Pei Wenjin angrily swatted away the hand reaching out to her, eyes wide with fury, blood rushing to her head.
“Aunt Xu, how can you stand living your whole life under Mom’s control? Every little thing has to follow her rules! My sister wants to be a model, and she still has to negotiate with her. She comes back from overseas, and she’s forced to live at home, then once her five years are up, she has to take over the company. Fu Chi even chose finance just because Mom told her to. And me? I want to paint, but even that’s restricted! Why do all of you just go along with what Mom says? Why?!”
“This isn’t freedom at all!” she shouted, turned around with her easel, and stormed back up to the attic. The door slammed into the wall with a loud bang before shutting hard behind her.
The atmosphere in the dining room didn’t ease with her departure. Fu Chi glanced at Pei Lingchu, then lowered her gaze again. Her emotions were unreadable as she stood up to help Pei Xu clear the table. Meanwhile, Pei Yanhuai rubbed at her temples, inhaled deeply, and let out a heavy sigh.
Even by the time Pei Yanhui and Pei Xu left for the company, Pei Wenjin still hadn’t come downstairs. But before Dr. Gu could arrive, Fu Chi had already started running a fever.
Knock knock knock.
“Who is it?” Pei Wenjin shouted, clearly annoyed, tossing her water brush aside.
“It’s me.”
Still wearing a scowl, she opened the door begrudgingly—until she spotted the piggy buns in Pei Lingchu’s hands. Her mood flipped instantly. Smiling brightly, she chirped, “Sister, you brought me breakfast? Come in, come in!”
Pei Lingchu raised her hand and shook her head. “Mom and Aunt Xu have already left for the company. You can come down to eat. I won’t come in. Chi is running a fever. I need to go check on her.”
“Huh? Fu Chi has a fever again? I’ll go see her.” She bit into a piggy bun and made to run out, only for Pei Lingchu to block her path.
“She needs rest. Aunt Gu will be here soon. Don’t go in and bother her.”
“I won’t!” Pei Wenjin protested loudly, her round eyes bright and mischievous, glancing side to side like she was hatching a plan.
Her voice was too loud.
Pei Lingchu’s ears twitched slightly. She spoke softly but firmly, “Wenjin, Mom said you’re not allowed to go out to paint for the next few days. I’m supposed to keep an eye on your studies. If you don’t cooperate, she’ll freeze all your cards.”
Pei Wenjin pouted. “Ugh, seriously… why…”
She opened her mouth to start another outburst, but Pei Lingchu shoved a piggy bun into her mouth to shut her up. “Keep your voice down. Eat your breakfast. If you want to sneak out, do it when Mom’s not home. Don’t cause a scene like you did this morning.”
On her way downstairs, Pei Lingchu caught sight of the bright mess of colors all over Pei Wenjin’s clothes and couldn’t hold back. “Wenjin, when you’re painting… maybe you could wear something a bit more—” But halfway through, she stopped herself. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked away, flustered.
“Huh? What were you saying, Sister?”
“Nothing. I’m going to check on Chi,” she replied, rubbing her earlobe as she turned to head up to the third floor, her eyes dimming slightly.
She gently pushed open Fu Chi’s bedroom door. Dr. Gu was already there, stethoscope in hand, though Fu Chi was gripping the other end.
“Aunt Gu,” Pei Lingchu greeted, walking over without ever taking her eyes off the girl in bed. Fu Chi’s face was flushed red from the fever, but her lips were pale and slightly parted, devoid of color. Her breath seemed to burn the air itself.
“Lingchu, you’re home,” Gu Ximan nodded. “I was just about to listen to Chi’s chest. Was it the rain last night? Her fever seems pretty bad.”
“She got caught in the rain last night.”
Pei Lingchu’s voice was faint, uneasy, and her fingers pressed tightly into her palm, brimming with regret. If only she had pulled the car into the garage last night… Fu Chi wouldn’t have had to come out to meet her… wouldn’t have gotten sick…
“Getting soaked in the rain is never good… Lingchu, can you help me? Chi doesn’t have the strength right now—she’s burning up and barely conscious.” Dr. Gu nodded toward the stethoscope in Fu Chi’s grip.
Pei Lingchu snapped out of her thoughts, followed the gaze, and after a few seconds of silence, whispered, “I’ll do it.”
She sat by the bed, her left arm propping herself up, the other hand reaching under the blanket. As soon as she touched Fu Chi’s burning skin, the girl’s body trembled violently, muscles tensing. Her flushed cheeks drained of color as she began to thrash weakly.
“No, don’t…”
“Don’t touch me… go away…”
The fevered breath scalded Pei Lingchu’s wrist. Seeing her struggle like that, Lingchu’s eyes reddened involuntarily. She gripped Fu Chi’s burning hand under the blanket and leaned in close, whispering softly, “Chi, it’s me. It’s your sister. No one else.”
“It’s just me. You’re safe. Don’t be scared.”
