Chapter 7

Wen Ling repeated several times that she felt no discomfort before Qiao Hongyun returned to the next room, and she also reminded her to speak up if anything felt uncomfortable.

Wen Ling now only felt exhausted, and after giving a brief reply she went back to her room.

The next day Wen Ling felt as if she were being pressed down by a ghost, her forehead scorching, the relentless cough and sore aches all over her body reminding her.

She had actually caught a cold.

In a daze she fumbled for her phone, intending to call Qiao Hongyun, but her mind slipped and she dialed the phone number that had been stored in her phone for three years without any contact.

Zhou Yinhe loved to sleep in, and no major event could wake him; Wen Ling had not held out hope, so she had not thought of saying anything to him, yet she heard the phone being answered.

Wen Ling's mind was still foggy from the fever, and at that moment she stared blankly as a hoarse voice came from the other end.

"Who?"

Zhou Yinhe had not slept all night, and whenever he closed his eyes he saw the scene of Wen Ling falling into the water the previous day and her later pitiful yet stubborn expression as she tried to explain things to him.

When the phone rang, he was looking at a text message he had exchanged with Wen Ling three years ago; during those three years he did not know how many times he had called and sent messages while drunk or during late-night emotional breakdowns, only to get disconnected each time, until finally the call went through—and a man answered. He went mad checking the address of that phone number, eventually buying the number from that man's phone and placing it in his seldom-used handset.

"Speak." The sleepless night made him especially irritable.

Wen Ling murmured, "Zhou Yinhe, cough cough, I have a fever, I feel awful."

Her voice was slow and weak, mixed with coughing, so anyone could tell she was ill; Zhou Yinhe pressed his lips together, recalled his three years of foolishness, and forced himself to say coldly, "If you have a fever, see a doctor—can I even treat illness?"

Upon hearing that, Wen Ling, who had been holding back tears since Zhou Yinhe answered the phone, felt them stream from the corner of her eye to the other, stinging her so she blinked and said hoarsely, "You weren't like this before; when I was sick, you always took care of me."

"You also say it's in the past—am I really that foolish? Letting you think you could deceive me again after three years?" Zhou Yinhe gritted his teeth.

Wen Ling bit her lip to keep from crying out, and a slight movement of her fingers ended the call.

She buried herself in the blankets and wept for a long time before forcing herself to sit up and call Qiao Hongyun.

Qiao Hongyun rushed over, followed by the nanny who had looked after her since childhood.

Qiao Hongyun chattered, "Oh my dear Ling, I blame myself for not forcing you to get checked last night."

Wen Ling buried her face in the pillow and rubbed it until a wet spot appeared, then she turned her head and said, "Auntie, it's not your fault."

Qiao Hongyun sighed, "You have a slight lung infection; I'll have someone prepare medicine and an IV for you." She turned to look at the worried nanny Zhouyi and said, "Zhoujie, have the cook make some pear soup; drinking it will moisten the lungs."

Zhouyi nodded and hurried out of the room.

Qiao Hongyun touched Wen Ling's forehead, saw her eyes were wet, and sighed, advising, "When you said you wanted to come to Hua Guo, Madam disagreed, fearing you'd get hurt coming back; look at these tearful eyes—if Madam and Sir found out, they would surely feel heartbroken."

"They haven't seen me in ages, running from country to country every day, so they wouldn't feel sorry for me." Wen Ling pressed her lips and said resentfully.

"Don't talk nonsense—how could Madam and Sir not feel sorry for you?"

Wen Ling did not want to speak; resentment welled up in her, her heart feeling as sour as if steeped in vinegar.

"What did I do wrong? I was forced to break up by the plot—why blame me? If anyone's to blame, it's the author. I'm just a female side character living in a novel; what can I do?"

Contrary thoughts entwined within her heart, Wen Ling pouted resentfully and roughly wiped away a tear.

"Oh my dear Ling, how can you be so rough? Can't you learn from that imperial consort Hua Fei and wipe your tears prettily?" Seeing her unhappiness, Qiao Hongyun deliberately teased her to cheer her up.

Wen Ling was indeed made to laugh by her; Qiao Hongyun breathed a sigh of relief, answered the phone, and got up to take the call outside.

Wen Ling consoled herself, thinking about how she would torment Zhou Yinhe once she won him back, and that made her happy.

Qiao Hongyun returned with the medicine, and behind her Zhouyi helped push the stand to the bedside; Qiao Hongyun then gave Wen Ling an injection.

Zhouyi gently patted Wen Ling through the blanket and softly coaxed, "Sleep a little longer; Zhouyi will keep watch over you."

Wen Ling's mood lifted, her mouth sweetened, and she softly said, "Thank you, Zhouyi."

Wen Ling fell asleep peacefully, while Zhou Yinhe paced anxiously back and forth in the bedroom, picking up his phone and putting it down repeatedly.

His fluctuating emotions made his eyes bloodshot; he gritted his teeth, jerked his head up, and flung the phone hard against the wall, leaving a dent in the wall and shattering the screen.

Xu Guanjia, who had been specially tasked by Madam Zhou to look after Zhou Yinhe, heard the noise, ran over, knocked on the door, and anxiously asked, "Ancestor? What's wrong?"

Zhou Yinhe heard but did not reply, his gaze fixed fiercely on the phone as if trying to bore a hole through it.

Xu Guanjia had no choice but to produce the spare key, open the door, see the miserable phone on the floor, then look up at the wall and see how deep a hole had been smashed, showing how much force had been used.

"Ancestor, what's happened to you?"

Madam Zhou had always called her most rebellious and hardest-to-manage son "Ancestor," leading everyone in the Zhou Family, aside from the stern Mr. Zhou, to address Zhou Yinhe as Ancestor.

"Give me your phone." Zhou Yinhe sat on the floor and held out his hand.

Xu Guanjia hesitated but then handed him the phone; Zhou Yinhe took it and dialed a number.

"Jiang Jibai."

Seeing the incoming call display show that it was labeled as Zhou Yinhe's steward in his notes, Jiang Jibai answered, not expecting it to be Zhou Yinhe himself.

Jiang Jibai wondered, "Why are you calling me with your steward's phone? Where is your phone?"

"Smashed." Zhou Yinhe bluntly said, "Help me find out where Wen Ling lives, and also check whether she has called a doctor to come over."

Jiang Jibai was surprised, then quickly reacted with a lazy smile: "Why don't you check yourself? The people around you are far more capable than those around me, and besides, doesn't Wen Ling have her own exclusive private doctor and nurse?"

Previously, when Wen Ling stayed at her maternal grandfather's home, she brought back a whole entourage from M Country—private doctors, managers, maids—keeping so many people was not a huge expense, but everyone thought it was too extravagant.

"Just say whether you'll help me investigate!" Zhou Yinhe said coldly.

Upon hearing that, Jiang Jibai knew Zhou Yinhe had lost his patience and replied, "Fine, I'll help you check; I'll call you back later."

"Hurry up."

After saying that, Zhou Yinhe hung up, turned to Xu Guanjia nearby, and said, "Return the phone to me later; have someone buy me a new handset and transfer everything from my old phone over, not missing a thing."

Xu Guanjia picked up the phone that had fallen to the floor, walked to the doorway, then turned back and said, "Ancestor, don't smash mine too."

"If I break it, I'll compensate you! Ten phones!"