was a little surprised by her tone; something inside her shifted. She raised her eyes, obedient and warm, gazing up with a slight sparkle. She nodded. “Okay.”
Listen to Sister Xiao Chu.
Pei Lingchu hadn’t expected her to be so docile. Her earlier annoyance at Fu Chi deliberately avoiding the warmth of her hand faded without a trace. Meeting those clear, unguarded eyes, her heart suddenly skipped two beats. Without warning, she found herself drawn in, as if she could drown in those quiet seas.
“Xiao Chu-jie.”
Fu Chi’s voice snapped her back from the water’s edge. Realizing she’d been staring, Pei Lingchu blinked quickly, a bit flustered. “Aunt Xu called earlier—said she and Mother are staying at the office tonight.”
She paused briefly before continuing, “And Xiao Jin’s over at a friend’s. It’ll just be the two of us tonight.”
Just the two of us…
Fu Chi sat still on the bed, her gaze shifting ever so slightly.
Those four words rolled around the base of her tongue before sinking into her belly. She said nothing, only looked intently at the person speaking.
In the depths of her eyes, emotions stirred.
Pei Lingchu spoke gently, “I made some millet porridge. Do you feel up to eating? I could bring it here for you.”
Fu Chi blinked twice, and after a moment of silence, said, “Sister Xiao Chu, let’s go downstairs to eat.”
Pei Lingchu nodded, took a jacket from the wardrobe, and laid it on the bed, then picked up the empty cup and headed toward the door. “I’ll go down first. Don’t forget your coat.”
Left alone again, Fu Chi got up slowly. Her legs were still shaky. She slipped on a white cotton long-sleeved shirt over her sleepwear. Her hair was trapped under the collar—she forgot to pull it out. Her head hung low, like a dog with drooping ears. Her soft voice rose into the air: “Since when did you learn to cook?”
When she got downstairs, she saw that Pei Lingchu had already set the table—millet porridge served, chopsticks placed neatly. She sat in her usual spot, waiting.
Still in the same linen outfit from the morning, Pei Lingchu looked immaculate, her hair smooth and undisturbed. She held a familiar green vegetable juice and half an ear of corn in her hands.
Fu Chi’s mood lifted again.
Though her legs still trembled slightly, her steps lightened. She sat beside Pei Lingchu, ignoring the odd smell in the air, stirring the dark porridge slowly, poking a black lump in the middle—it sank, then floated back up.
The Pei household didn’t keep many staff. Pei Yan disliked noise, so no maids lived in. They came and left on schedule. By 6 PM, everyone was gone—unless summoned. The only exception was the housekeeper.
Because the housekeeper was one of their own.
Now, it was past eight. Only the two of them remained in the house.
Pei Lingchu glanced sideways—Fu Chi was only stirring the nearly burnt porridge. Her long hair veiled half her face, her expression unreadable.
Not eating, huh.
Pei Lingchu lowered her wrist, ate two kernels of corn—no, just one-and then gave up, placing it back on the plate. She turned her head away from Fu Chi, the curve of her neck graceful, her jawline sharp and clean.
Forget it. Next time, better let Auntie handle it.
That thought calmed her expression, but her fingers tightened around the glass. She didn’t want to eat the corn anymore.
Her emotions gathered, scattered, gathered again—like two forces tugging at her from opposite ends, one trying to lift her, the other dragging her down.
Her thumb kept rubbing along her knuckle.
So frustrating…
She’d only gone upstairs for a moment, and when she came down, the porridge had burnt.
Just as she was about to tell Fu Chi not to eat it—
A soft, clear voice broke through, like the first warm ray of sunlight after a snowy day, instantly easing her mood.
“It’s delicious, Sister Xiao Chu. Is there more? I haven’t eaten all day.” Fu Chi’s tone carried a subtle hint of affection. She pushed her bowl toward her, not minding the slight scraping sound of ceramic on wood.
It took Pei Lingchu two seconds to move her shoulders, slowly turning her head back. Her brows softened. She glanced at the empty bowl. “There’s more in the pot.”
That fuzzy mess in her chest felt like it had been gently brushed by wind—its tangled strands slowly unwinding.
“Then I’ll go get another bowl.” Fu Chi stood up quickly with the porcelain bowl in hand, heading toward the kitchen before Pei Lingchu could stop her.
Standing at the counter under dim light, Fu Chi ladled the scorched porridge into her bowl. There were charred vegetable leaves in the trash.