The struggle ceased. Fu Chi blinked slowly, vision blurry and white, unable to make anything out. But the scent at her nose was familiar, comforting—just like it was fifteen years ago.
Her fingers released the stethoscope and offered it willingly to Pei Lingchu’s hand.
“…Sister Lingchu…”
She murmured in a daze before drifting into a deep, fevered sleep.
If it was Pei Lingchu… then anything was okay.
Pei Lingchu rebuttoned Fu Chi’s shirt. Just as she was about to withdraw her hand from under the blanket, a scorching fingertip lightly hooked onto hers. Her heart gave a small jolt, but she didn’t pull away. Her gaze softened. “Aunt Gu, how is she doing?”
Gu Ximan let out a slow breath, her usual sternness melting away. Removing the stethoscope from her ears, she offered a faint smile. “No signs of lung inflammation, so nothing too alarming. But considering her condition, she’ll still need an IV. Help me with the injection, will you? I really don’t dare touch her when she’s like this.”
“Okay. I’ll go wash my hands.” Pei Lingchu looked down at the flushed girl and gently coaxed, “Chi, I’m going to wash my hands—let go for a moment.”
This time, her hand came free without trouble.
In the bathroom, she lathered soap between her palms. Her left hand still radiated heat, stark against her cool right hand. Her eyes were distant, clearly lost in thought.
Ever since Chi started middle school, and she left for university abroad, they hadn’t talked as often. In the beginning, Chi would still call regularly, but over time, the calls became fewer—maybe because of school, maybe because of their mother’s rules about phone time. They stayed in touch during holidays, but this time, coming home, she could tell Chi had changed. She wasn’t as clingy, didn’t trail behind her anymore. She even seemed to avoid her touch…
Pei Lingchu sighed softly. After all, ten years had passed.
She pressed her fingers under cold water, trying to shake the lingering warmth. When she returned, hands freshly sanitized, she disinfected Fu Chi’s hand and took the needle Dr. Gu had prepared.
“Aunt Gu, has Chi always had fevers these past few years?” she asked seriously, head lowered as she carefully held Fu Chi’s hand. The girl’s skin, hot and pink at the tips, was pale overall—so pale that blue veins ran clearly across her hand.
She was thin, with long limbs, poor digestion, and barely putting on weight. The only thing that grew over the years was her height.
A bead of IV fluid trembled at the needle’s tip as Pei Lingchu pushed it into a vein. As the blood rose, she adjusted the flow and secured the needle with tape.
“Yes. Every time there’s a flu outbreak, she catches it. Changes in season bring coughs and fevers too,” Gu Ximan replied while packing up. Glancing at the emotion in Pei Lingchu’s eyes, her tone softened. “But don’t worry too much. Her body is stronger than before. She takes her meds daily and trains with Xu. Her overall condition is good—just a bit weak on immunity.”
“I’ll head out now. Keep an eye on the drip. If she spikes a fever again tonight, just give her medicine. If it’s still bad tomorrow, call me.”
As she lifted her medicine box and turned to leave, Gu Ximan hesitated, brows furrowing slightly. She asked in a lower voice, “Yan Hui took Xu to the company today?”
Pei Lingchu nodded. “Yes.”
Once she left, only the two of them remained.
The pale curtain glowed with sunlight, casting soft window patterns into the room.
Pei Lingchu stood quietly for a while, checked the IV, tucked the blanket around Chi, then stepped out.
Moments later, she returned with a book, sat gracefully beside the bed. The sunlight poured in, calm and gentle.
The golden tangerine light outside the window had almost completely melted into the night. The sky turned a pure, deep blue—a color that carried a quiet sadness.
When Fu Chi woke again, she noticed only a small bandage on the back of her hand. At some point, Pei Lingchu must have removed the IV.
She pushed herself up with a weak body. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a glass of water placed neatly on the nightstand. Just as the corners of her lips began to lift at the thought, a sudden tickle crept up her throat. Her expression shifted. Instinctively, she raised her arm to cover her mouth just as a violent wave of coughs erupted from her chest.
“Cough—cough, cough-cough…”
The sound of coughing echoed through the room, relentless and raw, as if it might tear her lungs apart.
She cupped her palm over the lower half of her face, shoulders hunched low, trembling with each spasm. It went on for nearly a minute before it finally eased.
Fu Chi clutched the collar of her loungewear tightly. Her eyes were rimmed with a watery sheen. She swallowed carefully, trying to breathe slowly—afraid that even a single sharp inhale would provoke another storm in her throat.
“Xiao Chi.”
A knock came from the door.
Fu Chi parted her lips, quickly brushing the corners of her eyes with a trembling hand. She lowered her gaze and rasped out weakly, her voice hoarse and frayed, “Come in.”
Only then did Pei Lingchu step inside. Seeing Fu Chi’s face—once pale and calm—now flushed again from coughing, her eyes filled with worry. Her brows furrowed as she asked softly, “Xiao Chi, do you want me to call Aunt Gu back over?”