Her lips quietly curved into a smile.
After sleeping the whole day, Fu Chi had barely finished dinner when she was firmly ordered to go back to sleep.
“I’m not sleepy.”
She sat upright on the bed, wide-eyed and blinking innocently, her clear eyes fixed on Pei Lingchu, who held several packets of medicine in her hands. With a small tug at her collar, Fu Chi wrinkled her nose and added with a touch of complaint, “Xiao Chu-jie, I want to take a shower.”
She’d been sweating all over—she was starting to feel gross.
But, as expected, Pei Lingchu refused without hesitation.
“No. You just recovered from a fever.” She set the medicine down by the bed along with a thermos of warm water.
“Take these, then rest. You don’t have to do the house check tonight.”
So… was Xiao Chu-jie planning to do it in her place?
And how did she even know about the nightly walkthrough?
Fu Chi lowered her eyes, but under the blanket, her fingertips gave a small, gleeful wiggle.
She was the housekeeper—yet now it felt like they had switched roles. Pei Lingchu had been looking after her all day.
Just like… the way things used to be.
At that thought, a light flickered in her eyes—only to fade just as quickly. Even her fingertips, as if infected by the weight of memory, slowly stilled.
Fu Chi suddenly reached out. She meant to hold her hand… but in the end, the hand quietly came to rest atop the blanket.
“Xiao Chu-jie, you should go rest too. You’ve been taking care of me all day… really, it should’ve been the other way around.”
Pei Lingchu glanced at her hand, then calmly pressed down the edge of the blanket. She looked at Fu Chi seriously and said,
“No need to take care of me. I’ll speak with Mother—she should start looking for the next housekeeper.”
Fu Chi froze.
Did Pei Lingchu really not want her to stay on as housekeeper? Why did she have to keep bringing it up?
She wasn’t leaving.
Her lowered hand quickly grabbed hold of the edge of the blanket. Her voice tightened slightly,
“Xiao Chu-jie, I probably won’t get a fever again tonight. But if I do, I’ll just take medicine.”
Pei Lingchu nodded, just about to respond, when a sudden fit of coughing interrupted her.
Cough, cough… cough cough cough…
The coughing came hard and fast. Fu Chi’s fingers clenched tight around the hem of her shirt, then released. She curled inward, a hand pressed to her mouth as her body shook with the effort. Her forehead was already flushed red, a fine network of veins rising beneath the skin.
Her blue eyes could only stay hidden behind tightly shut lids, brows deeply furrowed in pain.
Pei Lingchu couldn’t do much for the fit, so she gently rubbed her back, again and again, hoping to ease her discomfort even just a little.
“Xiao Chi, drink some water.”
The coughing finally passed. Fu Chi slumped weakly against the headboard, barely lifting her eyelids as she reached for the water. She took a small sip, then grabbed the two packets of medicine Pei Lingchu handed her, tossing them straight into her mouth and downing them with two big gulps of water.
There wasn’t a single pale spot left on her neck—everything had been scratched red.
She took two more packets and swallowed them the same way.
Her throat still burned unbearably when Pei Lingchu suddenly said softly,
“I’ll stay in the room with you tonight.”
At those words, Fu Chi’s lashes fluttered twice—and the corner of her eyes curved slightly, just barely.
—
“Xiao Chu-jie, you should still go back to your room. If I get you sick, there’ll be two patients tomorrow,” Fu Chi said with exaggerated seriousness.
Pei Lingchu paused as she was laying out the bedding. Her face stayed calm, but her emotions rippled faintly underneath.
A moment passed before she replied, “It’s alright. I won’t get sick.”
Her frustration was neatly tucked inside her even voice.
“…Okay then.”
Fu Chi kept her eyes on her, never once looking away. In those pale blue irises, every one of Pei Lingchu’s movements reflected like glass—her figure soft and elegant, never more than two meters away.
Fu Chi unconsciously licked the corner of her lips.
Pei Lingchu had come after taking a shower. Her hair was soft and still a bit damp at the tips, some strands clinging together as they slid off her shoulder when she bent forward. The white satin nightgown hung loose on her frame, the collar falling open to reveal a wide swath of pale skin…
Fu Chi quickly averted her gaze, her ears turning a suspicious shade of red. Something occurred to her, and she muttered quietly under her breath,
“They’re pants…”
In the end, Pei Lingchu still lay down on the sofa.
